#but it had a similar premise just not done as well

[asexual-levia-tan]

i love the bias + the fan pairings so much because on the surface its very "oh, well, the bias just has to fall for the fan and then its happily ever after" but no! its way more fun than that!

the fan isnt in love with the bias. in fact, the fan doesnt view this world as reality, nor do they even view their bias as a human. the fun part of this pairing is the fan having to recognize the world they live in as their new reality and the people around them as people! the bias falling for the fan is just part one, the fan falling for the bias as an Actual Human Being is just as important an element

[icewindandboringhorror]

It always seems a bit unbalanced on The Great Food Truck Race when there will be multiple teams who are cooking a wide variety of complex dishes with 10 different components and a bunch of prep work, and then there's that one team who like... exclusively serves plain crepes with some premade nutella on them, or plain waffles with just some whipped cream and cut up strawberries lol...

[kingkat12]

you're my drug (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, semi-public sex, sexual imagery, foul language, mentions of drugs/tobacco

summary: after you got caught making out with Eric at rehab, everything suddenly spirals into something much deeper

word count: 5,022 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part two of draw you! enjoy!!<3

As I stood in the courtyard, kicking some rocks along during my lap around the premises, I couldn't help but wonder when I would see Eric again. It had been a week since we were caught making out in his room, and I had just gotten out of a two-day solitary confinement— it was definitely a harsher punishment than expected. Then again, I should've known; this place was an absolute shithole. 

The worst part of the ordeal was having to write down my feelings and get another check from the warden, along with questions about whether or not I was a nymphomaniac. Excuse me?

Had Eric gotten a harsher repercussion than me? Maybe he had been moved to a different rehabilitation center? I didn't want to think about it. Again, I shouldn't be worrying about a stranger I barely knew. It was a little reckless of me to care for someone who had drawn me naked— now that I wasn't in a state of arousal, it dawned on me how creepy that actually was.

But then again... I had been the one to jump him. That was on me. Had I not offered up, I wouldn't feel so attached to him. 

... Maybe I was a nymphomaniac? Fuck.

So when I eventually lost track of where I had kicked my stone, I started looking for new ones. And it was during my hunt for entertainment that I eventually spotted a familiar tall figure entering the courtyard. 

Eric's cheeks were more hollow than the last time I had seen him, and I couldn't help the guilt that immediately seeped into my system. He seemed much darker than I remembered, the green in his eyes no longer having that playful shimmer I could spot from far away. However, when he spotted me on his way through the courtyard with a guard by his side, something changed in Eric. The flush in his cheeks returned, his eyes widened, and I could see the faint remnants of the smile that had etched itself into my mind for nights on end. But when he met my gaze, he looked away in a flash-- was he afraid we'd be caught staring at each other again?

I couldn't even control the way I immediately jumped into action as the guards left Eric's side, and I made my way to him with a confident stride. "Well, if it isn't Michelangelo?" I said, approaching with a smile. Seeing him in the flesh again made the tips of my fingers tingle, a certain excitement building in my system. "Where have you been? Did they put you in confinement too?"

But the smile I had seen in him earlier wasn't there anymore-- he turned to me, face blank. Eric blinked twice, watching me as though he didn't know why I was talking to him at all, his nose scrunching up. 

My pulse quickened as my anxiety rose; what was happening? 

"We shouldn't be talking," Eric eventually mumbled, looking away. His green eyes darted towards the guards on duty, wary of their movements. It didn't take long before he started walking away from me, which in turn left me stunned. 

I wondered whether I had said something wrong as I watched him join a few guys that were working out, and I had to take a deep breath to ground myself.  Everything about this made me feel like a complete and utter idiot-- I turned away from Eric, rubbing my temples as I made my way back inside. This was giving me a bigger headache than the ones I would get after coming down from a high.

This definitely felt similar to that; the crushing feeling. Having Eric dismiss me like that after what we had done felt more painful than usual, now that I couldn't dull down my feelings with anything. 

I walked back into my room, slamming the door shut behind me. Everything about this made my whole body ache, and I couldn't understand why I even cared to this degree. 

Had I been so delusional as to think Eric felt something for me too?

Later that night, I didn't care to come out for the last meal. Something told me I'd be staring at Eric again and that he'd dismiss me once more, and I didn't know if I could take it. I hadn't missed drugs as much as now-- everything about this situation reminded me of how I ended up here in the first place.

As I lay in my bed, hoping to fall asleep and wake up a new woman, I was dragged out of my sleepy state when I heard a light shuffling sound coming from my door. I sat up, rubbing my eyes before my gaze slowly darted towards the commotion. 

There it was. A note?

I went to pick it up, feeling my heart thump hard in my chest in anticipation. The paper was familiar, like rough velvet to my fingers, and the same size as a page from a notebook. The smile that crept up my lips was impossible to suppress-- I turned the paper to see a new drawing of me, made in the same scratchy style as the previous ones I had seen. 

It was an image of me laying in a bed, my eyes hidden in the crook of my arm, lips parted as though I was drawing in a big breath. The pink jumper I was pictured in was a lot bigger than mine; I suspected it was supposed to be Eric's. From the waist down, I was wearing nothing but a black pair of underwear, my legs dangling halfway off the bed. 

I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my chest rise as my heart skipped a beat-- it was beautiful. Completely breathtaking. And in the corner to the upper right, there was a scribbled message with boyish writing that was hard to understand;

messy mornings. let's have those someday? xx

My smile only spread, and I let out a shaky breath of relief as I leaned my forehead against my door, pressing the drawing tightly against my chest. The joy that coursed through my veins reminded me of the same euphoric feeling I'd get from doing a certain type of drug-- I wasn't sure whether it was good for me or not to be feeling these things, but I knew I was addicted already. 

Was Eric maybe addicted to me as well? Was the incident in the courtyard just something he did in front of the guards, straying away from trouble?

I couldn't be sure. Nonetheless, I had gotten confirmation that he definitely thought about me too, and that was all I needed.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I could swear it was the same as getting high-- seeing Eric, I mean. It was especially exhilarating knowing he was right in front of me, but that I couldn't say a word to him. 

We were currently in a typical meeting, a group of people sitting in a circle trying to work through why they had started drinking or using. I hated these gatherings the most; I wasn't the biggest fan of airing out my life to strangers. 

But today was different. Eric had joined my group, even though his meeting usually took place later in the evening. I felt the air seep out of my lungs the second I spotted him in the door, watching him with eyes wider than expensive plates of china as he sat down on the chair opposite me in the circle, locking his gaze on me. 

And there he sat, in a casual manspread as he twiddled his thumbs, waiting his turn. His dark mullet had grown out a little, the hair on his forehead inching closer to his eyes with each week he was here. It was easy to get lost when I stared at him for too long, hypnotized by his tall build and his green, green eyes darting right back at me. The smirk playing across his lips mirrored mine, both of us feeling the tension thicken between us despite knowing our minds should be elsewhere at this moment.

I had gotten so swept up with Eric that I nearly jumped out of my chair when my name was called. My eyes frantically ripped themselves off of him, finding the guidance counselor with a confused look. What question was I supposed to answer? 

The counselor cleared her throat; "How are you planning to change your habits once you get out of rehabilitation?"

Oh. I had no idea. Flustered, I ended up shrugging, avoiding Eric's amused gaze. "I think... I might have to work on my impulses. So I guess I will try to make sure I don't give in to bad habits by..." I realized I was completely lost, and it made my cheeks flush. "By doing, uh... Doing breathing exercises?"

My eyes snapped toward the sound that came from the other end of the room-- I watched as Eric clasped a hand over his mouth, head hanging low to hide his blatant amusement. Was that a snort I heard? I had to actively bite back a smile from forming, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip with a force I had never used before.

The counselor cleared her throat, clearly unhappy with the direction this was heading. "Yes, Eric? Do you have anything to say?"

His green eyes darted up from his lap, and it was obvious that he was biting down on the inside of his cheek. Eric crossed his arms over his chest, nodding to himself as though he was thinking. "Well, if you're asking me the same question, I think I plan to surround myself with people I love. I think that's where it went wrong the last time," 

I held my breath-- I hadn't expected him to say that. And I had most certainly not expected Eric's eyes to find me immediately after, realizing his pupils had widened the second they landed on me. 

I didn't try to suppress my smile this time. I let it happen, watching as Eric smiled right back with a shimmer in his eyes. 

Something told me I was actually going to get something good out of group therapy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... It dawned on me a few days later that I didn't have much time left in rehab. It also happened to dawn on me at the exact moment another drawing slipped under my door, right around the time I was ready to go to bed. 

It was probably the fifth one this week, and I had laid them out neatly on my nightstand. Every image was as beautiful as the last one-- two of me in bed, one of me out in the courtyard again, and one of me during a group session falling asleep on Eric's shoulder. It warmed my heart to think that he had thought about that imagery when we had sat opposite each other a few days ago. Actually, everything about this warmed my heart.

However, today's drawing caught me off-guard. Today, it was a nude one-- deja vu. My eyes locked on the image of me in what looked like Eric's room, gripping his hair as his head was dipped between my legs. One hand was clasped over my chest, and the other one was digging its fingers into my thigh, holding me down. Everything about it made my heart stop, letting out a laboured breath at the sight. 

As always, there was a small message in the upper right corner;

in an alternative universe, there wouldn't be guards outside and there would be no stopping us.  can't wait to taste you xx

My hands gripped the paper, almost to the verge of curling it. It felt as though my body was actively on fire, a need ripping its way through my chest. And it was this exact feeling that had me rushing to put the drawing away before bolting out my door, knowing Eric couldn't have gone too far. 

Thankfully, I had been right. I spotted Eric further down the hall, towering over the people passing him. It was impossible not to notice the tattoos poking up from under his pink jumper, and something about it made my heart race even faster-- I so desperately wanted to see everything. Feel him beneath the pads of my fingertips. 

And I burned. Burned, burned, burned up. And I kept on burning as I sped down the hallway, hearing the loud clacking of my shoes echo through the space along with the thumping of my heart. "Eric!"

Hearing his name, Eric turned around, eyes wide in surprise. "Hey, you," he murmured, brows knitting together as though he was about to scold me. "Thought you were sleeping?"

I finally caught up to him, quickly scanning our surroundings, realizing we were alone. 

"... Are you here to return the drawing?" Eric asked, tilting his head to the side as he scanned the look on my face. A nervous smile spread across his lips, and he brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck as his eyes flickered around the hallway. "Might've been a little much, sure, but you didn't seem to mind it the last time?--"

His words trailed off as the small hand tugging at his jumper caught his attention. Eric's eyes rounded out, immediately understanding what I was getting at. When he leaned down, I let out a shaky breath before I flung my arms around his neck, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

I had hoped it would satiate the burn ravaging my body, but it didn't. As Eric's big arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him, the fire only spread. My hands barely had time to go up into his hair, tugging softly at his dark locks, before he pulled away with an airy chuckle. "You'll get us in trouble again,"

That's true-- "Fuck," was the only thing I managed to say. 

Humming, Eric glanced down the hall before pulling my hand into his, intertwining our fingers as he led me away. I was glad it was almost time for bed, seeing as there were barely any people out in the hallway and the guards were relaxing outside on their cigarette break. A familiar dulling of my brain seeped into my system as I remembered the smell of their cigarettes gliding into my room from outside-- I missed nicotine. But Eric was better than any cigarettes. Better than anything I had ever taken before. No high could match the one I would get from locking eyes with him, getting a drawing under my door, or the feeling currently coursing through my veins as he led me into a desolate stairwell. "This will do for now," he muttered, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "I'll make sure to bring you somewhere nice when we're both out of here."

As my back hit the wall, I couldn't suppress my growing smirk as Eric neared me. The last time we had stood like this, had been right before he left my room after we made out. Seeing how tall he was, casting a shadow as he towered over me, I let out a sigh of joy; I had missed this. I had missed him. There was nothing that could make me happier than being alone with him. "I'm getting out of here soon, actually,"

Eric hummed as he placed his hand against the wall next to my head, his green eyes locking with mine. I wasn't too afraid to show my burning state-- he watched my lips part as I stared up at him, and I watched his jaw clench as he tried to digest the look in my eyes.

Sex. I was giving him those bedroom eyes that always worked on every guy I had ever been with. My eyes got all glassy, my thick lashes hanging low. I was quite sure I would let him fuck me right here if he wanted to-- I was past the point of caring who caught us. 

"Soon, you say? How soon?" Eric asked, leaning down to press two separate kisses against the corners of my mouth. 

I had to control the way my breath hitched before I answered; "A week and a half,"

Nodding, Eric's fingers brushed against my lips, pressing into the skin as he watched my expression with a heated one of his own. His thumb dipped past my lips, brushing against the tip of my tongue. "I'm out in three," 

I smiled before wrapping my mouth softly around his thumb, watching a breath escape him as his green eyes locked on the sight. Eric leaned down to kiss my cheek, watching as they flushed when he pulled his finger out of my mouth. "Where can I find you when we're out?"

"You seriously think I would leave this place without giving you my address?"

"Okay, good," Eric chuckled, his eyes rounding out with a newfound softness. "Because I think I'll need you out there more than I need you now."

What? I swallowed, biting down on my lower lip. Did he reciprocate the way I was feeling these things? I wondered whether he also felt the pit of fire in his stomach, whether he couldn't breathe whenever I wasn't around, and whether thoughts of me also wreaked havoc through his mind in every waking moment. 

Eric's eyes lowered, taking in my stunned silence. "Honestly, I thought this was purely a lust thing, but... I've come to realize it's not just that. The one thing rehab has taught me, is that I need to break my habits, so here I am. Not running,"

I hadn't smiled this brightly in years. "Eric?"

A hum.

"I feel the same way," I reached out for his face, glad he had bent down a little to make it possible. "I'm quite sure I've gone mad, but standing with you here feels better than any drugs I've ever taken. And quite frankly, that drawing... Fuck, that was quite something." A breathy giggle escaped me, watching as Eric met my gaze with a smirk playing across his plush, pink lips. "That shit was hot. You're so fucking talented, do you know that?"

Eric freed his lower lip from his teeth, inching closer to gently nudge his nose against me. "Nope, I definitely don't know that. Completely oblivious. Which is why I need you around to tell me that, once in a while,"

"I'll tell you every day, if you want," I closed my eyes, relishing in the feeling of our closeness. 

"Good," Eric whispered against my lips, his hands now grabbing at my waist, pressing himself closer to me. "And I'll eat you out every day. Deal?"

I was quite sure I was going to faint. Remember the drawing, I couldn't wait for our time to come. "Sounds like better therapy than anything they've done for me here,"

"Definitely," 

I smiled, giving his dark hair a tug, pulling Eric against me to connect our lips in a passionate kiss. 

How we had gone from staring at each other to this, I had no idea. How it became this enormous feeling burning through my body, I couldn't guess the answer. But the one thing I knew, was that it felt right-- being with Eric like this felt right. Correct. Perfect. 

As our kisses grew with hunger, resembling that one evening on Eric's bed, my body began to grow flushed as his hands dipped beneath my pink jumper, traveling up my torso with a fiery need to be close. "Can I take this off?" he asked, pulling away, panting just slightly.

I nodded, unable to wipe the grin off my face as my sweater got discarded somewhere on the floor, licking my lips out of pure habit. Eric was quick to dip his head forward, swiping his own tongue along mine. My back arched off the wall in surprise, the movement against his body earning me a small groan. This was how I realized he was hard-- I had to suppress another hitch of my breath.

"Shit, I want to take it all off," Eric whispered against my lips. "Everything. Feel all of you." He pressed his lips against my chin, moving his way down my throat and to my neck. I could feel the cool air hitting my back as he lifted my shirt off as well-- my nipples hardened at his attention, his hands gripping my breasts through my bra, squeezing them. 

I whimpered against his touch, writhing in anticipation. I had no idea what he had planned for me, if we were going to go all the way or not; I could already feel my excitement pool between my legs, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The arousal had been in my system since the second I saw today's drawing, and I let it out by tugging at his dark hair once more, hoping for him to come back up. "Eric, kiss me-- Wanna feel you too," 

I watched Eric's eyes light up as he pulled away and met mine. And he complied, capturing my lips in a needy kiss, his big hands gripping at my hips and digging into my skin through my trousers. Realizing I was the only one with my shirt off, my hands dipped under his, hoping he'd get the memo as I tugged at the hem of his pink sweater. 

Eric's lips barely left mine as he discarded his sweater elsewhere, satisfaction coursing through my veins as our chests pressed up against each other, our hearts beating at the other through our skin. I had desperately wanted to see his tattoos, drink in the sight of the art scattered across his body, but it hit me that we didn't have time-- we didn't know when we'd be caught. I figured I'd leave it to the time we'd be out of rehab, when we'd have time for messy mornings every day, and when we had time to be buried in each other completely. 

"I don't know if I can wait three weeks," I breathed in between hungry kisses, my hands running up and down his toned torso. 

Eric hummed against my lips; "Me neither," 

And with that, it didn't take long before his slender fingers dipped down into my underwear, making my breath hitch at the realization of what was happening. "Been dreaming about this for weeks," Eric whispered, one of his hands disappearing in my hair to hold me in place, making sure my eyes met his as he rubbed tight circles around my clit. "You're all I ever think about."

My mouth was open against his, small gasps escaping past my lips, bucking into his hand as he sped up his movements around my clit. "I'm so crazy about you," I whimpered, watching the green of his eyes swallow me whole with adoration and lust. My mind still hadn't completely registered that this was happening, especially not under the blue lights of the stairwell. "You're better than drugs, I swear."

Eric chuckled against my lips, watching me moan against him as he patted the pad of his finger against the slick of my core. "Better than drugs, you say?"

"Much better," My words were barely coming out properly, and any continuation of that sentence was stopped the second Eric pressed a finger into me. My breath hitched-- fuck. 

He hummed, a sweet smile splayed across his lips; "You're my drug," 

It was almost too much-- I bucked against his hand once more, squirming in his grip as the flame spread through my body. I really couldn't remember the last time I had been this happy or aroused. I let out a breathy moan as he pumped his finger into me, the squelching sound of my wetness drawing forth a blush in my cheeks.

"I'd take my time with you," Eric whispered, capturing my lips in a short kiss before continuing; "But we don't have a lot of time. Forgive me if we make this quick."

I could barely nod, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt his thumb back against my clit, his middle finger curling inside of me. It was obvious that he had done this before. 

My mind was already mush by the time Eric slid his finger out of me, turning me around and peppering my shoulder with wet kisses. It didn't take long before he leaned down to tug my pants down to my knees, fingers eager. I wasn't sure how to explain the burning need that was currently clawing at me, but I knew it was all-consuming. Eric had consumed me-- I knew I was his and only his.

So when I felt his big, strong hands grip my hips, pushing me towards him to allow for an easier entrance, I could only moan out in complete and utter satisfaction as I felt his cock sink into me. Eric let out a breathy grunt, now snaking both hands around my body, burying himself to the hilt with the slowest stroke known to man. "Fuck," was all he managed to say, hissing slightly against my shoulder before sucking down on a spot, wanting to leave behind a mark.

I couldn't believe the strange places my mind went to-- why was I contemplating getting that hickey tattooed? I wouldn't need it anyway, if Eric kept his promise and stayed with me after we both got out. There was nothing I wanted more in the whole wide world.

All my concerns flew out the window as Eric gripped my waist for leverage as he continued to thrust into me, leaving me with my mouth open against the wall. My body was aching with pleasure unmatched anything I had ever felt before, and I knew that the difference between this time and all my other escapades was how much I had craved Eric-- and how much I knew he craved me.

My breath hitched as he nipped at my jaw, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. "Wanted this... so, so long..." Eric let out a grunt as his hands went down to my hips again, pulling away from my neck to watch his cock pump into my dripping core. I was quite sure it was glistening with my slick by the sounds of it. "Wanted this-- Wanted you."

"Me too," I cried, resting my hands against the wall, meeting his thrusts. "Every night, all the time..."

"All the time," he echoed. "Forever."

My breath hitched at both his words and the way one of his hands left my hip, ghosting over my stomach. I knew exactly where it was heading, and I had to bite back a rather loud moan as Eric dipped his hand down between my legs. Eric spread his fingers, covering my whole cunt, feeling the sides of his own cock rut into me. It didn't take long before his whole hand was practically covered in my slick, and I was quite sure I heard a drop hit the floor. Everything about it made me shiver.

Like this, I was practically pushed to rut against the palm of his hand, the pressure against my clit making me gasp-- I knew I wouldn't last long like this. Perfect.

By the sounds of it, Eric wouldn't either. He let a breathy moan escape his lips before he let go of my hips, reaching up to grab my chin, tilting it to the side so that he could kiss me. I let out a soft cry against his lips, feeling my walls clamp down around his thick cock. Feeling beyond full, I reached around to grab his dark hair, feeling his locks between my fingers as a familiar tightening in my stomach appeared. 

"You're the only one I've ever wanted this badly," Eric murmured against my lips, his thrusts becoming rushed and erratic, clearly holding back his high. "Be mine-- Fuck, be mine?"

If I hadn't been this close to my high, I would've cried. "All yours, Eric, all yours... A-Aah!--" My walls clamped around him as I was driven against the palm of his hand once more, driving me over the edge, coming harder than I probably ever had before.

Eric took this as a green light-- It didn't take long before he let out a grunt against my shoulder, gently biting down as ropes of cum decorated my walls, his thick cock twitching with its release inside of me. 

Our pants filled the stairway, and I was quite sure my legs would give out as he pulled out of me with a wet pop, tucking himself back into his trousers. I could only smile, leaning against the wall as I let out a sigh of relief. I was so incredibly glad we managed to do all of this before getting caught-- I was sure I wouldn't have been able to wait until we were both out. The burning in my body subsided, the ache turning into an all-consuming feeling of joy. 

I turned to Eric with a soft smile spread across my lips, trying to steady my breathing. He was especially beautiful now-- kiss-swollen lips really suited him. 

He returned my smile, leaning forward to capture my lips in a soft, gentle kiss. My hands reached out for him, cupping his face as my thumbs caressed his cheeks. It was such an exhilarating feeling to be adored like this, and I wasn't sure I would ever experience it until now. Meeting Eric felt like seeing a lunar rainbow-- exceptionally rare.

However, Eric's sweet smile suddenly turned back into his usual mischievous smirk. Before I could even say a word, he had dropped down to his knees, leaning forward to wrap his lips around my aching sex, covering my whole mound as he sucked at me.

I could barely breathe as I realized what he was doing-- was he sucking his own cum out of me? This was new. And weirdly pleasurable. I let out a wanton moan, gripping his hair in the exact same way I did in Eric's drawing. I could only whimper as his tongue darted out, drawing a circle around my overstimulated clit-- instinctively, my hips bucked against his mouth. Something about this felt weirdly full-circle. "Eric, wait!-- Shit,"

He hummed, looking up at me with those green eyes I loved so much. "Will you kill me if I draw this?"

I could only sigh-- bliss. 

(a/n: PART 1, PART 3 linked here!! enjoy<33)

[dunmeshistash]

I've been re-reading commentaries from the Japanese voice actors and actresses of Dungeon Meshi last year. I find it interesting that while everyone else were very excited to perform as their respective characters but tried not to talk too much beyond the basic premise of the series to avoid spoilers, the Japanese voice actor of Kabru in particular, Wataru Katoh, ended up going on a rather long talk about Kabru, drawing parallels between him and Laios, and even hinting on parts later on the story, even before the anime started airing. So his cast commentary was (sort of?) spoilery at that time, but that showed how he had done his research and he seemed to really like his role and the series so much to go on a long talk like that.

https://x.com/dun_meshi_en/status/1740205286093422618

That's pretty cool! I like his voice

ID by @cleave-and-plough

[ID: an official Dungeon Meshi tweet highlighting a quote from Wataru Katoh, the voice actor for Kabru. The text of the quotation reads, "Kabru is interested in 'humans', has excellent communication skills, and hates dungeons and monsters, making him the opposite of Laios. However, the two do have similarities, and based on my personal interpretation, if Laios is considered a biologist, Kabru could be considered a sociologist. The world of 'Delicious in Dungeon' is meticulously structured, and the true motives and anticipations of the various characters are what help develop the story. Within this series, it is Laios' party that introduces us to the charm of trying to eat monsters, but just perhaps, it may be Kabru's party that actually approaches the mysteries of this world itself. I'm happy to be able to convey this wonderful story 'Delicious in Dungeon', a celebration of all living things, to even more people through the anime. It would be great if you could support the anime as well as the original manga. Thank you for your support, and please look forward to it." End.]

[theoutcastrogue]

That said, the D&D 3.5 Paladin was bad. It was badly designed, it had bad rules, and in conjunction with the other notoriously bad rule, alignment, it could cause havoc.

Now personally, I never had ANY problems with it in my tabletop games. I played paladins and loved it, and I loved it when other people played paladins, and it was great. But that's because, collectively as a group, we took ONE look at that terrible rule where the paladin's code of conduct prevents them from associating with Evil characters or "someone who consistently offends her moral code", and immediately went, "that's stupid, we ain't doing that, it would ruin the game".

We also didn't love the concept of alignment as a cosmic force, and didn't care for Usually Evil Goblins and Always Evil anything. And when a class's signature ability fully depends on whether creatures are capital E Evil, well that affects storytelling, doesn't it? But we all saw it the same way, and we were happily able to change it without any disagreements. In the end we had a Paladin… similar to 5e now that I think of it: completely ignore the Code's association clause, tailor the Code to personal stance or a specific Order, Detect only fiends and undead and the like, Smite anything you want, Fall only if you really fuck up, and never presume that just because you haven't Fallen yet everything you've ever done is justified and correct and anyone who disagrees with you is objectively wrong.

Basically, there were 2 options in 3.5. You either houseruled and/or handwaved things, and in matters of alignment interpretations erred on the side of "what makes the game go",

OR, you played with Rules As Written, and filled the forums with questions like "should the paladin fall?" (one such thread per week, conservatively), "we got into a fight over the Paladin, what to do?", "is it Evil to pick pockets? because we have a Paladin in the party", "the Assassin uses poison, shouldn't that offend my moral code?", and shit like that. Just... pointless strife, all the time. Again, never happened to me, but I was appalled to read about it, over and over and over.

People got intense with 3.5 Paladins (both pro and against) because it was BADLY DESIGNED and had BAD RULES. Its mechanics forced narrative choices on the entire table, and the only way to make it frictionless was having a party where no one wishes to explore a character's bad side ever, no one does things that aren't bad but WotC branded Evil™ in this or that splatbook, and everyone magically agrees all the time on "what is right and what is wrong" and "what is Lawful and what is Chaotic", which is simply impossible. The most subjective thing in the world (ethics!) was presented as an objective cosmic force, and how you interpreted it would determine how much damage the Paladin deals in combat, and whether the Paladin could keep associating with the party, and if the Paladin is still a Paladin. And all that in a game, let's not forget, whose basic, fundamental premise is "kill things and take their stuff". I'm sorry, this is tremendously stupid. It's the WORST design.

I know that for some people it worked as written, and good for them, but for the many many people it didn't work, well it's obvious why.

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Montresor (and Willtresor) are the Bad Ending of White Raven III: now it is personal

Well, after realizing that I have like (check the list) two unfinished "sagas" of essays, I remembered that I had this 80% done and I told myself that maybe it was an excellent time to get on with this shit to keep kicking the archetypes and gothic tragedy essay under the rug

When I thought about this ("hey, if Montresor has so many similarities to Lenore and Annabel, where does that leave Will?"), my first thought was that the parallel would be this:

We have a charming blondie charlatan who arrives just in time to offer their "friendship" (wink, wink) to a poor individual who couldn't be hungrier for affection and validation. A deal sealed with a handshake, otherwise.

Here the parallel between Will and Lenore is drawn in that they are both rather reactive people: they don't take the initiative to do things, they react to things that happen around them. For example, Will wasn't the one who came up with the idea of putting Duke behind the wall, just as Lenore didn't come up with this whole fake rivalry scheme.

But neither of them refuse to participate, either because they think they can get away with it, or because they don't stop to think about the consequences of the things they get into. And, in general, they tend to panic when things don't go their way and immediately back off (even when that's not possible).

But this is where the parallel ends, because their personalities and approaches are completely different: Will tends to curl up in a ball and look for excuses not to get hurt, while Lenore is an extremely blunt weapon capable of taking whatever is thrown at her.

So you can imagine the look on my face when, after thinking it over, I realized that the person Will has the most in common with is not Lenore.

It's Annabel.

Because if we had a nickel for every time we saw a character in Nevermore…

Be willing to tolerate physical harm to protect an object of affection whose game has backfired.

Idealizing that object of affection to obsessive levels.

Taking harmful attitudes out of a desire to be accommodating because they think that's what that person expects of them.

And putting up with it even though it is tearing them apart inside...

We would have two nickels. It's not much, but it's interesting that it happened twice.

With that, I could up the ante and point out something else that Annabel and Will have in common: they're both invisible people. Will is someone no one gives a second glance to, while Annabel is seen more as an object or an idea than an individual (a pretty accessory in life, an unbeatable queen in death). They don't really matter to anyone.

Except for one person. One person for whom they are willing to give absolutely everything. Their lives, their physical integrity, their identity.

This creates an enormous fear of being abandoned by that person, when they have given them such an important part of their self-construction, who are they without them?

Then there is the particular way in which they both understand relationships. Annabel has openly stated that she sees social relationships as commercial exchanges. It is not known whether Will has a similar view, but in practice he behaves much like Annabel in this respect: they see themselves as important to the extent that they can be useful to their particular person. Tools to be used, rather than individuals deserving some form of appreciation, care, or even affection for simply being them.

Under that premise, it's to be expected that Montresor or Lenore will discard them the moment something more useful or better comes along, because that's what you do with tools. If some of them end up in the trash, it's because Annabel or Will have failed to remain useful, and they need to make amends for their mistakes in order to be considered worthy of a second look.

Which makes it tremendously ironic that Lenore says this to Will…

When in the midst of a panic attack, this is one of the first concerns Annabel has to express.

At this point, the difference between the two situations jumps out: Lenore cares about Annabel. Where Montresor is more than happy to use Will's complexes to keep him chained to him, Lenore is far from being comfortable with all that crap. Again, what draws the lines in the end is that there are people who have their hearts in the right place and there are people who don't.

But I think there's one thing that's a little darker: please watch Montresor's face when he realizes that the person he's choking is Will.

And watch his complete lack of reaction when Lenore pulls it out of his face.

I think the fucked up thing about the situation is that Montresor seems to care about Will. At least enough to feel a certain amount of remorse. But in a world where there are winners and losers (a perspective he shares with Annabel), where it doesn't pay to care about the losers if you're a winner, Montresor doesn't have the resources to treat Will any better. Even if he wanted to, he's too deep into toxic patterns of behavior to show him any degree of kindness, because the only way this man is able to relate is through abuse, control, and manipulation.

This is extremely fucked up when you consider that this is the fuzzy line that separates Lenore and Montresor in the roles they have within the relationship with Annabel and Will.

At the end of the day, the Willtresor is a dark reflection of the White Raven, because that's the consequence of instrumentalizing the relationship in this way: you have one party who benefits from what the other is willing to do for them -and no matter how much they care, it still relegates them to the role of tools- and another person desperately picking up crumbs of validation because they don't think they deserve any better.

[distort-opia]

I JUST FOUND OUT THAT JOKER AND SUPERMAN SWAPED BODIES?? (it's a very yaoi plot wtf) HOW IS IT POSSIBLE?? HOW DID BRUCE REACT??WHY DOES IT SEEM LIKE SUPERMAN AND JOKER HAVE A KIND OF UNCLASSIFIABLE TENSION BETWEEN THE PAST FEW YEARS?? 😭 (sorry, just wanted to know if you know which comic that happened in, you don't need to answer the rest, XOXO)

Hah. Yeah that is a thing that happened, in General Mills Presents: Justice League (2011) #9. Fortunately we do see how Bruce reacts, because Bruce swaps bodies with Lex Luthor. It's a fun little issue with some interesting tidbits:

Love how Bruce is like "Joker's got ADHD on steroids, my guy. He can handle your powers." But also, seeing as Joker had no issue with controlling Superman's body, he could've easily done more damage-- but he only chooses to do some ultimately harmless pranks.

Actually, there's been more Superjokes crumbs recently, most notably in Action Comics. In a story arc that has a magic spell turn everyone into a Bizarro version of themselves, Joker is obviously... the only truly sane one left, because he got reversed. Clark goes to him for help in order to stay lucid, to be able to fight Bizarro within his own mind. He dies over and over (a cheeky reference to Emperor Joker, methinks), and seemingly Bizarro has won, when Joker pretty much saves the whole planet by talking Clark back into sanity:

Action Comics (2016) #1063

Did I mention this is some of the most nuanced Joker writing I've seen in recent years? :)

It's all very sad, Clark even calls Bizarro Joker a "friend" afterwards.

I do agree there's a kind of tension between Superman and Joker, simply because they're both important people to Bruce. There's similar narrative tension between Joker and Dick, for instance. Or Joker and Selina. All of them play different roles in Bruce's life, but something Dick, Selina and Clark have in common is tethering Bruce to the light; keeping him sane, helping him walk the line between the best and the worst of himself. It's obviously interesting to put them in relation to Joker, who's... well, trying to make Bruce worse, but also representative of Bruce's darkness, a twisted mirror of him. This is why the premise of Injustice: Gods Among Us is so good, too-- it's literally the product of a Superbatjokes triangle. Bruce thinks Clark is so inherently good and infallible in that goodness, that it pisses Joker off and makes him jealous, so he goes out of his way to prove that Superman can be broken. So then Superman kills Joker, who Bruce cared about, even "loved" (to quote what Clark himself accuses him of). And Bruce can't get over it, despite having excused murders from loved ones before, being quite unreasonable in his treatment of Clark and arguably pushing him further into becoming the worst version of himself... when he could've tried to help. (It kinda sends me that Batman/Catwoman also had Selina kill Joker. But only when Bruce was dead because otherwise Bruce would've been mad. Do you see the pattern here, lol.)

Sorry, ended up rambling. But yeah, Clark and Joker have had some interesting interactions for sure!

[memoria-99]

Time limit premise in Ikemen series... and why Vamp is the worst in that sense

Don't misunderstand, I really like Vamp and this has nothing to do with my personal likes.

So the setting of each Ikeseries game from Cybird is like this

Sen: MC who time traveled, 3 month time limit

Rev: MC who went to another world, 1 month limit

Vamp: MC who time traveled, 1 month time limit

Ĺive: MC who was living in that world, no time limit

Gen: MC who was living in that world, no time limit

Pri: MC who was living in that world, 1 month time limit

Vil: MC who was living in that world, 1 month time limit

And among these, the one that this time limit premise is done in the poorest way is Vamp.

This is mostly because MC has only a month(or two, in the later routes but still) and once she leaves she can never come back.

Well, ok you could fall in love in a month, that's acceptable, but giving up your whole life in 21st century for the dude who you've only known for a month? To make matters worse, this MC is good at speaking multiple languages but it's just necessary for everyday life, not like it helps her significantly or makes her a job. The only thing she does in 19th century France is to do chores with Sebastian. I mean, of course that's an important work, yes, but... it has nothing to do with her specialties or dreams or anything. In the worst case scenario if she breaks up with the dude, her choice to be with him leaves her nothing. She just wasted her time doing chores in the random mansion.

At least Sen MC has 3 months, which is absolutely better than one, and she actually has a proper job to do with her specialty in that timeline.

Rev MC is from another world but going back and forth between her world and the guy's isn't very much of a big deal compared to Sen or Vamp. Just wait for a month and she could always go to another world and vice versa.

Live and Gen MCs are in the same world with the guys and don't have any kind of time limit so they have nothing to be bothered.

Pri and Vil MCs have 1 month time limit, but still they're in the same world with the guys so they could always meet even after the deadline, if they really wanted to.

But Vamp MC only has 1 month, and she'll never see the guys again once she leaves that timeline. So she's like "Oh I love him so much, I don't wanna leave him" but 1 month is not enough time to decide whether you could give up all you had including careers, dreams, family and become the housekeeper only for the sake of love.

And this isn't Cybird's game, but Court of Darkness from Voltage has a similar setting, MC going to another world(without the time limit). And at least this MC is an orphan and she mentioned herself that no one will be there for her even if she went back. So it's more acceptable that she chose life in new world, since it's pretty much indicated that she doesn't have much attachment to her previous world.

But Vamp MC? She has family. She has friends. She has job. Why in the world would she abandon all those just for a guy she had just met.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr. Gaiman,

As an accomplished author with several books under his belt, how do you know that a story is a dud for lack of a better word? I have a million ideas bouncing around inside my head at all times, and while I consider them good ideas worth pursuing, how am I sure they will make a good story?

I ask this because I have been dwelling on something one of my professors said last semester. He held a seminar on poetry and got to the topic of fiction writing, where he stated that he had just recently finished a story he had rewritten several times over the course of multiple years. Now I myself write as a hobby with a faint imagining that someone might see it in the future, and I have written a dud or two, where the plot was poorly formed and the ideas behind it just had a flaw somewhere in the base concept. Perhaps this is my youth and amateurity speaking, but I was under the impression that given enough time and care, any story could recover from that stage so long as it had not been completed yet. Ideas would need to be reworked, concepts retooled, characters redrawn, but the very basic idea could still survive in a different format.

My professor disagreed, stating that he has destroyed 400-500 page novels that he has written before upon realizing said fatal flaw. He stated that the story was in a state that it could not recover from, and that many authors encounter ideas that seem good at the time, but stink later on to such a degree that the basic premise must be thrown out. This seems like a tremendous loss of work to me. As writing is an art form, it feels somewhat similar to destroying practice sketches and 'meh' oil paintings that showcase the artist's progress. An idea that stinks today might be able to work from a different angle later on in my opinion.

I suppose after rambling my question is now this: are some ideas and concepts just not worth pursuing? Are some story concepts flawed from the get-go and impossible to save, and is there a way to tell that before writing the whole thing? Is it even possible to waste that time as you're getting in practice for the next tale?This isn't something I ever really thought about before being told in sure tones that this is how things work by someone with a degree is this, so I figured I'd ask the professional author for a second opinion. Apologies for the length of the message, especially if this is one you've received before.

I have things that have stalled and a few stories that, when they were done, went to the box in the attic rather than to anyone who could publish them (there's a whole novel there I wrote when I was 21). But mostly because I was writing serial comics, failure was not an option, and if something did fail it had done it in public for everyone to see. And I learned that some things I thought were failures had actually worked really well.

Some people are afraid of failure. Some people are afraid of success, which can also be a good reason for junking books and never showing them to anyone. As long as you pronounce them irretrievably flawed and show them to nobody, you will never be judged for them or have to deal with either success or failure.

[foodtruckery]

Your abo idea is so good and you mentioned the idea of ford obsessing over who else has helped stan with his heats but what I'm wondering is if ford would obsess over /him/ helping. Wondering what wouldve been different if stan presented when they were younger (then probably dismissing it thinking how their father wouldve blown a gasket) or if stan had called him and told him when it happened or if he had known even when he came out of the portal

I think abo stancest has potential for some fun dynamics and your characterization of those too would make it soooo good omega old man stan who's still just as much of an ass as he usually is and it both drives ford up the wall and makes him a little bit more crazy with his scent

oho you've activated my "i haven't stopped thinking about this idea and have more to share than you asked for" trap card! (and you've given me an excellent excuse to step away from halloween party prep for a minute, so thank you, anon!!) btw this is. so much fucking longer than i meant for it to be, i'm SO sorry.

but absofuckinlutely ford would be as haunted by that thought as i am by this whole premise. i'm putting this behind a cut JUST because i managed to ramble for 1,000 words about this because it is eating me alive. please know that if i hadn't been forced to spend the last several days locked in on party planning, there would already be something more coherent in the works for this lol.

i like to think that when he was younger, ford would've been just. obsessed with the fantasy of it all, right? when he's still heavily embedded in that society and wrapped up in the expectations of how alphas are supposed to be, how omegas are supposed to be. how could he NOT think about the ways things may have been different. what stan would have smelled like with that sweeter omega edge, or how much different, how much wetter, it may have sounded when he overheard him masturbating in the dark when stan thought he'd fallen asleep.

and what a perfect excuse to finally act on those less-than-acceptable feelings he's had about his brother. sure, it's not the done thing, but they're already so close, and they share all their space, and who would really blame him for being completely overhwelmed by all those pesky new instincts when stan went into heat for the first time?

but that's fantasty land, and older ford is the universe's smartest boy, so he knows that's obviously never going to happen. instead, i like to think our super intelligent idiot goes and develops a thing for betas instead, which he blames on the FWB thing he has going on in college with fiddleford and never inspects anymore closely than that. he's entirely too much of an intellectual to be fussed with all that secondary instincts nonesense, after all, and ford is NOT a natural caretaker/pack leader sort, can't stand the idea of some simpering omega expecting him to handle everything for them all the time, so it makes sense that he gravitates towards betas on the blessedly rare occassion where he seeks out a partner -- usually to get over a rut or something similar.

and then....well, there's the whole portal thing. and wouldn't you know it? not a lot of secondary genders in the multiverse! well, multi-genders, absolutely, but it's surprisingly rare to come across anyone else with the specific sort of secondary gender alignments from his universe. but that's even better, because it just separates him even further from the expectations he was always outside the lines of anyway.

of course, when he gets BACK, it's....hard to adjust to finding out that stan did, actually, present after he was kicked out left. but as an alpha. which...that makes sense! it's what they expected after ford presented, right? twins and all that. explains why they brawled right after he got home -- stupid, useless alpha hormones vying for dominance. and because smartest boy ford is so separated from all this by the time he comes back, it doesn't ever occur to him that stan would have to be feigning more than just his name and an ID card to impersonate ford for 30 years.

and why would he think stan was anything else, after all? sure, ford is a little rusty with identifying scents like these nowadays, but he isn't incompetent. stan smells like an alpha. and he sure as hell acts like one -- the worst kind, even. cocky, loud, physical, brash. ford definitely doesn't spend any time at all disappointed by this turn of events. and he certainly doesn't spend any other time fantasizing about bitching stan to make a point about reclaiming his home and his territory. he doesn't strip his dick to that idea at all.

needless to say. by the time things...settle down, ford's made some peace with the situation. he's found enough middle ground with stan that he isn't willing to fuck up rebuilding some kind of (loathe though he is to admit it) pack with his brother over a fleeting fantasy.

having all of that upended again, though? it's like turning a tap on full blast after you just got the damn thing to stop dripping. hard to hold on to the "i prefer to fuck betas" and "i am over this obsession with my brother" mentality when you're face to face with the bedrock of every lewd, overindulgent sexual fantasy you had between presenting and college. and how could he not consider all the things he missed, that could have actually been within reach?

where the hell was stanley when he went into heat for the first time? he wouldn't have known to start suppressents or pheremone drugs before that. did he ride it out alone in the back of that damn car someplace, getting slick all over the upholstery and his hands? did he think about ford to get through it? or did he find somebody to help out? to give him a door to lock or, worse, a bed to share. if he was fucking a stranger through his first heat, did he think about ford to get through that?

what if he'd said something the night he came to gravity falls? hell, by that point, ford can't even remember how stan had smelled that night, not in the midst of the torture and the paranoia and the insomnia -- if he hadn't been in the middle of bill's psychological warfare, would he have noticed that stan had presented? or would he have fallen as easily for whatever drugs stan may have been hiding behind then as he did when he came back?

but if he had noticed, would it have changed anything? it probably would have made things worse if it had, of course. bill knew all about stan and, worse, the fantasy of stan of ford held on to all those years. realistically, it would only have been horrible if stan had shown up on his doorstep halfway being dragged into a heat. but the idea of it -- of fucking stan through it in the basement instead of fighting over the portal and his journals. well, that's a nice thought.

it does beg the question, though: if ford can't remember how stan was presenting that night, there's a chance he hadn't been masking as an alpha yet. and even if he was, ford knows enough about the illicit drug trade to know that it's never a sure thing. did stan ever lapse? 30 years is a breathtakingly long time to be on those sorts of drugs, and they can't have all come from reputable places or been easy to get a hold of. especially in the woods in oregon.

it's clear with the situation now that being off those drugs has pointed and rather immediate consequences. does that mean that stan went into heat in the shack at some point? maybe multiple points? if it happened early on, would he have nested in ford's room, with whatever might have still smelled like him? or did he find someone in town to help? worse, was there someone in town who helped regularly when this sort of thing came up? and most importantly if so, who?

ford has QUESTIONS to say the least, but he is taking all of this QUITE WELL GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, thank you very much.

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 4]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Three

➨ Chapter Four

Next: Chapter Five

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

A/N: shout out to my very own "power bottom at rock bottom" (aka my roommate) for harnessing her inner Angel Dust and feeding into some of his dialogue.

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER FOUR

The car ride home was mostly silent and incredibly tense.

You also couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. When you looked around to sate your paranoia, you found nothing suspicious and whittled it down to the anxiety having your face plastered across every news channel in hell.

On your way out of her father’s manor, you decided to fill Charlie in about your hands and cheek. She said it was a gamble whether her dad would react well to your being human or not. Being neutral to it, however, was something she would not have imagined. She was just relieved that you were alright. 

She theorized that he may have assumed you were just wearing face paint for ‘shits and giggles’ (your words, not hers). There were some demons in Hell that did have skin tones similar to when they were human, so it wouldn’t be too outrageous for you to, as well.

Though it would be no surprise if he jumped to the conclusion that you were human due to your being televised all over Hell the day prior.

Not knowing where his head was at was going to kill you.

But worrying about that wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Charlie believed you two had searched everywhere in her old place that was likely to hold the key to you getting home. To your relief, the likelihood of returning was slim to none.

There was no need to stress over her father figuring you out since you wouldn’t have to risk running into him again.

The only thing you needed to focus on was getting those godforsaken cobwebs off the chandelier in the hotel foyer.

Vaggie was able to get the place mostly cleaned up in the time you were gone, but there were still a few things left that you were able to help with. After all they had done for you, this was the least you could do for them in return.

As you climbed back down the ladder, you saw Charlie pacing and muttering to herself. Even though you only met her recently, you knew how much the hotel and her plan to redeem sinners meant to her.

If this didn’t go well, she would absolutely take it to heart. She seemed like the type to barricade herself in a room to sulk for weeks on end. Or maybe bawl her eyes out whilst shoveling heaping spoonfuls of ice cream down her own throat.

Probably both.

“You know, this place is really coming together,” you said as you walked up to her.

She paused to face you.

“You think so?” she asked, glancing around the foyer in search of anything in need of tending. “Gosh, what if he doesn’t like the color scheme, or—or the motifs? What if he decides he isn’t interested in redemption at all?”

“Hey,” you said to get her attention as you leaned back into her view. “If he weren’t interested in what you’re offering, he wouldn’t be coming by to check things out. And I really don’t think your choice in décor will be what turns him away.”

You chuckled a bit as you glanced at the odd horse statues and slightly tattered wallpaper. It wasn’t modern or trendy, but it did have character. That was for sure.

She nodded with a far-off gaze, ruminating on your words.

“Even if he does decide that this isn’t for him—though I don’t think that will happen—there are so many people down here! I find it hard to believe that you won’t find some who are interested,” you continued. “Think about all the souls that believed they’d be going to Heaven but ended up here instead. They’d probably give up an arm and a leg to be redeemed.”

Her shoulders slacked, and her back loosened as she released a deep breath. Looking back at you, her face appeared more relaxed.

“Yeah…you’re totally right,” she said with a soft smile. “We just need to be patient.”

“I think this guy would be stupid not to accept your offer.” You bumped her arm playfully as you went to continue tidying up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her smile and walk off, presumably to do the same.

Everyone was putting the final touches on everything when there was a knock on the front door. You paused in the middle of sliding the sofa across the room so you could get a look at whoever was there.

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other in surprise.

“I told him to text or call before showing up,” Vaggie grumbled, running a hand through her bangs as she went to answer the door.

He was quite…tall.

You had forgotten their appearances could vary so much. Charlie, her father, and Vaggie were relatively similar to a regular person, despite some slight cosmetic differences. This guy, however, had an extra set of limbs and was covered head to toe in what looked like fur. 

Upon closer inspection, he also had what appeared to be three additional pairs of eyes underneath his primary ones.

Was he supposed to be a bug?

You shuffled forward as Charlie introduced herself. She had fixed up your makeup once you returned, so there was nothing to worry about regarding your own appearance. You had double and even triple-checked beforehand.

“This is it?”

“Uh…yes?” Charlie said meekly with her hands clasped in front of her chest.

He gave the foyer a hard once-over.

“Eh, anything’s betta’ than my current digs,” he said with a shrug and started walking around. “You got drinks?”

“No? The point of redemption is to stop engaging in sin,” Vaggie stated, crossing her arms. “Which means cutting out drugs?”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he said as his body slumped. “What the hell am I supposed to do then? Play checkers?”

“Ooh, Checkers would be a fun way to break the ice!” Charlie sang, clapping her hands together.

This earned her a blank look from the new guest.

“Aha…” she laughed awkwardly at the bland response, then turned to gesture at you. “Well, this is our current resident! We have faith that she will be redeemed very soon.”

You gave a wide smile as you were being shown off. Should you strike a pose? Put your hands on your hips and puff your chest out in pride?

You didn’t mind being a fake example of a sinner-gone-good to help her out. It was the least you could do at this point. Plus, when you finally got the hell out of there, you could all play it off as you being ‘redeemed’.

“Yup, yup. Sin-free life has been pretty great,” you said, crossing your arms.

The guy already seemed exasperated. Vaggie was right when she said he was more interested in free rent than redemption itself.

“What did you say your name was again?” you asked in an attempt to keep the conversation from dying out before it had even started.

He perked a bit and plastered on a sultry smirk.

“Angel Dust,” he said as he swiped a hand through his hair(?) (head fluff?). “If you’re interested in gettin’ to know me betta’, I’ve got a nice collection of videos I can refer ya to.”

“No,” Vaggie groaned. “He’s a pornstar.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“I mean, more power to you,” you shrugged, and he snickered.

“Wasn’t expectin’ that sorta career choice to fly with someone aspirin’ to cross through them pearly gates.” He tilted his head as he eyed you carefully, leaning down slightly to be more at your eye level. 

“What makes you think that?” you asked, raising your chin. “In my opinion, a redeemable gal like myself should be respectful of other’s bodily autonomy.”

“Last I checked, the pious types weren’t so down with cock-suckin’ hoes. I mean,” he paused and smirked, “some of ‘em were down with us cock-suckin’ hoes, but they did their darndest to pray that shit away afterward. The guilts part of the kink.”

Vaggie’s stance tensed more and more with each word that came out of his mouth. You were pretty sure her eye was twitching.

“Good people are accepting people!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her arms out.

“You ain’t ever have to deal with the living, sugar-tits,” Angel said, draping himself over the couch in a way you were sure would be put on the front cover of a Playboy magazine. “But sure.”

You all began a short tour of the hotel much like the one you got when you first arrived. This time, however, Charlie was really trying to sell her redemption plan to him. She explained the terms of their deal. He would refrain from acts of sin, such as violence, drugs, yada-yada, and he could stay there for free.

As you began filing out of one of the available, move-in-ready rooms, you noticed Angel pause. He was looking at the ground with a blank expression, clearly contemplating something. You assumed he was weighing the pros and cons of Charlie’s offer, but you were no mind reader.

After showing off most of the relevant parts of the hotel, you gathered back in the entryway. Charlie stared Angel down expectantly, waiting in suspense for his decision.

She was overjoyed when he finally agreed.

“There’s no harm in tryin’, I guess.” He shrugged shooting a half-lidded smirk. “But I ain’t makin’ no promises that I’ll be the paragon of redeemability. I ain’t that type of model.”

When he left, he said he had to clear some things with his boss first and then he would start this whole ‘redemption thing’.

The three of you had a miniature celebration—juice, soda, and popcorn to go along with eager chatter—before you decided to address the stack of books you had hauled back to the hotel.

The evening was going swimmingly thus far, and you hoped that good luck would carry on to the very end of the night. Somewhere in that pile was your key to getting home. Your fingers were crossed that you would be sleeping in your own cozy bed that night.

You could finally take up your own offer on a nice hot bubble bath and let it soak away all the stress that had stockpiled within your body.

Sitting in a circle around the books, you began sifting through them.

Your hope dwindled bit by bit with every one you flipped through and set aside. They had everything to do with the living world except for the means of getting there.

Once the last book was deemed useless, you sat in sullen silence. A sort of emptiness settled within your chest.

If that was your best shot at returning, what else was there?

“Okay…that’s okay!” Charlie said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We just have to try something else. Vaggie, you said you knew people who had access to Earth, right?”

“I said I knew of people,” she corrected. “But I did do a little bit of digging while you were out, and I might have a few leads?”

“Oh, perfect!” Charlie chirped, sitting straight up with her hands on her knees. “How about we look into those tomorrow then?”

You and Vaggie both nodded because what else were you supposed to do? You didn’t really have the option of giving up in this situation. Your life wasn’t going to wait on hold forever. It probably wasn’t waiting at all.

At this point, two full days would have passed since you ‘disappeared,’ but living alone makes it harder for people to notice that sort of thing. You doubted Devon would have reported it since that would likely result in them getting into even deeper shit (in addition to the can of whoop-ass you’d release onto them once you made it back).

And you knew better than to put any amount of faith into Jack. You were sure he noticed your absence. You had the texts to prove it. But he seemed to be convinced you were giving him the cold shoulder, which would most likely result in him pretending he didn’t give two flying fucks about you.

Fuck that bitch.

♡

You wouldn’t say you slept like a baby that night, but you sure did sleep. You slept with the weight of despair threatening to overtake you with each failed attempt of finding a way back home.

And you know what?

It wasn’t half bad. Would you recommend it to someone else? No, not really. But you couldn’t tell them it was terrible.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you padded your way down the grand staircase. It was nice not having to wake up early to get all done up, but you still felt groggy. Possibly from sleeping too much.

You also appreciated being able to spend more time in the pajamas you were given, because good lord were they comfy.

Charlie and Vaggie let you know last night that they’d be leaving earlier in the morning to talk to the folks Vaggie believed might be able to access the living world. You stayed behind because you all agreed that dragging you through public in a not-so-durable disguise was a disaster waiting to happen.

However, they planned to be back in time for Charlie’s father to visit.

He had called her the previous night—just before you were all about to go your separate ways—to let her know he wanted to stop by. She told him he could drop by in the afternoon, and that was that.

You planned to coup yourself up in your room for the duration of his visit. You would rather die than address what had happened with the paint. If he had any questions regarding that, he could direct them towards his daughter. Thank you and goodnight (love you, Charlie! Muah!).

There was nothing to do until Charlie and Vaggie returned, but you still wanted caffeine or anything that could clear your brain fog.

They had stocked up the fridge and ‘pantry’ a bit more since you arrived, and Angel would likely move in any day now so there was also that to consider. Yet it was still a gamble on whether or not you could find something appealing.

You kneeled down in front of the fridge and began rummaging through your options.

Mysterious leftovers?

No.

Artichoke Hearts?

Eh…for breakfast? Probably not.

Coconut Milk?

No… You were surprised they even had coconuts in Hell. Unless, of course, they had sinners that manifested as coconuts, then you reckon they could milk—

No, absolutely not.

You were thinking about settling on a popsicle when you heard a knock at the front door.

Nobody should have been stopping by yet. Charlie’s dad wouldn’t be there until later, and you guys weren’t expecting anyone else. It could possibly be Angel, but you doubted he already spoke to his boss considering it was still morning.

The stained-glass doors didn’t disclose much about your surprise visitor. They were merely a shadowy figure, distorted by the odd shapes and colors.

Regardless of who it could be, you needed to hide or at least find a way to get back upstairs without being seen.

Slowly rising to your feet, you locked onto a rather large crate near the edge of the entryway.

You wouldn’t have to cross in front of the door to get there, which was ideal. Even though you knew the person on the other side couldn’t see you clearly, you preferred they not know you were there at all. Once you were at the crate, you could easily make your way around the room undetected.

Just as you were about to slip around it, you heard the front door creak open.

“Hello~” sang a familiar voice.

You hastily dodged behind the crate, your feet sliding slightly underneath you due to the new socks you had been gifted by your hosts. Thankfully, you were able to stabilize yourself before falling into anything.

Your heart was pounding away in your chest.

What was he doing here so early?

You pressed your back against the crate as you carefully sat down to wait for him to pass. Listening to his footsteps crossing the room was doing nothing to soothe your nerves. It was clear that he was in no rush to move on through the hotel. You could hear him as he sauntered around the foyer, pausing every once in a while before continuing on.

If he was taking in the sights, it was only a matter of time before he got to your side of the foyer.

You had to get out.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly peeked around your hiding spot to see where he was and whether he was looking your way.

To your relief, Charlie’s father was investigating a portrait on the wall opposite of you.

You wasted no time creeping across the floor to take cover behind the tattered old reception area. There was a body-length mirror resting against the wall just a few feet away that would give you a relatively good view of where he was.

As you were about to lean close enough to see through the mirror’s reflection, you heard him begin to hum just a few feet away. You scrambled to get beneath the desk.

How did he get so close so fast?

You understood the guy wasn’t human, but still. You were able to hear his footsteps clear as day up until that point. He shouldn’t know you were there; you were being so quiet…

Holding your breath, you waited for him to put some distance between the two of you. When you felt he was far enough away, you slowly scooted to the other side of the desk where you could hopefully get a view of the mirror.

Hearing him tampering with something, so you took the opportunity to glance at the mirror’s reflection.

He was prodding at one of the broken columns, testing its stability, it seemed. And his back was facing you. Perfect.

Glancing around the edge of the reception desk, you could see that the stairs weren’t too far away. It was a pretty open area, however, so you wondered if it would be better to beeline it down the adjacent hall instead.

Figuring that was likely the safer option, you checked the mirror once more to make sure his back was still turned.

You met his gaze in the reflection, and your eyes went wide as his lips curled into a wicked grin.

Fuck.

In a panic, you threw yourself out of view and knocked your head into the desk’s edge. The collision was certainly loud enough for him to hear, but you kept your pained whine quiet as you cradled your temple.

Your train of thought was quickly growing fuzzy, unsure of what to do or where to go.

Was it best to run?

What if he was faster?

Would your chances be better if you found another place to hide?

Probably not… He already knew where you were, and you weren’t sure where else you could even go.

All you knew was that you couldn’t stay where you were. If his eyes were still trained on the mirror, you would probably be better off going back the way you came. Maybe there was a gap in the crate that you could worm through to hide. It would be like you disappeared.

You turned back in that direction, and as you were about to dart back to the safety of your original hiding spot, two legs stepped in front of you.

You gasped, sliding to a halt just before you could crash into him.

Charlie’s father slowly crouched down to your level as you tilted your head to look up at him, eyes as wide as saucers. His smile was wide, showing off his large, pointed teeth.

“What do we have here?”

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

Tag List: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150 @froggybich @darling-angel222 @preciousbabypeter

[moody-bloosh]

Reincarnated as the Male Lead's Tragic Love Interest Prior to the Events of the Game

Summary:

Title explains it all. Alternatively, an overworked employee, also known as you, gets isekaied into their favorite dating sim. Unfortunately, your favorite character isn't acting as he should.

Pairings: Neuvillette/ Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Yandere

This situation is as familiar to you as the back of your hand. It is unsurprising. After all, before your untimely demise, you were working on a manhwa with a similar premise to this. When you awaken in the opulent room, dressed in finery that you would ordinarily never be able to afford, you already know what has happened. Now the only question was, what kind of story had you been transmigrated into? 

You rise on shaky legs and make your way to the mirror to the other side of the bed you had awakened in. The short walk had winded you already. It seems you were not the picture of health you hoped to be. Well, you weren’t exactly a paragon of healthy living in your old life. Nevertheless, as you approach the mirror and you take in your appearance, you find that you are still yourself. This relieves you somewhat but at the same time, it did not seem to answer any questions you held. You still had no idea what sort of story you had found yourself in. As you ponder over the possibilities, recalling the different summaries of manhwas and webnovels you read in your life you hear the door open. You turn to the sound. 

In walks a man with such an ethereal, seemingly unearthly beauty. You know him very well - one of the characters you had adored so much in your past life as a weary, overworked typesetter. This is the Chief Justice Neuvillette, a man who held enormous political power within the realm of this fantasy world that you had been reborn in. Just his presence already answered some of the questions in your mind. 

You had been reborn into Teyvat, the setting for an extremely popular dating sim. You recall fond memories of yourself playing the game late into the night after a tough day at work. Neuvillette had been one of the romanceable love interests that the game had to offer. His route had been a delight to play through and you considered him as your favorite character. You internally thanked all the deities that you could think of as he rushed towards you and wrapped you in a tender embrace. You swore you could feel his tears soak into your hair. 

This reaction of his could only mean one thing. 

In the game, there was no rival for the player character to steal Neuvillette from. This was because according to the game’s setting, Neuvillette had just lost his beloved betrothed. It would have been up to the player character to help him heal from his grief as he allowed himself to fall in love once more. Neuvillette loved his betrothed dearly and with the way he was reacting to you, the way he was holding you then that probably meant you were his betrothed, right?  

When he’s done embracing you, he cups your face in his hand. He holds you gently, lovingly. 

“It’s really you,” he breathes, the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of his eyes. 

He wouldn’t have known what to do if that really was the end of you. He had already been consumed by his thoughts of what he would do. The undeath that he would have to endure if you really had passed. You looked so close to death, ashen and trembling. 

But you were looking better now and to Neuvillette that was nothing short of a miracle. He would not question it anymore. Still, he kept a careful watch over you. It was all for your good, he rationalized. You were not permitted to leave the manor without his permission. And for the poor overworked you, in your past life, that was a-okay. 

Nevertheless, there was still something disquieting about the way he regarded you. There was something dark and unknowable about him, as deep and as fathomless as the ocean. When he looked at you, you didn’t feel like just his lover. 

Neuvillette looked at you as if you were his only reason for living and he would take very good care of you. He would make sure that you were very well-taken care of in this life. 

“Love, I’d like your leave to go out to town today,” you told him one fine afternoon, “the maids told me there was a lovely new pâtisserie that opened up recently. I’d like to see it for myself.” 

Neuvillette had put aside his work, as he always did when he met with you. Anything he was dealing with at the moment paled in importance to you. He closes the gap between the two of you quickly as he rounds upon you, “could they not simply fetch the pastry for you, love?” 

“They could but I suppose, I just wanted to see it for myself. It’s been a while since I’ve ventured outside the estate.” 

“We walked around the gardens recently, has that not been satisfactory?” 

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings and based on the knit of his brows, you were getting close. “I love walking with you! I love spending time with you. I simply want to be allowed to experience things for myself. I - I’ve missed out on much due to my illness and I would like to make up for lost time.” 

You take his hands in yours to try and assuage his fears. You do not know that this will not do you any good. You explained yourself well, you assured him. Surely, he would be reasonable!

“I see…” Neuvillette murmurs and a small smile blooms on his face as he considers you, as he cups your face in his hands. “Of course, you can go. I would not begrudge you anything, my beloved.” 

You were enjoying your little day off, accompanied by your maid, you visited the pâtisserie and gorged yourself on all manners of wonderful and delectable treats. You were beginning to feel more and more at ease in this strange new world. Perhaps this was heaven, your reward for enduring all that you did in your first life. 

You should have known better. 

You and your maid had been headed home. It was supposed to be nothing more than the conclusion to a wonderful day spent. Instead, it had turned into nothing short of a horror movie. As you rounded the corner, so close to getting back to the estate, you felt yourself being grabbed by someone. 

Their touch was violent, so unlike your gentle betrothed. You try to fight and you do your best to fight but your attempts to struggle are silenced when you watch one of the ruffians take their knife and slide it cleanly across your maid’s throat. 

Your maid, she had been the one who cared for you since you arrived. She’d been the one to suggest this whole escapade… and now… Her eyes are blown out in fear, fear for you, fear for herself. Her body splays out against the cobbled path, her blood painting stone. 

And you are frozen. The scent of her blood hits you with the weight of your own impending mortality. It reminds you of that night that had started it all. When you scented your own blood, felt it waft through your nostrils. 

You should have known better. 

You are being carted off. The ruffians are chiding each other, then they’re consoling each other over their accident, it would just mean they could up their ransom for you… An accident? Her death was nothing more than an accident to them? 

You can feel yourself go away, hide within yourself as they cart you away but they don’t manage to get far. 

You are without comprehension for a little while, all that replays in your head was the memory of your own death, before you were carted off to this place. But then you begin to register the scent of more blood, can feel the warmth of it seep into your clothes and crust against your skin. 

Then. 

His touch. 

So familiar, so warm. 

His voice. 

So sad but not just sad, worried, relieved too. He sounded just like that when you first met. 

Then you see him. 

Neuvillette. 

There is blood on him. Did he take care of the ruffians? You don’t really care because all you know is that you must get to him. 

Oh, he must have been so worried. He must have been so worried he would lose you again. But he got there in time to save you. What a relief. You push away the thoughts of your own suspicion, chalk it up to nothing more than some sort of trauma response. 

You cling onto him just as he hugs you back, in that familiar embrace. This time, he holds you like he’s keeping you from falling apart. 

He always knew what to do. 

Forgive me . 

He thinks as he holds you. You were trembling. His poor beloved. That piece of scum’s blood was still warm and it stained the two of you but he tried to pay it no heed as he continued to comfort you. 

His only regret was that you had been so frightened but soon, you would understand that this was all for your own good. So that you would see just how dangerous it was for you to leave whenever you pleased. As Chief Justice, he had plenty of enemies after all. Now you would learn that only he could protect you, only he would be capable of keeping you safe and maybe this would lessen your desire to leave the estate. It could just be the two of you. 

It was by his own weakness that he had to resort to these measures. Because, if anything happened to you at all… He would surely lose himself. 

He feels the first flecks of the rain as a downpour begins to fall over the two of you. It washes away the blood and everything else. 

If he were to lose you, he would drown the world in his grief, that he knew very well. 

[hotheadedhero]

hellooo!! I’ve never done this before. So I’m hoping I did it right.

can you please write a one shot rise Donnie x mystical user (preferably yokai) reader? Where Donnie feels like he’s constantly competing against the reader, and is always down playing mystic. To the point where reader confronts him :>.

AN: Hello there! I'm so glad you trusted me with your first request. It was really fun to write 😋 I hope it does the job <3

Science vs Mystic

Donatello x Reader

Warnings: angst, arguing, I didn't proof read, kinda made Donnie an ass in this I'm sorry

Donatello’s disdain for the mystic arts and magic alike has always been well known. Ever since he and his family came across the strange world hidden beneath New York, this distaste has only grown. It continues to grow with every adventure involving such, which is becoming a more regular occurrence than he’s comfortable with. 

Then, you came along. You with your inexplicably, aggravating abilities. He had hoped that after the day was saved and the trouble was dealt with, that would be the last of your affiliation. Quite the opposite, it turned out. A permanent friend was made out of you that day, which meant frequent team-ups and visits by yours truly. In his mind, he’s tried to put aside the differences, he’s attempted to let bygones be bygones, but you always manage to steal the spotlight with your ostensibly fantastical displays.

Perhaps it's jealousy. His brothers are always so enamoured by your mystical mastery, showering you with compliments after each fight you assist. They just won't shut up about how cool you are. What's "cool" is how he has been able to make his inventions in a sewer, how he’s turned a bunch of scraps into the glorious creations they are now. Sure, he may need to commandeer the odd chemical from time to time but what he does is leaps and bounds more impressive than your flashy little magic shows. Illusions are based on principles of physics and mathematics. There is objective evidence for it all. The charms that your kind uses to blend in with humanity? Simple. Like how military operations will cater technology to make their vehicles appear invisible, it’s a matter of deflecting light around an object. This same premise can be applied. Rather than deflecting the light, your charms can refract it and make a person appear to be someone they’re not. Mere cloaking devices. In fact, he’s been working on something similar for himself and his brothers.

If not that, chemistry plays a fundamental role, at least. So what if you can shoot sparks of light from your sleeves? Fireworks. That’s all it is and those are just ignited gunpowder with various metal compounds to create different colours. You can make plants grow from the ground at inhuman rates? Poppycock, he says. Ever heard of auxin? Cytokinin? These are just a couple of the plant growth regulators that are so ordinarily used by modern man. Even then, you probably dabble in the use of mutagen to make it seem more impressive.

Scratch the jealousy. There’s nothing to be envious of. He knows that science is superior. It always has been and always will be. He can hardly say he's surprised by his family's fascination. They aren't as intellectually adept as he is. Unfortunately, that commentary doesn't provide him with the closure he needs to feel that much better about it, which is why he resorts to jabbing at your abilities with passing comments, whether they be snide, sarcastic or just downright mean.

You aren't an idiot. You can feel his malice towards you before he even has a chance to open his mouth. At first, you merely thought it was a feature of his persona - that it’s in his nature to berate what can’t be explained by science. That was a misstep in your thinking. His entire deal is that everything can be explained with science. Try you may to convince him otherwise but it’s always the same song and dance: you curate something with your magic and he shuts it down with a zealous drone that is starting to grate on you. 

If you were to ever meet someone outside of your home, you were always taught that there would be an indifference to your powers. People often either shun what they don’t understand or change the scriptures to what they’re familiar with so they can understand it, even if it means they’re wrong. You have always sworn to be the bigger person and not stoop to such levels of belittling pettiness but it’s getting harder. There’s only so many times you can bite your tongue before you start bleeding from the mouth. As waining as it may be on your patience, there are civil ways of going about this. You have been practising the conversation in your head for days now. Everything to want to make peace with has been rehearsed over and over and over again. With your head held high, you march right over to the garage and there he is, tinkering away at one of his many inventions.

“Donatello,” you declare, making your presence known. “Can we talk?”

Without looking, he hums and flails a dismissive hand in your direction. He doesn’t even bother to wave his real hand, opting for the use of a bionic limb so that he may keep his focus on his work. You bite your tongue like you have so many times before and tread closer. You had hoped that your irregular hardiness would be enough for him to realise you mean business but nothing. He fails to turn his music down even, so you take the liberty of doing it yourself. His lack of respect is already urging a rise out of you but you keep your mantra in mind: remain peaceful, aggression leads you nowhere. 

You breathe deeply to settle yourself and start your case, “Why do you always make such a point of overruling my abilities with science?”

“It’s not an overruling,” he retorts blandly. “I’m merely giving you the facts.”

“What you think are the facts,” you correct him.

"Please. Science is unquestionable.” Still, his eyes are glued to his device rather than paying attention to the situation at hand. “Atoms make the very backbone of everything that exists, etcetera, etcetera. Need I go on?” There’s that grating tone in his voice again; snobbish and agonisingly vain. “You can't seriously tell me that ‘magic’ has a constructive place in the world nearly as much as science does."

"I can if it's what I grew up believing," you object, more stern but remaining the peacekeeper where you can. “How would you feel if I tried to pick apart everything you believe and tell you it means nothing?”

He scoffs, “As if you could.” 

“Excuse me?” you ask through your teeth.

The tips of your fingers dig into your palms. By now, your blood is boiling. It’s one thing to throw out the odd comment but now it feels as though he’s making a straight mockery out of you. Keep a steady pace. You can do this. It’s becoming increasingly difficult but you know you can see this through without a violent fit. 

“Science is everything and that is the objective truth. Magic is just-”

“Donatello,” you attempt to gently interrupt him lest he anger you further but he takes no notice.

“- a childish way-”

“Stop.”

“- to view the world in fairy-like wonder.”

“Oh my stars, just shut up,” you cry out, "you arrogant, condescending, self-bloated ignoramus!” 

You throw your fists down at your sides and the very ground beneath you shakes. Where he was so absorbed in his creation, he failed to realise how worked up you were getting. You undeniably have his full attention now. If your outburst alone wasn’t enough to shut his mouth, the large cracks around your feet certainly are. There’s a wide, unfocused glow in your eyes and you’re heaving for air. He sits up, prepares to say something but his lips lock back down when yours open again.

“I am not just talking about stories or fairy tales or made-up fantasies from a child’s daydream! This is my life!”

Another loud shriek erupts from your chest, seizing the fragile floor and destroying it further. Luckily, it isn’t enough to permanently harm the infrastructure but it makes for a harrowing sight: your crumbling emotions devastating that which surrounds you. Silence follows, though not completely. Stray pieces of broken brick clammer around you two. 

In the short seconds that you try to regain your breath, Donnie stares up at you. Once shadowed over his hunched frame, your body is now slumped and weary. Your eyes point up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop crying but to no avail. In the end, you decide to just cover them with your hand.

“All you're doing is trying to convince me that my life is a lie,” you shakily whisper, “and if that’s how it’s going to be then I… I just can’t.”

You walk out before he has a chance to consider a response, leaving him in his stupefied state. His gaze follows the largest crack from the floor to the ceiling until it falls back on the doorway. By no means had he ever intended to make you doubt your livelihood. He was just… he was… he doesn’t know what he was doing, actually. Have his unappetising quips really led you to such turmoil? His face slowly morphs into a frown and he finds himself lying back on his shell. Then, his lips scrunch together and his throat groans in frustration. He shouldn’t feel bad for handing out the realities. He shouldn’t harbour guilt when you’ve been stealing his brothers’ attention all this time. 

Oh. 

The back of his head taps back into the ground. Gosh darn it. Jealousy. That’s the kicker. It has been this whole time. He’d like to leave it at that and continue with his previous task but he knows his family would start asking questions. His heart doth protest against his logical brain too much. With another long lament into the open air, he pries himself onto his feet and readies his venture to retrieve you. Such fun. Not only does he have to help a mystic user but now he has to traverse the very land from which you came. 

It doesn’t pan out the way he initially thought it would, however. The time he has to himself whilst he scavenges - the time he has to think - is time enough for him to go over your words. More so, the look on your face. He hates to admit it but his short-sightedness led him astray and hurt you. Whilst he doesn’t put much thought towards mystics, you are still a valued friend of his family. You’ve aided them so many times in their missions. You’re a person of great power even if that power comes from something he disagrees with. His brows furrow and he grimaces. Okay. He’ll admit he was out of line. That can wait, however. He still needs to find you first.

Donatello searches high and low across every surface of the mystic lands as he prowls further, faster. He always forgets how big it is. New York is an impressive feat but this realm could be worthy of putting it to shame on size alone. His efforts almost seem fruitless but, finally, he spots you atop a hillside, sitting with your legs pressed into your chest. The sight of your dimmed spirit tips him further into shame. He hates that fact but he supposes it’s the least he deserves. 

Before he knows it, he’s standing beside you. He didn’t realise he had gotten here so quickly upon finding you but here he is. You just about look up at him but your eyes quickly fall back onto the luscious landscape. There’s no telling what he plans to say or even why he’s followed you this far. You can’t say you have the energy to argue further, nor can you find it in yourself to tell him to leave. You can only hope he chooses his words carefully whilst he’s in the centre of your home.

“I don’t really know how to go about this,” he admits. “I…”

He blows out a breath and sits down beside you. For all the time he took to find you, he thought he would have at least thought about what he wanted to say. It isn’t that he lacks the capacity to apologise but admitting he’s wrong is a whole other kettle of fish he struggles to reach into. The whole crux of this is that he couldn’t admit to being wrong, he couldn’t allow your very being to defy what he believes to be the sole truth and the only truth. If there’s ever a time for trying, it’s now.

“I’m sorry. This has all been blown wildly out of proportion.” Donatello holds his hands together and his mouth curls uncomfortably. Part of this may involve revealing what he wishes to keep a secret but if it stands any chance of helping the situation, it may be his only resort. “I suppose it just seems unfair that you can make all of these things happen with the wave of your hand whilst I work so hard to accomplish the same.”

His head falls between his legs and yours lifts to properly look at him. Had he tried to illustrate this earlier, the whole ordeal may have been avoidable. Better late than never, you suppose. You never meant to feed into whatever inferiority complex he’s dealing with but that still doesn’t excuse the way he’s acted towards you. You want to get mad again and tell him just that but his shrunken stature speaks for you. Guilt is the moral emotion of a man who realises that they have compromised or has violated universal moral standards and bears significant responsibility for that violation - he who knows he has done wrong. That alone is a start to pave the way for what you had longed for. It’s a shame it came to this to begin with but beggars can’t be choosers.

“It was never my intent to upset you,” he continues when you stay silent. “Would you please come back to the lair? My brothers enjoy your company, so…”

“I’ll come back on one condition.” You turn back to the view but an invisible string tugs at your mouth. “You don’t have to agree with everything I stand for but can we at least put our differences behind us and be friends?” you ask and the upward lilt in your voice gives him a hope he hadn’t anticipated to be so easy. “Who’s to say science and mystics can’t co-exist?”

You outstretch your hand with a coy, friendly smile. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you were to give him an earful about his behaviour but this is far better. It’ll be a good chance to at least try and make up for all the awful things he’s said. If not for his own gratification then for the sake of his family in keeping an ally around.

One of his robotic limbs goes for the shake only to stop. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it properly. His fingers sequentially tap against his palm before he reaches out and clasps your hand. Your smile brightens and, in turn, his cheeks rise above an apologetic grin. Even if he has his quarrels with your powers, what you stand for, he doesn’t need to hold issue with you as a person. Who knows? This could be the start of a wonderful friendship. Jeez, though, remind him to never get on your bad side. He still needs to repair those damages to the garage.

[namspilot]

hi! this is on anon (because i don’t have an f1 blog) so I can’t attach links, but you asked for gpda strike fics and i love the gpda and eat up fics that mention it! so im going to include the full titles and authors’ names of various ao3 fics that fit your request (of which there are really not very many that I know of, sorry :/)

firstly, a note - if you are interested in fics that deal with the 1982 GPDA Strike (which actually got the union disbanded for some time), there is an officially wrangled ao3 tag for that event with a few fics: “1982 Formula 1 Drivers’ Strike”.

outside of that tag, i have only found 2 modern strike fics! unfortunately both rpf so if you’re not a fan of that then there’s not much out there for you

“have your words and eat them too,” peppermintstreets [longer and not strictly about a strike, focuses on striking/union activities as well as a pretty thick sebchal plot, so if you don’t like shipping/rpf, avoid this one]

“Like A Pawn Checkmates A King,” Meova [ironically ALSO sebchal though this one is more focused on strike activities, also a longer one, less shippy than the first one but still avoid if you don’t like rpf]

outside of THAT there are 2 drivers’ protest fics I know about (and one that I know exists but cannot find anywhere)… also both rpf.

“Fuck the FIA,” dropofaurum [recent fic about Max’s swearing punishment, involves the drivers protesting but also involves lestappen]

“it’s not queerbaiting, it’s saving the world,” buildyourfences [lestappen are outed in a photo of them making out, george proposes that various drivers kiss each other on camera, but the fic is much more focused on landoscar kissing each other for the protest and then getting together at the end than the protest itself]

i can’t find this anywhere but i know for a fact there’s a fic somewhere that’s about Lewis coming out (or maybe being outed) and all of the grid giving him kisses in the paddock to show support, and it’s much less ship focused than the above fic despite having a similar premise and 1000% more kisses lmfao

so yeah sorry I don’t have more and there’s not much variety,,,,, but I ALSO love gpda/union fics so figured I’d offer up what I had :]

oh my goodness anon I LOVE YOU!!!! I hope both sides of your pillow are always cold!! thank you so much for your time and your research, I can't wait to read them!! 💘💘💘 also, no need to worry about them being rpf seeing as I write rpf myself 😙😎

I'll add links to the fics in this post so anyone who's interested can check them out with me!

Here's the 1982 Formula One Driver's Strike AO3 Tag.

Modern Strike Fics:

have your words and eat them too by peppermintstreets, sebchal

In 2024, an accident at Spa and Wurz's simultaneous absence forces Sebastian to fulfill the role as GPDA chairman. And really, who thought high-speed racing and sausage kerbs were a good combination? As time keeps ticking and the discovery of a mole comes to light, the looming threat of a strike grows stronger as a desperate means to counter the FIA's wrath. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.

Like a Pawn Checkmates a King by Meova, sebchal

When a provisional calendar for 2025 gets leaked, Sebastian is shocked to see 27 races on there. That can't be right.  Getting all of the drivers to agree something must be done is surprisingly easy. Actually getting something done... isn't. They'll have to take matters into their own hands, then.

Driver's Protest Fics:

Fuck the FIA by dropofaurum, lestappen

It was bullshit. Mohammed bin Sulayem, the FIA, the Red Bull car, the McLaren flexi wing. All bullshit. Most importantly, the fact that drivers can’t swear on radios and interviews is bullshit. or, the 2024 grid stages a protest by all swearing in their native languages.

it’s not queerbaiting, it’s saving the world by buildyourfences, landoscar

Lando bursts into Oscar’s room without knocking. He’s red in the face and panting, sweat collecting on his forehead like he just ran a marathon. “You need to kiss me.” or, the drivers stage a protest, of sorts. Oscar might lose his mind.

and no. 3 sounds like it could be this one!!:

an ode to political statements by this_is_my_associate_mr_mc_clap_yo_handz, lewis/everyone

Lewis comes out. The FIA… don’t take it very well.

I'm so excited to dive into these! and a note to authors, i messaged some of you about sharing these links just to be safe but i figured that my 18+ rpf tumblr blog counts as a safe space. however, if any of y'all want your link taken down, just message me and i'll do so, no questions asked! alternatively, if you want me to tag your tumblr accounts lmk and i can do that too!!

[marengogo]

UGH!-9: Y’all Done Did It

Listening to the play list Who is Standing next to you 

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

Yes, I am enjoying my day-off, thank you for asking 😘. In fact, everything was going 🍑y, and then, as I scrolled on my husband’s post to see if other people had requested PIXID and liking all the ones who requested it 💜 I noticed one comment, and then a similar one and then I started scrolling …

WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?:

The whole time AYS aired I left it alone. I saw this type of comments on the Blue Bird app, but I left it alone.

I thought: “Blue Bird AMI don’t know better Marengo, let them be …”, “Once the show is finished everyone will go back to their regularly scheduled stanning …” … that’s what I kept telling myself 😩 yet; here we are. 

For Fuck Sake:

Are You Sure?! 👏🏾 Is a Jungkook 👏🏾 and Jimin 👏🏾Show 👏🏾. Period👏🏾.

Do you know American Hustle Life? Yes! It is a Joonie, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, JM, Tae and JK show.

Do you know Bon Voyage? Yes! It is a Joonie, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, JM, Tae and JK show.

Do you know In The Soop? Yes! It is a Joonie, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, JM, Tae and JK show.

IT REALLY AIN’T THAT HARD. 

I don't even know how to keep explaining this. Forget the shipping, forget the fact that JK and JM might be a couple, forget ALL OF IT:

I know I still have to do the EI post about JK, but let me say this for the MILLIONTH TIME: JK IS NOR STUPID OR CRUEL. If he, and JM, wanted a show where they would invite members every other episode, they would have a show where they would invite members every other episode and this would have been clear from the very beginning, because just like myself, I believe organization and routine to be a big part of JK’s life. Tae was an exception/special guest. As simple as.

Does this mean that they hate the members' presence? No. Do they want to leave the band? No. Do they think they are the most important members? NO. It simply means that maybe, just maybe, these two particular members particularly enjoy each other’s company. Some of us think it is romantic, the general public think it is strictly friendship: WHATEVER! Can AMI please please please acknowledge all harmless forms of expression? Joonie came out with one of the best albums out there, by himself, and JK & JM went on various trips and adventures together, which they wanted to share with us, AS SIMPLE AS THAT.

Liking Are you Sure?! doesn't make you a shipper, liking Are you Sure?! doesn't make you less OT7, however, liking Are You Sure?! will make you a person who is accepting of whatever harmless forms of entertainment that are being gifted to you by people whom you supposedly care about, and that very obviously means a lot to them, SO AMI NEEDS TO STOP TRYING TO TWEAK IT, BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT IN ANY WAY.

Yes I am a bitch, Yes I am petty, and Yes I am also OT7 AMI, an OT7 AMI who thinks two gentlemen in the band may fancy each other, but that is about it. I don’t go around forcing people to believe my perceptions, I don’t go brain-showing people into believing that these two individuals are married and I am very aware that they may just be straight men whom were never even curious. 

Remember my grammar pet-peeve? The one where I explained that Some people isn't the same as All people? Well, the same goes for Are You Sure?! Isn’t the same as A show like Are You Sure?! Like this person commented:

TRANS: A travel show. Something like Are You Sure? With Hobi 💜💜💜💜

This type of suggestion is totally fine. This ☝🏾, implies that the person understands that this particular show is something that two other members did, but it would be nice if two other members would make their own show with similar premises. So NO, Are You Sure Season 2?! Shouldn’t be a show with two other members and NO JK & JM don’t need to invite all the members if they don’t want to. And once again, for the love of everything that is demure,

it doesn't mean that they hate the members.

Okay? Okay.

Ayte, I’ve said all I wanted to say, now it's time for some comfort food & drinks.

またね！💋

Marengo.

[trulycertain]

I couldn't help wanting to write something ridiculous with spawn!Astarion learning to turn into a bat. And then I got thinking about how the tadpole nerfs spawn powers. AU, post-canon, Tav/Astarion. About 1.3k?

Lora's feeling out a new riff, trying to work out if there's enough of a solid foundation for it to become a song, when there's a thunk and tinkle from the kitchen.

Shit. 

She sneaks through, knowing that Astarion's probably doing the same, if he's all right. If he's not… best to take in the situation. 

A vase rolls past her through the doorway. There's a small flappy sound, like someone's just pulled a sheet of leather taut. What -? An undead, perhaps? She pokes her head round the corner. 

There, sprawled on the kitchen countertop where she normally chops vegetables she'll be the only one eating, next to a fallen jar of herbs, is a bat. Big, albeit not as gigantic as some she's fought who turned out to be vampires in disguise; still, it's got an impressive wingspan, one of them hanging off the counter like a curtain. Or, she thinks, absurdly, the way Astarion likes to dramatically hang an arm off a fainting couch, while he's reading a book. He'll not be impressed by that comparison.

Her unexpected visitor is albino, and… fluffy. Really fluffy, chest like the world's smallest thick fur rug, or like it's got a little proud collar. Small, clawed feet are sticking inelegantly in the air, not quite spread-eagled (spread-batted?), as if it's going to try and jump back onto them. But who's heard of bats standing?

…Unless it's a vampire lord. But there aren't any of those after them - well, not anymore. And they're usually better at the whole bat thing. Less of crashing into Astarion's favourite vase. 

How in the hells did it get in? It's not like she left a window open; both she and Astarion are a tad too paranoid for that. 

It's not dead, at least: its chest is moving furiously. Makes sense. Bats are smaller, probably with a faster heartbeat. If it's in pain - well, she hopes it's not in pain. 

She's got no idea how to escort it off the premises. It's not that she's got a problem with bats - more that she's certain neither she, nor the bat, signed up for this. An angry wild animal? She has visions of it hanging from her finger by its teeth. Though honestly, she had a similar vision with Astarion, and things turned out pretty well there. But they're only borrowing this place for a while - she called in a favour. That favour probably didn't include bat tenants. 

Edging closer, she notes that it doesn't seem to be moving. Knocked itself out? Oh, that's not ideal. Though maybe she can sneak it out before it wakes up… No, from what she can see - one red eye - it's just staring at the ceiling. Almost glumly, if a bat can be glum. 

And then it spots her, and… lifts its wings to hide its face. In embarrassment. 

White fur. Red eyes. The way he looks when he's caught between trying to brazen it out or stalking off to hide his cringing. 

“...Astarion?”

Its - his ears twitch, and he raises a wing, holds it there. The way he'll raise a hand in acknowledgement and Don't even say it. 

She blinks, and whistles a few notes, hits a high C - there. Speak with animals. That should do it. “Are you hurt?” she tries; it’s been a while since she’s done this spell without a lute.

“Only my pride,” he mutters, mulish and with the slightest nasality - makes sense, between a flat snout and fangs. “I think your basil came off worse than I did.”

She stares. Definitely strange, hearing that familiar wry voice come out of a bat.  “What happened?” He’s normally so pretty - the kind of pretty he endlessly preens about. The pinkness of his nose is oddly adorable against white fur, but she suspects he’s ended up as a vampire bat. Apparently, vampire bats look like they’ve crashed face-first into a wall. Which he most likely has, but she suspects that’s no explanation for the horseshoe-shaped nose and his little squinting eyes.  It's sort of cute. If you're very, very drunk. Or if you're overly fond of a grumpy vampire.

“Nothing we need talk about,” he says hastily. He rubs a thumb over his face. “I’m sure I’ll work out how to change back in a moment.”

“You’re not stuck like this, are you?”

He casts a narrow look at her with those blood-red eyes - different, and yet so very familiar. “Darling, are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I were a rodent?”

“Astarion.”

He stretches a wing experimentally: pale, thin skin and white fingers. “I don’t… think so. There’s already a sort of - itch under my skin, like I just have to yawn hard enough and, pop. But first, I need to brood.”

“I thought only Cazador could turn into a bat.”

“Into a cloud of bats, my dear.” He gestures at himself with a folded wing, more stiffly than his usual - difficult, when your arm doesn’t bend the same way. “Do I look like a cloud?”

She can’t help her grin at that. “I don’t know. You are all white and fluffy.”

He sighs, loudly. When she reaches out a slow, careful hand, however, he doesn’t move - even in this form, he’d dodge. Or she’d get an annoyed warning nip for her trouble, she’s sure of it. Fangs are second nature to him. As is how to be gentle with them, by now.

She says, “I love your ears.” She strokes a fingertip carefully over them; they twitch underneath it. “Look at the size of them!”

“Ugh. If you’re about to make an elf joke, I have one word of advice for you: don’t.”  It’s deeply surreal watching a bat roll its eyes.

“I wasn’t! Is your hearing better like this?”

“Much.” He makes an expression that’s probably meant to be a grimace, but on a slightly squashed bat-face, it’s not so different. “I can hear the tavern three doors away. Their bard isn’t nearly so good as you.”

She strokes between his ridiculous rabbity ears, just with a finger, lightly; big as he is for a bat, he’s so tiny. Even tinier than usual. She'd hate to hurt him. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

“Yes, yes, I know you’re weak to flattery.” But there’s warmth in his voice.

“Do you want to hop up? I feel like you won’t want to turn back into yourself on the counter.”

“Please. That test flight - flights, really - was exhausting. No-one warned me there would be so much flapping. I thought creatures of the night would be fonder of a smooth glide, but no.”

She holds out an arm - and then there’s a bat clinging to her woollen shirt with thumbs and little claws. Clinging being the operative word. He climbs up her a little uncertainly, holding tight while she stays as still as she can, until he arrives on her shoulder, flopping there with a dramatic sigh.

She heads through to the lounge, and beside her ear, a small voice says, “I’ve been able to do… more, since our wriggling little unwelcome passengers were removed. I don’t know if it’s that or simply not starving. Honestly, I thought the bat thing was a myth. For spawn, anyway - we get the rather inferior part of the ‘vampire powers’ arrangement. But the claws have come back, and the agility. I’ve never felt so strong. It’s… strange. And a little intoxicating.” She can’t quite raise a brow at him when he’s so close to her, but he clearly gets the idea, because he adds hastily, “As in, I’m rather happy. Not as in ‘I’m about to become a cackling vampire lord.’ We’ve... covered that one already. It’s more - is this what it’s meant to be like? Being a spawn? Not a starved slave?” His voice is soft, with a genuine, non-snarling curiosity to it. A little amazement. She feels him shuffle just a bit closer to her, wing curling a little around her back.

Sometimes he doesn’t like to be touched when he’s thinking about the bad old days, but this clearly isn’t one of those times. At that, she has to sit in an armchair, and reach up, offering a hand to her shoulder. He clambers onto it, with the kind of instant trust that makes her chest ache - though he does give her a puzzled look while he shuffles about to get comfortable and sits on her knuckles. He folds his wings neatly, primly, in a way that’s so him she’d laugh in any other circumstance. She sneaks over her other hand and strokes his pointy pale head, runs a soothing couple of fingers over his back. She feels sad for him, but also, Lathander, he’s so fluffy. She could happily do this for a while.

The flap of wings startles her. What - ?

Being hugged by a bat is more like having a very strange necklace. One that hooks its thumbs into the back of her shirt collar, accidentally tugging it wider, ears twitching against her neck in a way that’s almost ticklish, tiny heart fluttering against her collarbone. She holds him there with a hand, thumb stroking through his fur. He murmurs, “I just wished, and this time…”

The smallest cloud of mist blooms. She blinks, and the world is suddenly rather heavier. It could be the rogue sitting side-saddle in her lap, his arms around her neck, grinning at her. He blinks in a little surprise.

“...there I was. Hello, darling.” Leaning in, he brushes a swift, smiling kiss to her cheek.

She reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, the way she knows he likes even if it ruins his pomade. “You were very cute.”

“Of course I was. I was adorable.” He winces. “Aside from looking like I’d run face-first into a carriage.”

“You were cute!”

“Hm. Good for scouting tucked-away places that the owners don’t want us to be, however.” His happiness takes on a fiendish edge.

“You’re going to pick locks with your little thumbs?” 

The idea seems to delight him rather than offend. “Once I learn how? Absolutely.” He swoons dramatically, leaning back over the chair arm. “Now, darling, I find I’ve utterly run out of energy.” He darts her a look from under his hand. “It must have been the transformation. I don’t know if I can even find it in me to stagger to bed.”

She raises a brow. “Really?”

“Really. I’m just… utterly drained. It’s a mystery.” He holds his arms out. “Would you mind?”

While she’s carrying him through to her room, she says, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh?” he asks smugly, arms still wound around her neck. “And what’s that?”

“You’re going to pull me in with you.”

Pouting, he says, “How dare you. I’ll have you know I’m an honourable man. Well. I'm a man.”

“You’re going to pull me in with you and make me cuddle you to sleep.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds disgustingly juvenile. True, but juvenile.”

“This was easier when you were less than a kilogram of fur.” Not that she minds him being a bit heavier. It’s a relief, compared to how bird-boned he sometimes felt under all the muscle in the early, hungry days.

“I can fix that.” There’s a tiny poof! and then… a self-satisfied bat fluttering awkwardly to sit on top of her head.

She reminds him, “Watch the hair while you’re surveying your kingdom.”

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m never getting used to this.”