Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Tsundere Prestige Class (Patreon)

Body glitter lay thick about the clearing. The scent of roll-on adhesive and wildflowers hung in the air.

“You look perfect,” said Inquisitor.

“Blood,” agreed Mr. Stabby.

Fighter glowered. She’d long since stopped complaining to her blackmailer. There was no mercy to be had there (or at least none that was useful). The black blade, on the other hand, was supposed to be on her side.

“You really are a bastard sword, you know that?”

“Blood. Blood-blood blood blood? Blood BLOOD!”

And Fighter could only blush and cross her arms. “It’s cold out,” she said. But it wasn’t really. She knew that Ranger was somewhere out there in the woods. Somewhere close. And if what Inquisitor said was true, and if Ranger’s bashful confessions (half-remembered from late nights in the Miss Spine Eater’s dormitories) had survived into adulthood, then Fighter was in for a very long night of contested grapple checks. What hunter wouldn’t hope for glimpses of sinuous forms in sylvan glades? Of delicate laughter upon the wind, or a finger crooked in invitation from the depths of some secret bower? Her breath quickened at the thought. She made her voice as low and gruff as she could anyway.

“Are we done here?”

“Mhmm,” said Inquisitor, that damned smile still playing on her lips. “I couldn’t possibly make you look any more the part.” And it was true. Fighter was every inch the wood nymph, all perfect makeup and sexy nature-themed details appended to her character description. The effect was only slightly marred by her exit. The human should have swayed into the depths of the forest, or glided delicately so as not to disturb even the slightest blade of grass, or perhaps disappeared as if carried by a puff of springtime wind, scented with dandelion and dew. Instead she stalked away, murmuring curses beneath her breath.

“You two have a weird relationship,” said Bad Cat. She had emerged from the woods (more of a sinister shadow materializing than a delicately swaying wind puff), and watched alongside the drow. Stalking or no, there was a certain hypnotic quality to the motion of Fighter’s retreating form.

When the human had finally faded into the foliage, Inquisitor blinked. “Me and Fighter? We aren’t so hard to understand. I just don’t want to see Ranger hurt.”

Bad Cat considered this. She tilted her head to one side. “Why,” she purred, “Might Ranger be hurt? Are they not enjoying one another?”

“Aside from you,” replied Quiz. “Ranger is my oldest friend. She is kind. She’s trusting. And after all this time I can finally see her starting to open up. Meanwhile Fighter is….”

The drow made a vague gesture, searching about for the words.

“Fighter is Fighter?” suggested Bad Cat.

“Exactly. I don’t understand how Ranger can’t see it. Can you imagine what it would be like to find out that the person you love — the person you trust most the whole world — is a sham? A deceitful, black-hearted bitch with only ill-intent and narcissism hiding beneath a pretty exterior?”

Slowly, and very carefully, Bad Cat said, “That would be very painful?”

“Yes, it would,” said Inquisitor. And she squeezed Bad Cat’s hand for comfort. And she did not see the feline smile, or all white teeth and too-round eyes burning by her side.