#in my defense they are most terrifying predators in game

[duchessvultjag]

me playing rdr2 and walking into cougar territory: i am completing the master hunter challenge so help me god. there is no room for fear in my heart. here kitty kitty

me the second a cougar spawns:

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #7)

Chapter #7! It’s been a whole week of this tiny man’s stressful journey! Uh-oh! What awaits Alexander in the backyard?

Previous: Chapter #6

Next: Chapter #8

CW: Dehumanization, abuse, vore (kinda?), injury, blood, so much angst 

________________________________________

A FRACTION OF JUSTICE

Chapter #7: Backyard Matador

Word Count: 3,482 Read Time: Approx. 27 mins

[Alexander’s POV]

Suspended high in the air, and absorbing the shock of every giant footfall, I watched with a lump in my throat as I was carried across the house in exactly the same path I’d planned to follow to escape. We crossed the dining room and into the sun room, that creaky screen door whipping open with ease from the force of his much stronger arm.

Stepping into the yard, I caught glimpses of the once glorious garden, now rotten and neglected, as the ravages of age had kept the old man from tending to it. Golden sunlight pierced my eyes, as cold wind whipped across my face. I shivered, despite being trapped in a fiercely hot, clammy fist. 

What was his plan? Would he toss me over the fence and leave me to fend for myself? Would he bury me alive? Drown me in the bird bath? Run over me with a lawn mower until I was ground to dust? I was truly mortified. 

He seemed to notice my trembling, I was certain he could feel the breakneck pace of my heart thundering against his flesh. Locking eyes with me, he smiled wickedly. Like son, like father. Speaking of which, his two children were practically jumping up and down, unable to contain their excitement. I was beginning to understand why the Romans hosted bloodsport in their coliseums; humans were bloodthirsty savages! They couldn’t wait to watch me die.  

“Daddy, daddy, are you putting him in time out for biting Aiden? He was bad!” 

“Yeah, it’s time to say goodbye to Poindexter…” I broke, blubbering and crying, begging for my life. Without missing a beat, he just kept speaking, his voice drowning out my own without even having to raise his voice, “No more bad pets, for us. We don’t need a mean little desk decoration do we?”

“Nope! Bye-bye!” Jake’s chipper tone made me shudder. This was what was wrong with humanity. This was what I’d worked my whole life to fix. These humans valued my life no more than the worms beneath their feet. They actually got some kind of sick satisfaction out of ending it. But I was a person, just like them. I bled, laughed, cried, and dreamed just like they did. Why didn’t they see that? Or alternatively, why didn’t they care? 

“Aiden. You wanna go show Sarge his new chew toy?” My blood froze in my veins. Not a dog. Anything but a dog. I was terrified of them, and for good reason. They were absolutely massive predators, with fangs sometimes as long as my forearm and they could chase after something small like me for hours before tiring. Besides, they saw chase as play, so they’d be having the time of their stupid lives until their victim was killed by the game. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, the ten-year-old snatched me out of his father’s hand, pressing a hard and suffocating thumbnail into the soft flesh of my throat, making it impossible to breath, speak, or, most importantly, bite. I thrashed around but his grip was solid. He practically bounded into the grass, giggling the whole time. He held me up to his massive blue eyes, “I hope Sarge bites you right in half! Like this!” He stabbed me with a finger in the stomach, making me wince, and drew his nail across my abdomen to indicate his meaning. I wiggled loose, just enough to choke out a few words.

“Aiden, please… I’m a living being. I don’t want to die!” 

He crushed my body in his fist, “Well you shouldn’t have lied or bit me!” Before I could say another word in my defense, I was tumbling though the air. He’d tossed me into the lion’s den (well, the den of Canis lupus familiaris, if you were looking to be accurate). The hard ground came up to greet my flailing body within the breadth of a few hurried heartbeats. I skidded across the lawn, dirt filling my mouth and eyes, before finally coming to rest. I bolted up, wiping my face to take in my new surroundings. 

There he was. Like Cerberus with corrective surgery at the gates of Hades. An absolutely massive German shepherd, golden fur rustling in the wind. At the moment, he was paying me no mind. His massive head was turned away from me, as he devoured what appeared to be a gigantic bone, with bits of flesh still attached. Evidently, the old man’s son had brought his dog with him to the house. The bone he was grinding with his sharp fangs was bigger than I was. I trembled. I’d crash landed about five or so feet from the beast. Could it really be that simple? Could I just sneak past the preoccupied animal and slip through a hole in the fence never to be seen again? 

I hunkered down in the grass, my eyes trained on the dog’s head. The slurping and crunching coming from his ravenous maw made my stomach flip. That’d soon be the sound of my spine being snapped in two, if I wasn’t careful. I took a few cautious steps, eyeing the fence line about ten feet from my current position. More than twice the distance between this dangerous animal and me. He was still deeply engrossed in his meal. My heart fled up to my chest. 

Suddenly, a whiny human voice sounded over the grotesque gnawing, “Ugh, he’s not doing anything! This is boring!” I whipped over my right shoulder to see the three human beings huddled at the base of the weathered porch steps, leaning in, as if watching the final quarter of their favorite sport. It was a sport to them wasn’t it? They weren’t too far away. If I ran, they may be able to catch up to me with their ridiculously unfair gigantic strides. I was caught between two extremely dangerous threats. But there was no way I’d accept my fate lying down. I’d go kicking and screaming into the maw of the beast if that’s what it came down to. 

“Just wait, boys. Just wait…” The maniacal tone in the adult’s voice filled me with dread. I had to get out of here! Maybe by some miracle, I’d gain enough distance before the dog gave chase. I was a sitting duck just cowering here. I took a few more cautious steps, trying to circumnavigate the dog’s body and keep myself as far from the head and snapping teeth, as possible. I crouched, keeping a low center of gravity. Another step, another. One foot in front of the other, you can do this. Another step. And then, as my left foot descended, the heel of my shoe made contact, not with dirt and grass, but with a twig, thin enough to break under my weight. 

The sharp snap of dried wood seemed to ripple through the air like an auditory target on my back. Immediately, the dog’s massive pointed ears pricked up, its head rising to attention, its nose in the air. I froze in place, hoping against all odds the creature would lose interest and return to its far easier (and frankly more filling) meal. I could hear laughter in the distance. The show was getting good for my audience of three. Crouching, careful of any sudden movements, I picked up one half of the snapped twig. Something with a slightly pointed edge was better than nothing. The dog continued to test the air. As I rose back to my full, pathetic height, I suddenly found two round amber eyes locking on to mine. 

Shaking like a leaf, I stammered, “G-good boy… Good dog… Nice dog…” At the sound of my voice, his ears pulled toward me, his head cocking from one side to the other. For all his lack of intelligence, I could see he was trying to understand how a human-like voice could be coming from something so small. Maybe he’ll just think I’m an extremely abnormal human….

Then black, wet lips began to peel away revealing bright pink gums and long, razor sharp yellow teeth. The beast came to standing, ten times my height, as his ears pinned back and a deep and throaty growl rose from the depths of his chest. I bolted. 

Tearing across the lawn, the manicured grass about knee-high, swaying and rippling before me as my heels dug in to the soft, dry earth, I moved as fast as I possibly could. Heart pounding, chest heaving, I tried my best to maintain my balance, despite running in leather dress shoes that had no traction whatsoever… That’s what I got for being a housepet. I had only covered about a foot of distance, before the excited monster of a canine, thrilled by the game, gave chase. In the distance I could hear squeals of delighted laughter. My jaw clenched as tears welled in my eyes. I pushed myself harder, as I felt the chill of a black shadow behind me block out the light of the sun. I didn’t dare to look behind me. The dog barked again with its ear-shattering tone. I could feel my heart skip a beat as the sound wave tore through my body. As I ran, I saw I was approaching the garden bed, dried, sharp branches growing every which way. If I could cut over and dive under the dead bramble of long forgotten berry bushes, maybe I’d be safe from snapping teeth and deadly claws. 

I darted to the right, straight for the garden. A human voice cut through the pounding repetition of blood in my ears, “Dad! He’s gonna get away!” Yes, you simple waste of oxygen, that is the goal. 

“Not if I can help it. Watch this…” What was that supposed to mean? Moments later, a river rock, plucked from the landscaping by the porch stairs collided with my legs and I went crashing to the ground. “I told you boys your old dad didn’t win high school state champ as first pitcher with just sheer luck! I still got it!” I was nothing but dog food now. As I whipped over my shoulder, cowering in the dirt like the frightened prey animal the world had decided I was, I watched as a mouth as deep as I was tall, blot out all light, as the bared fangs inched just before my body. Still clinging to the stick, I waved it in front of me, aiming for his snout. The dog barked again, sending tremors through my spine, and making my ears ring. I thrust out my crude weapon only to be met with a horrible CRUNCH. With an easy flex of his jaw, he’d snapped the stick in two, mere millimeters from my fingers. I could hear human voices cheering the animal on, but I couldn’t register what they were saying. My eyes grew wide and before I could scream, the mouth had descended around me. 

I was flung into the air, hot, rancid breath stinging my nostrils and eyes. I flailed around the moment I found my self losing contact with the ground, but it was abundantly clear I wasn’t going anywhere. I was caught diagonally, the dog’s right fang grazing my chest. I gripped this tooth as long as my forearm, in a fist, not that I would have much strength to resist if he decided to bite down. While my head hung freely, my right leg was being crushed between the molars of the left side of his mouth, teeth baring down directly on the fragile knee joint. I beat the dog’s snout with my free fist while I tried in vain to wriggle free, but this only made things worse. At this point, I had only been held in his mouth… Now, the real danger began as he violently tossed his head back and forth, biting down on my leg. I screamed. I heard a sickening CRACK. I was done for. I stayed limp as I hoped for a quick death. Maybe he’d bite down with the full force of his jaw and everything would just go black. 

As I was being thrown about like a rag doll, I felt something press against my hip. 

The lead piece in my pocket! The boys had managed to take away my case files but had never found my makeshift writing utensil. I had just sharpened it a few days ago, so the point was certainly strong enough to be effective. That is if it hadn’t broken yet and if I could even manage to get a hold of it. My world was an upside down, blurred mess of pain and fear but this singular hope helped to hone my focus. Still trying to keep the deadly fang from caving in my chest, I thrust my hand inside the mouth, trying desperately to feel for my pocket amongst the never ending surface of writhing, sticky tongue that undulated with every breath of this gigantic creature. With a hand covered in thick, viscous saliva, I managed to grip on to the pointed shard of lead. I closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t drop my one chance of survival as I was still flung about wildly, much to the delight and fascination of my audience. I could feel the muscles and bone surrounding my knee being torn to shreds as I reared back with the weapon in my hand. With all the meager strength I could muster, I thrust the point into the thick, hairy flesh of the dog’s whiskered muzzle. My blood froze in my veins for the split second in which the point buried itself in his skin. Would this tiny sting even phase my murderer or just make him more angry? 

Then, an ear piercing yelp ended with me falling to the ground, landing with an almost inaudible thud. The dog, towering like a building over me, whined as he dropped to the ground, paws rubbing his injured snout, trying to get the source of the pain dislodged from his sensitive skin. I could see just a tiny jewel of crimson blood bubble to the surface on his blonde coat. My heart pounded as I recognized that I, an evolutionarily insignificant food source for most other animals, had managed to actually injure a beast a thousand times stronger than me. It made me, for a fleeting moment, feel strong. I felt… big. 

My leg was bleeding significantly, the flesh torn away at my knee, my slacks shredded like paper. I couldn’t out run this beast. But I could trick him…. And now was the perfect opportunity, while he was paying me no mind. My brain worked at lightning speed as I cooked up a plan. Tearing the rest of my pants leg away from the bleeding, fleshy mass where my knee used to be, I held my breath to keep from screaming in pain. Once I had the fabric in hand, I soaked up the blood running down my shin before looking for a way to come to standing. There was nothing at all for me to grab on to, just knee-high grass within reach. Setting my teeth and flaring my nostrils, I stood, bending my broken leg and almost passing out from the pain that threatened to engulf me. 

A few more swipes and it looked like the beast would dislodge the lead. Make that one more. My heart leapt in my throat. If anything went wrong from this point forward, I was a dead man. “Hey boy! Hey, hey over here! Yeah, you big, stupid monster, this is what you want isn’t it??” I waved the bloody fabric. His eyes sparked and his ears rotated forward. I had his attention. From here, I was only about five paces from the garden bed. I looked over to my right shoulder. It wasn’t just the beast I had to trick. I had to convince the three humans watching, too. If they didn’t think I was dead, they’d come scour the yard until they found me and then I’d be powerless to stop them. 

From here, I could no longer see them, I was hidden by a small dip in the ground. Perfect. The dog licked his blood stained chops as he caught the scent of the bloody muleta I was waving to get this bull to charge. Fighting through the excruciating pain, I took painful, limping steps backwards. One. The dog leaned his head in, nose to the ground. He was about a foot from where I stood. Two. I waved the fabric high over my head. The dog’s eyes tracked it, as he barked again, excited to play. Three. He rushed forward, tail wagging. I tossed the fabric, as he closed the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Four. Five. I collapsed into the sharp brambles. He stopped to sniff the first round of bait. Even biting the grass, and coming up with the shredded rag between his teeth. But this little scrap was no delicious and enticing little prey with his writhing body and fluttering heart. I had seconds to pull this off. 

I tore my blazer off, dipping it in my own blood, raking the torn flesh of my leg in the process. Tears sprung to my eyes. When it was nice and soaked, reeking of my scent, I balled it up as best I could and threw it as far as I was able. The dog was delighted, his fetching instinct kicking in, he watched as the delicious-smelling object careened through the air. I made sure to toss it low so it was still out of sight for the humans who watched with baited breath. Still, the dog’s head tracked it with keen eyes, before his snapping teeth descended around it. He collapsed to the floor, pinning the mess of fabric that vaguely resembled my shape between his paws and began to tear it to shreds, tail wagging happily. I swallowed hard. 

Now was the time to disappear. I scrambled to my feet with the help of a nearby branch. As I rose to standing, I snapped this dead appendage off the ugly plant and used it as a crutch, limping through the dried plants. Staying close to cover as much as possible. Once I’d made it two rows over, I heard the ever more distant voices cry out, “Did ya get him,  boy?” 

“He looks like he’s chewing on something, Dad! I think he got him!” Then a sharp whistle, that made the dog’s ears perk. I didn’t stop moving, getting ever closer to the fence line. I knew precisely where the break in the fence was. I’d memorized every possible escape detail I could all those years ago when I’d first arrived here. I just hoped the gap I remembered was still big enough for my now adult body. I heard the dog trot obediently off, my bloodied blazer still stuck in his teeth. 

“Good boy, Sarge! Such a good boy! Did you like your snack?” Hatred for these evil maniacs boiled in my veins. I spat on the ground in disgust. It was that easy and inconsequential for them. I wondered in five years’ time if they’d even remember me at all. What a truly evil race of beings to treat other intelligent, sentient creatures in this way. I was smarter than all of them put together, and I knew it. Grunting, as my knee buckled and bled, I ground my teeth and pushed onward. The gap in the fence came into view, as I hobbled forward at a painfully slow pace. I left the safety of the garden cover for the exposed strip of lawn. Although, as I approached the broken wood slat, which towered a mile over my head, stretching on into the ever darkening grey sky, I could hear the characteristic squeak of the screen door and human voices I hoped to never hear again. “C’mon, boy, come inside, you deserve a treat! Such a good boy!” The man loved his dog more than his own two sons, but, honestly, with those little terrors for offspring, who could blame him? 

Good riddance, all of you. I’ll sue you in federal court one day, just you wait. 

Barely able to fit through the crack, which, luckily, had never been fixed in twenty years’ time, I found myself on the other side of the property. Freedom for the first time in my life. I was owned by no one but myself. I felt a hitch in my chest. Not the time to get emotional, you’re on your own, which means no one is going to help that wound but you. Clenching my jaw again, I hobbled forward, finally taking my destiny into my own two hands. 

[m0thmachine]

TDoV/Autism Month: Faith in Faggotards

(This is a decently long text and I also posted it on my website.)

March 31st: Trans Day of Visibility 

April: Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month 

I think about all the acceptable targets. I think about how KiwiFarms was founded to harass autistics, trans people, women, and especially autistic trans women. I think about Chris Chan and the r/antiwork person who went on Fox News and every neurodivergent trans person (especially autistic trans women) who go viral in cringe compilations. I think about how the theory of “Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria” calls out autistic transmascs specifically as “groomed,” too stupid to possibly actually be trans. I think about the countless autistic trans people I’ve seen cancelled over the years—not the pop culture buzzword conservative “cancelled,” but trans autistics who have their whole social life (or even their living and income) online, who have lies spread about them and their words taken out of context and misconstrued and personal fetishes painted as signs of a predator and poorly-articulated panic-posting framed as lateral aggression. I think about the transphobic caricatures that are stereotypes of autism. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to vomit. 

The whole “male socialization/female socialization” argument feels so alien. I was not socialized female. But I was not socialized male. I was socialized autistic, people putting aside gender lines to torment me, to other me. Any matters of safety were about surviving as an autistic person, first and foremost. I was never seen as another girl, but I was never seen as a boy, either. I was a weirdo. I spent my time with the other kids and teens who gamed, hyperfixated, were teacher’s pets with shit grades, who meowed at each other, who were bullied, who kept getting hospitalized. Kids can recognize autism better than many psychiatrists can. 

Just as I find little common ground with cis people, or at least little solidarity and even less comprehension, I feel the same way around neurotypicals. Even autistic cis people and non-autistic trans people have that distance, that gulf. Sometimes it’s a matter of safety, of bigotry and hatred; sometimes it’s simply a matter of not getting it. The masking necessary, the energy it takes, to perform both my gender and being palatable to neurotypicals. Even then I know I will be passed over for someone with a more “clear” gender, or a more charismatic presentation, most of the time. 

I find familiarity in other autistic trans people. Sometimes other queer autistics or other neurodivergent trans people make sense, too. I call myself “faggotard,” a portmanteau of two slurs that cut like knives alone, which I can now coat myself in as a defensive measure, but become something more together. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I find myself relating to other people under this faggotard life, regardless of the nuances and specificities within that identity, more than anyone else. 

It’s not all fun and games and sun and roses and solidarity, though. I’ve seen autistic trans people cannibalize each other. Sometimes it’s to look less trans, or less autistic. Often it’s out of fear of being the next Chris Chan or 4lung or Nyx or whomever. Nobody wants to be a lolcow. The closer you get to being able to be an acceptable sort of trans autistic, a tenderqueer softness or an Aspie, the more prone you are to this. I think that’s why you see this behaviour a lot more (but far from exclusively) in trans men and transmascs (who are exempt from transmisogyny), and in autistics who lack comorbidities in the realm of psychosis or BPD or “ugly” disorders. Not all queer neurodivergent people—not even all trans autistics—are faggotards. The only safety they can see is pushing others away, ritual sacrifice to appease the cishet NT gods. 

The other lack of safety comes in the form of seemingly having nowhere else to go. When groups become so insular, so terrified of stepping out of the room for fear of the beasts outside, that cramped dark room becomes a fertile ground for abuse. Even experiencial, ideological, and aesthetic similarities cannot account for individuals. The nature of being underground means building your own structures, and often those lack the accountability, safeguards, and even methods of escape that others might have. To pretend autistic trans people don’t hurt and traumatize other autistic trans people is laughable. Even narrowing it down by gender and race and hobbies and age cannot save you from that. 

That being said, there is potential. I see autistic trans people and I see strength. My neuroqueer and faggotard peers and lovers and mutuals and friends have so much brilliance inside them, even against impossible odds. 

Visibility and awareness kinda suck. It often just brings more violence and hostility. It’s often deeply performative. 

But thank you for being there. 

I’m glad you’re still here.

[markszone]

Don’t Need a Lucky Charm

GIF from nakamotens

Summary: Supporting Mark's first boxing match

Pairing: boxer!Mark x female reader

Genre: fluff, fluff, fluff

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.8K

( A/n: couldn’t get this boxer Mark out of my head... enjoy!!❤️)

You and Mark were laying on the couch watching a show to pass time. 

“I’m so excited for tonight,” you said, turning around to face your lover. 

“I’m nervous,” Mark admitted.

You ran a hand through his smooth brown hair, your hand parting through the soft strands. He was going to his first boxing match after months of training, he has every right to be nervous. 

"Win or lose. You'll always be a winner in my eyes," you comforted him.

His arms tightened around your waist. "There's no bigger catch than you, baby." he said with a wink after.

You smiled, feeling all the butterflies erupt, and kissed him. 

You turn to look at the clock. "Aren't you supposed to be training?" 

"Nah, I don't want to wear myself out," he explained.

He stood up letting go of you and straightened his clothes, he held a hand out to you and you looked at him puzzled. 

"I thought you weren't gonna train?" you asked.

"I'm not," he replied "C'mon, let's go to the nearest beach while we still have time."

"Okay," you replied, taking his hand and straightening your clothes as well. 

He grabbed the keys while you grabbed a bunch of chips to munch on the way. 

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yep, c'mon," you replied.

-----

It wasn't a long drive to the beach, you reached there within a few minutes, you stepped outside the salty breeze clouding the air. You loved the beach even though you drove by it plenty of times.

Mark walked around the car and grabbed your hand making a smile light up your face. His fingers laced through yours holding you tightly. He brought your hand to his mouth, his lips brushing your knuckles.

"Can we switch hands?" you asked, you still wanted to eat the potato chips while you walked. He released your hand, and you walked around quickly grabbing his other hand.

He was holding the chips packet with his spare hand while you fed him and yourself with your other hand.

"Summer is coming around, you have any plans?" he asked.

"Maybe just lounge around and just spend time reading," you said, which was exactly what you did every summer.

"I think we should go on a road trip," he suggested.

"I thought we were gonna do that during spring?" you question him.

"I thought about it but I think it's better if I work during spring, save up, and then we go on a road trip for two months," he explained "That means we get to spend more time with each other." 

"I like the sound of that," you said.

Mark sat down on the sand and pulled you down on his lap, his arms embracing your torso,  resting his chin on your shoulder while you rested your head on the side of his. Watching the waves crash the shore feeling utterly at peace in his arms and near the beach. 

"Wouldn't it be cool if a shark washed up on shore?" he asked enthusiastically. 

"More terrifying than cool, bub," you muttered.

"You could watch me kill it in order to protect you," he said his arms tightening around you "Would you be impressed, my lady?" 

"Considering it would already be dead due to lack of water. I'm pretty sure I could kill it too." you chuckled.

"I suppose this is the downfall of dating someone ten times smarter than you," he sighed. 

You faced him and gave him a peck on the cheek. Mark blushing immediately as soon as your lips left his cheek. You smiled at your boyfriend, admiring his boyish smile and red cheeks.

You traced your hand on his jaw wondering just how lucky you were to be with the single most amazing person in the world. You lost track of how long both of you sat there in silence, comfortable silence. The kind that you could only share with certain people and yours was Mark.

"It's so beautiful," you breathe, staring at the sun setting in the distance. The flickers of orange, pink and red mixed in a beautiful swirl illuminating the sky. It was breathtaking.

"You know what's beautiful? Watching you admire something which seems so dull in comparison to your beauty," he whispered softly.

You blushed hard, thinking you were hardly prettier than the sunset, but it was kind of him to say so. You looked down hiding your reddened cheeks.

"I wish you believed me," he said.

He looked at his watch before slowly bringing the both of you up. 

"My match will start soon," he informed.

You could already feel the nerves kicking in at the statements so you wondered just how nervous he must feel. 

-----

Mark paced around the locker room, his hair put up neatly to avoid the bangs on his face while fighting, and his strong chest on display. You could hear the sound of his name loudly echoing through the room.

"I have to go home. I forgot the dishes," he said suddenly.

He reached for his shirt just as you grabbed it. He looked up at you and just beneath his firm expression you could see the glints of fear.

"Mark you are going to do fine," you whispered, placing your hands on his shoulder.

"How do you know that?" You're not a psychic."

"I don't have to be. You are the strongest and most hardworking person I know and tonight you'll prove tha-"

Your words were cut off by his lips, his lips moved against yours hungrily as though he were saving a piece of you for the match. He pulled back his breath ragged. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I don't need a lucky charm. You are my strength Y/N," he said.

"Then go prove me right, Lee." 

He pulled on a pair of blue gloves, and pounded his fists together. He gave you one last kiss on the forehead before he headed to the entrance.

"Next up is Lee," the announcer yelled.

He gave you a small wink before walking out into the crowded room, and stepping into the ring. The other boxer stood on the other side of the ring, he must have already entered before Mark's moment of doubt.

You moved to join the full crowd, elbows dug into painfully, shoulders pressed against yours. The more you tried to get to the front the more you were pushed back. You couldn't see anything mainly due to your height but also because you were too far back. How were you supposed to cheer for Mark if you couldn't even see him?

"Lee wants the girl in the blue shirt to be brought to the front," the announcer demanded. 

"I'm over here," a girl wearing blue called.

"No he means me."

"Bring me front."

"My bra is blue. I can prove it."

"Mark baby I'm coming."

The room erupted in chaos with everyone claiming to be you. You halted in your spot feeling your protective instincts for Mark kick in, because every girl was struggling to move front towards him and every guy seemed to be irritated by this.

"Shut up," Mark said in an annoyed tone, through the announcer's microphone. 

The room slowly grew silent.

"Much better," he murmured.

His voice softened. "Y/N, babe, where are you? Raise your hand please."

"I'm here," you said raising your hand.

"Good," he said "Now all of you please part like the Red Sea and let her come through."

They slowly moved aside providing you enough space to navigate to the front. You gave the people you were passing a small smile to show your gratitude, but they all seemed to be sporting matching expressions of irritation. You finally made it to the front of the ring glad to be closer to him.

"Let's begin," the announcer yelled.

The crowd resumed in their cheering, yelling 'Lee' repetitively and occasionally the name Jaehyun who must have been the opponent. You eyed this Jaehyun he was built, very built, Mark was almost as tall as him. It kinda scared you, but you believed in Mark.

The announcer went over the rules, explaining what determined a win and a loss. You listened intently paying attention to the rules much of which the crowd wanted to drown out in their cheers. 

"Round One" 

They circled each other like predators. It was Jaehyun who threw the first punch which Mark effectively dodged, retailing with a swift punch to the stomach. They did this a few times exchanging positions of defense and offense. At times it seemed like Mark had a third eye because of the way he dodged a majority of his hits. 

The rounds came and went each time Mark got hurt it felt like a blow to your own chest, and each time he had the upper hand you felt like a proud soccer mom at one of her kid's games.

You couldn't help but notice that Mark was very talented, his punches were well aimed, his steps seemed measured, and just looking at the constant flicker of his eyes you could tell that he was aware of his surroundings. His behavior seemed to imitate that of an animal fighting for survival. 

The last round of the match was nearing and Mark's face and chest was a burning red coated by sweat. Exhaustion didn't begin to cover the state of him at the moment.

"You can do this Mark!" you yelled "Take it home, baby!"

The round felt like a century with them both seemingly worn out.

"Mark, baby, put him down!"

Mark suddenly charged at Jaehyun, forgetting about holding his position, and continuing firing a punch after punch. I watched wide eyed as Jaehyun dropped to his knees and finally rested on his back. The referee blew his whistle, and soon after raised Mark's hand declaring him the winner. 

His chest rose and fell as the crowd roared in delight and victory. He spit out his mouth guard grinning widely. Your heart clenched with joy as you watched him bask in his glory and heard the growing chant of his name begin. This was his moment. 

In his moment Mark proudly smiled and when your eyes met, you swore you saw the galaxies in his eyes and you felt as if you're the luckiest person to have ever crossed paths with him. He made you so proud.

------

You waited for Mark to enter the locker room and once he did, you tackled him with a big hug not minding his sweaty body. Mark pulled away to cup your face, seeing you smile proudly at him made his heart burst into happiness. He leaned in to give you a kiss. Your lips moving against each other. 

You slowly pulled away just enough that your lips were still brushing against each other. "I love you," you said "Win or lose, I'm proud of you for doing your best."

"I love you too," he replied.

Kissing you once more. Happiness and pride lighting up his face. 

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolate Prince and The Lovely Maiden {Willy Wonka x Rose Bucket AU}

Chapter 3

When The Maiden meets The Hunter

Tagging: @holdmeicant @frozenhuntress67 @pastelmoonwitche @arinnasweetslove​

The rays of the rising sun were just beginning to peek through the cottage windows when that aggravating alarm bell woke up Rose and Charlie. That was Avonmora’s bell and it signalled for the Bucket children’s slave duties to begin.

“I hate that bell more than anything, Rosie” Charlie grumbled. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. They felt crusty from his slumber.

“I do too, Charlie” Rose agreed. She stretched her arms. “I promise, one day we’ll leave this place. But until that day comes, we’re stuck playing servants to our lovely step-mother”

“Where is my breakfast!?” Avonmora’s demand sounded through the tube that led to the basement where Rose and Charlie were forced to sleep. “Bring it to me now, girl! And boy, you better get to sweeping and finish before we leave for the market”

Honk! “Will someone shut that vile witch up, please?” Honkers got up from his pile of straw that was set up in the corner. “A goose needs his beauty sleep”

Rose giggled. She walked over to Honkers and picked him up. “I suppose all that sleeping you do is the reason you’re the most handsome goose in the entire kingdom” Honkers honked in approval and nuzzled into Rose’s neck. “We should find you a lovely swan one of these days”

“Honkers, look!” Charlie bursted into excitement. He pointed towards Honkers nest where a golden egg lay. “You’ve laid another one!”

“Well, whaddaya know?” Rose put Honkers down. He waddled over to the nest and admired the golden egg he’d lain. “If I keep laying them at this rate, you guys will be able to run off soon enough”

“How do you do that, anyway?” Charlie asked curiously.

“I don’t know” Honk! “Same reason I can talk, I suppose”

Rose pulled out a hidden box that contained all the other golden eggs that Honkers had laid. She picked up the new one and added it to the collection. She then put the box back in it’s hiding spot. 

“Breakfast!” Avonmora screeched. Her voice was so loud that it scared a few feathers out of Honkers.

Rose sighed and grabbed several ingredients out from the cupboards. “Charlie, you better start sweeping. And Honkers, you know to stay quiet when she’s near”

Honkers put his wing up to his forehead in a salute. “Yes, ma’m” Rose gave the goose a look. “Oh, I mean...Honk!...”

Rose smiled and nodded. “Good goose!”

Rose had Avonmora’s breakfast on a tray and she brought it up to her lavish bedroom. When Nathaniel died, Avonmora brought it upon herself to do some renovating on the cottage. But, she had made it so big and added so many unnecessary rooms that it wasn’t the quaint little cottage that Rose loved anymore. It was more like a mansion out in the middle of the forest.

“Ah, there you are” Avonmora sneered from her place in bed. She was sat up in against the headboard. Her pet raven, Draco, was perched upon her shoulder. “You are late with breakfast”

“I’m sorry, Avonmora” Rose apologized quietly. She set the breakfast tray on Avonmora’s bedside table. Draco squaked threateningly at her when she got to close. Rose flinched. She was absolutely terrified of the bird.

“You need to learn to shut the bird of yours up” Avonmora scowled. “It’s honking is becoming unbearable. Perhaps we turn him into a feast” Her lip curled into a smirk at the suggestion of such a lavish feast. Draco cawed in amusement, like he was laughing at the idea.

Rose clenched her jaw. She wanted to talk back to Avonmora but she knew better. “What do you want me to do today, Avonmora?”

“The usual” Avonmora grabbed her teacup and took a sip of the hot beverage. “After the boy is done sweeping, you are going to mop the floors. Then you’re going to wash the windows, dust all the furniture, nooks and crannies, do the dishes, do the laundry, weed my garden, and feed the animals”

“Yes, Avonmora” It was what Rose was programmed to say after receiving her duties from her step-mother. She was just about to walk out the door when Avonmora stopped her.

“Oh, and Rose,” Avonmora’s dark matched perfectly. “Don’t leave this house while the boy and I are out. You know what will happen if I find you gone”

Rose didn’t even look back at her. She just nodded and left the room.

Avonmora and Charlie were gone at the market. Rose was outside in the chicken pen, sprinkling chicken feed all over the ground. The chickens around her clucked happily as they ate of the mix of seeds and corn. The apron on Rose’s dress was dirtied with dirt from the garden, as was her face. But that didn’t detract from her beauty.

At least the hunter that was watching from behind a tree didn’t think so. Harry was out for his morning hunt along with his best friend/sidekick/minion, Louis. Louis himself wasn’t much of a hunter. He basically just carried any game that Harry had managed to successfully kill. 

“Look at her, Louis” Harry said, his eyes never once coming off of Rose. The poor girl had no idea that she was being watched. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Who?” Louis’ nasally voice screeched. “That dirty girl over there?”

“She is not dirty!” Harry hissed defensively. “She is going to be my wife someday and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about her in such a manner”

Louis began to laugh. “Your wife!? Her!? Every girl in Sweetstown basically throw themselves at your feet! Why would you want some nobody who lives out in the forest?”

“Because, none of those girls have a beauty that compares to hers. It’s only fair that the most beautiful girl in Candania marries me, the most handsome man in Candania”

“Don’t forget smartest and strongest!” Louis always was a suck-up when it came to Harry.

Harry laughed triumphantly. “Yes, that too” He got off his horse and smoothed out his clothes. He also picked the closest flower he could find. He wanted to make a good impression on the girl. “I think it’s time that I introduce myself to the mother of my future children”

Rose was humming a song, but she was interrupted when a voice spoke from behind her. “Hello, fair maiden” She jumped and turned around to see who it was. It was a man she had never seen before. He was tall and no doubt handsome, with his dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. But Rose could tell he radiated arrogance. 

“Hello” she greeted back softly.

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing out here in the forest?” the man asked.

“I live here” Rose pointed at the cottage. “With my brother and my step-mother”

“I see” the man said. Rose gave him a small smile, and she thought he was just going to walk off and continue on his way. She wasn’t expecting him to step over the fence of the pen. “My name is Harry” 

Harry. That name sounded familiar to Rose. Priscilla was always talking about a Harry to Rose. Maybe this was the one she was talking about.

“I’m Rose”

“Rose” Harry repeated her name like a prayer. “Such a lovely name to go with such a beautiful face” He took her hand and brought it up to his lips. He gently kissed her knuckles. “You know, I’ve admired you for quite some time now”

Rose went wide eyed. “Y-you have?”

“Yes” Harry spoke so deeply, it came out as a growl. There was no denying the possessive intention behind it. He began walking towards Rose, like a predator hunting its prey. For every step forward Harry took, Rose took a step back. That is, until she was backed up against the wall. “It’s hard for a man not to be entranced by your beauty”

Rose swallowed nervously. “T-thank you”

“I brought this for you” Harry held up the flower that he had picked. Rose recognized the white, waxy flower as a gardenia. Sure, it was a pretty flower but it wasn’t Rose’s favorite. 

“Thank you, but I’m not a big admirer of gardenias”

“Oh” Harry’s face fell. He dropped the flower and stomped on it. Rose frowed. Sure, she wasn’t too fond of gardenias but that didn’t mean the flower didn’t deserve to be treated in such a way. “Well, what is your favorite flower? For when I come see you tomorrow?”

Rose blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Of course” Harry grinned at her with a charming smile. “And the day after that, then the day after that, and so on, and so forth” He grabbed her hand. “So tell me, sweet maiden, what is your favorite flower?”

All Rose could do was smile. “I’ll let you figure that one out” She didn’t want to seem rude by telling him to get lost, and she didn’t want to reveal what her favorite flower actually was. 

“Turning this into a game, are we?” Harry suggested. “Alright, I’ll play your game. I’ll come and visit everyday, and I’ll bring you a different flower. When I do bring you your favorite flower, then you must join me for a romantic nightly stroll in the town”

“I suppose that seems fair...” 

“Until tomorrow then, my sweet” Harry kissed Rose’s hand yet again. When Harry finally left, Rose felt a sense of relief. 

What had she gotten herself into with this man? She’d have to ask Priscilla about him. 

“Rose, who was that?” It was Honkers who had asked. He came waddling into the chicken pen.

“I don’t know, Honkers, but I have a feeling I’ll be seeing more of him than I wish to” Rose sighed dreadfully. She could never see herself being with a man like that. She picked up her straw basket. “Come Honkers, let’s go see Fiona, Liona, and Briona. I’m in the mood for some cherry picking”

Honkers ruffled his feathers in excitement. “Lead the way, Rose!”

Rose and Honkers made their way to the sisters’ cottage. It was the only other cottage in the forest. Rose wasn’t sure what it was about their home, but she always felt safest there. It was like she had known Fiona, Liona, and Briona for her whole life, even though she met when she stumbled upon their marvelous cherry tree when she was just fifteen years of age.

Perhaps the three sisters could give Rose some advice about this man and his unwanted attention.

[askkrenko]

Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Lickitung Line

I will not protect it. I do not want to see it grow up healthy. I would rather not tell my friends and neighbors about it but it’s here in the series and it has to be covered.

DESIGN: 

Some Pokemon designs are good. Some Pokemon designs are awful. Some Pokemon designs are so horrendous they loop back around to being great. Lickitung is one of those designs. Nothing about this Pokemon makes me comfortable. It’s a monstrous fleshy lizard thing that’s tongue is so long it makes me question if Arceus is a benevolent creator or just here to toy with mortals. I worry that it has no thoughts or desires other than to consume all who stand in its way, and the fear of it makes it difficult for me to sleep... Which means man, slam dunk, put this thing in a game and send that to print, because anything that can get that sort of raw emotion out of me is just a win.

Lickitung is like if Kirby was made terrifying. It has that pink soulless stare and huge mouth, but now there’s a lumbering body and huge tongue to grab with. I hate this thing and I love that it evokes that feeling in me.

And then it’s all gone when it evolves. Lickilicky is supremely boring. Its design is mostly just round, it resembles nothing so much as a bubblegum bubble, its white and yellow spots are less body pattern and instead it looks like it’s wearing a bib. While Lickitung looks like a slow, but low predator, Lickilicky looks like it can’t even walk and just has to roll around and hope for the best.  Even its name is stupid. And why does its tongue seem to get smaller? Everything about Lickilicky seems less interesting, less terrifying, and less wonderful than Lickitung.

Pokemonstrosity by Bonekrishna and J. R. Coffron

EVOLUTIONS:

Lickitung evolves into Lickilicky if it levels up while knowing Rollout. Lickitung learns Rollout naturally, so basically LIckitung evolves at level-up with extra steps. Why bother? Why are we wasting our time on this? Just slap a level qualifier on that and call it a day. Numerically, there’s room for another Pokemon in the line in either direction, and frankly a third form might salvage the fact that Lickilicky is just so very, very stupid.

What I really hate here is that this wasn’t even something you couldn’t do before. Previous generations made it possible to teach Lickitung rollout. So the new requirement was just to be a pain and didn’t even address the ‘why didn’t we have this before’ question.

TYPING:

Lickilicky is a Normal type Pokemon, which means nothing’s weak to its moves, but its only weakness is Fighting, and it’s immune to Ghost attacks. This is generally bad offensively but good defensively, as it makes it very hard for opponents to get a Super-Effective hit in.

Greninja by Kenket

STATS: 

Fort the most part, all of Lickilicky’s stats land on the good side of average. It’s defenses are all around solid, with 110 HP and 95 in both defenses, while its attack stats are both very average at 85 and 80.  Speed is its primary weakness, a mere 50, meaning Lickilicky is usually going second.

ABILITIES: 

Own Temp blocks Confusion and Intimidate, which isn’t inherently bad, but is generally significantly weaker than Oblivious, which blocks infatuation, taunting, and Intimidate. 

The Lickitung line also has the ability Cloud Nine, which negates the effects of weather while it’s on the field and prevents weather from being created. This can be powerful against the right opponent, especially in the Sword and Shield meta where Dynamax Pokemon throw around weather conditions incidentally.

Art by Ninjendo

MOVES: 

Lickilicky’s stats means it’s best used as a defensive Pokemon, but it’s move lineup doesn’t actually enable this. Useful moves like Wish are exceedingly hard to get, needing to be brought in from earlier generation event Pokemon, and even Toxic is no longer part of Lickitung’s moveset. 

Lickilicky actually has a fair ability to use coverage and good moves that are both physical and special, but with mediocre attack stats and no way to heal, it’s just trading blows if it tries to do that.

Fortunately, Lickilicky gets access to a few moves that increase its offense quite well: Curse, Swords Dance, and Belly Drum. All three of these have different benefits and drawbacks, but the important part is they all turn Lickilicky into an offensive threat, and it has the bulk and the typing to usually survive the turn it takes to use one.

Once that’s set, you’re basically locked into Physical attacks despite Lickilcky having average Special attack, so Body Slam for STAB,  then whatever you want of Power Whip, Knock Off, Earthquake, Zen Headbutt, and Hammer Arm for various forms of coverage. 

Lickiiicky does have enough bulk that a Rest/Sleep Talk/Body Slam/Earthquake lineup could be doable, but it’s still mediocre at best.

Art by Twarda8

OVERALL: 

Lickilicky is a stupid Pokemon that does nothing interesting and whose best moves aren’t attainable in the current generation.  It’s just bleh all around, and Lickitung deserved so much better, or so much worse. Either way. I have nothing good to say about Lickilicky at all.

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Justice Or Vengeance

From the moment Holy Elf first touched him, Wolf’s pain eased far more rapidly than he would have presumed it would have otherwise. In point of fact, without her assistance, it wouldn’t have eased at all. He would have simply bled to death from the two arrow wounds in him. He had her to thank for his life – her and Haou.

He’d heard of Haou before this, of course. There were few who hadn’t. He’d certainly never thought that he would meet the infamous warlord, nor that said warlord would, underneath the armor, be a barely half-grown human. That in no way made him less terrifying. In many ways it made him more so. No one that young should be that cold-hearted.

Yet Wolf wasn’t going to tell him that he couldn’t be. He did not know Haou very well, but just what he’d heard from the stories that whispered among the woodland creature, he knew it wouldn’t be taken well. So he did what anyone with sense would do – he watched and listened. He used every sense that he had to add to his store of knowledge.

He couldn’t learn as much as he wanted to at first. His wounds were closed but half-healed at best, and Holy Elf reminded him that it would take time and care before he could safely wander on his own. He would also have to be introduced to the people in Haou’s castle, so they would be aware that he lived there by Haou’s word. He’’d rather not end up thrown out by some careless servant.

In all truth, Wolf found himself quite pleased to simply curl up next to the warm fire and wait for Holy Elf to bring him a meal. Haou still was out there somewhere, and he’d promised to bring in the hunters that had slain his pack. Wolf quite looked forward to seeing them. The foul creatures that laid traps and netted the entire pack, using spells to slay them so that their bodies would not fade away too soon – so they could have their hides.

Wolf remembered every moment of that. He’d not seen it all, not with his eyes, but his nose told him the tale in all of its cruelty. He’d escaped by the barest of chances and he’d not dared to return while he still had the arrows in him. He’d gone to ground in the hopes that either he would survive or someone capable of and willing to help him would happen across him.

That latter had been what happened, though certainly not in the way that Wolf expected. He knew that there were Dryads in the forest and when he’d had the time and a clear enough head to think, he presumed one of those would be his help. Not the terrifying warlord.

Holy Elf stepped into the chamber and set a plate down next to him. “I know you prefer hunting your own, but you’re not in condition to do so for now. This should be good. If you want more, then let me know.”

Wolf eyed the offering before him: several delicious chunks of raw meat. They’d been cut down to the point he could eat them even in his current condition, and he sampled one cautiously, then quickly gulped down the rest of it. A silent servant brought in a bowl of water for him to wash it down with, and Wolf made an excellent dinner. Holy Elf remained there the whole time, watching quietly.

Once his stomach had been filled, Wolf curled a bit closer to the fire, then turned bright gold eyes onto her. “Why would Haou do this? Just for the service of a lone wolf?”

“I don’t think that had anything to do with it,” Holy Elf mused, settling into a nearby chair. It must not have been Haou’s; it was very plain, but with a single soft cushion there. “I would not say I know his mind, but if I were to guess – I think he feels more than just rage that those hunters killed your pack without permission.” She rested her hands in her lap. “That is a part of it, of course. He’s adamant that no one kills in this world without his permission. But there may be something else.”

Wolf’s ears twitched. “What do you think it is?”

“I think he seems something of himself in you. This is, of course, only a guess. There are few who know Haou well enough to guess at his true reasons for anything.”

Slowly Wolf turned that over and over in his head. “What do you mean? What would I have in common with him?”

“Loss.” Holy Elf spoke the word very low. If he didn’t have the keen hearing he did, he might not have heard her at all. “What do you know of him and how he came to power here?”

Wolf thought over what he did know. “Not much, in honesty. We only heard that he began conquering some time ago, and how ruthless he is.”

“He speaks of this to no one. Only those who were there saw it, and not all of them are here.” Holy Elf considered her words with care. “He is from another world. A world where dueling exists as a game, to bring joy to all involved. But somehow someone that he cared about came to this world and has now fallen. Exactly how, no one knows. But he and his friends came to search for their friend – and his friends also fell.”

Wolf winced, ears drooping, tail hitting the flagstones beneath him. No one he knew had ever mentioned anything like that. Haou clearly kept his past to himself.

“So he seeks to rule this world to prevent that from ever happening to anyone else. And since it did happen to you ” Holy Elf regarded him with quiet eyes. “Choose well what your revenge upon those hunters will be. Because if you leave it to Haou-sama, then they will not know peace or pleasure – or anything else – ever again.

Wolf suspected he could accept that. But he would prefer to call justice onto them with his own mouth, if not deliver it with his own claws and teeth. He yawned, sleep catching at his fur, and Holy Elf rose to her feet.

“I will let you rest.” She waved one hand around to indicate the room. “This is next to Haou's room. He will probably come here after he’s returned. Rest while you can, and as much as you can.”

Wolf nodded, curling up so his tail covered his nose, and his ears perked out to remain aware of what happened around him. This continued to be a new place to him and until he learned all of its ways, he would be cautious. His ears twitched again as Holy Elf spoke before she left.

“What I told you – speak not of it to Haou-sama. I don’t know how close to the truth it is and have heard much of it only as hearsay from those who saw him fight Brron. Spread no rumors. But what I told you is what I believe.”

Wolf twitched his ears again. “I understand.” He wasn’t sure of how much of it he understood, as humans confused him on many levels, but he could grasp not speaking to someone else of what he’d heard.

After the healing and the trip to the castle and the good meal, it really didn’t take long at all for sleep to steal over him. He didn’t know how long he slept before the noise of an army returning brought him out of his dreams, which were more of pain and howls and yips than anything else. He raised his head and sniffed; he didn’t recognize most of the smells and the noises weren’t familiar either.

He didn’t like that. Too many strangers and he wasn’t in any condition to fight or to flee. But no one seemed interested in entering the room, though he heard the noises of others walking by it. No one stopped near enough to the door for him to hear anything, and soon enough the sounds all faded away.

Wolf cast his gaze around the room. It wasn’t very big, really, but that made it a cozy lair. The fire still crackled on the hearth and a new, clean bowl of water rested near him. He lapped at it; not quite as delicious as drinking from one of the favored springs of his folk, but clean enough. No windows graced the walls, but fresh air circled regardless. Wolf searched until he spied a small area high up; that was probably where the air came from.

In front of the fire, right underneath him, spread a warm, soft rug, woven of plant fibers. Wolf sniffed at it; not a sign of death or pain in the weaving at all. He approved; he was a wolf, a predator, but death belonged only for food or defense, not for a place to rest.

He wasn’t sure of how long he rested again before another noise caught his attention. He breathed in; the air wasn’t stirring enough for him to get a full sense of who it was, but he recognized one of those voices – Haou. He spoke very little and Wolf couldn’t catch it all.

Eventually footsteps came close to the door, but these didn’t keep going. Instead, the door opened, and he saw Haou there, Holy Elf behind him. Haou strode inside and regarded Wolf carefully. Wolf tried to get up but Haou shook his head.

“There’s no need for that. Merely listen.”

Wolf raised his head. “Did you capture them?” Blood-lust sparked in his heart at the very thought. Wolf never wasted time with random hatred, but those hunters were an exception.

“Yes. They are being taken to the dungeon, to await my judgment.” Haou settled down into a second chair, this one a little more ornate. “And my judgment – is for you to decree their fate. I require lives for Super Fusion, but their lives are worthless. What I seek are duelists and the only duelists in their employ are two bodyguards. Those are mine. But the hunters are yours. Tell me what you wish.”

Wolf’s first instinct was to slay them all, as they’d done to his pack. He would happily have shredded them all, laid their throats bare to the bone. But he could manage to think a little through the rage that simmered in the back of his mind, and so he did. It could not be allowed to happen again. These hunters couldn’t be allowed to keep on hurting others.

He lowered his head, resting it on his crossed paws. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Killing them would end their slaughter. But would it teach them anything?”

“That their choices were foolish and they should have learned better?” Haou suggested with the faintest hint of dryness. Wolf chuffed.

“But they could do nothing with the lesson.” Wolf closed his eyes, thinking. Haou said nothing but Wolf sensed his regard nevertheless. A lesson that could be taught so that no one else would deal with this ever again – he could not help but think of what Holy Elf told him. His nose told him she still stood in the room, quiet and watchful. Perhaps she would not approve of death and destruction. It had been at Haou’s command, but – he didn’t know.

Finally a thought occurred to him. He would have to be careful with how he asked. Haou might well fly into a rage.

“Haou-sama,” he said, “is there anyone that you wish found? Those who have escaped your justice?”

Haou didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back, eyes focused on the ceiling for several moments before he said anything else. “Yes.”

“Then this is what I request – send them after those you seek. Let them hunt for you. Make certain that from now on, they obey your laws no matter what. If they fail in that – then they must die.” A chance – that was what he would give them. The chance that they hadn’t given his pack.

Haou again remained silent, presumably turning the thought over in his mind. Then he nodded. “Very well. So shall it be.”

Wolf turned around on his rug, getting more comfortable as he did. He could still face Haou from this direction and he did so. “What is it that you want of me, now that we’ve settled that?”

“Nothing yet, beyond healing. If you are to be of service, you must be healed.” Haou turned towards him. “But afterwards, we can discuss what you can do for me.”

Wolf’s jaws gaped open into a brief smile. Then he closed his eyes. “To heal is to sleep, and to sleep is to heal,” he murmured softly. “If I may, Haou-sama.”

He heard Haou rising and walking out. Holy Elf brushed her fingers across his fur. “I will come back later for more treatments for you,” she murmured. “But until then, sleep well.”

Wolf followed that order without hesitation.

Measuring time wasn’t easy in Dark World. It never had been. Whispers of a glowing ball of fire called “the sun” spread always, in children’s tales and long ago legends. Only the comet arched across the sky, brightening and dimming to mark the passage of time.

The comet darkened and brightened seven times as Wolf recovered from his injuries. Holy Elf brought him food and water every day, worked healing spells over him, and offered him potions to improve his health. He rested in the warm room as much as he could, and on the seventh day, he found himself wandering around, stretching his muscles, aching to go out and do something.

Haou visited him every day. He didn’t speak all the time – Wolf learned quickly that he spoke only when he had something to say. Meaningless chatter wasn’t his way. What he also learned was that many duel spirits dwelled within Haou’s deck, chief among them a tiny Hane Kuriboh.

Hane Kuriboh snuggled against him a few times, clearly keeping an eye on him for Haou’s sake. On that day when he itched for more space to do something, the flying fluff-ball watched him from the chair. Wolf sniffed at the door.

“I can tell Juudai that you want out of here,” Hane Kuriboh said. The language was clear to Wolf, though a human likely wouldn’t have heard anything except whistles and chirps. Wolf turned towards him.

“Who?” He’d never heard that name. Even Hane Kuriboh seemed almost to whisper it and Hane Kuriboh never seemed to fear anything.

“I mean Haou. That’s his real name – Juudai.” Hane Kuriboh ruffled his feathers. “He doesn’t like me to use it now though.”

Wolf eyed the door again, then back to Hane Kuriboh. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Haou was a title, after all. He should have had a name like anyone else.

“I need to get out. I need to get into condition again,” Wolf said, stretching as carefully as he could. He wasn’t close to getting fat yet but if he kept on eating and no exercise, then it would happen. He was a wolf. He wasn’t going to get fat.

Hane Kuriboh nodded then quickly rose up and passed through the door. Wolf almost envied him – not every spirit could do that. Technically he was a spirit and if he’d been in a different world, he might have been able to do the same trick. In this world, he was as solid as he could be.

Wolf paced more and more, pent-up energy raging through him, held back only because he knew that howling wouldn’t accomplish anything, nor would tearing up everything. His instincts demanded he do it anyway but he’d always prided himself on being ruled by his mind.

It didn’t take long for the door to open and there Haou stood, Hane Kuriboh hovering at his shoulder. He solemnly observed Wolf for a few seconds.

“Holy Elf has decreed you healed,” Haou said. “Hane Kuriboh says that you want out of here?”

“I need exercise to be fully recovered,” Wolf said. “I need to run – and hunt my own food.” Unlike those hunters, he hunted only for what he needed, never taking more than he required. He’d not heard from them or about them in the last seven crossings of the comet. Not that he especially cared to. He presumed if they had disobeyed Haou, then they would already be dead in the most painful of ways.

Haou nodded, then gestured to the door. “You are free to come and go as you please. Though inform Hane Kuriboh or Holy Elf if you choose to leave the castle.”

Wolf nodded, then bared his teeth into a wolf’s grin. “I’m leaving the castle. I will return – later.” He really didn’t know when. He just wanted to run, to feel the wind in his fur and taste the freedom of being at his peak again.

With nothing more than that, he leaped past Haou and headed for the nearest source of fresh air. That was the way out. Soon enough he bounded out of the front gates and across the bridge that stretched over the lava pool. He memorized each sight and sound and smell, ready to use them to get back here eventually. He had, after all, given his word.

Again he lost track of time, but this was more because he didn’t care to keep track than because he slept so much. He wandered deep into the forest after crossing the plains, taking pleasure in drinking from wild streams and hunting down a quick meal. He enjoyed the taste of wild rabbit more than the meat that Holy Elf gave to him, but it was more because he’d taken the meal for himself than anything else.

The comet’s light began to decrease and he considered either finding a place to bed down for the night or returning to Haou’s castle. A tiny cave offered decent lair-space and he chose, curling up into it and ready to rest until the light grew stronger.

Sometime in the middle of the darkness, a noise woke him. He didn’t open his eyes but twitched his ears, listening. What he heard didn’t please him at all.

“How far are we to Haou’s castle? I’m hungry and my feet hurt.” Whoever spoke whined more than anything else. Wolf automatically didn’t like them.

“Close enough. We’ll be there by the time the comet is bright again.” This voice rang a little stronger and more certain. “We’ll be finished before much longer.”

“I hope so.” The first voice sighed. “Can we really get in there and do this? I’ve heard his armies are vast and they’ll kill you on sight.”

The second person snorted. “I don’t care. Kill me or not, I’m going to go down fighting.”

Wolf had to admire that part, at least the tiniest bit. Slowly he stood up and moved to the front of his tiny cave. He could see two people walking by, close enough for him to smell and hear, though if they had the same dull senses of humans, they had no idea that he was there at all.

He slipped out of his cave and followed along, listening intently. It became evident what they sought – Haou’s life. He’d crushed their village not that long ago, and they’d only survived by dint of not having been there at the time. Now they came here in search of vengeance. They each carried duel disks, but from the way they moved, they weren’t truly warriors. Wolf shook his head. They would die, and die horribly, if they kept on going.

He couldn’t allow that.

Slowly Wolf began to growl. He kept it low at first, then raised it higher and higher, until the two of them stopped, clinging to one another, and turned around in every direction nervously until the whiner spied him and jumped with a squeak.

“There! There it is!” One shaky hand pointed there. “It’s a wolf, isn’t it?”

Wolf wrinkled his lips back from his teeth. “I am Wolf. And you two seek your own deaths – there are easier ways to give up one’s life than this.”

The other one shook her head fiercely, braids lashing at her cheeks. “You don’t know what happened Haou – he killed everyone!”

“He does that.” Wolf agreed. “And you will join their number if you continue. That will do nothing to bring back those you’ve lost or to honor them. Turn back.”

The braided warrior took a step forward. “And what if we don’t? Do you work for Haou? Are you going to tell him about us?”

“One might say that. But it doesn’t matter. Turn back. Find another place to live and remember those who fell.” Wolf drooped his head. “You are not like me. You have each other. You can build a new life.” It wasn’t impossible that he could find another Wolf but it would begin a new pack not revive the old one.

“Maybe he’s right,” the whiner murmured. “We’re not strong enough to fight them. You’ve heard all the stories. I can’t even duel.” She stared down at her duel disk. “I wouldn’t last the first turn. I told you that.”

The braided one wavered. Wolf took the chance to say something else. “If you truly seek vengeance, then go – and return another day when you’ve learned how to fight and you can make a better plan than walking to his fortress and – what? Demanding that he duel you?”

She drooped her head. “It was the best that I could do. He’ll duel anyone, won’t he? I would at least have the chance to try.”

Wolf sighed to himself. These were cubs – not even as old as Haou himself seemed to be. “Fighting someone like Haou isn't a chance. It’s a sentence of death. Find others who can train you. Find a home to call your own. Come back another day.”

The two of them hesitated only another few moments before they darted away in a different direction entirely. Wolf relaxed. They might still die if they returned on another day but they wouldn’t die today and it wouldn't be a slaughter. Cubs needed to grow out their teeth and claws before they tried to fight grown enemies.

But now he could feel the comet beginning to rise in strength and he found himself longing for the warm rug and the sounds of Haou’s castle. He watched in the direction the two would-be warriors vanished off to until he could be sure they’d not return, then turned and loped back to Haou’s castle.

The End

Notes: So, I wrote this for Free Day. I’m beginning to like Wolf!

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Little Red Riding Hood

A/N: Another Halloween one lovelies!! 🎃

Warnings: Language, mildly suggestive themes

>>>>—————————>

Black Mask was extremely aggravating at this precise moment in time, of course the dealer always was but for Jason, now in particular, he had reached another level.

"Aw, Little Red Riding Hood is off her game." Roman taunted further.

The vigilante shot in frustration, the wistful gun smoke mirroring his anger perfectly - there was a reason for the unusual mockery but Jason hadn't figured it out yet.

"Fuck off old man, I'm not in the mood!"

A sudden whistle rebounded off of the walls, the action seemingly harmless at first glance leading Jason to reposition his twin pistols toward a cornered Black Mask once more wearing a smirk under his helmet.

Although, a low warning growl echoed in the silence drawing his attention and eliciting maniacal laughter from the master who called it - deadly crimson irises sparkling in the moonlight and silky matte black fur flowing with the oversized predators movements. An array of questions and string of curses ravaged Red's mind as it prowled around him, the play on Red Riding Hood making much more sense now faced with the Big Bad Wolf - how Roman Sionis acquired such a creature remaining unknown.

The beast displayed a healing factor, recovering from bullet wounds in record time as well as maintaining fluent speed and agility Jason could barely keep up with. Although, through cunning he was able to shoot overhead wires to send multiple heavy steel poles toppling down on the creature with a pained whine. Without waiting for the wolf to awaken, Red Hood was hunting Roman down to finally track him to his escape helicopter on the roof until holding him at gunpoint that is. However, when you stumbled through the door panting heavily and glaring at Black Mask - the villain found an alternate bargaining chip. A shrill scream escaped your lips once you felt the piercing bullet through your shoulder and caused you to lean against the doorframe holding your injury.

"You're such a dick Roman!" Venom laced your tone, practically spitting his name like the bile he was before fading into unconsciousness.

"Ah ah, now Red Riding Hood... you can kill me, or save the civilian." Black Mask held the upper hand, there is no way Red Hoods conscience would allow him to let an innocent die, you looked rough already with claw gashes decorating your clothing as well as the blood sinking down your torso. Probably a victim of that beast he'd fought earlier, leverage for some addict Roman dealt to who couldn't pay up - you were undeserving of this situation.

.

You awoke with a deep breathe, immediately sitting upright causing a brief dizzy spell. The surroundings were unfamiliar, various blankets coated your body as well as bandages encircling you waist and shoulder which were briskly removed revealing no signs of injury at all - quirks of a werewolf you suppose. However, such phenomenons would be considered suspicious by even Gotham standards and as a result you rewrapped them just in case.

At that moment a handsome young man strolled into your space, carrying clean bandages and pain killers, the sight surprising to see considering his less than emasculate association with Red Hood you supposed.

"You're up then stranger." Your only response was an acknowledging hum to which he didn't seem to mind. Although as soon a he reached for your wrapping you were quick to stand, backing away with a defensive stance.

"Don't touch me."

"Tch, you took a damn bullet! I’m gonna call the hospital." He chastised, not much care to his tone.

"No! I'm fine, the bandages are fine - thanks and I've gotta go."

"Then, I'm getting you back to wherever you came from or else Mask is just gonna hunt you down again dumbass. Luckily for you that bullet took out whatever device he planted in your shoulder." The stranger sarcastically replied, crossing his arms with an exasperated sigh.

You gently traced your shoulder, knowing he no longer had control over you anymore. "Heh, he has crap aim when he’s panicking and thanks Red but I’ll be doing the hunting.”

"The names Jason." He acted indifferent but you could hear his heartbeat increase.

"Red Hood, Jason - same thing, what would you prefer me to call you? Little Red Riding Hood perhaps?" You gave a mischievous smirk, both scents identical to your finely tuned nose. Jason looked defeated, released a bored sigh and disregarded all pretences.

"Tch. Anyway, Roman’s heading out to Santa Prisca in a few weeks so I’ve got that covered and you can be on your way.”

“Perfect, I owe him a bullet. Don’t even try to argue, I’m both resourceful and strong enough to get there on my own regardless - I also know the Santa Prisca base inside out.” You posed a valid justification, albeit still wasn’t enough for him to trust you but that meant you were on the same page.

“For fucks sake...” Any other time he would’ve left tag alongs behind but for some strange instinctive reason, he didn’t think that’d be an option with you.

.

It required teamwork, a gathering of intel and resources - some of which you acquired via intimidation, crimson irises and razor fangs were persuasive - not that you allowed your unwilling partner to bear witness to such atrocities. Although you suspected he had suspicions regarding your mysterious uncanny ability to retrieve answers yet chose to ignore it.

In time you found yourselves standing in the mist of Santa Prisca’s dense forestry under a veil of stars, you’d arrived later than expected and despite Jason’s determined nature you’d pestered him enough to let you rest until midnight. Of course at that point, you’d have additional power with the full moon revealing itself.

Unfortunately lighting a campfire left you at risk of being detected at such close proximity to their base, but it wasn’t an issue as your natural body temperature kept you warm and as a result you were curled up at the base of a tree in no time. However, your sleep was disturbed when a sudden rush of heat seeped through your body and upon opening your eyes caught a glimpse of Jason strolling away with a stretch before lying on the ground, arms tucked behind his head and gaze towed at the starry sky. Your brows furrowed, not sure as to why he’d felt the urge to drape his jacket over your sleeping form rather than keep it for himself - besides he needed it more. With a huff, you stood up and walked over to him only to throw it back on his chest.

“What the- it’s called chivalry!” Jason begrudgingly whisper yelled after jumping from the unexpected interruption.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from over there and I can’t sleep so shut up and warm up.” Was your heartless reply, smirking as your friend rolled his eyes but as you went back to your spot, it seemed his temperature hadn’t risen as much as you’d liked.

Again you returned, this time stripping your own jacket which left more of your heated skin exposed and placed it over him before lying against his side, head on his chest and arm laid on his waist - more heat radiating from your body in order to warm him up.

“(Y/n) what the hell are you doing?! I’m fine!” Jason was incredibly tense, edging away from you purely due to shock as he justified himself.

“It’s chivalry or whatever, trust me.” With your quiet but stern counter, he couldn’t deny how addicting your warmth was and despite his reservations his body was attracted to your warmth like a magnet.

Soon enough his heart rate lowered, muscles comfortably relaxing as he’d subconsciously embraced your presence and had in fact drifted off to sleep before you did much to your amusement.

Midnight rolled around, your biological clock waking you and forcing your irises to glow a deep crimson but your movements whilst you sat up stirred Jason, since you’d slipped out of his grip, who caught a glimpse of them as you’d turned away - instantly he’d pulled you back, grasping your jaw to face him only to find your natural eye colour glaring back.

“I sleep with you once and you think you can kiss me whenever you want?”

“I wasn’t gonna - your eyes were - lets just get moving.” He snapped from his thoughts, too flustered to form a coherent sentence and instantly removed himself to find his helmet muttering something under his breath.

.

Upon entering the base, you found yourselves before Black Mask, unconscious henchmen in your wake thanks to your turbulent teamwork.

"How cute, it took longer than I expected but my little lap dog brought you here anyway. Too bad Red Hood." At his words and beckoning whistle, you stepped toward him as Mask ordered...

Like countless times before, you found your body configuring to its alternative form, silky black fur cascading down your back with a deadly snarl echoing across the island landscape.

"Interesting thing with wolves Hood, they have loyalty. Now kill 'im (Y/n)!" You prowled around Roman, standing beside the man who now held the upper hand with his greatest weapon by his side.

"(Y/n)?!" Jason was unreadable, the helmet making sure of that but you could hear the betrayal in his voice, an underlying tone of hurt accompanied your name whilst he silently pleaded with you. Though your focus was no longer on him, a glare was directed at your tail that appeared to be wagging due to Jason's attention - god no.

At least you could hide a crush when not wolfing out, this was just embarrassing... before anyone could notice the uncharacteristic behaviour you chose to speak, voice an octave lower than your usual one.

"Interesting thing about loyalty Roman, it has to be earned. And the Red Hood has most definitely earned mine... you however? Not so much."

Jason lowered his guns as a scattered Roman tumbled to the floor in a failed attempt to scramble away after you savagely barked at him, a large paw on his chest to pin him in place and pearly incisors centimetres from his terrified face.

“...So do I have to get you a collar now, because, I mean... I will...” The vigilante quipped, no doubt less than decent purposes occupying his mind as you sighed in exasperation, looking up at him with a deadly gaze before walking past and ensuring to swish your oversized tail in his face as you went leaving him to a defeated crime lord.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

.

By the time you’d morphed back and returned to the balcony in a stolen soldiers jacket and spare bottoms from your supplies you found Mask hung from the roof and gagged for the authorities to collect. Jason had waited for you and started on the path back to where you’d arrived on the island in silence, supposedly neither of you knowing what to say to each now alone. However, you felt at ease considering he hadn’t left without you even if it was mildly awkward.

“So that’s why you were so warm...” His voice was calm but quiet, though his words caused you to look up at him and answer somewhat guiltily.

“Yeah.”

“And the interrogations?”

“Yeah...”

“Hm.” It was simple, Jason still processing the information whilst silence once again took over the two of you as the walk continued. His expression remaining contemplative but accepting since he’d removed his helmet.

"Your eyes are beautiful by the way, I couldn’t say that earlier since you wanted to kiss me and all.” Jason wore a kind smile now, sensing your silent self hatred he’d playfully knocked your arm in order to stir a heartier reply.

"Oh you’re hilarious, how you honour me damned prince of Gotham." And he got one.

“Great to sleep with and funny too, you're the whole package aren't you furball?" It seemed as though the snarky exchanges had returned, bringing with them a sense of reassuring normalcy again.

“You’re just upset that you woke up as the little spoon Red Riding Hood.” You rolled your eyes with a challenging smirk, winking at Jason who only returned the gesture.

“Hey, there’s nothin wrong with that - besides it’s your turn next Big Bad Wolf.”

“Bite me.”

“Just tell me where and how hard, I might surprise you wolfie.” His flirtatious comments left you flushed but hadn’t left you defenceless.

“You can shiver tonight.”

[sunquail]

999 daemon AU

I know most of the draw in daemon AU fanfics is people reading them to find out what the daemons are but I'm not very good at writing prose, and I've been trying to write a series of zero escape daemon AU oneshots for over a year now. and like discussing them here in a post will spoil any element of mystery if I ever do get around to writing that fic, but hey it's probably fine. I've put a lot of thought and stuff into them and I wanna share 'em!!!

(NOTE: I do daemoncasting based on analysis of the animal's behaviour and applying that to the person's behaviour rather than application of animal symbolism, since the former is more objective and the latter can vary throughout cultures and personal interpretations. but also if something works out aesthetically and symbolically who am I to question a gift horse you know?)

(ALSO this contains spoilers so uh heads up on that my dudes)

Ace - mountain chicken frog Name Unknown, golden monkey style. mountain chicken frogs are patient and competitive and persistent, which is pretty much required for an ambition like his. but being an amphibian, they're also kinda thin-skinned and sensitive, and considering how easy it is to rile Hongou up? dang. most importantly though...cute frog grandpa where it turns out the frog is a jerk. nice.

Snake - zonetailed hawk I noted him down being called Mørke, mostly because it's danish, like Niels Bohr, and I was like haha...light and dark...haha...and also, haha, snake eyes, hawk eyes...blind...hahaha... Mørke is the only settled daemon in the first nonary game, since he's the oldest kid there. also, male daemon, just because. I picked a zonetailed hawk because they're extremely well-suited to their lifestyle - they're efficient and adaptable and can handle a wide number of different environments and situations. they have a manipulative streak notable by the fact they often fly with turkey vultures to blend in with them, to look like them to prey on the ground. vultures don't concern living animals, so by the time the hawk gets close enough it's too late for them to run. that bitch will sneak in and fuck you up so fast. also? PROTECTIVE AS HELL. fuck you if you get near their nests.

Santa - ermine this one's a no brainer. stoats are the exact midpoint between predator and prey, which means they're cunning and resourceful, but also extremely defensive and vicious when they feel backed into a corner. they're hardy, when the going gets tough they can really stick it out. her name is Tachi, which goes with Aoi's name - tachiaoi is the full name for the kind of hollyhock in a lot of family emblems in Japan, iirc? then you switch it around, aoi-tachi is like...Aoi's squad. I'm pretty sure I read that 'tachi' is gay slang in Japan also. that's always a bonus. Tachi settles on the lifeboat while escaping the sinking gigantic.

Clover - longhaired chihuahua she HAS to have a cute but terrifying little dog. also kind of a no brainer. sweet, but shrill and defensive and bold. very very dependent on their people. kind of prissy. I named him Dandelion, but any kind of cute plant name would work, probably. dandelions are common weeds but they're hardy and fluffy!!!

Junpei - carrion crow here's a bird that's good at puzzle solving but also rolls around in the garbage! crows are great at working in teams and they're close-bonding with each other, such as when you finally see your childhood girlfriend again and are still crazy in love with her, but also when you really hit it off with a guy you've known for like two hours tops. her name is Meian, Mei for short. her name means light and darkness, and can be used in a phrase that means "to decide the outcome of a game", which is super cool? snow has the notes on Mei's name. but here's the important parts - mei can also mean puzzle, as well as mei sounding like may, the fifth month, and mei also rhyming with pei. IT'S IMPORTANT.

June - screech owl his name is Mu! the first character of murasaki, and on its own meaning "zero" or "nothingness". owls are just Neat, they're extremly efficient and well-evolved for what they do. they look cute, and they're again, close-bonding and affectionate with their partners, but they will absolutely just murder the fuck out of you. screech owls are resourceful planners - males spend a lot of time placing food in nest sites for females. Mu doesn't settle until after the second nonary game in true end, when Akane and Aoi are escaping by themselves - this is really late for a daemon to settle, but so long as Akane is in her schroedinger state, her daemon doesn't really settle either. during the second nonary game Mu takes the shape of a rabbit, to keep up the whole June persona facade.

Seven - marine otter I looked into a lot of dogs for Seven, mostly independent breeds like jindos and such, but something about them didn't really fit. most otters are too outgoing for Seven, but marine otters are more reserved while still retaining that confidence that they all have. I checked independent dog breeds, such as jindos and akitas, but otters have more of that Classic Seven Playfulness than the aggression independent dogs can have. Seven's a protector rather than an aggressor - otters are notoriously laid back. ocean otters are super thick skinned to keep 'em warm, and have great senses for finding food (or orphans in a boat). plus, otters are a lot stealthier than dogs, let's see you get a dog through a goddamn vent. she probably only goes by a codename, like Seven.

Lotus - secretary bird this is one of those daecasts where you take one look at an animal and go "yep, that's right". look at them. they're glossy and sexy and severe, they'll murder a snake if it so much LOOKS at them. Hazuki will THROW THE HELL DOWN for her people. you'll notice many of these daetypes are birds, and that's because a load of birds are monogamous and god FUCKING forbid anyone says Hazuki isn't loyal to her people - but nobody else. she's out for herself and only herself if you don't win her over. secs aren't the kinds of birds to waste time on something that isn't worth it. combine that with the viciousness a sec has and you got her. they're pretty calculating, knowing the perfect spot to stomp a snake on in order to kill it immediately. HE NEEDS...A FANCY NAME...I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT WOULD BE.

Ninth man - I Dunno Dude He Has Like Twenty Minutes Of Screentime NOT a rodent, they're fighty bastards. maybe some kind of shitty bird that lives in his hair? that'd be cute. a lot of animals traditionally called cowardly are actually really resourceful and cool, so hmm. maybe something like an armadillo that just curls up when it's scared rather than fighting back? I dunno. I'm working on him. I'd love for him to be something that isn't a damn mammal or a bird, but for the only non-mammal/bird to get killed in the first half hour? that'd suck.

I GUESS I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD DO SOME ART AS WELL?? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD DO SOMETHING ANYWAY. I'M TRYING TO WRITE I PROMISE!!! ANYWAY THERE'S MY THOUGHTS, MAYBE ART WHEN I’M LESS SUPER BUSY AND WRITES IF I CAN GET OFF MY BUTT. THANK U

[youngster-monster]

Cardinal sins, deadly virtues

 Patience is the mother of all vices.

Kael’thas likes to think he’s a patient man. No one has ever accused him of being cool-headed before — fire mages have a reputation to uphold — and he doesn’t necessarily put thoughts into everything he does or says, but he was raised for diplomacy and leadership, and leniency is par for the course. He was a professor at the Kirin Tor for a while, too, and you don’t make it to such a career without learning some tolerance for mages’ shenanigans, which prepare you for anything.

And maybe Rommath would rather call him ‘long-suffering’ than patient, but is there such a difference, really? As long as it keeps him from pyroblasting impudent noblemen for wasting his time, he thinks it’s fair game to call it patience.

But there’s a time in those endless, mostly-pointless hours of talking in circles — a moment, you see, a point, where it gets a little old to hear another of Sylvanas’ diatribes against the Alliance. He gets a little tired, a little done with her shit.

And most people are unaware of what a tired Kael’thas is like, because it’s rare for him to agree to be in the presence of anyone alive while tired. The royal guards has been called countless times during his studies after his professors or fellow students at the Kirin Tor believed him to have been abducted, while he had in fact holed up in the darkest, most isolated corner of the place, hissing at whoever dares to approach, gripping his thirtieth cup of tar-black coffee in a white knuckled grip.

(Metaphorically, of course. He has standards. But he does tend to isolate himself… Or force people to isolate him by being an ill-tempered, insufferable, easily irritated prick until he finally passes out from sheer exhaustion.)

Point is, a tired Kael’thas is not a pleasant experience for anyone concerned. But it’s usually because he gets irritable, and it is a dangerous trait to find in an already volatile mage whose sleeping habit have only worsened his temper. It’s not a problem unless you actively seek him out, which is a hard task in and on itself for reasons previously mentioned.

It’s not the worst experience one can have with Kael’thas, or rather as an innocent and unfortunate bystander to him.

As a sidenote, it is often said that, whereas most people eventually reach a point where they learn a modicum of self-preservation, mages usually bypass that stage of their life. It takes a special kind of suicidal tendencies to learn magic, after all. But it’s not quite true. Indeed, there is no one in the Kirin Tor who hasn’t met Kael’thas’ ringed eyes from across the room, seen the deep, burning rage in them, and subsequently found in themselves the capacity to love and cherish life enough to develop a survival instinct and vacate the premise as fast as possible while wearing robes.

That is because, of the people who have lingered in the presence of a Kael’thas who was both sleep-deprived and deeply irritated, few have survived to tell the tale and then agreed to remain at a distance under a few dozen miles from him. What happened to them is not discussed; it is not mentioned; it is not thought of. Everyone knows enough to fear it. More importantly, everyone knows better than to stay around the prince when he is on the warpath.

Because a tired Kael’thas might seek the silence and darkness of isolation, but that is nothing more than a byproduct of too many pre-finals weeks-long cramming sessions where the slightest sound in the library is answered by the unhinged hissing of terrified, stressed out mages. A pissed-off Kael’thas, on the other hand, seeks out confrontation, actively searches for social interaction, usually with one (and only one) goal in mind.

Murder. Or, this failing, severe bodily arm; any kind of maiming, really, be it physical or psychological.

(And maybe this has been blown out of proportions by years’ worth of new students learning in hushed whisper of the hair-trigger temper of their professor, but even Rommath avoids him in that state and that should tell you all you need to know about it, really.)

Here is a recipe for a disaster:

Kael’thas likes to think he is a patient man. In reality, he is everything but.

There is nothing in this world or whichever other one they are portal-traveling to lately that calls for more patience than peace summits and the stubborn, dim-witted, narrow-minded leaders that they gather. The same debates and arguments go in endless circles, no progress is ever made, and there is no surer way to rile him up faster than pointless, boring discussions.

And, apart from the mages and blood elves in the vicinity, no one else is aware of the danger of riling Kael’thas up.

(In all honesty it’s not their fault they didn’t think to bring it up. To them it is obvious, a fact learned early out of necessity: for all his genius and leniency, it is neither hard nor safe to irritate Kael’thas. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be aware of that?)

(Well to be fair one of them has willingly withheld this information: Rommath, who has bet on Kael’thas being the first to actually, physically snap and plans to makes himself very rich. It’s about time the Alliance realizes why they have nicknamed their king the phoenix.)

Now, it’s only a matter of who will make him snap.

In hindsight it’s obvious that it would be Genn who would do them the honor.

After a particularly difficult bout of negotiations which ended up leading nowhere but took hours out of everyone’s time, you would be hard pressed to find anyone present who wasn’t on edge. Lor’themar, who has reluctantly agreed to sit at his king’s side for those summits to offer him his more level-headed output, is honestly too tired to be angry at the waste of time. But a glance at the faces of those surrounding him tells him his case is more of an exception than a rule. Kael’thas’ expression is especially drawn, taunt in a way that speaks of grinding teeth and jaws locked around a snarl. His lips are twisted in the tense approximation of a smile, and when he absentmindedly licks his teeth it’s more a discrete display of barely-restrained aggressiveness than the thoughtful reflex it usually is.

Lor’themar glances around a second time and, deciding they are no longer needed — at this point they are only stuck here because of the small talk that ends each meeting, and it’s not out of character for Kael’thas to cut those short — he ushers his king out of the room, taking care not to touch him.

“I’ll be on the training grounds,” he tells Lor’themar, voice devoid of emotion in what is a frankly impressive show of restraint.

“Do you want me to send for Rommath?”

A pause as Kael’thas, agitated, curls his hands into fists and then forcefully relaxes them. “… No.”

“Very well, my lord.”

He watches his king stride off and can’t help a relieved sigh. That’s one crisis averted. He’s impressed Kael’thas managed to hold it together for so long. He really is growing into his role of king, becoming more and more like his father each day.

He winces as, down the corridor, a large door is wrenched open and, shortly after, slammed shut with so much force it makes the walls shake.

There’s still a long way to go.

-

If there is one advantage to the peace summits taking place in Silvermoon — the closest thing Azeroth has to a neutral city, the blood elves having enough history with both factions to agree to have every racial leader in their capital city and enough space to house the Forsaken delegation far away from everyone else — it is that, if the training grounds of the palace weren’t empty before, they definitely are by the time Kael’thas settles in the center of one with his sword in hand.

Blood elves have already learned this lesson the hard way and it doesn’t take much for the foreigners present to imitate them when they run away at the sight of their king.

Kael’thas unceremoniously drops his parade armor to the side, keeping nothing on but his pants and boots. Felo’melorn hums in his hand as he lifts it above his head, shifting into the position of his first fallah ishnu — battle dance, the choreographed training exercises that are at the basis of most sin’dorei martial arts.

He works through the familiar steps as slowly as he can, focusing on the burn in his muscles from the strain of the tightly controlled movements rather than the anger that burns equally hot in his guts. It’s a welcome distraction, the frustration fueling his exercise until every gesture is as fluid and as precise as those of a prowling predator.

Sweat covers his bare skin, rolling down his face as he breathes in slowly, holds it in, and then release the air in synchronization with the downward curve of his blade.

It freezes in place with the rest of his body at the sound of the voice.

"In the mood for a friendly spar, lord Kael'thas?"

The particular emphasis on the one word only means something if he cares to attribute a meaning to it. Unfortunately, Kael'thas is pissed, and all too happy to have it mean something unpleasant that will fuel his anger.

"Of course, lord Greymane," he replies, saccharine-sweet. "Do you need a moment to get ready?"

The human lets his coat and shirt drops, takes his own sword and rolls his shoulders, grinning ruefully. It's as much of an answer as Kael'thas needs.

Genn might have expected him to play on the defensive, but Kael'thas' character does not belong among the few things the mutt knows. Kael'thas throws himself at him sword first, embers trailing in his wake as he brings down Felo'melorn in a wide arc. Genn blocks it but his eyes widen in slight surprise before narrowing, feral glee briefly glinting in his golden irises.

It is soon to disappear, however. Kael'thas doesn't allow him a second of respite, not the slightest opening to counter-attack, not a single breath to gather his wit. He attacks relentlessly, alternating between quick, precise strikes and brute strength to drive him back. Genn's foot slides on the dusty ground and Kael'thas dives forward, swiping his feet from under him; Genn falls in a side roll as he hits the ground, narrowly avoiding a blow that might have landed right next to his neck or right through it, depending on how merciful Kael’thas is feeling towards his diplomats today.

Kael'thas might appear similar to any of the young mages sent by the Kirin Tor, but he is older than Genn by decades and all this time has given him the opportunity to master swordsmanship in a way human can only manage in a lifetime. By his people's standards he is already good; if he were human, he'd be a prodigy. Moreover, elves are predators by nature, their trollish ancestry still visible in the sharpness of their teeth and the uncanny strength of their lithe forms. Human stereotypes of frail spellcasters don't apply to them, who have built their culture on magic and death.

(There is a reason so many sin'dorei dances involve swords.)

But Genn might be dumber than he wants you to believe, he still has a beast's instinct, and in that second of near-death it overtakes him, and by the time he stands to his feet again he has shifted into his wolf form, white fur bristling as he growls.

The fight is more even after that, the worgen's inhuman strength allowing him to go toe-to-toe with Kael'thas' own. They trade blows back and forth, sparks flying when their swords collide. Kael'thas finds himself smiling, although it is less for pleasure of the fight and more at the pleasant thought of Genn's face when he’ll win.

And then the wolf decides to fight dirty, and throws a fistful of sand in his face.

It's not enough to blind him, barely enough to distract him, but it gives Genn a bare second of opening which he takes full advantage of. Kael'thas dodges a swipe of his claws nimbly and misses the other hand, which lets go of the sword to catch him by the shoulder and throw him backward. Genn's foot trips him, and he goes down before he realizes it.

Dust flies when his back hits the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The full weight of the wolfed-out worgen dropping on his stomach doesn't help, nor does the claws curling around his throat, digging threateningly against the soft flesh of his neck.

"Do you yield?" Genn growls, voice distorted by a too-long muzzle and too-sharp fangs.

He should — the other king won fair and square, after all. And, were it any other time, he would: Kael'thas might be proud, but he doesn't hold victory in such trivial matters so high that he would refuse a fair defeat.

But this is not any other time. Kael'thas is angry, and tired, frustrated deep to his bones, blood burning with fury that has been building up for weeks now.

Everybody should know it is not a good idea to approach him when he is angry.

His eyes flash bright gold for a brief second, barely the span of a blink. He snarls, feral like a cornered animal, and he digs his nails in Genn's side.

"Never," he grits out before fire engulfs them.

The spell — more of an explosion than a true fireball, really — throws the worgen king far from him, rolling in the dirt with the impact. He is singed, not badly wounded but hurt enough that he stays sprawled there a moment.

"You never said I could not use magic," Kael'thas says breezily, walking to his abandoned clothes as if nothing had happened. "But I thought I would go easy on you."

With that he puts his shirt back on, throws the rest over his arm and walks off. With some chance, this would prove to be a teaching moment to the man, and their little talks will maybe get somewhere next time.

(Off to the side, Rommath leans toward Khadgar and says, "You owe me fifty gold."

On Khadgar’s other side Illidan stands silent, staring at Kael'thas' retreating back with a strange expression on his face. There is a hint of dark purple on his cheeks, a blush that would go unnoticed by anyone else, and Rommath grins.

Kael'thas is far from being a patient man, but Illidan doesn't seem to mind.)

[angelaiswriting]

The Assistant (6 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[original picture: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings:

(eventual) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader

Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina)

probably other pairings in the future

✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01  : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.

✏️ A/N: we’re finally inside Y/N’s mind in this chapter! Btw I hope this story doesn’t suck and that it makes sense.

✏️ Warnings: mention + talks of murder, death in general, probably angst (but isn’t this story a pile of angst?) and I think that’s it. Tell me if anything triggers you and I’ll add it.

✏️ Word-count: 4,200 

REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛

📚 To read the previous chapters, click on the MASTERLIST link in my bio (unfortunately I can’t put links here if I want my post to come up in search results. I apologize.)

CHAPTER SIX: TRUST ISSUES

“What the fuck?”

Y/N’s choked scream came as a surprise. On one thing, Vladimir Ranskahov had been right: she had never seen a corpse and now that she stood just meters from four, she couldn’t help the trembling in her legs.

When the men turned around, diverting their attention from the four criminals at their feet, they saw she had left the security of the car. Surprisingly enough, she had been the first to react and as she stared at them with eyes full of shock and fear, Vladimir was the second.

His brain was working a thousand miles an hour and as his fingers tightened around the grip of his gun, he thought he could shoot her down. A bullet between the eyes and all would be over with. But the more he stared, the more his rational mind fought that urge, and the more his anger boiled and screamed throughout his whole body.

How was it that the first–and hopefully last–time they brought her along, they almost got played like some kids? She comes, she does her juju with the phone signal and Dobos is ready to try his luck and overthrow him.

Before his rational mind had the time to realize it, he had her pinned against the side of the car, the hot muzzle of his gun just a breath away from kissing her temple.

And suddenly, all was calm once again. His mind had stopped racing, his blood had stopped boiling, his breath had evened out. His hold was gentle on the gun, the coarse surface of its grip a soothing caress against his cold palm. There wasn’t the sudden surge of adrenaline he got during a fight, nor the buzzing enthusiasm of anticipation coursing through his muscles. There was calm. He was calm, for the world had gone silent and all he could hear was the soft whisper of her breath against his chin.

“Do you have anything to do with this?” The tone of his voice burned harder than the still warm muzzle of his gun near her skin, but she didn’t dare move away. Nor speak up.

“Let her go.”

Anatoly had finally entered her peripheral vision and even though his presence calmed her enough to distract her from her churning fear, she couldn’t but stare in Vladimir’s gaze of steel. “No,” she eventually whispered, wishing she had just stayed in the car–that she had just stayed at Wesley’s side, for she knew, no matter how much she disliked him, that he’d protect her somehow.

“You knock out phones and then they come and Dobos has new men. Money he gives us is fake. Why shouldn’t I shoot you?”

“You have already made up your mind about me, even though I told you I’m here to help. Why are you asking, then?”

“Because you spy on people,” he casually answered. “And I do not trust you.”

“I guess you either shoot people in the head or you trust them, then. You don’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt. But if you’re waiting for me to confess you that I somehow knew of their trick, you’ll be left waiting forever, even long after you’ve killed me.”

“No one will kill anyone tonight,” Anatoly intervened, tearing the gun from his brother’s grasp. “Why you have to be so paranoid, I truly do not know,” he added as he pushed Vladimir backward. “What we must do now is dash back to garage before police come here.”

*

Y/N couldn’t understand Vladimir and still, at the same time, she could. She had spent the majority of her life not knowing who to trust, or if trusting that person was going to make her end up in trouble, and at the same time she had never stopped hoping she could stop, just for one minute, and give the people that stood in front of her the benefit of the doubt.

To give a chance had always felt stupid–and dangerous. It had always made her whole body shiver in fear and anticipation, her muscles ready for the jump of her life in case things went downhill. But she had tried, and so far Fisk and Wesley had yet to fail her.

But now, as she stood in a corner of the garage as the Russians argued together, she felt small and insignificant under Vladimir’s accusatory glare. That and the silent treatment he had reserved her in the car scared her more than a gun pointed at her head.

Silent was… terrifying. It was the unknown slowly but surely transforming itself into a ghostly body of its own and she could almost feel its icy breath trace the line of her spine.

Vladimir Ranskahov was predictable when he screamed, for he would never attack as long as his mind was busy yelling at somebody. She had learned that long before she had actually met him, his past had been an open book once she had found her way in, and it had been easier to read than Anatoly’s. When his anger got the best of him, he was the only one at risk of dying as the scorching emotion burned him alive. But when he went silent and his body got as still as a predator stilled before it lunged at its prey–that was the moment you should be scared, the moment you should pray your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and self-preservation brought you to safety.

Vladimir was easy to read when he let events take the best of him, for then he was still a man. But when his survival instinct surfaced and he couldn’t even feel the wound on his arm left behind by a flying bullet, the same wound Sergei was now sewing up, that was when he turned into the animal that got out of Utkin.

She wasn’t sure whether he knew it or not, or if maybe it had just turned into an instinctual behavior when he felt like his life was at risk, but he still knew how to use it in his favor. That version of him scared him more than the sight of those four men left dead on the pavement, back at the piers.

Had she gone through what Vladimir had been forced to live, she wouldn’t trust herself either.

But she was here and she was willing to help–willing to put her own life in the spotlight of the unknown and of the risks it threatened her with–and she couldn’t but feel like the stupid kid that had hoped too much when hope had never entered her house.

And as she eavesdropped those criminals talk and reason together, she wished she had been honest from the start–at her own risk. She spoke Russian and therefore understood every ill and every nice word they had ever said about her, the things they said during their Russian-only meetings, the insults they threw at Wesley and Fisk when they thought she didn’t understand shit. It had all been a game so far and she had always thought she was the cat and they the mice, when it had always been the other way around. She had learned the meaning of Vladimir’s tattoos and had always laughed at them, but now that he had her life in his hands–now that she had been foolish enough to move into the apartment across from his–she wished there was still time for sincerity.

“Y/N, come here!”

But now, as her body obeyed Anatoly’s order before her brain had the time to process it, she knew her confession could only do more harm than good–and it didn’t matter that she had nothing to do with the Hungarian and his plans. Nor that she was deliberately ignoring Fisk’s orders to give him inside info on the Russians so that he could control them better.

And with each step she took, she could feel herself shrink and get smaller, almost as if she could disappear so as not to face Vladimir’s wrath. He was her biggest fear, but as the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.

She had most likely overestimated herself.

Sergei was applying the last stitches, but Vlad never flinched, not even once. It was almost as though he couldn’t feel it, almost as though he were still in beast-mode. She had never wished she had Wesley at her side as much as she wished for it now.

“Why did you want us to change place for meeting?” Aslan’s voice wasn’t as threatening: it was calm, soft, and even though she suspected he was anything but, she was still thankful.

“Because you’ve always been stupid enough to give your clients the upper hand.” It was almost an out-of-body experience, or as close as she could get to one: part of her wanted to cower away as her self-defense mechanism finally kicked in, and another part of her welcomed it as her muscles started to slowly relax.

It didn’t matter that she had done her best to focus on Aslan’s face because she had kept Vladimir in her peripheral vision and her mind had been more focused on him than on his man. And so, when he tightened his jaw, she didn’t miss the movement.

“We never give anyone upper hand,” he growled.

She sighed, half in exhaustion and half in contentment, for he was slowly slipping back into his angry self, burying the beast deep inside his mind once again. It didn’t mean complete safety–to think that meant you were only a fool–, but it also didn’t mean immediate death, either. It was a dangerous yet comfortable middle ground that Y/N knew how to handle–sort of.

“We keep eye on them,” Anatoly agreed, forcing her to sit on the chair in front of his brother, who was sat on the desk Sergei often used as his accounting office.

“But you still trust their choices too blindly. What would have happened if tonight’s meeting had been held where those people wanted to?”

“I don’t know, you tell us, spy.”

Vladimir was stubborn. She thought she had known it before she had started to work with him, but being in his presence had proved her wrong. He had turned out to be more inflexible than anyone she had ever met–and she was used to working with Wesley, who was only happy if and when things were done his way. Working with him should have been the right training to be able to manage Vladimir Ranskahov, but either it wasn’t the case or they weren’t as similar in their stubbornness as she had previously thought.

“The guy could have had more men.”

“They cannot bring ‘more men’,” Vladimir mocked her, yanking his shirt out of Anatoly’s grasp. “It’s deal.”

“Yeah, like paying you with Monopoly cash, apparently.”

“It had never happened. Maybe it was you who tried to work with vengry and play us.”

She scoffed. “I work for you, and therefore for Wesley and therefore for Fisk. Fisk is the one who signs my checks, not your cheating friends. Why would I side with them to trick you and risk getting shot and then dumped into the Hudson? I thought you were stupid, but I swear to God, you’re on another level! If you stopped being this paranoid for one second, you’d realize I just made you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Volya, zamolchi,” Anatoly threatened. He wasn’t in the mood to play the peacemaker, not tonight, not after the flop with Dobos. He just wanted to go home, fuck Paulina into tomorrow, and then spend the next day sleeping to avoid coming to work and deal with his brother.

He was tired, but neither Vladimir nor Y/N seemed to realize how close to combustion he was.

“And you,” he pointed at her, “no more insults.”

“You all still doubting my loyalty after me trying to help you is an insult, me stating the truth is not. If your brother would just get his head out of his butt and use his brain for something that’s not murder, for once, he’d see I’m not the spy he thinks I am.”

And she wasn’t going against Fisk’s direct orders just to be called a liar and be stepped onto by some criminals.

“I don’t doubt you,” Tolya sighed. Aslan had quietly distanced himself from them and was now checking the rest of Dobos’ money with Sergei, both sitting in a cab. “You tried to help and Hungarians did shit. It was just coincidence.”

“Of course it was not!”

There was a fight, then: Anatoly had to stop himself from attacking his brother and Vladimir had to do the same. Y/N simply estranged herself from the scene and with the fact that they had switched back to Russian, she was able to cut their voices out of her mind without much of a problem.

She understood paranoia–she really did–, but she didn’t understand when someone just wanted to be an ass. And she wasn’t in the mood to put up with it, not now that the surge of fear-induced adrenaline had died down and all she could see before her eyes were the corpses of four criminals lying on the pavement.

It had all happened so quickly that she had barely had the time to register what the heck was going on. One second Vladimir was checking the money in front of her and the next, dollar bills were flying in the air as the Russians shot the Hungarians down. They had been quick and she hadn’t exactly understood how Tolya, Sergei and Aslan had known they had to open fire that their guns had already shot.

It didn’t matter. Only Dobos had the luck to fire a blind shot, grazing Vladimir’s arm, before he went down like a trunk. Even above the sound of the echoing shots at the pier and now, above the Ranskahovs’ heated argument, she could hear Miklos Dobos’ body thudding against the asphalt. She didn’t know how, she didn’t even want to know why, but that was the sound her brain had put on a loop as all she could see was the perfectly centered hole in the man’s forehead.

She didn’t know who had gunned him down, but she knew that if Vladimir got pissed enough with her, that was how she was going to go down–a bleeding hole in the middle of her forehead, brains splattered everywhere as she fell down to the floor.

Dead. Lifeless.

This wasn’t the first time she feared for her life, but it was definitely the first where she felt like she was so close to the end of her life and to meet the Creator.

Fuck.

She had been so dumb. Moving in next to a criminal? What had she been thinking? Now that she found herself in the company of murderers–not that they hadn’t already been before, it was just that now she had seen them at work–that unplanned decision suddenly didn’t feel like a good one anymore.

If Vladimir decided that he really didn’t trust her and that he was tired of her, he could… He lived mere feet from her: he just had to cross the hallway to…

She couldn’t think it. She couldn’t form that thought in her mind.

And yet, it was an easy one. Death was easy. You go down and you leave this world and it all happens in a fraction of a second. All the rest is just torture–or torturous wait. All she needed was an unexpected millisecond to leave this world for good. And all Vladimir needed was the previous millisecond, before he opened the door of his apartment and drilled her body with bullets.

Y/N had thought that working with Wesley had been torture. Do this and do that and dodge his advances and play deaf when he told her anything that could be interpreted as sexual. And it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just that all he wanted to do was fuck her and that he didn’t waste any occasion to remind her that. It was that he wanted her to do things a certain way, even when there were way easier and faster ways to do it, and when he was pissed, he got prissy and intolerable and she had to tiptoe her way around him.

Working with actual criminals had felt like a nice change in the wind’s direction back then, when Fisk had first proposed it–or rather told her she was going to do it without giving her the chance to say anything. It had felt like freedom in a way: no more Fisk, no more Wesley, no more suits and high heels and tight buns because there wouldn’t be another Wesley that wanted her to dress that way.

She found herself hoping the Russians would ask her to dress more formally now, to come to work with freshly manicured nails and spot-on make-up. It would have been easier. And yet, she had come to work with the knowledge of all the research she had conducted on the Ranskahovs, with slightly less information about Sergei Yurchenko, who she felt was almost as important as the other two kingpins… and with her lies. She had come with white lies: she had to inform Fisk of anything that could even remotely be useful and she had to keep a close eye on the Russians–headstrong and therefore dangerous Vladimir in particular.

Technically, Vladimir was right: she was indeed there to spy. But she had done no such thing. The first couple of days it had been because she wanted to get to know them–she hadn’t succeeded. The next days it had been because she was trying to help them with the shipment–she hadn’t succeeded. Then it had been because Vladimir doubted her too much, while Anatoly seemed to at least be okay with her presence as long as she didn’t annoy him, and the other Russians were just either uninterested or they chatted a bit before they went back to work.

There technically was nothing to report–or this was the excuse she brought up when Wesley bugged her for intel. There wasn’t an exact reason why she kept her mouth shut when it came to spying on the Russians, but all she could think of was that her silence meant more time away from her usual office, job, and colleague.

“Vladimir will accompany you home.” Anatoly’s words felt like a punch to the stomach, one that left her breathless–and one that brought her back to reality.

She moved on her chair, the muscles in her back suddenly tense and heavy. Was that how she was going to die? In a kingpin’s car?

Vladimir didn’t say a word: there was no way he could escape his brother–and he was tired. So tired he felt like going to bed and sleep for a century, willingly embracing nightmares and spasming muscles as he waded his way through a memory lane he could not elude. So, he groaned as he jumped down from Sergei’s desk with the grace of an elephant.

He didn’t wait for her: he headed towards the exit, suit jacket thrown over his left shoulder as he retrieved a packet of cigarettes from one of its pockets.

“If he does anything, you call me, da?” Anatoly softly ordered her, but Y/N didn’t turn even when he put his hand on her shoulder. “At any hour.”

“Will he kill me?” She didn’t really want to know, but at the same time, she did.

“No.”

“Why doesn’t he trust me?”

“You didn’t give him reason why he should.” The man shrugged his shoulders, his gaze fixed on her face.

“Why do you trust me, then?”

“I don’t exactly trust you either,” he confessed. “But you haven’t given me reason why I should accuse you of anything, so I’m good, for now. You don’t trust us either.” There was a smirk then, one that proved her there was more to him than what his tattoos could say.

“You are unpredictable and I never know what to expect,” she stated, and that confession seemed to cost her more than she’d ever thought.

*

The ride in Vladimir’s car was weighed down by a tense silence. She didn’t dare ask him to put out his cigarette, just as he didn’t care to ask her if him smoking was alright with her.

(It wasn’t.)

The radio was turned off and just as with his cigarette, she didn’t dare ask if she could turn it on. This was his territory and she was afraid of what he might do.

But the late-night traffic was thick that day and they both thought back at the Hungarians they had abandoned by the Hudson. The police had probably found them already, Y/N thought, not knowing Anatoly’s men had already taken care of them.

“Why did you move in next to me?”

Vladimir’s voice was tense, rougher than usual–probably because of the smoke or the anger, she didn’t really know. It took her a couple of seconds to convince herself to turn her head to look at him: he was staring ahead, his right hand gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white, almost as though the tattooed barb wire of his trips to jail had robbed them of their color. His jaw was clenched and she could see the sudden leaps of muscle underneath the skin when he gritted his teeth.

She opened her mouth, left it hanging like a fish out of water, and closed it again with a sigh. “It seemed like a good idea back then,” she answered then, gaze traveling back down his arm, skirting over the blood stain on his otherwise immaculate shirt.

“You should have not done that.”

“I guess I got it now.”

He remained silent for a while, until he finished his cigarette and threw the butt out of the open window. “My brother says I should give you chance,” he said. “‘Benefit of doubt,’ as you called it.”

She nodded, eyes lifting up from his barbed knuckles to the side of his face. For a second she was about to stretch her arm out and touch the scar that ran down from his right eyebrow to his cheek, but she tightened her fists in her lap and kept still.

“But my trust comes with price.”

“What do you want?”

He turned to stare at her then, and it scared her both because he wasn’t minding the street and because his eyes had turned to steel, to rock-hard hatred. “I want to know if you’re spying. I know you are.”

Y/N swallowed, and the movement was slow and thick and almost painful as she tried to swallow down her own fear, too. She was stronger than this. She had put up with Wesley and with Fisk–and with her family–and she was not going to give Vladimir Ranskahov the power of making her feel minuscule and insignificant, so small he could step on her and put her out the way she had watched him put out endless cigarettes, back at the garage.

But she had lied enough and there was no reason why she should continue, not now that he knew. He had always known, she had never deluded herself into thinking Vladimir was some stupid ass that could be tricked without much effort–he wasn’t like James, whom she played like a doll.

“I should be,” she found herself correcting him. “But I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

What was the reason? Was there a reason? She didn’t know.

“Why not?” he insisted. He parked in his usual lot, but the engine was still roaring under the hood of his expensive car.

Was that-? No, it couldn’t be his BMW.

“I like it, at the garage. No one bothers me. You’re stubborn and we fight a lot, I know, but I’d rather be locked up in a room with you than with Wesley.”

How had he found out she had moved here?

“If I find out you spy, I kill you.”

Was he waiting inside?

“Okay.” Her hand was trembling on the door handle, but it wasn’t out of fear nor was it because of Vladimir.

He followed her gaze, eyed the white BMW she was staring at, and eventually shrugged one shoulder as he opened his door.

Y/N’s feet weighed like lead as she walked to the elevator with Vlad at her side.

What did he want?

“Don’t come up now,” she said just before the doors to the elevator opened. “Wait a few minutes before you go up.”

“I take no orders from you.”

She stopped him with a hand in the middle of his chest, right on his sternum, and under the thin cotton of his shirt, his warm skin and hard muscles, she felt the faint thudding of his heart.

“I think Wesley is upstairs.” And she really didn’t want him to realize she lived right across from Vladimir Ranskahov.

How was this? Hopefully okay... As always, feedback, requests and suggestions are welcome and appreciated :) Thank you for reading  💛 I feel like I’m not doing this story justice, but hopefully it’s just bc of the swamp my life is these days.

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi

Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs @brobachev 

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Vol. 5 "True Colors"

This is a re-posting from October 4th, 2018 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

Guess who’s back, back again

Clyde is back, tell a friend

How long will my focus and work ethic last? Who knows, but with Volume 6 on the horizon and a fantastic new poster out, I’m feeling like it’s time to dive back into RWBY Recaps. Never too late to guiltily dust off an old project, right?

Right.

We’re back in Volume 5. Yes, I did a bit of Volume 1—extreme illusions of grandeur and productivity there—but we should really round out 5 before 6 comes knocking on the 27th. I’ve got almost a month. Let’s see how well I do, starting with “True Colors.”

We open on an image of Qrow and Ozpin together, notably Ozpin given the prim posture and ever-present coffee mug. Qrow makes the comment that things “aren’t looking good” and really? No shit, bird boy. We’ve gone from “Oh no, Ruby is having trouble becoming a leader!” to “Oh no… Weiss is trying to overcome a racist upbringing…?” and are now firmly in the territory of “OH NO a bunch of our faves are dead and Ozpin is forced to possess a child??” Things haven’t looked good for a while.

Ozpin is ever the optimist though. He points out that yeah, things are bad, but they could also be worse. “Humanity is a resilient force” he says, which oddly enough, sounds a lot like the kind of thing someone not a part of Humanity would say. Jury’s still out on whether Oz was the lowly farmer unfairly cursed by the gods, or a god himself justly punished for some sort of hubris… or something else entirely. It just strikes me as significant that he often distances himself from others in not just actions but speech as well. Could be a glimpse into his true nature, aka someone literally not human. Could also just be the result of spending thousands of years reincarnating while everyone else around you suffers and dies. That’ll make anyone feel subhuman…

Qrow challenges Oz’s happy-go-lucky attitude, reminding us that a huge number of pro huntsmen have been murdered and Salem couldn’t have achieved that on her own. She’s had help—and plenty of it. But Ozpin stands firm that it “doesn’t take a great number of people to cause harm” and there are “far more people in this world willing to prevent it.”

Enter our protagonist.

Subtle!

Ruby is adorable, as always, hesitantly approaching the two of them and awkwardly accepting the invitation to chat. It’s a striking difference in how she acts when it’s just her and Qrow, which is expected. Ozpin remains a much more distant authority figure and now he’s inhabiting the body of a boy her own age. I’d be a little unsure about how to act around him too.

Ruby finally asks what we’ve been worried about since the beginning of this Volume: if Cinder defeated Oz then does that mean Salem now has the Beacon relic? Luckily, no. Oz says he made finding the Beacon relic “a bit more challenging than at the other schools.” So Ruby asks the second question that’s been on our minds…

Ozpin: “No, my cane is not a relic.”

Ruby: “I have no more questions :)”

Okay now wait. I'm calling bullshit lol. That cane is 100% a relic. I mean could I be wrong? Absolutely. But it’s way more fun to be confident so I’m calling Ozpin out on this. For a number of reasons:

1. He’s absolutely the kind of guy to do what no one else expects. “The cane is so obvious!” Yeah, which means everyone will be looking for the relic elsewhere, hidden away like the Haven relic. Who the hell would have it out in the open? Ozpin. He would. Expect the unexpected.

2. He’s alsothe kind of guy who might lie to someone about it. Ozpin has been playing this game a long time and he’s not above a few smiles and carefully placed words if he thinks it’ll keep things on track. The Haven relic is the one currently in danger—no reason to announce the Beacon relic’s location and shift the team’s focus just because a former student asks him for the truth. It’s too dangerous and Ozpin is very adept at, as he says, playing things close to the chest. And I don’t blame him. That’s how you keep humanity alive.

3. The scene doesn’t show us Qrow at all who is a lot less adept at lying, to say nothing of the fact that—if he knows about the relic—he wouldn’t feel good lying specifically to Ruby.

4. Ozpin’s previous comment about how this relic is a “bit more challenging” seems significant. That is, why ONLY make the Beacon relic so difficult to find? All the relics are important so why not give them all the same precautions? Well, the answer is simple if your precaution is something you can only do for one of them: keep the relic with you.

5. Qrow, arguably Ozpin’s closest friend (husband-friend), was entrusted with getting the cane back to him and it’s used as the introduction between Oscar and Qrow. Seems like a pretty damn important object.

6. We’ve seen this cane fend off crazy powerful attacks and it never takes any damage. Granted, all the weapons in RWBY are pretty hearty, but Ozpin’s cane seems particularly indestructible. Almost like there’s something similar to magic surrounding it.

7. We’ve still got those gears. That cane transforms into something…

8. The fact that Ozpin immediately homes in on Ruby’s question, quickly counters it, and then tells her to leave (go gather the others). He’s in charge of the conversation here.

9. The fact that the scene suddenly turns light-hearted and humorous. We’re meant to shrug this moment off and not think too hard about it. Well, too late now.

Granted, Oz has a good explanation here. He states firmly that the cane is indeed precious, though only to him, and that it still “has a few tricks up its sleeve.” Nothing he says counters what we already know, yet it doesn’t reveal any of his cane’s secrets either. We’re still in the dark. So until we’re not I remain suspicious about his claim that it’s totally definitely absolutely not a relic.

(The headmaster doth protest too much.)  

(Edit Feb. 2019: I was so wrong, folks!!) 

But we’re moving on. Qrow gets a call from Lionheart asking them to meet up with him to discuss potentially going on the offensive against the bandits. Ruby is ecstatic and runs off. Ozpin? Not so much. He and Qrow both comment on how strange it is that Lionheart has suddenly changed his tune and the addition of some creepy music all but beats us over the head with, “It’s a trap!!” This time when Qrow says that things aren’t looking good Ozpin’s only response is, “I know.” So much for the pep talk.

We cut to Lionheart himself, having just finished up that call, and as we pull back who should we find but Raven. She makes blunt what we already know, “I never expected that you would be the one with the guts to betray Oz” while we get a nice crane shot so that we can see Raven circling him, standing while he’s seated—a predator stalking prey.

Though of course it’s not actually courage driving their actions here. It’s cowardice. At least Lionheart is willing to admit it. He says straight out that he’s terrified of Salem and doesn’t think anyone can beat her, so why not join the winning side? Raven, meanwhile, is still firmly in denial. “I’m not scared,” she says. “I’m smart.” Please, girl. You’ve spent your whole life running and you don’t know how to stop now. “Man up,” Raven continues (god that’s a terrible phrase). “You did what you needed to do to survive. There’s no shame in that,” which is where we see the divide between their morals and everyone else surrounding Team RWBY. They’re scared, but they fight despite their fear because they know it’s necessary to help both others and themselves. Raven is only out for herself and her selfish actions hurt family (Qrow), children (Yang), friends (her tribe), and allies (Ozpin) in the process.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lionheart asks her. It's great seeing a villain who knows exactly where the line is even as they can’t help but cross it. RIP the complex ones.

We move back to Menagerie where Ilia and the others are still leading the attack on Blake’s family. Kali if BAMF here, snatching up a tray as both defense and weapon when her gun runs out of ammo. We get to see her clocking Yuma before we catch up with Blake and Ilia—and I enjoy the contrast in colors between these two scenes, from full blown battle (cold) to friends-turned-enemies (warm):

Ilia spouts the same arguments as Raven: she doesn’t have a choice about her actions. Violence is the only way to survive. Despite the rhetoric Blake is willing to let her go, but Ilia has other plans. The fight, while not spectacular, does showcase the clear parallels between them—both in their arguments and the use of long/short range weaponry. When asked why she doesn’t leave Blake responds that she runs away too much. Beyond the obvious theme from our title—everyone showing their “True Colors”—the focus of this episode is quite obviously who’s willing to fight for others and who’s only out for themselves; who’s able to distinguish between when a literal fight is necessary and when another avenue can be taken. We see time and time again that Team RWBY is leagues ahead of others in terms of that kind of maturity.

From a world building perspective I appreciate Ilia’s use of her camouflaging skills. It’s rare that we see the Faunus actually using their animal abilities (beyond Sun swinging around on his tail) and that’s definitely a useful one in battle… though it's undermined somewhat by having a weapon that lights up with electricity. Gotta think that one through…

And then Blake sETS THE HOUSE ON FIRE? Damn, girl! This isn’t even a real battle—at least not between the two of them. Ilia says two seconds later that Blake isn’t taking this seriously, neither of them truly wants to kill the other, so is burning down your house really the best option here? I always knew Blake was secretly the most dramatic of the bunch.

(That’s a lie. I'm sorry. The most dramatic is clearly Weiss, but she’d be proud of Blake’s ridiculously over-the-top strategy here, I’m sure.)

Blake manages to pin Ilia and keeps trying to talk her down. It works. Sort of. Ilia starts to cry as she admits that she doesn’t know what else to do, but at that moment Ghira comes crashing through the wall with another fight at his heels. (This family is rich enough that they don't care about the property damage.) And then we get this,

This is a sharp reminder that though Blake and Ilia might be fighting more with words than fists, the same can’t be said for her parents. They are, notably, in very real danger. The fight picks back up with Ilia clearly torn now between her loyalties. She defends herself though when Sun joins the fray, pausing only when Blake begs the two of them to stop. However, their fighting has already cracked the pillar holding up the second story and Ilia gets caught underneath. Surprisingly, she’s saved by Ghira (which tells us more about his character than all his bickering with Sun ever could) and there’s a nifty bit of teamwork used to get him out—Sun’s copies hold up the balcony; Blake uses her weapon to pull her dad to safety. The brother (Fennec) who tries to attack him from behind is justifiably crushed under the rubble.

Kali is safe and joins the gang. The fight is basically over, but Corsac attacks out of pure grief and rage, allowing Ilia to stun him from behind. Now I’ve got a lot of feelings about Ilia, most of which boil down to just plain not liking her. I already explained in depth my issues with her being the (so far) sole queer character on the show and this is now compounded with her supposed “redemption.” There are problems inherent in making the (again, only) queer character an antagonist, but there are more problems in making them an antagonist and then refusing to stand by that. Rooster Teeth had her as a complex villain and then the moment she was revealed to have feelings for Blake it’s, “Never mind! She’s good now!” in the span of half an episode.

And how does this redemption occur? Ilia attacks Blake and goes after Blake’s parents. She continues to attack them after being given numerous chances to walk away. She turns on her allies… only after the fight is won. If Ilia were a different kind of character her stunning Corsac could have easily been seen as a survival strategy rather than a true change of heart. They’re now outnumbered four to two, so—like Lionheart—why not quickly join the winning side? I honestly wish Ilia was out to double cross Blake if only because that would be consistent with her loyalties up until now. It would make sense.

In the grand scheme of things though these are minor points. What strikes me as far more significant is 1. that Ilia and her allies could have killed Kali and Ghira. I admit that she wasn’t fighting Blake full out, but the purpose of this attack was to assassinate her parents and the fight did lead to at least one death. That’s not just something you bounce back from. Maybe I’m an asshole, but I couldn’t wave that away as a “bad decision” like Blake does. They could have died. And 2. the most important of all, we’ve yet to see any true change in her thinking or ideology! Ilia joins the gang because she lost and she's left standing around awkwardly with Blake—the girl she’s in love with. Would Ilia have second-guessed her actions if they'd succeeded in their mission? I doubt it. In the aftermath of failure she's contrite, but Ilia was pretty damn adamant about killing humans---and the Belladonnas---just a few minutes ago. If her redemption is based on circumstance and her one-sided crush… that’s not a redemption I can get behind.

But it’s what we’re rushed into. Blake gives a rousing speech about how no, they can’t just use humans as a scapegoat for this attack. They can’t allow figureheads like Adam to speak for them. She says that they’re all “looking for simple answers to a very complex problem” and that despite it not being what they want to hear, she doesn’t know how to just “make hate go away.” That’s a huge development from the girl who went to Mountain Glenn and said passionately that she was going to change the world, but without any concrete ideas as to how to do that. Now Blake can admit her own ignorance and knows at the very least what not to do. They’re not going to change the world through violence like this—they won’t change it for the better, anyway.  

I’m with her through all that, up until Blake agrees to take Ilia to Haven. The guard yells out, “You’re just going to forgive her? After all she’s done?” and Blake says only, “Yes.” You know what that is? It’s a simple answer to a very complex problem. It’s painted as admirable on her part—Ghira says she’s learned the lesson of how powerful forgiveness can be—but I think this is RWBY’s fairy-tale simplicity shining through and it doesn’t fit with the heavy material we've been tackling the last few volumes. There’s a big difference between forgiving someone and making sure that they face consequences for their actions. There’s a difference between forgiving them and thinking practically about whether you can or should trust them with your safety and the safety of others. Hell, forgiveness usually takes more than five minutes and often times doesn’t happen at all! Ilia has done none of the work to justify Blake’s forgiveness and though having forgiveness handed to you might read as a beautiful ideal, it doesn’t work well in the gritty, complicated, racially loaded storyline that Rooster Teeth keeps trying to pull off. It feels cheap in the face of all that Blake suffered through this volume, especially when they turn Ilia’s actions into a literal joke. She stabbed Sun? No big deal! He pinched her and now they’re even! How much of a joke would this be if Ghira had suddenly collapsed from his own wound? Or Kali hadn't casually rejoining them entirely unharmed? Maybe I’m more bitter than I thought, but Ilia’s redemption feels like an unintended smack in the face.

The townspeople buy into the happy picture though and we get a chorus of them agreeing to join Blake in the fight to defend Haven. Plans are made to arm, train, and transport the people of Menagerie in two weeks time. Getting civilians into fighting shape that quickly might be a challenge, but at least Blake knows a ship captain who owes her a favor.

And that’s where we end this episode—forging a path for the future. Stay tuned for the next episode “The More the Merrier” as we count down to the Volume 6 premiere!

Other Details of Note

In that opening shot we have what looks like a pretty generic print on the wall—who doesn’t like sunsets?—except that it also shows a crescent moon without the broken pieces. Artist’s interpretation? Time before the moon’s demise? Animator’s forgetting about it while drawing the random painting that viewers are only going to see for about two seconds? You decide!

I really appreciate that Ozpin praises Ruby for being the first to realize the potential implications of the Beacon relic. She’s praised for her skill with Crescent Rose and for being one of the youngest to attend Beacon, but it’s rare that people comment on Ruby’s intellect. She’s smart as hell with one of the more strategic minds of the group—that’s partly why she makes such a good leader. It’s good to see someone, particularly her headmaster, acknowledging that.

After Qrow gets the call from Lionheart he immediately reaches for his flask… despite still having a steaming drink beside him. Apparently working with this guy was tough even before they knew he was loyal to Salem.  

Edit Feb. 2019: Lionheart says that “I’ve done things Ozpin will never forgive” and that’s one hell of a loaded line after hearing Ozpin’s thoughts on Lionheart in Volume 6.

“Sorry, Dad” Blake says right before she burns down their library. Somehow I don't think 'sorry' cuts it in this situation...

[twifeordeath]

Twife or Death: Lesbian Twilight Chapter 18

Updated as of 11-25-18 (previous) (all chapters)

All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer, and this project is non-profit and fan entertainment. Thank you to Shelley, Taya, and the project admin Alina G.

18. THE HUNT

They emerged one by one from the forest edge, ranging a dozen meters apart. The first vampire into the clearing fell back immediately, allowing another to take the front, orienting herself around the tall, dark-haired woman in a manner that clearly displayed who led the pack. The third emerged not long after; from this distance, all I could see of her was that her hair was a startling shade of red. I half turned to see Carine and Esme approaching from the forest’s edge.

Noticing my look of surprise Edythe whispered into my ear, “Julie called them, just in case.”

They closed ranks before continuing cautiously toward Edythe's family, exhibiting the respect of a troop of predators as it encounters a larger, unfamiliar group of its own kind. Or so my overactive imagination informed me.

As they approached, I could see how different they were from the Cullens. Their walk was catlike, a gait that seemed constantly on the edge of shifting into a crouch. They dressed in the ordinary gear of backpackers: jeans and casual button-down shirts in heavy, weatherproof fabrics. The clothes were frayed, though, with wear, and they were barefoot. The redhead’s brilliant orange hair was filled with leaves and debris from the woods; the other two had cropped their hair short.

Their sharp eyes carefully took in the more polished, urbane stance of Carine, who, flanked by Eleanor and Jasper, stepped guardedly forward to meet them. Without any seeming communication between them, they each straightened into a more casual, erect bearing.

The woman in front was easily the most beautiful, her skin olive-toned beneath the typical ashen pallor, her hair a glossy black. She was of a medium build, hard-muscled, of course, but nothing next to Eleanor's brawn. She smiled an easy smile, exposing a flash of gleaming white teeth.

The redhead was wilder, her eyes shifting restlessly between the women facing her, and the loose grouping around me, her chaotic hair quivering in the slight breeze. Her posture was distinctly feline. The last hovered unobtrusively behind them, slighter than the leader, her black hair and Asian features both nondescript. Her eyes, though completely still, somehow seemed the most vigilant.

Their eyes were different, too. Not the gold or black I had come to expect, but a deep burgundy color that was disturbing and sinister. The dark-haired woman, still smiling, stepped toward Carine.

"We thought we heard a game," she said in a relaxed voice with the slightest of French accents. "I'm Laurent, these are Victoria and Jamie." She gestured to the vampires beside her.

"I'm Carine. This is my family, Eleanor and Jasper, Rosalie, Esme and Alice, Edythe and Bella." She pointed us out in groups, deliberately not calling attention to individuals. I felt a bit of a shock when she said my name.

"Do you have room for a few more players?" Laurent asked sociably. Carine matched Laurent's friendly tone.

"Actually, we were just finishing up. But we'd certainly be interested another time. Are you planning to stay in the area for long?"

"We're headed north, in fact, but we were curious to see who was in the neighborhood. We haven't run into any company in a long time."

"No, this region is usually empty except for us and the occasional visitor, like yourselves."

The tense atmosphere had slowly subsided into a casual conversation; I guessed that Jasper was using her peculiar gift to control the situation.

"What's your hunting range?" Laurent casually inquired.

Carine ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "The Olympic Range here, up and down the Coast Ranges on occasion. We keep a permanent residence nearby. There's another permanent settlement like ours up near Denali."

Laurent rocked back on her heels slightly.

"Permanent? How do you manage that?" There was honest curiosity in her voice.

"Why don't you come back to our home with us and we can talk comfortably?" Carine invited. "It's a rather long story."

Jamie and Victoria exchanged a surprised look at the mention of the word "home," but Laurent controlled her expression better.

"That sounds very interesting, and welcome." Her smile was genial. "We've been on the hunt all the way down from Ontario, and we haven't had the chance to clean up in a while." Her eyes moved appreciatively over Carine's refined appearance.

"Please don't take offense, but we'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from hunting in this immediate area. We have to stay inconspicuous, you understand," Carine explained.

"Of course." Laurent nodded. "We certainly won't encroach on your territory. We just ate outside of Seattle, anyway," she laughed. A shiver ran up my spine.

"We'll show you the way if you'd like to run with us — Eleanor and Alice, you can go with Edythe and Bella to get the Jeep," she casually added.

Three things seemed to happen simultaneously while Carine was speaking. My hair ruffled with the light breeze, Edythe stiffened, and the quiet woman, Jamie, suddenly whipped her head around, scrutinizing me, her nostrils flaring.

A swift rigidity fell on all of them as Jamie lurched one step forward into a crouch. Edythe bared her teeth, crouching in defense, a feral snarl ripping from her throat.

It was nothing like the playful sounds I'd heard from her before; it was the single most menacing thing I had ever heard, and chills ran from the crown of my head to the back of my heels.

"What's this?" Laurent exclaimed in open surprise. Neither Jamie nor Edythe relaxed their aggressive poses. Jamie feinted slightly to the side, and Edythe shifted in response.

"She's with us." Carine's firm rebuff was directed toward Jamie. Laurent seemed to catch my scent less powerfully than Jamie, but awareness now dawned on her face.

"You brought a snack?" she asked, her expression incredulous as she took an involuntary step forward.

Edythe snarled even more ferociously, harshly, her lip curling high above her glistening, bared teeth. Laurent stepped back again.

"I said she's with us," Carine corrected in a hard voice.

"But she's human," Laurent protested. The words were not at all aggressive, merely astounded.

"Yes." Eleanor was very much in evidence at Carine's side, her eyes on Jamie. Jamie slowly straightened out of her crouch, but her eyes never left me, her nostrils still wide. Edythe stayed tensed like a lion in front of me.

When Laurent spoke, her tone was soothing — trying to defuse the sudden hostility. "It appears we have a lot to learn about each other."

"Indeed." Carine's voice was still cool.

"But we'd like to accept your invitation." Her eyes flicked toward me and back to Carine. "And, of course, we will not harm the human girl. We won't hunt in your range, as I said."

Jamie glanced in disbelief and aggravation at Laurent and exchanged another brief look with Victoria, whose eyes still flickered edgily from face to face.

Carine measured Laurent's open expression for a moment before she spoke. "We'll show you the way. Jasper, Rosalie, Esme?" she called. They gathered together, blocking me from view as they converged. Alice was instantly at my side, and Eleanor fell back slowly, her eyes locked on Jamie as she backed toward us.

"Let's go, Bella." Edythe's voice was low and worried.

This whole time I'd been rooted in place, terrified into absolute immobility. Edythe had to grip my elbow to break my trance. Alice and Eleanor were close behind us, hiding me. I stumbled alongside Edythe, still stunned with fear. I couldn't hear if the main group had left yet. Edythe's anxiety was almost tangible as we moved at human speed to the forest edge.

Once we were into the trees, Edythe paused for a moment, stretching her arms out towards me, silently asking if she could pick me up. I gulped then nodded and she picked me up, bridal style, effortlessly. I wrapped my arms around her neck as she took off, the others close on her heels. I tucked my head into her chest but my eyes wouldn’t close. The sisters plunged through the now-black forest like wraiths. The sense of exhilaration that usually seemed to possess Edythe as she ran was completely absent, replaced by a fear that consumed her and drove her still faster. Even with me in her arms, the others trailed behind.

We reached the Jeep in an impossibly short time, and Edythe barely slowed as she carefully placed me in the backseat. She took a moment to run her hand down my hair, a gesture that I think was meant to calm us both, and only partially succeeded.

"Strap her in," she said to Eleanor, who slid in beside me.

Alice was already in the front seat, and Edythe was starting the engine. It roared to life and we swerved backward, spinning around to face the winding road.

Edythe was muttering something too low for me to understand, but it sounded a lot like a string of curses.

The jolting trip was much worse this time, and the darkness only made it more frightening. Eleanor and Alice both stared watchfully out the side windows.

We hit the main road, and though our speed increased, I could see much better where we were going. And we were headed south, away from Forks.

"We have to get you away from here — far away — now." She didn't look back, her eyes on the road. The speedometer read a hundred and five miles an hour.

"Turn around! You have to take me home!" I shouted. I struggled with the stupid harness, tearing at the straps.

“Bella, please don’t do this.” Edythe flashed a look back at me, half fear, half concern at my violent response.

Alice spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. “Pull over Edythe.”

Edythe took in a deep breath and slowed the car to a stop on the side of the road, cradling her head in her hands and starting to shake. “You don't understand, she’s a tracker. Alice, did you see that? She’s a tracker!”

I felt Eleanor stiffen next to me, and I wondered at her reaction to the word. It meant something more to the three of them than it did to me; I wanted to understand, but there was no opening for me to ask.

"Listen to me, Alice. I saw Jamie’s mind. Tracking is her passion, her obsession — and she wants her, Alice — her, specifically. She begins the hunt tonight."

"She doesn't know where —"

She interrupted her. "How long do you think it will take her to cross her scent in town? Her plan was already set before the words were out of Laurent's mouth."

I gasped, knowing where my scent would lead. "Charlie! You can't leave her there! You can't leave her!" I thrashed against the harness.

“Bella please, you’ll hurt yourself.” The look of conflicted guilt on Edythe’s face stilled my panicked motions instantly.

"We have to take her back," Eleanor finally spoke.

"No." It sounded more like a plea than a statement.

"She's no match for us, Edythe. She won't be able to touch her."

"She'll wait."

Eleanor smiled. "I can wait, too."

"You didn't see — you don't understand. Once she commits to a hunt, she's unshakable. We'd have to kill her."

Eleanor didn't seem upset by the idea. "That's an option."

"And the redhead. She's with her. If it turns into a fight, the leader will go with them, too."

"There are enough of us."

"There's another option," Alice said quietly.

Edythe turned on her in outright panic, her voice rising. "There — is — no — other — option!"

Eleanor and I both stared at her in shock, but Alice seemed unsurprised. The silence lasted for a long minute as Edythe and Alice stared each other down.

I broke it. "Does anyone want to hear my plan?"

Edythe shook her head, but I couldn’t tell if it was an answer to my question or as a general response to the insanity of the situation.

"You take me back. I tell my dad I want to go home to Phoenix. I pack my bags. We wait till this tracker is watching, and then we run. She'll follow us and leave Charlie alone. Charlie won't call the FBI on your family. Then you can take me any damned place you want."

She just stared at me. “I’m sorry Bella- I got so anxious I didn’t listen to you at all. I think I know best because I can tell what people’s intentions are but I forget that I don’t have to think of the solution alone.”

"It might work — and we simply can't leave her mother unprotected. You know that," Alice said.

Everyone looked at Edythe.

"But it’s still too dangerous — I don't want Jamie within a hundred miles of Bella."

Eleanor was supremely confident. "Edythe, she's not getting through us."

Alice thought for a minute. "I don't see her attacking. She'll try to wait for us to leave her alone."

"It won't take long for her to realize that's not going to happen."

"Could you just take me home? Please?" I said in a much smaller voice.

She didn't look up. When she spoke, her voice sounded worn. "You're leaving tonight, whether the tracker sees or not. You can tell Charlie that you can't stand another minute in Forks. Tell her whatever story works. Pack the first things your hands touch, and then get in your truck. I can give you fifteen minutes. Is that okay?" I nod numbly as I try to think of what I’ll say to Charlie.

The Jeep rumbled to life, and she spun us around, the tires squealing. The needle on the speedometer started to race up the dial.

A few minutes passed in silence, other than the roar of the engine. Then Edythe spoke again.

"Alright. When we get to the house, if the tracker is not there, I will walk Bella to the door. Then she has fifteen minutes." She glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Eleanor, you take the outside of the house. Alice, you get the truck. I'll be inside as long as she is. After she's out, you two can take the Jeep home and tell Carine."

"No way," Eleanor broke in. "I'm with you."

"Think it through, Eleanor. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Until we know how far this is going to go, I'm with you."

Edythe sighed. "If the tracker is there," she continued grimly, "we keep driving."

"We're going to make it there before her," Alice said confidently. Edythe thanked her, looking a bit relieved.

"What are we going to do with the Jeep?" She asked.

"Can you drive it home?”

"No," she said calmly.

"I think you should let me go alone," I said, even more quietly, then as soon as the words were out I realized how stupid it sounded.

She heard that.

"Bella, please just- trust me?” She ran a hands through her hair and I could see it was still shaking.

"Listen, Charlie's a bit careless, but she’s smart," I protested. "If you're not in town tomorrow, she's going to get suspicious."

"That's irrelevant. We'll make sure she's safe, and that's all that matters."

"Then what about this tracker? She saw the way you acted tonight. She's going to think you're with me, wherever you are."

"Edythe, listen to her," Eleanor urged. "I think she's right."

"Yes, she is," Alice agreed.

"I can't do that." Edythe's voice was rising in panic again.

"Eleanor should stay, too," I continued. "She definitely got an eyeful of Eleanor."

"What?" Eleanor turned on me.

"You'll get a better crack at her if you stay," Alice agreed.

Edythe stared at her blankly. "You think I should let her go alone?"

"Of course not," Alice said. "Jasper and I will take her."

"I can't do that," Edythe repeated, but this time there was a trace of defeat in her voice. The logic was working on her.

I tried to be persuasive. "Hang out here for a week —" I saw her expression in the mirror and amended "— a few days. Let Charlie see you haven't kidnapped me, and lead this Jamie on a wild-goose chase. Make sure she's completely off my trail. Then come and meet me. Take a roundabout route, of course, and then Jasper and Alice can go home."

I could see her considering it.

"Meet you where?"

"Phoenix." Of course.

"No. She'll hear that's where you're going," She said impatiently.

"And you'll make it look like that's a ruse, obviously. She'll know that we'll know that she's listening. She'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I am going."

"She's diabolical," Eleanor chuckled.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"There are several million people in Phoenix," I informed her.

"It's not that hard to find a phone book."

"I won't go home."

"Oh, dumb question, sorry.”

"I'm quite old enough to get my own place."

"Edythe, we'll be with her," Alice reminded her. Eleanor tapped her chin, thinking.

"Look, if we try to take her down while she's still around, there's a much better chance that someone will get hurt — she'll get hurt, or you will, trying to protect her. Now, if we get her alone…" She trailed off with a slow smile. I was right.

The Jeep was crawling slowly along now as we drove into town. Despite my brave talk, I could feel the hairs on my arms standing up. I thought about Charlie, alone in the house, and tried to be courageous.

"Bella." Edythe's voice was very soft. Alice and Eleanor looked out their windows. "If anything happens to you I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

"Remember, you’re keeping me safe by staying. Don’t you trust Alice?” I did.

She turned to Alice. "Can Jasper handle this?"

"Give her some credit, Edythe. She's been doing very, very well, all things considered." Alice rolled her eyes.

"This is a lot of responsibility on you-”

“Oh stop stalling we can handle it. I know this plan isn’t the most airtight but we can improvise. I’ll hopefully be able to see what’s going on with you guys and keep an eye on the rogues as well.” Alice sounded completely confident. Edythe stared into her eyes and whatever she saw there, or in her mind, must’ve been enough because she took in another deep breath and nodded slowly.

A/N: hope I got all the weird stuff! thanks for reading. and for the anons/emojis

[thatboomerkid]

A User’s Guide to the Abhorrent Heavens

A User’s Guide to the Abhorrent Heavens -- An Essay for Bloodlines & Black Magic

“The key difference between any one of the Abhorrent Heavens and the very foulest churning pit of the deep Infernal is subtle but distinct: within an Abhorrent Heaven, one person is having a wonderful time. These grotesque realms, home to souls perfectly selected by their mistress for obsession and malice, are obscene in the extreme. On the surface, some of these blood-splattered abattoirs may appear as 1950s suburbs or modern-era cities, but all merely hide the hunger of a psychotic spree-killer finally unleashed from all consideration of consequences.”

-- Bloodlines & Black Magic, pg. 204

Your players don’t stand a chance against the Grand Archons.

Not directly, anyway.

After all, the Invisible Masters of Heaven & Earth have been putting down titans, would-be messiahs, world-shaking Goetic monstrosities, rebellious Bloodlines, sorcerous god-kings, charismatic serpent-cults & upstart wizards since before time had a name ... or so they say.

In most cases, of course, the Grand Archons don’t even have to respond to a threat directly: the exact moment when someone dumb starts making enough noise that rumors of the Invisible World begin reaching mundane ears, Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights simply opens a gateway from our reality into one of her many Abhorrent Heavens & lets-loose one of her grateful, loyal servants to play dirty for a little while.

What happens next is, simply put, utterly unspeakable.

Brought to you absolutely free to play, to test & to share, as always, by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Additional content contributed by Blaine Bass of ScrapFinder and by Sam Berry; hugest of thanks to the Broken Token for editing assistance

photography by Boomer; digital editing by Tim Jenkins of Battle! Studio

SO ...

Maybe you’re starting a brand new Bloodlines & Black Magic campaign from scratch, and you’re looking for a unique way to kick things off with a real bang.

Maybe you’ve just ended a long, complex story-arc a little bit early, without all of the mysteries completely solved; maybe you can’t quite jump into the next chapter of your narrative until the PCs achieve a certain slightly higher level or meet a specific NPC or learn a particular secret; maybe only half of your players showed up to this session and you need a quick “filler” episode.

Maybe your PCs befriended & adopted the Godzilla, shunted the Terminator to the Deepest Astral, had the Voldemort removed from public office in perp-walked, handcuffed & humiliating disgrace or otherwise drove your campaign’s entire plot-arc so far off the frigging rails that you suddenly find yourself needing a few extra weeks to re-orient your entire game from first principles.

Whatever the reason, you require a brand new plot hook on the fly, and – simply due to the setting-assumptions of the Bloodlines & Black Magic universe! – a classic sword-&-sorcery fantasy plotline like “goblins attack the village” or “the princess is secretly a werewolf” or “foolish local knights go questing for the Vast Horror” simply won’t cut it.

No sweat, friend. We’ve got you covered.

In such an instance, the creaking & blood-spattered gates of the Abhorrent Heavens swinging wide into our own realm should provide more than ample fuel for your dark, strange fire.

original image from here

Plot Hooks (Pick from the list below, or Roll 1d10):

The PCs show up to a meeting with an important contact (or group of contacts) only to discover that everyone is dead or missing. Should any word of this discovery be made public, of course, the PCs are the most obvious suspects for mundane law-enforcement agencies to pursue. As their quick & panicked investigation unfolds, it becomes clear to the PCs that this was an extermination ordered by the Seven of Secret Names ... and that whatever was unleashed from an Abhorrent Heaven is now on their trail, looking to complete its mysterious mission and to have itself some slick red fun while doing so.

An old mentor of a PC is requesting help & offering sky-high payment: something is after him, and it’s rapidly chewing through every emergency defense he’s built-up over the last few decades. Upon closer examination, however, it becomes clear to the PCs that what’s after this particular occultist isn’t just a pissed-off Goetic spirit or some random undead manifestation: it’s a creature of the Abhorrent Heavens, released directly by the Archons to mete out justice in their name. Do the PCs continue to intervene, and risk angering the Grand Sisters directly?

The PCs are contacted obliquely by Jackie Ipanema (see below) or by another favored servant of the Archons who spends a lot of time outside of his Abhorrent Heaven on “real world clean-up”; this contact is polite & non-threatening in the extreme. This potent soldier of the Grand Archons needs a small favor: he maintains multiple false identities in the real world, and several of these identities have been invited (for mysterious reasons) to attend the same fancy dinner party at a secluded woodland mansion at the same time; of course, this is probably a trap. Can the PCs take on these roles & solve the mystery?

A bit of casual, routine investigation into an old “haunted house” in a remote farming community with a vaguely sinister reputation reveals the existence of a poorly-locked and seemingly unguarded portal sitting in the attic, marked only with some eerie chalk-lines. This hole in space-time leads directly into a previously unknown Abhorrent Heaven, full of thousands of fearful damned who are preyed-upon by a mysterious figure of terrifying power ... one who has (apparently) been used very quietly by the Seven of Secret Names on rare occasions to take out major targets. Do the PCs dare to explore this realm? Seal it & guard it? Profit from it?

The estate-sale of a wealthy & enigmatic amateur-dabbler in the dark arts turns up a “Dantean Codex”: a log-book detailing various entrances into an assortment of Abhorrent Heavens scattered across the US & Europe. 90% of the book is useless gibberish, of course ... but the parts that are real are literally invaluable: the sort of things that powerful Lineages kill & die for, or that make legends out of dilettantes. Problem is, the text ALSO represents the most deeply forbidden kind of occult knowledge; mere knowledge of its existence is punishable by death at the hands of the Archons & their servants. Where do you even hide such information?

An enterprising & clever young crew of magicians are playing with hell-fire itself: aping the legendary power inherent to the Invisible City of the Tianlong Dynasty -- Bloodlines & Black Magic, pg. 53 -- they’ve cracked their way into an Abhorrent Heaven with multiple exits back into the real world, and are using this otherworldly realm as a “secret level” to allow for quick, untraceable transportation between cities & across the globe. Every trip risks attracting the attention of the realm’s dark master ... and when these boys get caught, things are going to get very ugly very fast. Can the PCs shut down this mad plan?

The death of a famous & well-loved occultist reveals, hidden amongst the notes in his possession, that he was a MAJOR contact for the Archons: selling out other magicians for personal gain, setting up his friends & his enemies alike to be taken out by their purges, and often profiting directly from executions performed in the name of the Archons, all in the hopes that he would -- in death -- finally be granted the playground of his own Abhorrent Heaven in recompense. Worse, he names a close & trusted ally of the PCs as his longtime accomplice (or even mentor) in these double-deals. Who can the PCs trust?

The PCs are contacted by a powerful, underground circle of mages who think they have a real shot at taking-out one particularly nasty servant of the Archons, potentially crippling it -- like the famed Revered was pulled-down a peg -- or even killing it outright. If the PCs can bait the thing into a particular emotionally-significant, magically-potent location at a particular numerologically-consequential time -- and with all of the attendant esoteric magical formulae properly in-place to secure a full-on Occult Connection with the ritual casters -- then the PCs will have a front-row seat to watch something nearly unknown to modern arcanists, along with an exclusive invite to join the crème de la crème of international occult society. Of course, they’ll have to survive the fight ... and it might all be a trap laid by Nannareal, the Grand Archon of Secrets and Whispers.

An urgent call from an old friend of one of the PCs sends them down a dark alley with their associate in a strangely familiar location. Their sense of eerie déjà vu grows as they round a corner ... only to watch as a horrid creature lashes-out of the darkness and butchers their friend before their eyes, then vanishes into the night. Familiarity shattered, the PCs find themselves in an ever-shifting Abhorrent Heaven drawn from their own memories, locked into a game of cat-and-mouse that has gone on for centuries. When the PCs finally track down the monster and avenge their buddy, their sense of foreboding grows: this creature was not the master of any Abhorrent Heaven, merely a trapped plaything like themselves; soon after, another supernaturally-gifted foe is lured into the concrete jungle to start the hunt again. There’s a way out, of course ... but the voyeuristic occupant of this Abhorrent Heaven, a stalker obsessed with the vicarious thrill of predators & prey making war, isn’t talking.

Rumors start popping up -- with increasing & frightening regularity, and an uncanny level of detail -- about an ancient artifact resurfacing: a lost blade of Goetic Titan-craft that serves as a bane weapon against any creature tied to an Abhorrent Heaven. While the Archons & their servants scramble to kill-off anyone with anything resembling proof of this blade’s existence, the PCs are contacted by an old associate who claims to have located the thing ... as he requests extraction from a war-zone.

Uncountable Abhorrent Heavens ... and their Occupants

No one knows exactly how many Abhorrent Heavens there really are.

Or, more accurately, Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights knows ... but she’s not talking.

Or, more accurately still, Yasazziel is talking all the damn time. It’s just that nobody can quite tell what she actually means by whatever she says.

In any instance, there are innumerable Abhorrent Heavens -- glittering like dark jewels, smoking with thin coils of screams & ghost-iron -- tucked away into obscure corners of the Celestial Realm, forever waiting to be opened-up whenever it amuses Yasazziel to unwrap & caress them.

Each one is sort of halfway between a prized Pokemon & a reverse Darklord of Ravenloft: each occupant is an utterly unique dick-in-a-box, sure ... but they love every minute of it, "bound" to their realm only so much as is required to keep them equal-parts amused & dangerous, all so that they can be taken out to straight-up murder people whenever their mistress desires.

Below are two of them.

Jackie: a Signature Soul of an Abhorrent Heaven

So ... you need a unique & scary monster, the sort of creature that Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights would happily uncage & send after a troublemaker? Jackie Ipanema can, with only slight alteration, be used to fill exactly that role ... in much the same way that Canio de Pogo, Happy Muurvaerid and Khakissandra Ayla, the Foul Wish Granted can -- in a pinch! -- serve as interesting quick-&-dirty Goetic monsters.

image from here

Within the Bloodlines & Black Magic setting, Jackie’s ties to Zon-Kuthon are placed with service to Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights.

ODDITIES:

If a character’s Threshold increases to an odd number from direct exposure to the presence (or the power) of Jackie Ipanema, she may gain one of the following Oddities (roll 1d10):

You can never again “spark” an object: you can’t turn on a stove or start a microwave, lighters that you try to use fail to ignite, cars you try to start won’t turn over, flicking a light-switch produces no effect, you can’t get a cellphone to turn on by pressing the button, and bullets or cartridges don’t go off when you squeeze the trigger on a firearm. You add quench as a 1st-level spell known to any one spell-list you possess; use of this special spell also extinguishes light bulbs, flashlights, chemical light-sticks and other simple, cheap devices that heat up, produce illumination and that can “burn out”. Use of this spell does not affect cars, cellphones, computers or other more complex electrical objects (such as firearms) used by opponents.

Your appearance becomes subtly creepy, and you remind everyone you meet of a dead person (either a specific dead person they have seen or a generic corpse, as appropriate). This affects your look, your voice, your scent and even the non-verbal sounds and movements you make; you suffer a penalty equal to twice your hit dice on all Charisma-based skill checks & ability checks except Intimidate. Once per day, you may choose, as a free action, to activate the Unnerving Gaze ability of an evangelist kyton, Will save negates (DC 10 + 1/2 your hit dice + your Charisma modifier); this ability last for 10 minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as another free action.

You add bullet shield as a 1st-level spell known to any one spell-list you possess. This special spell may only be cast while you are in an area of dim or lower lighting, and a spell effect created by you in this way is suppressed -- as if in the area of an antimagic field -- while you or the target of the spell are in any area of normal or brighter light.

While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you are always considered to have a running start when jumping; you also add your character level (max +7) as a bonus on all Acrobatics checks to jump. You are fatigued while in an area of bright light and exhausted while in direct sunlight.

You gain light blindness. In addition, once per day as a free action you may choose to see through mist and fog (including fog cloud and similar magic) as if they did not exist. In areas of moderate or stronger wind, while this ability is in effect, you can also see as if you were standing at both your own position and a position a number of feet in the wind’s direction equal to the wind’s speed in miles per hour, potentially allowing you to see around corners and other obstacles. This ability lasts for 10 minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as another free action.

As long as you are humming the song Girl From Ipanema to yourself (which applies a -10 penalty to all Stealth checks based on sound), you are immune to fear and to non-lethal damage.

You can never again “spark” an object, as per the first result above. While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you gain full use of Exotic Weapon Proficiency: spiked chain and Weapon Finesse. If you normally possess either of these abilities, you instead gain one of the following for each feat that you already possess: Improved Initiative, Lunge, Power Attack. You gain these abilities even if you do not otherwise meet the prerequisites.

While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you gain damage reduction 5/silver or good and immunity to cold. You gain vulnerability to fire while in an area of bright light and are nauseated while in direct sunlight.

You gain an overwhelming scent of rust and old metal; all opponents within 30 feet may freely detect you purely by sense of smell. If you are upwind, the range increases to 60 feet; if downwind, it drops to 15 feet. Your exact location is not revealed, only your presence within range and the general direction toward you. When you are within 5 feet of any creature with a sense of smell, that creature automatically pinpoints your location even if otherwise blinded to you. You may also be tracked by your smell: any creature may attempt to follow from where you have been by making a Wisdom (or Survival) check to trace your movements and current whereabouts, even if you possess the trackless step ability. The typical DC for smelling you out is 10; this DC increases by 2 for each hour since you departed the area. This otherwise follows the rules for the Survival skill. At will as a standard action, while you are in an area of dim or lower lighting and are not wearing any other armor, you may cause wickedly-hooked, barbed & razor-edged chains to sprout from your body, providing a +4 armor bonus. These otherworldly chains are not treated as armor for the purpose of spell failure, armor check penalties, maximum Dexterity, weight, or proficiency. These chains persist for ten minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as a free action. If you already possess a strong scent, such as because you possess the third Oddity result from the Reverend of Razored Witch-Pyres, re-roll.

Roll 1d8+1 twice, keeping both results. If you gain the same result for both rolls, re-roll one of the dice.

Mr. Liu, the Cryptic Policeman, Secret Saint of Hong Kong (CR 13)

Those who speak with Mr. Liu on the telephone -- or correspond with the “man” via text or email -- universally find him charming, disarming and erudite in the extreme, with a remarkable wit; he has a refined British accent, exceptional knowledge of Chinese history, and he is obviously a highly-educated & well-traveled man: most likely from a fantastically-wealthy family of lawyers, college professors, international investors and physicians.

He often goes by Peter, Peyton or Penley; he comes off as a librarian, scholar or antiquarian ... although those who correspond with him quite frequently often begin to suspect that Mr. Liu might actually work for some type of clandestine, highly-discreet governmental organization.

That suspicion is partially correct.

Amongst those in-the-know, the Cryptic Policeman is a terrifying urban legend: the sort of ghostly creature who makes high-ranking members of the Tianlong Dynasty whisper a quick prayer & glance nervously over their shoulder.

Mr. Liu, the Cryptic Policeman, Secret Saint of Hong Kong, The No-Shadow Dragon, has never been seen. He is, in fact, invisible … save for a wide, toothy grin and the occasional flash of a bladed finger slipping through shrieking flesh. Despite this, Mr. Liu desires notoriety more than anything: he lusts for the perfection of his brutal art, wanting to be sought and never found, craving -- above all else! -- a eternal, profane and inverted game of cat and mouse: his Abhorrent Heaven is a bloody & endless game of hide-and-seek in the deep city, where he slays his pursuers and taunts the yet-unslain with riddles, poetry, bizarre word-puzzles and coded messages.

His identity is well known: he is considered one of the earliest recorded serial killers. In the 2nd century BC, there was a dragon-blooded Han prince, Liu Pengli, who ruled a small region in what would eventually become China. He was bloodthirsty and cruel, and led hunting parties made up of slaves and fugitives. At first they would kill indiscriminately, robbing and slaughtering the innocent and defenseless. After a time, though, Liu used these expeditions as opportunities to isolate and murder the strongest and most clever among his own men: he used misdirection & trickery to blame the deaths on the innocent and further the bloodshed. Eventually, he gained a taste for those with occult power in their blood, and targeted them specifically ... no longer killing the innocent, but instead hunting criminals, cultists, demon-summoners and rival murders, bringing a dark order to his province with his own hands.

While he wanted to get away with his crimes, Liu Pengli also wanted someone -- anyone, everyone -- to know how clever he was: how perfect a predator he had become. He had over 100 known victims, and far more unknown; soon, Liu Pengli began to announce the deaths of criminals & witches with messengers in every town, making known their deaths and his art ... even if he couldn't receive full credit for his lethal ingenuity. Eventually, this hunter of humans & magicians alike was brought before the Emperor, and he voluntarily stood for justice.

The Emperor, being his uncle, could not bring himself to execute the prince; thus, he reduced Liu Pengli in status, making him equal with those whom he had hunted & slain: Liu Pengli was stripped of his rank & title, made into a commoner, a no-one. The emperor exiled his nephew after making him anonymous, and sent him out of the kingdom to become a stranger in strange lands.

Liu Pengli couldn't help but smile.

It isn't known precisely when Liu Pengli actually died, nor how many he killed after being banished, but what is known is that before the 3rd century, he had been granted an Abhorrent Heaven of his own. Ever since, the occasional brutal murder of some poor bloke with a Bloodline is attributed to him, especially if a coded message is left behind.

Only two instances of prolonged activity are confirmed:

In London in the late 1800s, a powerful coven which owed fealty to the Goetic spirit of lust, Asmodeus, was all-but-openly active: conducting the dark rites of their cult under the thin guise of prostitution. The exact goals of their rituals are uncertain, but most likely these practitioners sought to magnify the influence of their patron-spirit in the material world, or to somehow otherwise threaten the power of the Archons ... because in 1888, the Cryptic Policeman was released from his Abhorrent Heaven to stalk & slay the Infernal-blooded priestesses. For three years the Policeman shadowed the five priestesses of Asmodeus's inner pentacle, with brief skirmishes slowed only by wards and fetishes which made it clear that the priestesses knew what hunted them. They attempted to replace lost members and complete the ritual, but failed ... as, one by one, they were hunted down, killed and mutilated in brutal fashion: sending a clear message from the Archons to those in the Secret World; lust is not to be flaunted. Mundane law enforcement never discovered evidence of the true killer, though the Cryptic taunted them through letters, using coded phrases and metaphor designed to communicate with the Invisible through the press, hinting that he was 'from hell'. The police never decoded the cipher, though those steeped in the occult could see it plain as day. He wanted to be unseen in his art, but credited for his achievement. Once his task was accomplished, the Archons spirited him back to his boundless cage.

Later, the Cryptic Policeman would be deployed again, loosed for nearly ten years at the very edge of the New World. From the late 1960s to the early 1970s, on the American West Coast, for unknown reasons the Fey bloodline began passing through love: granting power both to those born with the blood, and to those beloved by the blood. This allowed the power & influence of several new-born Lineages to grow rapidly, and threatened to destabilize the balance of power within the region. While most of these Fey-Blooded had no knowledge of their own power, or the significance of their acts, the Archons do not judge slights by intent. The Cryptic Policeman was released, and again stalked his prey methodically -- often for months -- waiting until he was certain that they had the potential to pass their power, and then brutally murdering both once the power was passed. Ever the artist, the Cryptic again taunted law enforcement with letters, this time encoded in a clear cypher. Once the code was cracked, he had the captive audience he sought: most watching the papers in horror, some in awe as he practiced his visceral art. Once the Fey outbreak was contained, his performance was cut short: with an unseen & shadow-less bow, Liu Pengli was again dragged back into his brutal paradise.

image from here

The Cryptic Policeman is a lawful evil invisible stalker (CR 7) with the Half Dragon template (+2 CR), the Gunsmoke-Blessed Creature template (+1 CR) [see Bloodline & Black Magic, pg. 161], the War Machine template (+3 CR) and the Lifespark Construct template (+1 CR).

Because the Cryptic Policeman possesses the Lifespark Construct template, his Intelligence is not reduced by the application of the War Machine template.

Whenever the Cryptic Policeman deals damage to a living creature with any of his natural melee attacks, his wide & toothy smile very briefly becomes visible. This does not negate his bonuses to Stealth from invisibility, as his eerie smile is disconnected from his body: often appearing two to three feet away from the Cryptic Policeman’s actual face, as per a combination of blink & displacement.

The Cryptic Policeman may choose to suppress his natural invisibility & is in possession of a greater hat of disguise; he may choose to appear as a normal human whenever he desires.

Using the Cryptic Policeman:

If a character's threshold increases to an odd number from direct exposure to the presence (or power) of the Cryptic Policeman, she may gain one of the following oddities (roll 1d8)

You begin compulsively smiling whenever you deal damage that sheds blood. You may choose to a cause a living opponent to bleed whenever you deal melee slashing damage; your attack may cause an opponent to suffer 1 additional point of damage each round for each level you possess (for example, if you are a 5th level character, you may cause you opponent to suffer up to 5 points of bleed each round). This bleeding can be stopped by a DC 15 Heal check or the application of any effect that heals hit point damage. Bleeding damage from this ability does not stack with itself; bleeding damage bypasses any damage reduction the target might possess. Each time this bleeding damage is inflicted, you suffer one half that amount of damage (non-lethal damage, rounded up) as your uncontrollable grin begins to ache, twitch & burn.

You can see through your own eyelids, and have a difficult time sleeping. You may make sight-based Perception checks with your eyes closed, but are always fatigued for the first four hours after waking or until you have had at least two cups of coffee.

Whenever you write anything, you involuntarily pepper the page with strange runes and sigils which you don't recall writing ... or know the meaning of.

You gain full knowledge either Draconic or ancient Chinese (your choice).

Whenever you speak face-to-face with an unfamiliar, non-related individual for more than a few minutes, small scratch-marks and cuts as if from from fingernails form on your arms and face. This is actually a great way to tell if you’re actually talking to someone you already know (who might be in disguise).

Whenever you hold anything that could be used as a slashing weapon, your hand grips it until your knuckles whiten. You are incapable of holding such an object loosely, though you may put it down without difficulty. You gain a +2 bonus on all Disarm attempts made against you.

You may make Linguistics checks untrained. Whenever you encounter a language or writing which you do not understand, you feel distracted and are considered shaken while within 10 ft. of such script.

Roll 1d6+1 twice, keeping both results. If you gain the same result for both rolls, re-roll one of the dice.

PLOT HOOKS (pick from the list or roll 1d8)

A new string of killings has begun in a local metropolis, and they seem to be imitating the ciphered letters of the Zodiac Killer. Although the new cipher has yet to be decoded, it uses the characters of a hidden & secret language. The Cryptic Policeman has, perhaps, inspired a copycat ... or an acolyte. Or a rival, calling him out to face vengeance.

A potent young Dragon-Blooded sorcerer with a warm, charming smile has discovered that amongst his ancestors sits Liu Pengli; the brash magician is now attempting to become a host for the Cryptic Policeman’s ancient power for the express purpose of taking revenge on a rival ... but he risks unknowingly allowing the Cryptic Policemen to walk the earth again, unfettered by the Archon's cage.

Multiple high-profile businessmen in the finance industry have been found eviscerated in their offices, the walls splayed with bloody & undecipherable sigils. Mundane authorities are confounded not by what is on the security tapes, but what isn't: the murderer is invisible. Already, secret organizations have begun covering-up the crimes. Has the Cryptic Policeman been sent on a clandestine errand ... or is another player at work here, hiding behind the Cryptic’s reputation?

An invaluable 13th-century German grimoire detailing rituals used for summoning & binding the Cryptic Policeman has gone to auction. While the seller -- and most of the buyers! -- have no idea what’s on the block, at least one buyer is willing kill to obtain the prize.

An ancient and priceless knife which supposedly belonged to Liu Pengli has been stolen from a local museum by a Dragon-Blooded cult who believe it may hold a portion of his power ... or the ability to command & control the great ‘Machine Colorless Wyrm’.

An eccentric hobbyist, fascinated with 'ripper-ology' and researching for a book, has deciphered an unnoticed code in the letters from the Whitechapel murders. He is drifting dangerously close to an open secret of the Hidden World: the identity of the Cryptic Policeman.

The newly-awakened descendant of a victim from the Cryptic's 1970s-era West Coast murders has manifested the power of Fey blood ... and, moreover, she has demonstrated the ability to pass that power on to others through love while retaining the full Bloodline potency herself. This young woman must be carefully introduced to the Secret World, and gently told the truth about her heritage, all without arousing the interest of the Archons or their murderous pet.

A panicked coven is seeking any & all of the help they can acquire -- begging, borrowing & blackmailing, as they are able -- from anyone powerful and in-the-know enough to assist: they attempted to summon the Cryptic Policeman from his Abhorrent Heaven & to bind him ... and while their summoning certainly worked, and seemingly escaped the notice of the Archons, they were unable to chain him. Now, the Cryptic Policeman is gleefully stalking the members of their coven, picking them off one by one in a slow-moving orgy of violence.

So ... what color of dragon is the Cryptic Policeman, precisely?

Within the context of your own Bloodlines & Black Magic game, this is left entirely to your own discretion. Whatever energy-type of breath weapon you want him to unleash in combat (or need him to be immune to!), that’s the one ... although there are certainly dozens of theories, dating back centuries across any number of cultures, claiming to authoritatively state that the invisible scales of his armor & unseen cogs of his bones are one precise shade or another.

[galadrieljones]

Gaming: About Me

I saw @starsandskies do this, and I was bored, and it looked fun. So here we go!! <3

favorite game from the last 5 years?  ‒ Dragon Age: Inquisition, Horizon: Zero Dawn, The Last of Us, Rise of the Tomb Raider

most nostalgic game? ‒ Skyrim. I know I have characterized it before by saying it feels more like a place I used to live for a little while than an actual game I used to play.

game that deserves a sequel?  ‒ :nervous laughter: DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION. Also, I think that after the ending cut scene with Silens, Horizon: Zero Dawn would do awesome with a sequel.

game that deserves a remaster?  ‒ I kind of would love a remaster of Dragon Age: Origins.

favorite game series?  ‒ I am terrible at series. I don’t make it through them very often. But I would probably say Dark Souls. Even though I, myself, have only played a teensy bit of the original, I’ve watching my husband play all of them, the first two multiple times, and the games are just breathtaking and bizarre, and I love the sort of hidden capacity of all the stories and different locations, how hard we have to work to put the pieces together and understand what’s going on in the world. It’s extremely challenging on all fronts. I wish more games would trust their players as much as Dark Souls.

favorite genre?  ‒ Fantasy RPGs. But I also really love these super immersive choice and consequence adventure games like Life is Strange. I would really like to play Until Dawn, but I’m super nervous lol. It looks scary af. I like any games that complicate the point of view of the player, particularly via morality scenarios. I feel like that is when games are at their best. This is a part of why I love The Last of Us so much.

least favorite genre?  ‒ Probably science fiction in space? I have a hard time getting into any space text, tbh, unless there is a BIG human component, and a lot of themes that make the setting feel more like a metaphor (ie: Battlestar Galactica). Like the Mass Effect games, for example, while I think they have some good characters, bore me after a while, in terms of their aesthetic (don’t kill me lol). But I DO really like the sort of loopy space scifi you see in series like Borderlands and Halo. I think those two series are pretty genius, and their POVs are unique.

favorite song from a game?  ‒ Can it be from a game trailer? Ellie’s version of Through the Valley, for sure, from the teaser for The Last of Us, Pt. II

I also really like “I Shall Rise” by Karen O from Rise of the Tomb Raider.

favorite character from a game?  ‒ Joel from The Last of Us [painful sobbing], and Solas from Dragon Age: Inquisition [more painful sobbing]

favorite ship from a game?  ‒ Solavellan, baby. Give me all the god angst.

favorite voice actor from a game?  ‒ Troy Baker...how is he at once so sexy and so dorky? No one will ever know. The perfect man.

favorite cutscene?  ‒ The final cut scene of the Winter chapter from The Last of Us:

I love this scene for so many reasons, but honestly my favorite part is right at the end, when we see Joel telling Ellie something before they leave the restaurant, and we don’t get to know what it is. Like it is just between them. This moment is incredibly private and intimate and just beautiful to witness, particularly given its context.

favorite boss?  ‒ I really enjoyed the final fight with Konstantin in Rise of the Tomb Raider. I feel like it was somehow inspired by Ellie’s battle with David in The Last of Us (which I’d say is my favorite but it’s actually just too terrifying and I dread it). Like Ellie, in this fight, Lara has been stripped of her guns, bow, and general defenses, and she must sneak around a slowly deteriorating setting while using mainly her environment to win the battle. She has to toss cans and bottles around to distract Konstantin, and then sneak attack him. It is time-consuming and very intense. There is also a distinct and terrifying predator/prey dynamic at work in both scenes, and at some point, like right at the end, it shifts. This feels very realistic and immersive. Granted, I sympathized with Konstantin, which made the ending of Rise of the Tomb Raider all the more powerful, whereas I thought David was bona fide scum of the earth and deserved exactly what he got and more.

first console?  ‒ Super Nintendo

current console or consoles?  ‒ PS4 and XBOX ONE, though mostly it’s been the PlayStation lately.

console you want?  ‒ We have talked about getting whatever the newest Wii is? We don’t need it lol, but like, Super Mario Galaxy is THE BEST. Also, Zelda.

place from a game that you’d like to visit?  ‒ Maybe Skyhold? I love it there. I want to hang out with Cole on the battlements.

place from a game that you’d like to live in?  ‒ Skyrim. Particularly the Whiterun Hold. I know it’s an awful place, but it’s so exciting and pretty and it would be so easy to just be an NPC, living out your simple life in Rorikstead, waving hello to the heroes as they pass through.

ridiculous crossover that would never happen but would be super fun?  ‒ I don’t tend to think in these kinds of terms. But I think it would be interesting if Sene Lavellan was sent to Skyrim as the Dragonborn lol. There would be a LOT of “What the fuck” moments. FUS RO FUCK YOU DRAGON PRIESTS

book that would make a good game?  ‒ There’s this terrible but extremely addicting horror novel called The Ruins about a bunch of idiot college kids that trespass on a cursed Mayan ruin while on spring break and get slowly consumed by these carnivorous vines that grow there. I that it think would make an awesome like, choice and consequence horror survival game.

show/movie that would make a good game?  ‒ From Supernatural: Dean in purgatory, having a bromance with Benny the vampire while trying to escape and get back to his baby brother would be an awesome video game FOR SURE. BENNY! DEAN! Oof.

games you want to play?  ‒ God of War, The Last of Us, Pt. II, Life is Strange 2, Shadow of the Tomb Raider, the Uncharted games. Seriously I am booked through 2020 bye

have you gotten 100% completion in a game?  ‒ Lol. Never. I am the opposite of a completionist. I tend to go through games only making decisions and doing shit that feels organic and immersive in the moment. I actually skip a lot. But I tend to replay games often, so I think I see most everything over time.

have you cried over a game?  ‒ hhahahhahahahahahhahhahahahhaha. I just cried rewatching that cut scene from The Last of Us. I am hopeless. I cry in EVERY game I play.

tagging @thevikingwoman @wrenbee @ladylike-foxes @hidinginthehinterlands @kaoruyogi @buttsonthebeach @ellstersmash @a-shakespearean-in-paris @vinegartits @ithun and any one else who wants to do this!! Tag me if you do.

[arynchris]

Little bit of a dark holiday present for my Humans Are Space Orcs buddies.  Gawd, I love this stuff.  Never the same idea twice!

(Inspired in part by this other post over here ) So, this has been brought up before, but humans tell some scary stories.  For fun, even!  Ghost stories, old fairy tales, creepypasta, horror flicks, graphic video games, all kinds of stuff.  And we have done so for all of recorded history.  Well, maybe we’re NOT the only intelligent species in the galaxy to do so.  Maybe we’re NOT the only species who even invent frightening stories out of whole cloth, to encourage our offspring to obey, get stubborn people to keep out of contaminated zones, etc.

But humans are the only ones who tell stories about scary fellow humans.

Ythrexian scholar 675-designate-Luvius was troubled.  She had studied humans briefly in school, of course-- fascinating paradox species-- but she was a generalist, not a specialist.  Experts in the field of humanity had failed for generations to explain “criminal behavior,” so how could she hope to?  And yet, from the numerous frightened and confused information requests listed on her communication device, she was going to have to try.  She called Human mechanic Liantereasamackenzie-designate-Mackie to her meeting chamber.

The doorway decontamination field sterilized Mackie of ythrexian-hostile particles with a soft swishing noise.  “Ola, Luvius.  What can I do for you?”

Luvius lowered her posture slightly and replicated the sound of a human ‘sigh,’ indicating disappointment and mental overexertion.  Humans had instructed her that she over-used this behavior towards them, but it seemed warranted this time.  Just like the indirect method of problem reveal, to keep the human defensive and hopefully apologetic.  “Mackie, I have many requests today from the crew.  Some are quite typical and expected, but most of them are for the human term ‘axe murderer’?”

Mackie’s back straightened and her eyes widened.  “Why would they want--?!”  Then she blinked, paused.  Blinked again, and raised a hand to cover her gaping mouth.  Human facial cues were notoriously difficult to interpret, but such a dramatic elliptical mouth shape was uncommon and conveyed... Luvius checked her Restricted Access Cultural Handbook vol.Humans record... ‘horror,’ a type of emotional distress which can cause slowed reflexes or paralysis.  “...I had too much to drink last night.”

Luvius paused.  “...Alcohol, correct?  Do I remember correctly, that drinking alcohol is a human activity as well as a btri one, but humans achieve toxic overdose more quickly than btrixes?  Did you ingest too large a quantity?”  She wasn’t sure how that could be related to axe murderers, but one indirect reveal deserved another, she supposed.

Mackie nodded.  “Yes...  I forget what they called this one, but it was btrixes’ turn to introduce a new drinking game, and we all had a little too much.  Everyone had to tell a scary story from their clan or homeworld, and the better the scare, the more the group drank.  I don’t even remember what story I told... but...”

Luvius puffed her shoulder pinfeathers in aggressive bewilderment.  “How can you not remember what story you told?  Why would you tell a story that may end your species’ diplomatic relations with the entire Unified Gathering!?”

Mackie hugged herself with an obvious ‘sad’ facial cue and gazed at the floor.  Unusually quietly, she said, “Alcohol’s chemical affect on us involves muscle relaxation and slowed thinking.  But the more we drink, the worse it gets.  We lose our inhibitions... like a will to follow rules and not talk about restricted subjects.  Overdose causes memory loss.”

Luvius closed all her eyes.  This, at least, conveyed the same meaning to humans as it did to ythrexians.

“I’m so sorry, Luvius.”

She opened her eyes.  “Sorrow is appropriate!  I do not know how to answer these requests.  You are to blame for this incident, and yet it is my responsibility to incite the ensuing riot of consequences!  Whether you sorrow for the loss to your species or for the emotional and professional distress you cause me as one of your pack-bonded crew members, there is no more appropriate emotion.  Except contrition, perhaps.”

She watched Mackie blink, the human’s face contorting into a less scrutable facial cue.  “...But I am contrite.  That’s what ‘sorry’ means, most of the time-- it means I’m sorry because I screwed up, I feel guilty and want to fix it.”

“Does ‘sorry’ still indicate sympathetic sorrow?  I read that it is used--”

“It depends.” Mackie sighed and rubbed her arms.  “What it means is, ‘I feel sorrow because you are unhappy.’  But if the other person is unhappy because we ruined something, then it also means we feel guilty, contrite, because it’s impossible to feel empathy for someone without feeling responsibility for our part in it.”  She raised her gaze, parting her arms slightly, and spoke somewhat hesitantly.  “We feel guilty because.. we never really wanted to cause harm.”

“All Earth’s history aside.”

Mackie flinched.

Luvius didn’t, in posture or into the translation device.  “Mackie, I have to try and explain to the crew what ‘criminal’ is.  What ‘axe murderer’ is.  But I can’t.  I can’t understand why any of you would want to harm each other, and yet, you do.  So, explain to me.  Explain to me, so I can explain to them, and we can all proceed with the inevitable exclusion of your entire species from the Unified Gathering as the scary story of you gets out.”

Mackie sat down on the floor.

“Uh... what are you doing?” This was a complete breach of protocol.

Mackie looked up at her, slouching, glaring, with her legs splayed, bent, and crossed over each other at the ankles.  It looked bizarre.  “Sitting.  If the entire human race is about to be kicked out of the fun club, and it’s all my fault, then I don’t care anymore.  No one in Interplanetary Diplomatic Services is going to care, either-- and if they do, I still don’t care, because my life is already over after this.

“You want to know about crime and murder?  Listen up:

“You ythrexians are scared of predators, poisons, and accidents.  All the other species, scared of predators, poisons, and accidents.  Well, good.  You should be.  Those things suck.  But you know what sucks worse?  You know what we’re scared of?  Ourselves.  The darkness of a human heart.  You tell all these scary stories about disasters and monsters and the great unknown in the dark?  That’s all they are, to you.  Scary things that you may or may not know, but definitely can’t control, and they want to hurt you.  That’s us.  All those same disasters and monsters and accidents happen to humans, too, but we’re not scared of them.  You’ve seen us-- skydiving.  Mining underground.  Riding rockets to space because we don’t have anything better yet.  Overdosing on alcohol and everything else for fun.  We’ve been accused of letting species success go to our heads and cloud our survival instincts.

“No.”  The human’s voice started modulating into frequencies that reminded Luvius of ancient danger songs.  “Those are things we can see.  Face.  Learn to control.  We can fight the monsters, we can defy the physics, we can deny our biology.  When it comes to scary stories, those are the tame ones.  We tell those-- we enjoy those-- because we’re not afraid.”  Did Mackie know that her voice was beginning to cause Luvius distress?

“Our scariest stories are about ourselves.  We’ve seen each other go mad...”  She had to know.  These were frequencies that humans did not regularly converse in, patterns they simply didn’t use.  Mackie had to know that the effect was blood-chilling, whyever she was doing it; but Luvius was riveted by her words. “...we’ve heard the call of the void.  We know, we’re terrified, that the real monster is us.  That we might not even know that we are.  That we might forget to care.  We’ve all had thoughts, intrusive urges, to do something not just wrong, but bad.  Murderous.  Suicidal.  Insane.  Destructive.  Harmful.  Whatever is the opposite of good.

“We don’t heed those thoughts.  Those urges are startling, but they have no power.  They are too against the grain, too radically different from our character.

“And yet.

“When the fire is low and the night is cold, when life has been rough and we feel alone, the urges get a little stronger.  And stronger.  And we wonder if we’ll cross the line this time.

“Or if we already have.”

Luvius’ pinfeathers and claws were all completely extended in fear.  Somehow, with just a few dozens statements and some voice modulation, she’d been reduced to the existential panic of a disobedient child at bedtime.  To her increased terror, Mackie stood up and leered like a predator, smiling in a way that seemed, suddenly, exactly like the bared predator grin that humans regularly insisted it wasn’t.

“Have fun sleeping tonight, little ythrexian...”

And the human strode out, head tilted back, loosening an instinctively terrifying laugh... one of the many mannerisms their own government had forbidden them to do in space.