#let's just say ideas are percolating...

[thebramblewood]

The concept is goth chic vampire who's intimidating not because she could drain your life force at any given moment but because she's the coolest person you've ever laid eyes on.

Hair by @sunivaa Clothes by @serenity-cc, @trillyke, @its-adrienpastel, @greenllamas, @clumsyalienn, @miikocc, @sokea-cc, @aharris00britney Shoes by @jius-sims, @serenity-cc Thank you to all!

[tonyglowheart]

"Does Shen Qiao even like Yan Wushi?"

I feel like it may be relatively easy for people to pick out "what does Yan Wushi like about Shen Qiao / what does YWS get out of yanshen." but I think a criticism/line of thought I see around is people struggling with "well what does Shen Qiao get out of all of this?" and like, "does SQ even like YWS, what with how YWS annoys him and gets him angry all the time."

But I think that actually is the crux of their relationship, lol. Because if you think about it, to everyone else, Shen Qiao is this lofty ideal, this untouchable immortal/仙, maybe even this obstacle or goal to conquer or shoot down.

Who else treats him casually and teases him and pokes at him to get emotional reactions out of him because they like that about him?

If he wants to seek people who treat him with respect and reverence, he just has to step out into the city square - hell, he just has to travel out and random people he meets are likely to treat him with that sort of dazzled awe or reverence too (we literally see this happen several times in the course of the novel).

So yeah, I think joking not joking, YWS makes him angry and feel Emotions and he likes that, YWS is enrichment for him, YWS pushes his buttons and his boundaries but reframing that it's pushing him out of his comfort zone and like hardening him off to the elements and realities of the world like a gardener with plants out of the greenhouse. But also, YWS treats him like a person, like a man, and not like Shen-daozun, Shen-daozhang, Shen-zhangjiao. To Yan Wushi, Shen Qiao is Shen Qiao. (and he loves to tease the shit out of him hehe (￣▽￣) )

CONVERSELY! This also gives Shen Qiao a space to *be* Shen Qiao. With Yan Wushi, he does not have to be Shen-daozun, Shen-daozhang, Shen-zhangjiao. He does not have to always be magnanimous and generous and a bastion of righteousness. These are in his nature, yet, but it's not ALL of his nature - he is, after all, still a man, a human, with human emotions -- including the full breadth of human emotions. Yes Yan Wushi annoys him and he shows it, but it's specifically BECAUSE of that that they are closer than him and anyone else in the world. He can "be himself" around Yan Wushi, he can get worked up and be petty and be snippy, and it's fine and won't cause catastrophes or undesired splashdown sociopolitical effects.

But also, he (lets himself?) get worked up by Yan Wushi - they HAVE that level of intimate understanding with each other where they can be like this and not have feelings hurt in any irreparable way. This isn't something that SQ does (lets himself do?) with just anyone, which we see throughout the novel reflected in his internal narration and comportment. So really, the fact that he DOES get annoyed with YWS shows that they are on a different, more "real" level with each other than SQ is with anyone else.

And like, they didn't get there in a day, sure, but imo we definitely see through the novel how they get there, so imo, the yanshen relationship is incredibly justified.

(I also say this bc I think literally every "I've connected the two dots" moments I've had in my reread, I would metaphorically flip the page only to be met with that connection I'd made spelled out on the page by MXS lmao. Like... yeah okay MXS *shakes your hand* you know your stuff. oh and also because I do think there may be some level of skepticism about yanshen esp from SQ's side floating around lol, but like... MXS did the legwork! yes chapter 45 happened, yes YWS never "apologizes" with words, but that doesn't mean that they don't share a deep mutual understanding of themselves and each other by the end, nor that they haven't moved past the events of literally 83 chapters ago, 96 if you count the extras -- a whole literal two-thirds of the novel ago. Like, I know we piss on the poor here and many educational systems around the world are in shambles these days, but work on developing reading comprehension skills, pls :') )

(lmao rip this post got long AGAIN. well, hopefully at least some people are reading all of this lol.)

[wheneverfeasible]

Because I’m terrible and the plots won’t leave me alone, I’ve now got an idea based on this post about a demon who feasts on pain and suffering being a medical practitioner for the chronically and terminally ill and the patients fully loving it. And then my brain rot had to say “make it Steddie” because I’ve lost all control of my life.

—

cw: terminal illness, minor and major character death (with a happy ending tho)

But imagine it. Eddie is a demon, a low ranking one at that originally. He gets a job at a medical facility for the chronically/terminally ill. Over time at the happy and consensual feasting he really does become one of the strongest demons because he’s constantly fed to the brim and he even has human worshippers, not that they’re traditional worshippers.

No, his followers are little old senior citizens who slip him butterscotch candies and other sweets they’re not supposed to have, which technically count as offerings. They thank him for his work, because he does actually take care of their bodies as well and even listens to their life stories, which count as praise and worship. They love and are devoted to him and they bring in their friends and family who are suffering too and Eddie’s accidental cult grows.

One day, things change. A young man, an anomaly in his youth, is brought in by parents who no longer wish to be burdened by their disabled son. Steve just shrugs it off and moves in with a smile, seemingly fine with being abandoned by his parents because he dared to be anything other than perfectly healthy.

He puts around the facility in his terry cloth robe and slippers on some days, others he dresses up in polos and slacks or even jeans when he’s feeling more casual, and always with a smile on his face. He makes those around him smile and laugh too, and his cheeks get pinched and he’s slipped candies too and he listens to others’ stories and he seems happy and content.

But Eddie feeds on his pain and suffering all the same, knows that behind that smile is a young boy who was told he probably wouldn’t live to see 30, who listens to the older folks knowing he would never get to live a life like that. Eddie knows that sometimes Steve cries himself to sleep at night.

Over time, Eddie and Steve grow closer. Steve hadn’t believed that Eddie was a demon at first, had thought it all just a joke, until one night Mr. Wozniak was laying in his bed, and Steve hadn’t meant to overhear, but he was passing by and the door was cracked open.

“Will I go to Hell now?” Mr. Wozniak was asking, but he seems peaceful all the same, like the thought wasn’t the terrifying ordeal so many people thought it was.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie was saying, but his voice sounds a little off, huskier, like…like brimstone sat in his throat. “I’ve never claimed your soul. It’s still your own. Go find Irena. She’s been waiting for you for too long.”

Irena, Steve knew from speaking with Mr. Wozniak, was his young wife who had died decades earlier.

“Will I get to see you again?”

Eddie’s long fingers reach out, his nails long and sharp, dark in a way that was not nail polish. He lightly and gently strokes the papery skin of Mr. Wozniak’s cheek. “You will be at peace. You will find the afterlife is so much more than this Good-vs-Evil rhetoric so popular in this plane of existence. Go in peace, my child, and should you wish it, perhaps one day we might meet again.”

Mr. Wozniak smiles at that, and he closes his eyes with a softly whispered, “Irena, I’m coming…”

A moment later, he was gone.

Steve watches as Eddie seems to grow smaller, appear more normal, and though he knows he should be terrified, he isn’t. Instead he continues on his way, letting the knowledge of more percolate in his brain, though by the next morning when news of Mr. Wozniak’s passing spreads and Eddie assures everyone that he passed away peacefully and in no pain, Steve knows Eddie speaks the truth and he realizes that nothing has changed. Eddie is still Eddie.

They continue to grow closer. He spends more time with Eddie, lets Eddie in fully on how much he hurts, and tells the demon that he wished things had been different and that they could have met under better circumstances.

Eddie tells him that he never enjoyed the taste of regret. It was far too bitter.

They fall in love, encouraged by their friends in the facility new and old, who don’t seem to care that he is a mortal with a short life expectancy and Eddie is an immortal demon lord. What is all that in the face of true love?

And then it happens, and Steve is the one lying in bed, knowing his time has come. He smiles up at Eddie and decides not to regret any of it, not wanting their final moments to be flavored with bitterness.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers mournfully, and he’s beautiful. It’s not his full true form, but his eyes are a dark blood red, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his pale skin veined with reds and blacks. Horns curl out from his curly hair.

“You said once that I get to be with my loved ones after this,” Steve says, still smiling, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s jaw with a weakened hand. Eddie nods against him, and Steve wonders if all demons can cry, or if it’s just his. “Then take my soul, darling. It already belongs to you.”

Eddie flinches back, like Steve knew he would, because souls are not little things. Eddie had explained before, after everything, that he didn’t even actually deal in souls, that that wasn’t the sort of demon he was. Steve had asked if he could, on a technicality, and Eddie had paused because saying yes, any demon could, but souls were priceless. When you gave one up to a demon, you gave up everything. You would be theirs until the end of days. Eddie had said he wasn’t that sort of demon.

“Baby, no,” Eddie breathes now, shaking his head gently enough not to dislodge Steve’s hand. “You would be—”

“Yours,” Steve interrupts. “But I already am. You already own my heart. I now willingly give you my soul. All you have to do is accept it.”

And Eddie protests, at first, because Steve is giving him complete control over him for eternity. Steve gives it freely with open arms, and in the end, Eddie can do nothing but accept it. He tells Steve that he doesn’t know if demons have souls or not, but his belongs to Steve just as assuredly as his own heart does.

Steve’s final mortal breath is gifted into Eddie’s crimson mouth, full of peace and love and the understanding that this thing between them will always beat eternal.

It turns out that, whether it was still unknown if all demons had souls, Eddie was the sort that does.

And it also turns out that, when you’re gifted a demon lord’s soul, you become a demon too.

Eddie’s cult ends soon after, disbanded into non-existence. In its place, however, rises a new one that worships not just one demon caretaker, but two as Eddie is soon joined by another with floppy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes that for once smiles without hidden pain. They take care of their charges, gently coax them into eternal rest when it’s their time, and together prove that true love is forever.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello, Mr. Neil! If it is no imposition, I'd appreciate your thoughts or advice. No hard feelings if it is, I pinky promise.

I write and, ideally, would love to do so for a living. The trouble is, I'm highkey autistic (to an often debilitating extent) and doubt my ability to write characters that'll appeal to the overwhelming majority of people. Or who, like, allegedly "normal" people will be able to see themselves in. Essentially, the fundamentally human part of writing is what's messing with me. A lot of this is, frankly, due to trauma. Communicative-based trauma, which is common in autistic people, especially late-diagnosed autists (like me.)

Most of the time, it feels/seems like I have to convince people that I'm human, at all, before they'll take what I feel/think/say/write as anything more than some half-comprehensible oddity. Idk. I'm confident when writing just for myself, but just the idea of adding an audience into this all makes me queasy and anxious. I feel like hiding. But I'd rather not become an Emily Dickinson, y'know? That seems worse than not letting people in at all.

As it is, I write poetry and heady erotic scripts, for the most part. There's a series of humanized monster novels percolating in the back of my mind. Kinky scriptwriting is fun and has potential to become an indie kinda job if I play my cards right, which is a helpful incentive. Novels and poetry are what I prefer, but them taking a backseat is probably going to be necessary. It's easy enough to appeal to people in a kinky, sexual context. That's an easier context for others to accept me in, it seems. But otherwise? That's where I faulter and doubt myself.

How do you keep self-doubt, social anxieties and overall fear from clouding your writing? Or from inhibiting the will to write, even?

You do it or you don't. There are a million reasons not to do it and not to keep doing it but you do it anyway.

Just do it, tell your stories, a word at a time, a sentence at a time, a page at a time.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Stuck

~1.5k words || rating: teen || cws: dissociation; unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illnesses

He’s never quite sure how it happens, seeming to always sneak up on him. One minute he’s up and moving around, usually cleaning, organizing, or just meandering around the house. The next, he’s lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He tries to move but can’t. Not because he’s physically restrained, like when the rope from the Russians cut into his wrists or how the vines constricted his neck. 

No, Steve’s just lying here on the floor, trapped in his own mind. His eyes are raw, stinging with dryness. Painful tingles pop throughout his right arm from where his head rests heavy on his bicep. His hip and shoulder ache. He can’t move or talk or blink. Can barely think. He’s not in his body. 

He’s lost. Stuck.

Getting stuck means losing time, chunks of days lost to a void. It means missing meals and unanswered phone calls. Growing up, it felt like an escape. A safe way to pass the time between eating and sleeping. He’d come back to himself, sometimes hours later, sore and hungry, mustering up energy he didn’t have. Once, his parents discovered him frozen on the ground. Mom’s yelling and Dad’s foot shoving his side brought him jolting back into his body. Like waking from a nightmare, rising from the dead chased by panic. 

It happens less now, but still catches up to him when he’s exhausted. He thinks today it was the kids– they were particularly obnoxious. Yelling excitedly about Eddie’s new campaign ideas, trucking in snow from outside after building a demo-snowman. Cooking for them, cleaning after them, getting them home safe.

Yeah, he gets how he maybe overdid it a bit. 

But with Eddie here, it’s easier. His sweetheart always knows how to help, usually checking up on him after stressful days. Hopefully he comes to check on him soon.

Because Steve can’t move. Or talk. Or even blink.

The sun is starting to set.

~~~

The Party were extra chaotic today, pushing him to the fringes of patience. He’s thrilled they’re excited about his newest campaign ideas, but god, did they have to be so unbearably loud about it? Dustin’s screeches are still rattling between his ears. Not to mention the soreness he feels from helping the kids build a snowman demo-thing and the ensuing snowball fight. 

The idea of an occult campaign has been percolating in Eddie’s brain for weeks, and after the day he’s had, he’s lost to the research. Perched on a chair upstairs in their bedroom, books are scattered across the desk and onto their bed next to him. Typically, creative deep-dives restore his energy after a long day. But when he’s well and truly exhausted, he’ll lose hours at a time to the work. Getting stuck, according to Steve. And yeah, Eddie can see how that fits.

Growing up, Eddie would lose hours throwing himself into his latest and greatest project, whether it be drawing, playing guitar, writing campaigns, reading or even the time he tried juggling. Entranced by his newest obsession, his surroundings would fade into the background. He’d forget to do his homework, to eat or drink. Hell, sometimes he’d forget to pee. Wayne’d drop a gentle hand to his shoulder– pulling him back to reality– and he’d take off like a shot to the bathroom. Every sensation hitting all at once: bladder about to burst, stomach rumbling, dry mouth, headache, body stiff and achy. 

As he gets older, it’s still a frequent occurrence. So Robin had given him the idea of setting alarms, saying it helps her remember to take breaks while studying. And he’s thankful, because it works like a charm when he actually remembers. But when he forgets, his Stevie takes care of him. 

He’ll find Eddie crouched awkwardly by the desk, eyes manic, only seeing what’s in front of him. Eddie will eat or drink anything Steve gives him, barely tasting whatever it is, just as long as he can see it. And Steve lets him be for at least a few hours so he can burn energy into whatever project he's lost himself in. All Steve cares is that he’s fed and hydrated. Usually, Eddie comes to slowly, with Steve’s fingers gently carding through his hair, or soft strokes up and down his spine.

Now Eddie breaks his own musings, eyes strained, hungry, and needing to stretch. He can’t help but wonder why his sweetheart hasn’t checked on him. 

Moonlight is shining through the window.

~~~

It’s eerily quiet as Eddie makes his way down the stairs. He half expects to find Steve stress-baking, but the kitchen is dark. 

So he checks the garage– the car is still here. And the backyard– he never sits by the pool alone. Then the front porch– maybe he went out for a smoke.

Guilt eats at Eddie as he finds his beautiful boy on the living room floor, curled into himself.

Stuck. 

He hates finding Steve like this– stuck and lost like Eddie’s engrossed fantasies. Yet so, so different. 

The first time Eddie found him, unresponsive and immovable, he spiraled into a panic so strong Steve had broken free of his own melancholy, finding Eddie hyperventilating and sobbing in the midst of a flashback. Too much like Chrissy. Like Patrick and Nancy. 

They'd talked about it. And Eddie had appreciated afterwards how Steve struggled to describe what being stuck feels like, why it happens, what to do about it. It'd helped. 

So on grey days, long nights, the holidays, or when the kids are extra rowdy, Eddie looks for the signs. He's been good about getting Steve to slow down before it's too late. 

But on rare occasions, there will be a day like today. When it’s too much for both of them.

Eddie doesn't know how long his baby’s been lying here. Doesn't know when he ate or drank or even blinked. Because he’d holed himself up, desperate for time alone to just think. To be with himself after spending all day surrounded by people. But he forgot to set an alarm, assuming Steve would be there.

He focuses on his sweetheart, slowly kneeling down next to him so as not to startle him. Remembers all of the tips and tricks Steve needs. 

"Hey honey," Eddie whispers, close enough to be present but not overwhelming. "Don't worry baby we'll get you unstuck I promise. I'm going to reach out and grab your hand now ok?" 

He continues to whisper gentle praises and reassurances as he holds Steve's hand. It's limp for a time, and Eddie is hungry, but he doesn't stop. Time is lost to them both again, until he feels a slight squeeze on his fingers. Steve finally blinks, slow and hard. 

"Hey big boy, love to see those pretty, long eyelashes.” He smiles down at his baby, honeyed hazel eyes slowly refocusing. “Alright, once for no and two for yes: do you want me to help you onto the couch?" 

A full minute passes before Eddie feels two gentle squeezes to his fingers. 

"That's great sweetheart. I'm gonna tilt you to sit up and we'll get you settled. Then I'm going to ask if you want anything. Ready?" Two squeezes.

They finally get to the couch, and Eddie can already feel a strong sense of relief at just seeing his baby move off the floor. He hears Steve's back pop as they stand, decides he'll give him a massage later. 

It goes on. And on and on. Eddie follows the process of squeezes until Steve is unstuck and back in his body. 

"Water?" Two squeezes.

"Food?" One squeeze.

"Blanket?" Two squeezes. 

Eddie's patience always pays off. He's got Steve set up on the couch, hydrated and relaxed, with his favorite movie playing softly. He’s managed to grab a bowl of cereal for himself. They're cuddled and warm with Steve’s head in his lap. Eddie glides his fingers up and down the sore side of Steve’s body, gently squeezing as he goes.

~~~

Steve comes back to himself surrounded by love. 

His eyes sting and his mouth is dry. He doesn't know what time it is, but notices the sun has long set, moonlight shining through the curtains. The bones in his neck crack and his joints pop as he stretches.

But he's warm under the blankets, tucked into his boyfriend's chest as they watch the teddy bear Star Wars. Eddie's loosely twirling the hairs at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and sending tingles down his spine. There's a glass of water and crackers on the table in front of him. 

Getting stuck inside his head terrifies him, something he dreads as much as the night terrors. 

But with Eddie, it's easier, happens less often. And when it does, he always wakes up to love.

~~

This was a pure self-indulgence fic. An exact recreation of my relationship with my partner. It fits my headcanon for the boys perfectly (though I'm obviously biased haha)

[therainscene]

I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

[babygirlwolverine]

loving on island time

Kiss #24 - Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

Birthday Prompts: Country music, lover, beach kiss, purple, “Will you accept this rose?”, Dr. Sexy, sharks

Summary: Cas slipped a note into the handle of Dean’s coffee mug, set it on the bedside table, and placed a kiss against Dean’s temple. 'Let’s go on a road trip. I’ll drive.’

Word Count: 2,015 (continued under the read more). Also posted on ao3.

It had been an idea created out of something unexpected, sparked by Dean pointing out a piña colada at a bar, saying, “Not as fun without the umbrella in it.”

Cas cocked his head, stirring his own drink with a straw. “Where did you get a drink with an umbrella in it?”

Humming, Dean took a sip of his beer and his lip curled up into a half-smile. “I haven’t. It’s just the cliché beach drink in all the movies,” Dean chuckled. He changed the subject after that, directing Cas’ attention to the menu, and how Cas’ reflection in the condensation of the glass made him look even more devastatingly handsome. A fact that was ridiculously untrue yet made Cas fall even more in love with his husband.

No matter where Dean steered the conversation during their date night, though, Cas couldn’t stop thinking about Dean’s earlier answer about the tropical drinks with umbrellas in them. And now the seed had been planted and an idea was percolating in Cas’ mind.

~

A week later, Cas slipped a note into the handle of Dean’s coffee mug and set it on the bedside table. He placed a kiss against Dean’s temple before making his way back to the kitchen to get his tea. By the time he made it back to their bedroom, Dean had his back pressed to the headboard of the bed with an old rerun of Dr. Sexy playing quietly on the TV. The note was in his hand.

“What is this?” Dean asked, gesturing at Cas with the note. 

Cas quirked a smile at Dean and shrugged his shoulders. “An anniversary gift?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Cas in response. “Our anniversary was almost 2 months ago.”

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand settling on Dean’s thigh. “Okay, just a regular gift. But someone once told me you accept gifts when they’re given to you.”

“Must’ve been a wise person.”

Cas smiled warmly at Dean. “For once, let me take you somewhere.”

Dean leaned into Cas’ space, brushing his lips against Cas’. “You’re not going to tell me where you’re taking me, are you?”

Shaking his head, Cas murmured, “My lips are sealed.”

“Does that mean no more kisses?” Dean asked. 

Closing the gap, Cas pressed his mouth against Dean’s softly. “I’ll make an exception for kisses.”

The note fluttered to the ground as Cas let Dean pull him down, down, down onto the mattress. 

‘Let’s go on a road trip. I’ll drive.’

~

Cas made sure they took his pickup for the roadtrip and insisted he do all the driving to ensure it remained a surprise. 

Anytime Dean picked up a map, trying to plot points to see what roads Cas was taking, Cas leaned over and tugged the map from Dean’s hands. “Nice try, Dean.”

After that, Cas made sure to change up the roads he was taking so that Dean couldn’t extrapolate anything from the route they were taking.

They alternated playing classic rock music and country music. Cas liked it because he knew Dean pretended he didn’t want to listen to country music, then he’d catch Dean tapping his along to the music against the window as they drove. 

They spent days on the road, and somehow it felt like every other road trip Cas had done with Dean, and yet completely different. This was just them and the open road. Cas driving Dean instead of Dean driving Cas. Something old and something new all at once. And looking over at Dean as the sunlight lit up his face through the window, so beautiful and breathtaking, Cas never wanted this road trip to end. 

~

The way Dean reacts when he gets his first glimpse of the beach is nothing short of stunning. A soft gasp, followed by a surprised chuckle, and then a grin spreading across his lips as his hand finds Cas’ thigh and squeezes so fondly it makes Cas’ heart ache. 

“You’re kidding me? Is that–?”

Cas nodded, tilting his head to offer Dean a warm smile. “Is this okay?”

Dean met Cas’ gaze and replied, “If you weren’t driving right now, I’d kiss you senseless.”

“I can pull over if you’d prefer?” Cas asked.

The laugh that slipped from Dean’s lips filled the truck. “Just drive. I’ll kiss you on the beach.”

Twenty minutes later, Cas stood where the sand met the concrete of the pathway. His eyes were on Dean.

Dean. Who had his feet in the sand. Even from a hundred feet away, Cas could see the way Dean’s head was tipped back with his eyes closed, sun bathing his skin in golden gleams.

Serenity.

It was written in the downward slope of Dean’s shoulders and the way his lips tilted up.

So beautiful that Cas was captivated. 

A throat cleared, and Cas tore his eyes away from Dean. “You said you wanted umbrellas in your drinks, right?”

“Yes, two umbrellas…” Cas trailed off, his gaze moving to something on the counter at the back of the bar. “Could I have one of those too, please?”

The bartender offered Cas a knowing smile and nodded his head towards Dean. “Trying to make an impression, huh?” 

Letting his eyes wander back to Dean, Cas shook his head. “I’m already his lover,” Cas replied, his wedding ring glinting in the sun as he picked up the drinks that the bartender had completed. 

By the time Cas had stepped up next to Dean with the drinks, the sun was starting to dip beyond the horizon; a purple dye stained the sky and the water below.

“Hey handsome,” Dean said, turning his gaze from the waves on the shore to Cas. 

The look in Dean’s eyes took Cas’ breath away. 

“What’s that?” Dean asked, gesturing to the drinks. There was a crinkle in the creases by Dean’s eyes as he smiled at Cas, and Cas ached to press his lips against those lines. 

Shaking the thought from his head, Cas gently offered the drink with the splash of color to Dean. “Will you accept this rose?”

Dean’s eyes flickered from the rose perched against the rim of the drink, to the matching red umbrella in the center of the drink, to Cas, and then back to the rose. “Castiel Winchester, you really are something,” Dean murmured, plucking the rose from the drink and twisting the stem back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Is that a yes?”

In a deliberately slow motion, Dean plucked the drink from Cas’ hand and crouched to wedge both drinks into the sand. Then, he stood up and stepped into Cas’ space. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, and Cas immediately leaned into the touch. “The answer is always yes. To marrying you. To being your husband. To the rose. Yes, Cas.”

A moment passed between them, Dean staring into Cas’ eyes, and Cas reaching out with his Grace to feel the warmth of Dean’s soul. And then they were kissing.

Cas let out a hushed breath as his lips traced the curve of Dean’s mouth. The taste of salt air transferred from Dean to Cas, and it sent a shiver down Cas’ spine. 

It was so easy to get lost in the way Dean licked his way into Cas’ mouth. The way Dean let out these stuttered little gasps against Cas’ lips that melted into the kiss.

Settling his hands on Dean’s hips, Cas rucked up the corner of Dean’s shirt, letting his fingers graze against Dean’s skin. 

Dean let out another quiet groan, his hands moving up into Cas’ hair, instinctively pulling the angel closer as he deepened the kiss. Their tongues grazed against each other, and Cas chased that intimate touch again and again.

When Dean kissed him like this, hurried and desperate as if he couldn’t bear to spend a second not kissing Cas, it felt like Cas was drawing from a live wire every time their mouths brushed against each other. Intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly addictive.

It was Dean who pulled back from the kiss, shaking as he drew in a deep breath. 

But that wasn’t enough for Cas. He needed more. Needed to let everything that Dean was consume every molecule of his being.

With one hand on Dean’s waist, Cas mimicked Dean’s earlier touch by sliding his other hand into the hair at the back of Dean’s neck, bringing Dean back into the kiss. And Dean went willingly, his fingers tugging at the strands of Cas’ hair as he teasingly traced his tongue over Cas’ bottom lip.

Cas opened his mouth, letting Dean lick his way across Cas’ tongue and the roof of his mouth as he focused on the way their lips fit perfectly together. 

Each time they broke apart for a breath, they dove back in, trading deep kisses back and forth as if it were their air supply. The sand beneath their feet, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the wind whipping around their bodies. It all faded into the background as Cas chased the taste of his husband’s lips.

Finally, Cas eased back from the kiss, nudging his nose against Dean’s before pressing their foreheads together. They were both puffing quick fast breaths against each other’s cheeks. 

It didn’t matter that Cas didn’t need to breathe to live, Dean still had the ability to steal all their air from Cas’ lungs.

Dean let out a breathless laugh, tracing his fingertips across Cas’ neck and down to his shoulder blades. “God, I love you.”

A flush creeped up Cas’ cheeks and he dropped his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. He peeked out across the water, realizing there were stars glimmering above their heads and the moon had replaced the sun. They’d spent far too long and yet not long enough kissing on the beach.

“Our drinks have melted,” Cas mumbled against the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Looks like we need more then,” Dean said, and even without seeing Dean’s face, Cas knew that he was grinning.

Dean pulled back, his hand sliding down Cas’ arm and entangling their fingers together as he started to guide them away from the ocean and back towards the beach bar. They’d only walked a few steps when Dean stopped their movement. “Oh, wait, I forgot. Found this washed up on the beach and thought you’d like it for your collection.”

When Dean reached into his pocket he pulled out a black fossilized shark tooth and placed it into Cas’ hand. Cas turned the tooth over in his palm several times. It was beautiful; smooth and shiny and perfectly preserved. “Thank you,” he murmured, running his thumb across the edge of the tooth before tucking it into his own pocket for safe keeping.

As they started walking again, their hands linked, Cas nodded his head up to the bar. “The bartender saw me staring at you when you were watching the waves earlier. He thought I was trying to flirt with you by buying you a drink.”

Dean laughed again, bringing Cas’ hand up to his lips so he could place a kiss against Cas’ knuckles. “And here I was thinking it was me trying to flirt with you all those years ago.”

Humming, Cas turned his gaze towards Dean, “And yet, it was me who kissed you first.”

Dean pulled them to a stop just short of the bar. “Hang on, I kissed you first when I rescued you from the Empty.”

Cas felt a laugh bubble up from his chest. “Fine, I’ll give you that one. But I was the one to propose to you.”

“Only because you beat me to it by one day,” Dean said as they both sat down at the bar, their hands still linked together.

“Gotta be quicker than that, Winchester,” Cas teased. 

Dean leaned over and pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek.  “Two can play at that game,” Dean murmured against Cas’ jaw. Turning his attention to the bartender, Dean said, “Two piña coladas with umbrellas in them for my husband and I.”

[piarelei]

Date Night

Can be read as a sequel to Bullseye, but doesn't have to be.

Jake slid onto the passenger seat and the leather gave a squeak of protest under him. Bradley gave him a bordering-on-nervous smile. Jake was too floored with how out of character it felt that he barely reacted when he was greeted with a kiss. This was incredibly unusual. 

“Ready?” asked Bradley. 

Jake hummed, trying to settle in his seat. He refused to feel nervous. 

“Right. Let’s go, I made a reservation for 7:30.”  

Jake affiliated the noose that tightened around his throat to hunger. There was no other reason for it. 

The restaurant was beyond nice. Jake was always impeccably dressed, but he felt decidedly out of place trailing after Bradley. Their waiter brought them to a linen-draped table and handed them menus printed on a single sheet of paper. Jake looked up with some alarm, only to find Bradley already mesmerized into his own potential order. 

The table between them was akin to a sea of loneliness. 

“This is not working.”

Bradley looked at him with a bone deep shock. 

“I’m not talking about our relationship. I’m talking about this,” he twirled his finger around, designating the room at large. “I’m missing something.” 

Anger rose on Rooster’s face like a bloom at dawn. “This is a date.”

“Yes. But this is not the sort of date we go on. Honestly, I’m surprised you would choose something like that. Feels awfully heteronormative coming from you.”

Bradley pulled a face. It didn’t hide the sudden blush heating on his neck. “I suck your dick. There’s nothing heteronormative about it.”

Their waiter popped over at this exact moment. He was too polite to say anything, but his gaze held multitudes. “Have you chosen what you would like to start with?” 

“We’ll take two Old Fashioned, thank you.” 

Bradley frowned but didn’t correct him. Once the waiter left with their orders, he leaned over. “I don’t even like Old Fashioneds.” 

“Both are for me. You prefer to drink with your meal anyway.” 

Bradley sighed. “This was not what I envisioned.”

“And what did you envision?” 

“I don’t know. I thought you would be pleased. Less aggressive.” 

Jake crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, feeling too defensive. “Listen, I struggle to understand why we’re not making out on my couch right now.” 

The waiter dropped off their drinks and offered to take their order. Jake let Bradley take charge of his meal. 

Bradley stared at him. “Is it so awful for me to do something…” He winced. “A bit romantic?”

Jake did his hardest to keep his face neutral. It didn’t work, Bradley frowned at whatever he saw in his eyes. 

“Right. This was fucking stupid. Come on, I’ll pay, let’s go.” 

Jake couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved by that, but he also knew that he couldn’t afford any broken china in their relationship after a five-months-long distance.

“Bradshaw, sit down. We’ve been dating for nearly a year. We don’t do this sort of thing.”

Bradley shrugged. “Maybe we should.” 

“Well, I wasn’t under the impression that there was anything wrong with the way we were.” 

Bradley kept quiet. His expression remained stiff. 

Jake leaned back, an idea percolating suddenly. “Are you about to propose?” 

The immediate panic was a relief. “Jesus, no. That would be fucking crazy.” 

“Right. Okay. Well?” 

Bradley looked away, toying with one of the Old Fashion he had appropriated. He sighed, giving in. “It’s just a thing my parents did. Mav told me he used to babysit me all the time so that my Dad could bring my mom to this semi-fancy restaurant she loved. I just thought it would be nice to have this with you.”

Jake softened, then felt a thick surge of guilt take place up in his throat. It felt incredibly selfish to have opposed Bradley every step of the way when he had wanted to do something nice, even if it was different from what they were used to. To what Jake needed. 

“I’m…” He battled with it a few seconds. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to this sort of dating.” 

“That’s my fault too, then.” 

“Fuck off, Bradshaw, you’re not my first boyfriend.” 

“Hopefully, I’m your last.” 

Jake’s words were robbed from his mouth for a good second. “Sounds a lot like you're proposing to me.” 

Bradley leaned back, familiarly smug. “Maybe I should.” 

Jake was grateful to see their waiter coming to keep him from having to say anything incriminating, like yes.

Didn't really have any time before today and worked up a quick thing, more of a character study than anything else. Hoped you enjoyed. Show some love with a reblog baby ♥

[buckybarnesss]

stiles helping derek search for erica and boyd during the summer between season 2 and 3a is the only thing that makes sense.

allison was in france the entire summer only having just recently returned.

lydia occupied herself with various fuck 'em and leave 'em boys to get over jackson

scott was doing the be a better scott mccall program.

isaac was looking for erica and boyd

and stiles was doing what?????????? exactly??????????

he and scott don't seem to have spent a lot of time together since scott was doing summer school, working and self improvement.

but stiles? nothing is said.

except after the incident with the deer he immediately searches deer accident reports.

the sheriff seems quite fed up with him given his "oh god please go to school" comment so he's probably been around the house a lot, probably doing research on various topics but he's been behaving himself since stiles says his dad has nothing on him.

he is also the one to remind scott that derek's been busy with looking for erica and boyd when scott wants to go talk to him about the tattoo saying "don't you think derek has his hands full?"

since when is stiles on the defend derek committee? let alone leading it?

when scott and stiles are on the phone together after the bird attack and derek's taking isaac to the hale house scott tells stiles to meet them at derek's house.

stiles expresses both surprise and confusion at this probably in my estimation because stiles knows about and has been to the loft while scott has no idea the loft exists yet.

scott even asks derek after he hangs up with stiles if derek still lives there and derek says no that the county took the house.

and of course there's the new familiarity between stiles and derek during the whole scene when derek blow torches scott's tattoo.

the infamous forever long tracking stare.

they're also casually loitering together waiting for scott to come to. love that for them.

but the most damning thing is how little stiles says when scott finds out about the alpha pack. stiles doesn't complain about derek not telling them because stiles already knew.

derek never says it. he only mentions peter and isaac but he keeps throwing looks in stiles's direction who is folding his arms and fidgeting.

there's a little moment where scott asks "how do you deal with an alpha pack?" and derek responds with "with all the help i can get."

it immediately cuts to stiles and scott raises his eyebrows with realization. he looks at stiles and stiles does a small little guilty head nod but they're interrupted by isaac before he can say anything.

this whole moment is basically derek omitting stiles's involvement but scott figures it out from context clues, derek's terrible poker face and inability to not look at stiles.

he figures out that stiles was not only helping look for boyd and erica but also knew about the alpha pack and that he kept it from him.

those trust issues already be percolating. scott didn't tell stiles about the gerard argent plan. stiles didn't tell scott about helping derek over the summer.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 6

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Hottie wakes you up with a hot chocolate. The scent alone is enough to rouse you. Your mother always said you were a bloodhound.

You put on some cool DIY tutorials you found, explaining to her how you want to convert your old vanity, but first you need a lot of glitter. She seems interested but she's more concerned about the glitter being everywhere. You don't see what's so wrong with that but she suggests sealing it with resin. Well, it's all just plans until you get the materials.

You hear your mom and dad get up and notice how Hottie quiets down. She glances at the door, almost looking guilty. You smile and hop up from the bed.

"All cool, my parents are pretty chill," you say, "I'll just go tell them you're here."

"Is that okay?" She asks.

"Sure, I'll be right back."

You leave the door slightly ajar and go downstairs. You smell and hear the coffee machine brewing as you enter the kitchen. Your mom rubs her eyes as your dad leans on the island.

"Morning," you chirp, "hope you don't mind I brought a friend back last night."

"Oh, is it Kam?" Your mom asks.

"No, my new friend. I told you about her."

"Hmm, well, it's good you're making other friends," your dad hums, "hopefully better ones."

"She's awesome!"

"Are you sticking around, hon? The new couch is being delivered tonight so we have someone coming to get the old one around noon. Your dad and I have some running around to do."

"Oh, sure, is it okay if my friend hangs out til then?"

"As long as you're not up to your usual shenanigans," your dad girds playfully, "shouldn't be a problem."

"Great," you clap your hands.

Your dad growls and your mom groans as she turns to watch the coffee percolate.

"Where did she get the energy?" You father bemoans, "it certainly wasn't from us."

You giggle and leave them, rushing back upstairs to find Hottie with her purse on her shoulder. You nearly run smack into her as you enter your room.

"Hey, are you leaving?"

"I don't wanna intrude--"

"No, it's cool, really. They don't care. And they're going out for the day. We just needa wait here for the couch guys."

"Couch guys?" She echoes.

"Yeah, pleaseeee, stay," you whine, "it'll be so boring without you."

She sighs and gives a soft smile, "alright, I guess I haven't even finished my coffee."

🍪

You and Hottie sit out on the back deck, getting some sun as you wait. She fiddles with her phone, scowling as she often does at the small screen, as you cut up old magazines and fill a scrap book full of ideas. You like to put your fantasies together even if you know they won't ever be true. Besides, your mother never does anything with her old issues.

"You should try pinterest," she suggests over the top of her phone as she lays on her stomach, legs bent up behind her.

"Oh, I have an account!" You announce proudly, "I can send you the link!"

"Sure," she accepts with a smile, "so, you in school for something..."

"I wanted to do interior design. Mom said no. She doesn't see a career in that. So I'm taking Psych."

"Psychology? Wow, that's interesting."

"I guess. Oh, I was thinking about this study we read. They did an experiment where they had people with scars interview for jobs. And then they went over with the interviewer and interviewee how they thought it went and it talked all about how the people with scars factored in their appearance a lot more than the interviewer... I don't know, it just popped up in my head."

"Ah," she squints, "no reason for that, I'm sure."

Before you can respond, you hear the doorbell through the screen door. You get up, promising to be right back as Hottie rolls over. You head inside and tramp through the house in your flip flops. The doorbell rings again.

"I'm coming," you sing as you get to the door and pull it open, "hel--lo."

You stare dumbfounded at the man on your porch. August has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, his scar turning white as his eyes flare.

"You again," he growls.

You raise your chin defiantly and muster your inner Hottie.

"Um, excuse me, but... you need to go. I'm the bouncer here and--"

His brows furrow and he crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. You bat your lashes and cringe. You're not really convincing.

"I'm here for a couch," he glowers at your meanly.

"Really?"

"Mmm," he growls, "this is 387 Willow, isn't it?"

"Yes, but... don't you work at the club--"

"It's extra money. Now do you want your couch gone or do you wanna keep yammering at me?"

"Sorry, I..." You push the door back and retreat inside, "do you need help?"

"Not yours," he turns back and whistles, "Bodecker, get over here."

You glance past him and see another familiar face. It's the other bouncer, the one with the round belly. He comes up the steps and smirks at you.

"Ah, what are the odds?"

"Yes, what are the odds?" August sneers, "how exactly did you find this pick up?"

"Hey, it's money," the other man says, "so, where's the couch?"

[tideswept]

Obikin pretty woman au 😏😏😏😏

anon, this has been in my inbox for ages. just. torturing me. tempting me. winking lasciviously at me.

and I have to ask myself every time I come across it, do I really want to write another prostitute!Anakin AU? Does it have to be Anakin? And in my heart of hearts, I know that the answer is yes, and I should accept it. Because damn, could he pull off the outfits.

but I dunno. I'm weird? I like to do weird things? also never actually adapted a movie to a fic? Not yet anyway.

(Practical Magical AU fic, when will it be your turn?)

so I think

.....

okay, let the brain percolate

I think it should be Anakin who finds Obi-Wan. Who is just. He's had a bad day, okay? Like, fantastically fucking bad, big rich money business deals, he's stressed and tired of being the Negotiator but lives are at stake here, employees who need to keep their jobs, so he has to swallow back the stress--but he's been swallowing back that stress for years now.

He's tired.

He didn't mean to just walk out of the 5-star hotel. What he needed was a drink, and not the kind they served at the hotel bar, charging 50 credits for a shot. No, he needs it cheap and dirty and burning on the way down.

"Shit, you look awful," the voice says, and a body sits down next to him on the curb. Normally Obi-Wan wouldn't appreciate a stranger appearing out of nowhere and getting so close to him, but this stranger smells nice, actually. And they're warm, whereas he seems to have lost his jacket at some point between the first and third bar.

"You can't be out here like this, you know? Gonna get mugged and left for dead."

The voice is young enough that it bothers Obi-Wan. And that's how he meets Anakin Skywalker, who's also tired, except he's only twenty-two and hasn't been further than a hundred miles from where he was born. Anakin's got a black eye because he got a fight with a nerfherder and he's not that bothered, some people think that's hot. It's not really going to cut into his profits.

He lights up and offers the death stick to the strange, classy man that definitely shouldn't be sitting on the street after midnight on that liminal strip of road where respectable turns to grimy, and pulls off his high heeled boots and tucks them to the side, switching them over for practical running shoes he keeps in his bag.

Obi-Wan just sort of stares. And then takes the death stick. And for some reason, he's just drunk enough that he starts talking about the shit day he's had, and the even worse week he's about to have.

Anakin snorts and makes catty comments that have Obi-Wan smiling, because that's exactly what he's too polite to say. Too much the Negotiator.

"God," Anakin says after the death stick has long crumbled to ashes. "You need either a serious marathon fuck or drugs. Maybe both. And then to quit your job and do something that doesn't make you want to die."

And Obi-Wan thinks that's the greatest idea he's ever heard.

"Are you--" he nods at the boots. They're rather unmistakable in purpose. And the boy is hardly dressed for the cold night.

"If you're a cop, no," Anakin answers. "If you're asking for how much for the night, you're too fucking drunk, my guy, and I'm too tired to get vomited on. You want me to call you a car or are you just gonna sit here until someone does decide to mug you?"

Obi-Wan chooses the car.

(He comes back the next day to find Anakin. Cue the rest of the movie? CLOTHING MONTAGE. Uhhhhh Qui-Gon as the hotel clerk?)

[barrenclan]

I think overarching plot is relatively easy to come up with, but how do you come up with smaller more filler-like events for your stories, like the plum-bee spats and corm training with egret? I’m having some trouble filling in the flesh of my own story, and was wondering if you had any insight.

Oh boy, real softball questions! Haha, but I can try to give you an answer for these.

I think the best way I can explain the first question is how I wrote PATFW, since it was much more heavily structured than my other comic (and more recent).

So, I started with the premise, the characters, and the general arcs I wanted each of them to go through. The premise helped me to establish the guidelines of this world, what kind of tone I would have for the story - moody and mysterious, so I knew that comedy would not be as frequent and characters might often take a turn towards more realistic drama.

The arcs of each character came with understanding what I wanted to do with them - do I want this person to get better, or get worse? Will they be a force of antagonism, or a side character, will they live or die? What point am I trying to get across with this character? Those kind of questions helped me know how they would interact with each other as well, so for instance a character like Daffodilpaw being friendly and cheerful, with her arc, would interact a specific way with dramatic and egotistical Beeface, for her arc. (Sorry I can't be more specific, but the comic's not done yet.)

Once you have a strong understanding these things - tone and characters - it's not too hard to let the story percolate in your mind. There's nothing wrong with just letting ideas float around in the back of your brain, instead of trying to force them all out right away. I actually wrote the ending of PATFW a couple months after I had started the comic, because the characters naturally led me to that conclusion. Here's an example of what I'm talking about with tone and characters leading to a small interaction that I hadn't previously planned like you asked about:

I have Rainhaze, and Ranger. Rainhaze is kind and brave, but currently very lost. Ranger is sadistic and enjoys feeling in control. So, I need a plot reason for Ranger to have not found BarrenClan. Well, Rainhaze being self-sacrificial, told him that BarrenClan all died and he's the last survivor. When Ranger finds out, it makes him feel tricked - he doesn't like that, so he threatens to kill Rainhaze. Rainhaze is self-sacrificial, as previously mentioned, and is now showing some suicidal tendencies, so he doesn't care if Ranger kills him. But Ranger then refuses to do so, having regained control, and twists the knife by letting him live while feeling suicidal. That's a pretty grim scene, which fits with the tone of the story well.

There you go - that's an interaction I hadn't plotted out the story with, but I was able to come to naturally by understanding the characters, the way their arcs are moving, and the tone of the story.

For this question, it's a little more tricky. The sad, honest answer is that there is no reliable way to do this. That's kind of how the Internet works. Unless you pay money to advertise, I suppose, you can't push a button that says "popularity points" and have it spit out readers. And sadly, sometimes movement only comes after you grind away, day after day, and don't give up. Here's a few things that might help, though.

Use multiple platforms. It's simple, but the more places you post, the more eyes you'll catch. Different websites/apps have different readerbases, too - Webtoons, ComicFury, Instagram, DeviantArt, Tumblr, Hiveworks, and others all have varying levels of attention and algorithims, and work that you have to do to keep up with an audience. Find whatever feels right for you and focus on one or two, but keep the others in your periphery.

Be consistent. People are more likely to actually keep up with a comic that updates every single week, rather than that posts a page or two and then ghosts for a month. Cough, cough, maybe you'll say - but I always set out with this comic to be a side project, and posting asks like this helps me continue to engage with an audience even when I'm not completing issues.

DON'T CARE! I know that seems like counterproductive advice, but seriously; you have to be okay with the fact that you might not get any attention. If you make a comic with the set goal of being popular, or even just worry about having readers, you're going to make yourself miserable. Obviously having attention is more fun, and more motivating, I won't deny that. But you need to be just as happy making a comic for 3 people than 3000 to make something you're proud of and not burn out in the process. If you're making something earnest, fun, interesting, passionate - people will come eventually.

[spotsandsocks]

Inspiration Saturday 🐎

Going first this Saturday cos I’m feeling this one.

Highwayman fever has hit me … was already leaning that way and then I’ve started watching Renegade Nell (first 2 episodes so far) and I’m enjoying myself immensely. Ideas percolate. Madney and Buddie themes afoot and probably more fire family. I do tend to go overboard with an au and plot so bear with me…

It’s the tone of the cough that warns him exactly what Chim is going to ask. Eddie gives his answer in anticipation of the inevitable.

“I told you last time, no more.” He bangs the hammer down on the anvil for emphasis.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

Eddie sighs and wipes the sweat off his forehead without looking at his friend. “I have to think about Chris now.”

It’s the truth, now he’s on his own with Christopher he can’t be reckless with his own life anymore.

“We’ve been planning this one for so long but Bobby’s arm means…”

He trails off, Eddie knows very well what Bobby’s newly broken arm means. It means either Chim will go on his own or Bobby will ride with him regardless because there are people who depend on the money they bring in through unconventional means and neither of them will let those people down. Unless….

“Chim…” his regret is clear, it’s not that he doesn’t want to help, it’s just complicated now, before if anything went wrong Chris had Shannon, now she’s gone it’s just the two of them. Not that Bobby or Athena wouldn’t take him in, or Hen and Karen obviously but they all lead dangerous lives and he can’t anymore. Chim understands

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked but you know I can’t let Bobby come tonight so if anything goes wrong, you know where all my things are right? Give them to Hen, she’ll know what to do.”

“Chim just don’t go. It can wait.”

“It can’t, Hen’s got to fence the goods and we can’t change the date for that meeting. Also Lady Kendall’s carriage is traveling tonight. We have the plan. I’m going.”

Eddie sighs. “Fine, I’ll come, but this is the last time.” He holds up a finger in warning. “I mean it this time.”

Chim grins and rubs his hands together . “ you won’t regret it, this one will be easy, I can feel it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and returns his metal to the forge.

He hopes so but either way it seems that tonight the Darling brothers will ride one more time even if their Captain won’t be joining them.

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[kradeelav]

Hello Krad. You are a massive inspiration to me, and I have adored your art ever since stumbling across it a couple of months ago. I have a love for early 2000's media, and was wondering if you could talk a bit about how making art around FE9's time was like! I would love to be able to recreate the aesthetic of games from around the early 2000's, they just have a unique atmosphere to me that I really love. Thank you in advance.

oh wow, you are so very kind to say so, and so eloquently! ;_;

early 2000's... now that was a special time. i think the biggest difference is how utterly small the world felt back then, online. limited.

i read a good article recently how portal (and the infamous 'the cake is a lie' meme) percolated in a very specific time of the internet where people across the globe were just getting online in larger waves than the true diehard nerds and outcasts before, but it was still absurdly cozy. that meme went viral across the entire internet in a way that i truly don't think could ever happen again, since everyone was figuratively rubbing shoulders with each other - shoot, even 2010-era tumblr? i knew everyone in the main #fireemblem tag.

media limitations were remarkably similar - most teens had maybe seen all but two classic anime series before getting online, especially if you were out in the rural areas / on the east coast versus the west where the hot anime was being bootlegg'd before youtube was a thing. seeing a new series or getting your hands on the truly quality titles was more precious than diamonds. you were obsessed with the same show for genuine decades.

deviantART (where i was right before then) was a unique incubator similar to that - where young teens were getting influenced for the first time by art styles, resources and inspiration that their parents, teachers, and grandparents steeped in local visual traditions could not dream of. people arrived with very strikingly specific art styles you could tell who was raised in korea, russia, france, etc very easily - just as easily as you could tell who spent decades in ff7 fen versus naruto.

occasionally clumsy were those first attempts. but the drawings were genuine, and it was the next chapter in a very interesting visual dialogue between the old guard of illustrators (who only drew physically and were trained in local painting and inking traditions) and the new crop of teens hungry for the taste of dynamism and emotion they had seen in animanga. hungry to mix and match.

it was also truly a bridge from the tactile-first world to the digital-first world. nowadays like microplastics - you really can't go anywhere without running into a toy or trend or game or a drawing that hasn't been influenced to some degree by a dozen different other digital ideas before it reached you-the viewer.

in a way, since you're talking about recreating aesthetics, let's go back to the "limited" word.

limited is a good concept.

some of the best art i've seen consistently uses limitations. limitations of only using one medium, only using three default tools in your painting software (like dodge and burn since digital brushes were either crude or nonexistent). pull up programs like the Gimp (it's what I used back then for forum signatures and hasn't changed all that much) - limit yourself with specific tools of that era. look at isutoshi's hentai from about then (if that's within your bandwidth) and notice all the comic sans fonts everywhere-since nobody had gotten around to making specific manga fonts. limit yourself to being inspired by one or two artists from the 80's.

those limitations and patiently asking why (like you're doing now) will get you so very far ~

[aerodaltonimperial]

I haven't written anything in a week. I am woefully behind on reading fic. Life has been busy and tiring recently. And also I just want to say hi to people so come say hi and if you are working on something, tell me what, and if you have any ideas for spooky shit, let me know, I am still percolating. 👋🏻 hi!!!

[griefabyss69]

Wiggly Wednesday

Well. It's technically Thursday now but time isn't real when your sleeping schedule is this sexy.

Thank you to @just-my-latest-hyperfixation for the tag!!!

So for fic ideas and other things I usually just start a new WIP or put it into a growing Ideas doc, so I thought it'd be fun to go through the doc and post a few things here! Let me know your thoughts, if you want to see any of them in particular written or anything <3

A: batbite bodyswap - wayne catches steve out bc he doesn't know how to fix the shower when it breaks in the same way as always - steve calls eddie like "I caved. Your Uncle knows" on like day two (I've wanted to write a bodyswap AU ever since I got into ST but my brain doesn't want to do it yet. It's percolating!!!)

B: when Eddie enters the frat house, ready to set up shop, he finds Steve Harrington stripping down to nothing in the middle of the living room. (Nothing like some good old fashion exhibitionism in the form of probably strip poker or truth or dare or something!)

C: "they say it takes someone one hundred times to be good at something and a kajillion times to be a master at it" [ steve teaches eddie how to be good at kissing ] (The quote is of course, Steve talking.)

D: Eddie and Robin are holding hands on the couch and Steve's brain grinds to a halt like rusty machinery, finally giving up. (I'm not a huge fan of misunderstandings like this one buuuuut I think I could make it fun, somehow, if I get the tone of it right)

I think that's plenty for one post!!! Let me know what you think! Tagging: Whoever wants to do it! I'm so completely out of the loop these days at who wants to be tagged and what everyone's been up to on here lately! So even if we haven't talked for a while please tag me if you do it <3