#please do give feedback!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.

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[giggle-guru]

Okay, so here is the audio you’ve been waiting for! I’m not entirely confident with my abilities to do Lucifer, but I gave it my best shot. I utilized one of the AI websites for my voice overlap (because I cannot make my voice go that deep or anything for the life of me, I’ve tried) so some parts are slightly glitchy but other then that it seems to have exported okay. I’d love to hear your feedback, other things you’d like to hear, etc etc! Thanks for listening :)

Background: Alastor and Lucifer joined Husk and Angel Dust in a few rounds of poker. Of course, Angel managed to coerce Lucifer into having one too many drinks, and Alastor ensures that he gets back to their room within the hotel safely. He figures this might be the best time to point out a little…quirk he’s noticed in Lucifer’s behaviour.

Script is below the cut for those interested (note I did go off of it a few times and sometimes didn’t write out effects I was planning aha):

[Sound Effect: Two sets of footsteps. One stuttering. One consistent.]

Alastor: [chuckling softly] Lucifer, my dearest... you really must be more careful with how many drinks that charming little Spider manages to convince you to indulge in. I’d hate to see you so... inebriated again. You know what happens when you’re under the influence. [He chuckles slightly.]

Lucifer: [grumbling, defensive] Relax, Bambi. I hic I am the King of Hell! I can… I can handle a few [hic] drinks…

Alastor: [mocking, with a wide grin evident in his voice] Of course, my liege! Why, how could I ever doubt the infinite prowess of the almighty Lucifer Morningstar? [chuckling] Though, if I may be so bold, your "infinite prowess" seems to have trouble walking straight at the moment.

Lucifer: [grumbling, defensive] It's... hiccup the floor. It's uneven. You should fix it.

[Sound Effect: A stumble, followed by a quick grab.]

Alastor: [amused] My, my, such treacherous flooring! Let’s not test gravity further, hmm? Hold still, my darling. Let me get the door.

[Sound Effects: A door creaks open, and the two step inside. Alastor guides Lucifer toward the bed.]

Lucifer: [grumbling, slurring slightly] Hah... you fuss over me too much. I can take care of myself, you know.

Alastor: [with a smirk in his voice] Oh, of course you can! Why, you’re practically a paragon of self-sufficiency... when you’re not half-conscious and leaning on me for support.

Lucifer: [small chuckle] You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Alastor: [teasing, delighted] Oh, my dear Lucifer, you wound me! Enjoying this? Why, I’m simply being a concerned partner, making sure my precious King doesn’t topple over like a drunken mortal. I do think it’s time we get you out of that dashing suit and into something a bit more... comfortable, hmm? Sit.

[Sound Effects: Bed creaking. Clothes rustling.]

Lucifer: [groaning, slightly annoyed] I don’t need help with this, Bambi. I can undress myself.

Alastor: [with a teasing voice] Oh, Lucifer, darling, I’m sure you can. But let's be honest, you’ll never manage to get those buttons undone without my assistance in this state. [pauses, his voice dropping to a more affectionate tone] Once I finish changing you, my dear, why don’t we simply cuddle for a while? After all, what’s a night of indulgence without a little rest and relaxation?

Lucifer: [huffs, but there’s a soft smile in his voice, small giggle] Fine... fine. But I’m not some... helpless creature.

Alastor: [grinning] Of course not. You’re the most powerful being in Hell... when you’re sober.

[Sound Effects: Clothing changes. Bed creaking as they get under the covers.]

Alastor: [grinning] Are you comfortable, my dear?

Lucifer: [mumbling, relaxed but still with a hint of his usual pride] Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just... stop smothering me for a second, Bambi.

Alastor: [teasing] Oh, but I can’t help it, darling. You’re so much more charming when you let your guard down. [pauses, his voice softening slightly] Besides, what could be more relaxing than being pampered by your favorite radio demon?

Lucifer: [grin in his voice] Pampered, huh? More like nagged…

Alastor: [Teasing, amused] My, my... is this how you treat me, darling? After I spend all night taking care of you—guiding you to bed, making sure you’re comfortable—this attitude is the thanks I get? [Pauses, his voice lowering with a mischievous edge] I’d watch your tone, my dear.

[A soft chuckle as he moves closer.]

With how much you’ve had to drink tonight, I’m sure you’re quite sensitive… [His voice turns playful, teasing.] Don’t try to hide it, Lucifer. I know you’re feeling it now.

[Sound Effects: A light shift in the bed, followed by the faint sound of a finger trailing lightly over skin.]

Alastor: [Teasing, delighted] Hmm... What’s this? [His finger traces gently up Lucifer’s side, the movement soft but deliberate.]

Lucifer: [Chuckling softly but with a slight edge of excitement] Bambi, don’t—

Alastor: [Mockingly innocent] Don’t what, darling? [He trails a finger higher, a light tickle along Lucifer's ribs.] I’m just trying to help you relax.

Lucifer: [Trying to suppress a laugh, but fails and giggles softly] Alastor, I swear— [His tone softens as he shifts slightly under the touch.] I told you, stop that…

Alastor: [Chuckling softly, playful amusement] Oh, quit pretending you don’t enjoy this, my dear. I’ve seen the way you act—always teasing me, poking at my nerves, just to get me to... [He pauses for effect, leaning closer as his voice drops slightly.] do exactly this. [He chuckles again, a hint of mischief creeping in.]

How naïve do you think I am? [There’s a slight hum in his tone, as if savoring the thought.] Ever since that first time I tickled you into submission. [Sing-song] Admit it, darling, you’re simply begging for attention in the most roundabout way.

Lucifer: [Pausing, his voice stumbling slightly, trying to sound defensive but failing miserably] W-What? That’s—ridiculous, Bambi! I don’t— [He shifts uncomfortably, a faint blush creeping into his tone, betraying his embarrassment.] I-I don’t try to get you to do anything! You’re just... imagining things! And even if I did—which I didn’t—you wouldn’t be able to prove it... [Soft giggles, soft voice, a hint of defeat mingling with his embarrassment.] ...J-Just shut up and stop grinning like that. And stop with the light touching! [giggle]

Alastor: [Sly chuckle, his voice dripping with mock innocence and teasing delight] Oh, dear. It seems I’ve struck the nail right on the head, haven’t I? [He leans in closer, his tone dropping to a smooth, mischievous murmur.] Tell me, Lucifer... do you enjoy being tickled?

[He pauses, letting the question hang in the air, his grin practically audible in his voice.] You can’t hide it from me, darling. Not in this state.

Lucifer: [His voice falters slightly, embarrassed and defensive] I-I don't enjoy it, Al! Stop trying to twist things! [He shifts uncomfortably again, trying to hide his reaction, but failing to suppress the soft giggles that escape him.] I-I don’t need you to do... whatever this is. [He trails off, unable to fully argue, as his voice still holds light giggling]

Alastor: [Grinning widely, his voice laced with amusement and satisfaction] Oh, Lucifer... You can deny it all you like, but your body is betraying you, my dear. [He trails a finger gently across Lucifer's ribs once more, his voice laced with playful menace.] How many times have you tried to get me to do this? Teasing, poking, all those little comments, your lack of the ability to speak the word tickle just now... I’m not blind, darling. I see right through you.

[He pauses, lowering his voice as he leans in closer, enjoying the subtle shift in Lucifer’s reactions.]

Alastor: [Softly, almost a whisper] So are you going to admit it? Or do I need to tickle it out of you?

Lucifer: [His voice cracks slightly as he tries to maintain his composure, a mixture of indignation and poorly masked laughter] A-Admit what? There’s nothing to admit! You’re just being your annoying ass self—and making things up! [He squirms slightly, his voice trailing into a nervous chuckle.]

Alastor: [Delighted, with a smooth, teasing edge] Oh, darling, denial suits you so poorly. [He lets his fingers glide teasingly down Lucifer’s sides, savoring every little twitch and suppressed giggle.] But don’t worry—I have all night to help you... [His grin audible as his tone becomes lower and conspiratorial] come to terms with the truth. [Alastor begins to ruthlessly tickle him.]

[Sound Effect: Bed sheets rustling.]

Lucifer: [Bursting into a fit of laughter, his attempts to hold it back completely failing as his voice becomes higher-pitched with each giggle] N-Nononono, Al—st-st-stop it! [His body twists and jerks, trying to escape the relentless tickling, but he can’t stop laughing.] Th-this isn’t funny, you—hic—you’re not going to—[He lets out another startled laugh, voice cracking as he squirms helplessly.]

Alastor: [Mockingly gasping, his voice playful and light] Oh, how terrifying! The mighty Lucifer, undone by a bit of... [He pauses, drawing out the word with a chuckle] tickling. [He leans in, his voice dropping to a sly whisper as his hands continue their assault.] Admit it, darling. You love this. You’ve been begging for it without even realizing it.

Lucifer: [giggling] No- I haven’t! I don’t enjoy this! You’re just being an ass!

Alastor: [Amused, continuing his tickling] Oh, my dear Lucifer, you're absolutely adorable when you're like this. [His voice lightens, teasing with a hint of mock sympathy] What was it you said about not liking it, hmm? Sounds to me like you're thoroughly enjoying yourself—don't worry, I won’t tell anyone. [He chuckles darkly, the sound of his fingers dancing over Lucifer’s stomach now, filled with a teasing melody.]

Lucifer: [giggling] No! Nonono [squeak] not there!

Alastor: Oh, not there you say? I see, this little spot on your tummy seems particularly effective. Let’s explore that a little more, shall we? Tickle tickle tickle!

Lucifer: [giggling] S-shut up!

Alastor: What’s wrong? Do you not like that word? How unfortunate, I happen to love it! Tickle tickle tickle! Oh, you have the sweetest little giggles, don’t you Luci?

Lucifer: [giggling] I can’t! I can’t!”

Alastor: "My, my, you’re squirming so much! Are you trying to get away, or are you trying to stay close? Something tells me it’s the second option!”

Lucifer: [giggling] You’re so mean!

Alastor: [In a low, teasing voice] Mean? Why, how rude. I’m just giving you what your heart desires! You can’t deny it forever, darling. Every laugh, every squirm... it tells me everything. [He wiggles his fingers around Lucifer’s stomach, delighting in the way he reacts]

Lucifer: [giggling] [trying to push Alastor’s hands away] You— [laughing] You’re impossible! Stop it already!

Alastor: I’m yet to hear an admission from you. Alas, desperate times do call for desperate measures!

Lucifer: [squealing] Ah! Not my wings, not my wing!

Alastor: "It’s almost like I’m discovering new things about you every moment, Lucifer. Who knew you’d be so sensitive here? Tickle Tickle! Just admit that you enjoy it and I’ll cease my attack on your sensitive little spots! Or would you want me to continue, hmm? Do you want me to keep going for the rest of eternity?

Lucifer! Okay! Okay! Okay, I like it! I like it, please stop! It’s too much!

Alastor: [grinning in his voice, pulling back slightly] But darling, you’re far too cute when you’re a little... flustered. [pauses, his voice softening slightly] Though, I suppose if it’s really too much, I’ll stop. For now.

[Sound Effect: Fixing blankets]

Lucifer: [sighs deeply, but with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying the attention despite his protest] Thank you. You were getting close to a limit, Bambi.

Alastor: [teasing tone] Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior... for now. [humming lightly as he settles in beside Lucifer, his voice warm and affectionate] Wouldn’t want to push my luck too much. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Lucifer: [muttering with a slight chuckle, eyes still closed] I’m going to get you back for this, you know.

Alastor: [laughs lightly, still teasing] Oh, I’m sure you will, my dear. But for now, I think it’s time you let go and just... relax. [pauses with a softer tone] No more teasing, promise. Come, let me cuddle you to sleep.

Lucifer: [relaxing again, a quiet smile in his voice] Fine. [yawn] You’re lucky I love you.

Alastor: [smiling warmly] You aren’t wrong, my dear. I’m beyond lucky.

[prismatoxic]

hey if you write in microsoft word, you should get libre office. it's free, constantly updated, doesn't use AI, and has all the features you're used to. there are lots of user guides and add-ons to make it as easy for you as possible, and it's been around for a long time now.

write in google docs instead? try ellipsus. it's in beta and free to join and use. it's being actively worked on and improved, openly opposes AI, and has all the features you need for a collaborative document tool while also being extremely easy to navigate. it's also made by fans, for fans, with a promise that anything you can write is allowed.

i've used both of these programs extensively and can vouch for them, ellipsus especially. ellipsus currently only imports .md files if you wanna move your stuff over, but gdocs can export those no problem and copy + pasting rich text also works fine. (they're also going to add more formats.) ellipsus also has an import to ao3 function that pastes your document's raw html into a new work window as long as you're logged into ao3. remember how gdocs formats weird in ao3 unless you do some html fuckery to fix it? yeah, this makes that a non-issue.

don't give big corporations your money and/or data. you can always start small, and picking a better program to write fic in is a great place to begin. i promise these programs are both way more worth your time than their mainstream counterparts.

[muffinlance]

Crochet Pattern: Rollable Isopuppy (Giant Isopod Dog)

Crochet an isopuppy! As cuddled in Salvage; story and pattern both by me. Whether you’ve read the story or not, treat yourself to a Very Good Dog. You deserve it. <3

>>> Get the pattern here! <<<

[id: Photos of a crocheted isopuppy (giant isopod dog) from various angles. It has the head and tail of a dog, with isopod legs, shell, and antennae. It is a very Good Boi. End id.]

Also that is now my site for patterns, both sewn and crocheted (Dragon Zuko is also up there), so. Subscribe if you're interested in that. If you're interested in my writing, that's at this site. Also I'm on Ravelry now.

>>> Isopuppy Pattern! <<<

[i-like-forcefem]

Wow! My newly acquired doll thought she just got misgendered by the cashier!!!

She even tried to correct the poor clerk! She told the cashier right to her face that she’s a “guy”, you should’ve seen the look on that poor woman’s face as this “guy” wearing a pink dress with bunnies on it, carrying a plushy bigger then her head, in the squeakiest voice say that’s she’s a guy!

I’m laughing my ass off! Little dolls like her are so so silly, no one will believe her lies ever again! because she’s not a guy! She my adorable little girl and always will be

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[starry-bi-sky]

you can't choose what stays and what fades away

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away

(and I'd do anything to make you stay)

------------

Shen Yuan wakes up in a woodshed.

He's in a body that's not quite his own.

(WIP also available on ao3!)

He wakes up in a woodshed.    

No, actually— let him correct himself. Shen Yuan does, indeed, wake up in a woodshed, but it’s not the first thing he realizes upon waking. No, in fact, consciousness comes quite slowly to him; sluggish, his mind attempting to slog through calf-high bogland without exhausting itself. It’s like he’s trying to drag himself to the surface of a river with a weight tied around his ankle, the weight trying desperately to drag him just as quickly down.    

His senses come to him just as slowly, his hearing and touch and smell and taste all trying to claw its way up back into existence till they’re thrumming beneath the thin skin of his body. Yes, it’s very much like trying to wake up from a long, deep sleep where he didn’t get quite enough rest, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he had collapsed again. His mouth is dry, his lips feel crusty, and his eyes are sealed shut by congealed-whatever-mixture of disgusting bodily fluids his eyes are capable of producing.    

Much like breaking free from sleep-paralysis, the moment he’s able to register that he’s actually sensing things again, the strange, spongy film that had been dampening them suddenly crumbles and collapses. Everything rushes forth like water spilling out of an open dam, or maybe like blood from an open scab, and Shen Yuan is abruptly accosted by the world and its sounds and sensations.   

The sun is hitting his eyes in just the right way that he can see the light burning behind his eyelids – which, that can’t be right, his curtains should be drawn, -- and there’s the distinct and gentle sound of wind rustling past, of birds singing softly, and the faint trill of music floating through. Shen Yuan is abruptly imposed with the mental image of a yellow autumn leaf falling delicately onto a still pond, that is how tranquil the world around him sounds.    

It is so, so, incredibly cliche, that he can’t help but open his eyes with a deep rooting incredulity planting itself firmly in the core of his chest. What he expects to see is the ceiling of his bedroom – the ground is hard enough that, for a moment, he thinks he may have fallen asleep on the floor again, or perhaps the hospital, because then that would at least explain better the tranquil sounds in his ears and the sunlight hitting his face.   

(Except he doesn’t smell the familiar sting of septic and cleaner, nor does he hear the beeping of the heart rate monitor beside him, the bustle and soft murmur of nurses outside that are always on the move. There’s no paper thin and slightly scratchy blanket laid over him. And never, not once, has he been subjected to the sounds of an eight-hour tranquil music ASMR while in the hospital.)  

(In fact, his nose feels rather stuffy. The same way it gets when he has a runny nose that just dried or a bloody nose that just finally stopped bleeding. He smells dirt and wood, and— and… is that blood?)    

There’s still crust clinging to his lashes and the corner of his eyes when he opens them, so his vision is immediately blurred in the way only recent consciousness can create. But even then, he can see the roof clearly enough to know that this is neither his bedroom nor the hospital. Shen Yuan sits up while his heart drops right out of his chest, regretting the action immediately as an ache shoots up his arms and staunchly reminds him of a terrible soreness spread throughout his body, one that he was not previously aware of.   

The hiss he makes is involuntary, and the sound rusted and weak, irritating his sore throat while his head pounds behind his eyes like a hammer against a nail. Get your bearings, Shen Yuan, he thinks, vision swimming, sucking in his dessert-dry bottom lip between his teeth and catching it on the incisors. The air does nothing for the inside of his mouth. Where the fuck am I?  

His eyes flick around the crust poking irritably at his corneas, as he tries to soak in where exactly he is. On instinct, his hands come up to flick away the crust obscuring his sight, and when he pulls his fingers away, there’s dark, brown-red buildup crumbling against his skin.   

Wh—? Shen Yuan rubs his eyes again, and realizes there’s a flaking trail coming from his eyes down his cheeks that, when he rubs at it, peels off into what can’t be anything but dried blood. It does nothing for his rapid-beating heart and the sinking shock and horror settling between his ribs. Why has he been bleeding from his eyes?    

He looks up from his hand. That shock and horror rising as he finally, finally takes in his surroundings, while also realizing, his dry tongue running against the back of his teeth and the corner of his mouth, that he was tasting blood too. Faint and stuck against his gums, but there.   

Shen Yuan is surrounded by cut wood, and beneath him he’s sitting on an old, tattered blanket. He’s wearing robes. Robes, worn and slightly dirty, made of a pleasant-to-the-eye green and white fabric, and straight out of every single Xanxia novel, drama, and poster he’s ever read and seen. There’s a simply, if slightly tattered, white fan tucked against his thigh.   

Oh, oh no. His hands fly up to his hair and— yep. Yeah, slightly tangled but undeniably soft and smooth, black hair slips against his fingers like silk and pours over his shoulders and down his back. It’s ten times longer than it should be, ten times longer than he’s used to, and he’s sitting on the ends of it. He releases his hair only so Shen Yuan can slap his hands against his face, automatically picking at the trail of dried blood on both corners of his mouth. His fingers are chilled against his skin, and he ignores it to trace his new (he thinks—the bow of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones feels achingly familiar) facial features.   

Whose face am I wearing? What book have I entered? Because wasn’t this transmigration one-oh-one? The last thing he remembers was becoming incensed with the ending of Proud Immortal Demon Way and, in the middle of his scathing rant, dying of food poisoning. This was totally transmigration one-oh-one. Dying after reading a book, only to wake up in a place that was not the modern world, only to realize shortly after that they were now in the book they had just read?   

Wait— if he follows that trope, then... Shen Yuan’s heart decides it’s had enough time in his stomach, and leaps right into his throat. His eyes flitter around anxiously. There are bamboo stalks rising out the window, and the music he’s hearing, Shen Yuan realizes belatedly that it’s the sweet plucking of a guqin. Oh no. Don’t tell me--   

Like an activation phrase, a too-loud notification ‘ding!’ goes right off in his ear, resulting in Shen Yuan flinching violently as a too-bright and eye-stinging blue message box seals open into existence right before his eyes.   

[ SYSTEM Successfully Activated! Welcome to the world of Pride Immortal Demon Way! You are ‘Shen Jiu’ -- otherwise known as Shen Qingqiu, thirteen-year-old Disciple of Qing Jing Peak. Currently your actions are restricted due to a frozen OOC function that will eventually be unlocked after you familiarize yourself with the world. ]  

No! Of all the people he could have been transmigrated into, did it have to be the villain? Scum Disciple Shen Qingqiu? No— no, of course it was the villain; wasn’t that also transmigration one-oh-one as well? That the transmigrator was either the hero, the villain, or an NPC related to either one?   

Was this karma? Was the world enacting karmic justice on him for all those late nights spent arguing with internet randos online when he should have been doing something productive with his life? Of all those hours spent countlessly researching mythical beasts and animals and folklore all so he could tear the author a new one for his terrible plot and even worse papapa? Did Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky inflict some kind of curse on him that resulted in him being dragged into his shitty, shitty, stallion novel to act as the same guy who later gets his limbs torn off and pickled by the main protagonist?   

It had to be. That’s exactly what this was. This was karma.   

(Oh god, he’s never going to see his family again, is he? He’d died. He’d died in his world, he knows it. That’s how this always goes. At least he hadn’t been hit by a truck, at least he’d died somewhat originally. But he died. He’d been choking and everything went dark. The fluid filling his lungs, the lack of air, the steady crawl of blackening fuzz slowly encircling his vision--)  

(Who will find his body? How long will it take? It’d only been a week prior that he’d gotten into a fight with da-ge and the others, and they usually give him space for a while when they do. It’s not like Shen Yuan had any close friends left either--)  

(Will they find him rotting? Will they blame themselves? What will they think?)   

--(...Oh god, who was going to tell Hai-ge--?)--  

Shen Yuan drops his face into his hands, ignoring the throbbing of his skull and the influx of nausea that sloshes from his chest to his stomach as he does. He groans, low and painful, ignoring the sharp sting of his throat it causes. Does it have to be Shen Qingqiu? He asks, and wonders if the SYSTEM needs an audial vocal command or if it would just--   

[ You have been chosen to play Shen Qingqiu, the Scum Villain Disciple! ]   

Annoyance burrows into his throat. That’s... not what he asked. His teeth grind against each other, the stupid message box burning into his eyes. That at least answers that question, though. He won’t have to talk aloud to communicate with the SYSTEM, so at least he won’t look insane for talking to himself in public. Why does it have to be Shen Qingqiu?   

[ Shen Qingqiu plays a vital role in Pride Immortal Demon Way! You have been chosen to take on his role as the Scum Villain Disciple. ]   

What vital role!? Shen Qingqiu, sure, had a role in the beginning of the book as the disciple who did nothing but cause a ruckus and trouble on Qing Jing Peak when the protagonist’s back was turned; trying to drag Peak Lord Luo Binghe’s precious name through the mud while inciting what was basically tyranny by clawing his way up to a Head Disciple position through being a green tea bitch. He then went and used that power to abuse and bully the younger disciples when the adults weren’t looking.  

He only got away with it for so long because Luo Binghe was so busy with important missions and night hunts and the sweeping-of-peerless-beauties off their feet off the peak, that when he was on Qing Jing, it wasn’t long enough to realize just who was behind the disruption. And Shen Qingqiu was sneaky about it, so it took even longer. 

Only coming to a head at the Immortal Cultivation Conference when demons attacked and it all came to light like a hellish volcano, resulting in Shen Qingqiu not only finding out about Luo Binghe’s status as a half-heavenly demon, but also him being pushed into the Endless Abyss. He re-emerges half a decade later, brimming with demonic cultivation and a half-crazed lust for power and vengeance — revenge that ends up failing because he’s going up against the powerful protagonist.  

He causes a handful of actual problems before Luo Binghe finally has enough, and in the end, Shen Qingqiu ends up with his non-vital limbs cut off and stuffed inside a jar like a human pickle. A horrifying and befitting ending for any villain and antagonist of the main character.  

That is to say, nothing about him is actually vital. He was, for all intents and purposes, pretty much a low-tier cannon fodder villain meant to boost up and accentuate the protagonist’s abilities in the beginning of the book. A way to introduce the audience to the might and intelligence of the main character and their problem-solving skills when there is a ‘mysterious figure’ going around besmirching his name.  

Which... may just work in his favor, actually. Shen Qingqiu ended up with the fate he got because he went against the protagonist, a big no-no in practically every trashy novel. So, solution so Shen Yuan doesn’t end up a human stick? Don’t get in the protagonist’s way.  

That annoying ‘ding!’ rings in his ear, causing yet another flinch out of Shen Yuan as a notification unapologetically forms in front of him.  

[ WARNING: OOC! Host’s refusal to stay in character will result in automatic point deductions. If Host’s point score gets too low, SYSTEM will automatically mete out punishment. ] 

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Of course not, because why would it be easy? Of course there was a point system, this was a SYSTEM after all. Of course he couldn’t just avoid the villain’s fate, because that’d be too easy. His annoyance simmers out across the plane of his chest, and he decidedly ignores the faint tremor in his arms and the pulsing beat of his heart as he picks himself up off the ground and stands.  

His legs, much like his arms, tremble, and his head swims. He pushes through it, ignoring the ill-feeling of fear making itself home in the pit of his stomach. He should ask what those punishments are; what they’ll look like. He should ask about the point system, about how to increase his point score, about all the functions in the SYSTEM and what he has available, and what he does not.  

He should ask how old he is – because he’s much smaller than his old adult self had been; probably child-sized? -- and where he is in the book. What year is it, how long until the Immortal Cultivators Conference. Just when is he? 

Shen Yuan reaches out to grip onto a particularly towering stack of firewood, careful not to knock it or himself over. It feels like physical therapy all over again. Granted, a primitive, unsupervised, cobbled-together version of physical therapy, but physical therapy, nonetheless.  

His foot kicks against the fan, he’d frankly forgotten about that, and it slides off the blanket and across the dirt. His fingers twitch to grab it, something possessive and uncomfortably vulnerable rearing in his lungs – ah, an instinctive emotion from the original goods then? He’s heard of that in other transmigration stories he’s read, the novels failed to mention the full extent of how strange it felt.  

(It felt so eerily natural to want to pick it up. Of course he’d be upset about kicking it, and the unhappiness of dirtying it slots itself against him like second nature. How strange. How creepy.)  

Instead of asking any of that though, Shen Yuan turns his bitter mind inwards to the SYSTEM and asks, perhaps, the most important question of them all; Why did you bring me here if you were just going to kill me again?   

Isn’t that unnecessarily cruel?  

[ Host has been brought to Pride Immortal Demon Way because it is our sincere hope that Host can transform this stupid work into a magnificent, high-quality, first-rate classic! As part of the welcoming package, and to help ease the transition, a few things have been left in Host’s inventory! We hope you enjoy your time in Pride Immortal Demon Way! ]  

To change-- 

To change--?  

To CHANGE--?  

Indignancy surges itself from the tips of Shen Yuan’s fingers to the crown of his head, anger not unlike every single time Airplane threw away an interesting plot point for sex fuzzes out his vision and turns his pounding headache into a full-fledged migraine. His grip on the firewood tightens, and he can feel the rough and textured bark digging into his skin. 

His mouth curls inward, the cracked skin splitting down the middle of his bottom lip as Shen Yuan threatens to snarl at the SYSTEM. How the fuck am I supposed to change the plot if I can’t even change the way my character acts!  

[ Reminder to Host: The OOC Function is frozen, but not permanent. Once Host has become properly settled in and completed the tutorial will he be able to unlock it. ]  

Fine, fine! He has half a mind to unload a string of curses at the SYSTEM, because apparently its rules were as stupid as the author who made this world. Shen Yuan refrains; he doesn’t know how sentient the thing is, and upsetting it right now when he has no idea when he is – nor does he know a thing about the point system -- would only be detrimental for him in the long run. 

Instead, he lets loose a groan from his throat that could be more accurately compared to as a growl. With his one free hand, Shen Yuan drags his palm down his face, and then loops it back up to comb it through his hair. ...His hair that is much longer than it used to be, and which is snaggled with little knots and tangles that he’ll have to get out.  

He hits the first knot and immediately withdraws his fingers, freeing up a few strands of ink black hair while he’s at it. With a quick wrist shake, the strands fall to the floor and Shen Yuan leans the rest of his weight against the log pile. Some of his anger cools down until it’s nothing more than boiled water gone cold, and he sighs out through a clogged-up nose until there’s nothing more than a quiet pressure of unease curled around his shoulders.  

There’s really not much he does know about how Shen Qingqiu acts – after all, he put up a responsible and dutiful disciple front when he was in the presence of Luo Binghe, and was only then revealed to be a scumbag later down the line. Which only got backed up with secondhand accounts of the other Qing Jing Peak disciples.  

He didn’t show up often either, since most of the time Luo Binghe was off the peak. Nobody wants to read about a powerful peak lord being a teacher after all. Many more interesting things in the world around him than his students.  

SYSTEM, how old am I? He must be pretty young if he bases it off how small he is – although, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have much of a description in the first place. He was only described as having skin as white as jade, with glossy black hair and a noble air surrounding him. Height, eyes, and finer details like that were left unmentioned. Why did I wake up in a woodshed? What time is it? 

[ Host is currently thirteen years old! Last night Shen Qingqiu experienced a severe Qi Deviation after having an altercation with the Head Disciple. It is early morning; the other disciples will be getting breakfast. ] 

That doesn’t explain why he was in a woodshed. But at this point, Shen Yuan was starting to believe that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of every question he asks. That does explain the blood in his mouth and crusted on his face – and the soreness and exhaustion currently wrought through his body, though.  

In a rapid set of blinks and a little bit of mental fiddling, the message notifications disappear out of his sight and the rest of his senses begin to filter back in, the SYSTEM seeming content to disappear into the back of his mind – which, wow, feels just as weird as the original goods’ instincts from earlier. 

More of his own strength had returned, enough that Shen Yuan feels comfortable with pushing himself off the firewood stack and standing on his own. Making sure that his legs won’t collapse under the weight of his own body, he takes a tentative step forward and drops his gaze down to the little white fan sitting on the ground.  

...The idea of leaving without it returns that discomforting, vulnerable feeling from earlier, as if he had walked out without a shirt on. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up on its own with unease. Shen Qingqiu was mentioned to hide his face behind a fan in every appearance he made, it must be the original goods’ emotions he’s feeling then. Again.  

He leans down, his core trembling just a little, and plucks it right off the ground. The grooves of the wood fit against his fingers perfectly, hinting at weeks, if not years, of use and the oils of his hands wearing it down. He beats the side of the fan against his leg lightly, ignoring the bruising-aches it shoots up his thigh, and brushes off the dirt clinging to it.  

Without thinking, Shen Qingqiu flicks it open and flutters it about for a few quick beats. The unnerving, skin-crawling sensation marking across his spine settles down, and he snaps the fan shut before reaching for the door.  

[ OOC: Host should make himself look presentable before being seen in public. Failure to do so will result in immediate point deduction. ] 

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth again, there’s nothing in here but dirt and wood, how am I supposed to do that? It’s not like he had the whole layout of Qing Jing Peak memorized; Luo Binghe was barely on so where everything was, wasn’t important. Is there some kind of bathhouse somewhere?  

Which, if there was, he wasn’t planning on using until it was entirely empty – the mere thought of it returned that gross, uncomfortable skin-crawling discomfort. He’ll shower at night, thank you, repressing a shudder at the horrifying idea of someone potentially walking in on him.  

[ OOC: Shen Qingqiu would never bathe with the threat of other disciples around. There is a nearby creek that Host can clean himself up at. ]  

That’s really not much better.  But, so long as he isn’t undressing in public, he can probably just... wash the dirt off and get his hair damp enough to detangle it. If Shen Qingqiu was sleeping in here, then he probably has a change of clothes somewhere around here, right? He should look around for any hidden bags before leaving.  

He finds a small qiankun pouch tucked safely between a set of wood logs near the blanket, and inside it is a clean set of robes for him to change into, which, perfect! The robes he was wearing right now weren’t terribly dirty, but there were a few dirt spots visible enough that Shen Qingqiu was sure that he’d probably get a point deduction out of it, or a scolding from senior disciples.  

(Does Shen Qingqiu sleep in the woodshed often? Shouldn’t he be in the dormitories?)  

He plucks the bag out of its little hidey-hole, giving it a place on his belt, along with his newly acquired fan, and turns towards the door. Shen Qingqiu crosses the room in the span of a few large steps, and just as he’s about to curl his hand around the handle, he... pauses.  

It’s only for a split second, a moment of hesitation, of personal confirmation that, once he opens this door, there will be no going back. Not that there was since he opened his eyes, but, it would cement it.  

Shen Qingqiu breathes in a shaky breath, and then opens the door to the rising sun.

[itslilacmoon]

now that I’ve got your attention, do you want to click some more buttons? I’m trying to collect data on TOH fandom/shipping culture, and it would really help me out if you completed my survey!

If you’ve ever wanted to share your experiences of what it’s like being in the TOH fandom, now’s your chance! It’s a bit long, but you’re helping me document important parts of fandom culture!

[artyfartyliz]

girl help i can't stop drawing catchetfield with glee quotes

[northern-passage]

i've been thinking a lot about the word "representation" and what it means and how it's changed over the last few years, particularly when it comes to the writing/publishing landscape but also in movies and tv shows… and i really don't like it anymore. to be clear, of course i think it's important to have diversity in your work, i'm not saying i hate the concept of representation. but i do really dislike the way it's used now, and i really just hate the word itself

in a broader sense it's just become a marketing tool. i'm not impressed by any publisher or author who just describes their book by listing all of the minorities/identities the characters represent as if that should be enough. it feels very gross, very exploitative and disingenuous. it also really bothers me because it's always marginalized identities- which i understand Why, but it feels very othering to me (and again. Very exploitative as an advertisement). you would never list out "cishet able-bodied white man" as a character description to pat yourself on the back over. so why do it to everyone else? why insinuate that one is the "default" and the other one is "special"? (and when i say this i'm mainly talking about advertisements/marketing. i understand why people would specify about characters in descriptions with the plot, but i don't like to see an ad that's just "this book has gay people!" with nothing else)

which then leads me to my other point, which is that a lot of people treat "representation" as if it's "too hard." like "oh i don't know enough to write about that, i don't have that experience, etc" which is a fair way to feel! however… it's weird that people only say this about writing trans characters or characters of color. i'm writing a story right now with a character who is really into motorcycles. i personally do not know that much about motorcycles, so i researched what parts are what & what different kinds of models there are & what basic bike care looks like. i guarantee Most people will have to google something at some point in their writing process. so what's the problem? it also, again, feels very othering when authors treat certain groups of people as "impossible" to write, "too hard" to understand. they are just.. people. you write them as a person. and then you figure out the rest later.

and i think part of the refusal or fear to write something outside of your experience is because of the way representation is treated as So Special. these characters are So Special that they aren't allowed to be anything other than "representation." they're Not allowed to be characters with complex emotions and interesting motivations, they have to just be Trans or Gay or Disabled or whatever. they're not allowed to be people. which means, at the end of the day, we loop right back around to where we were at the start….

there is bad representation. there are depictions of certain marginalized people that are harmful and that are damaging, i'm not trying to minimize that or argue against it at all, in fact we should all be mindful of that while writing and reading. but i also think it's possible to swing too far in the opposite direction as well and put certain groups of people on a pedestal and not allow them to do anything at all but be Perfect Representation, if that makes sense.

[hana-bobo-finch]

tis here!! My stupid little beta pdbc comic!! UHHHHH

additional ramblings because I don’t know how to stop yapping:

I know the ending is extremely abrupt but honestly? I can’t even lie I think it’s funnier and somehow more in character that way. There is no way in hell he’d question what just happened he’d just lay on the floor and say “alas!” As if that is in any way is a proper response to what just happened. So no apologies for that, I genuinely think the ending is amazing and won’t hear anything else. Alas.

I WAS REALLY SCREWED OVER WITH THE TEN IMAGE MOBILE LIMIT SO THE PACING IS VERY IFFY!! That alongside the fact I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible to gauge opinions and such—therefore making this much less detailed than I’d like to have made it, yes that’s my own fault I know—means that I couldn’t properly show what the briar zome is like (HEARTBREAKING). It’s a lot more spacious and unending than what’s shown here. In this it only looks like you’re there for a few minutes but experiences there can last up to a week. There are also a lot more thorns and spiked vines, it’s just that, like I said, I wanted to get this posted quickly and coloring in all of those spikes probably took more time than some of the drawings themselves. Had I made this as accurate to canon as possible, it would be much more visually cluttered. The briar zome is VERY hard to traverse because almost everything is covered in thorns (hence the name). Also worth noting that although it’s seemingly wintry there, there’s no actual temperature in the briar zome which is why pumpkin daddy is not fucking freezing to death (you have to look DAPPER when you’re illegally eating crabs)

This technically isn’t canon. This is a mishmash of all of the stuff I have about the briar zome, but in canon it’s all much more spread out, e.g. the eyes weren’t discovered until a few trips in when they actually bothered trying to figure out if/where the briar zome ends, in which BAM they found a buncha eyes!! Speaking of the eyes, their official names are Sotes, and where they’re found is called the “Eyes Rink” (GET IT!!! EYES!!! ICE!!! GET I-💥💥💥)

you’re probably wondering what the Miika chimp incident is, which is a fair thing to be wondering, however I will not be elaborating because I think it’s funnier that way. sorry (I am not at all sorry)

AND THE TIIIIIIME yes indeed the time works differently there. As one could. Probably guess by the wack-ass watch positions. The briar zome does in fact have its own time system that’s displayed differently than most would be used to. Alas, I had to cut that part short because I realized I was quickly running out of pages and I really wanted space to draw some of those beautiful beautiful eyeballs. I has this whole lecture about different types of watch hand designs and their names but that was unfortunately cut for time (ironically)

anyway uh. hope this was somewhat enjoyable? *EXPLODES*

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 1: Dread on Arrival

(Part 2)

[unclewaynemunson]

Scott was just about to go to bed when he heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. He froze right where he was standing, at the top of the stairs, flooded by thoughts of burglars or angry neighbors who had found out or the police – no, wait, the police wouldn't do that, it wasn't illegal anymore to...

'Scott?'

He sighed in relief. It was just Wayne, of course.

It only took him a moment to register that that was odd, too. What was Wayne doing here when he had kissed Scott goodbye to leave for his night shift only an hour ago?

He pulled the dressing gown he was wearing over his pajamas tighter around his waist and rushed down the stairs to find his partner standing in the middle of the hallway, in his work clothes and with his forehead creased into a deep frown.

By now, Scott knew Wayne well enough that he could easily decipher his every micro-expression.

Other people, who didn't know Wayne like Scott did, would probably not notice a thing, but Scott saw it immediately: something was wrong.

'Did I wake ya?' Wayne asked when Scott reached the bottom of the stairs.

'No, I wasn't even in bed yet,' Scott hurried himself to say. He rushed forward and placed his hands on Wayne's shoulders, meticulously taking in the look on his face. 'What happened?'

'They fired me.'

Scott felt his jaw drop. 'Wh- you've been working there for, what, fifteen years?'

'Eighteen.'

'They can't –' he started in an indignant voice, but cut himself off before he could really get started. If Wayne had needed a reaction like that, he would've gone home, to Eddie. He probably came to Scott because he needed calmness and a listening ear. So that was what Scott would give him.

'Come with me, love,' he said, gently guiding Wayne into the living room. It was one of the only classical pet names they both felt comfortable using. Even after a year, give or take, Scott still got filled with wonder whenever he let it roll off his tongue. 'Why don't we sit down first?'

They sank down on the couch, Scott with his arms wrapped around Wayne in a comforting embrace.

'I been workin' there for eighteen years,' Wayne repeated, slowly shaking his head, as if he had a hard time believing it himself. 'Been loyal to them ever since I came back from 'Nam. Always kept my head down, always did what they asked of me, always filled in their shifts at the most ungodly hours. I had a mouth to feed, you know. I had my boy to take care of. Never complained, never even called in sick, not once in all those years.'

Scott realized that he had never seen Wayne angry before. It took until now for him to find out that even Wayne's anger was calm and collected and he tightened his grip around Wayne's shoulders.

'They told me I been absent too often this year,' he continued, with the slightest tremble underneath the calmness of his voice. 'Can you believe that? My boy went missing. He was gone for a whole week, people sayin' the most terrible stuff 'bout him. And he came back to me broken. I needed to do everything I could to help him. That's my job. That's always gonna be my first and most important job. Everything I ever did was only for Eddie. Not for them, never. And they had the guts to tell me I ain't got the “right priorities.”' He spat out those last words, finally allowing himself to get visibly worked up about it.

'That's what they said?'

'Made me sound like I was lazy, like I been slacking off. Those bastards.'

They continued to sit in silence for a while. Scott listened to the clock on the wall behind them, invisibly ticking away the seconds and minutes Wayne needed to come back to himself.

'They probably can't fire you just like that,' Scott finally said. 'I don't think they're allowed to do that; you should take a look at your contract to check.'

Wayne scoffed. 'And what then? Spend the income I don't have no more on some lawyer who ain't gonna help me anyway?'

Oftentimes, when it was only the two of them, shielded away from the outside world together, it was easy to forget how different they actually were. But right now, the obvious differences of their circumstances came crashing down on them like a painful hailstorm: Wayne had lost his job and his fears of not being able to make ends meet anymore were more real and valid than Scott could probably imagine.

He squeezed Wayne's shoulder to make clear to him that he understood.

'You're good at what you do, Wayne,' he continued in a soft voice. 'Your hands are pure magic, you can fix anything. You'll find a new job in no time. Maybe this was a good thing; you'll be able to find something that makes you happy.'

'Somethin' that makes me happy?' Wayne echoed, a disbelieving, almost defiant look in his eyes that made him look more like his nephew than ever. 'Scott.' He said his name fondly, but there was something underneath it, something that almost sounded like pity. 'Folk like me... We don't get that luxury. We live paycheck to paycheck. I miss one, I got a problem. A big one. If I was gonna allow myself to have dreams, I'd need a loan, and sure as hell no bank is gonna hand out money to someone who lives in Forest Hills.'

Wayne had told him, once, how he used to dream of starting his own company, getting himself a van filled with tools and making a name for himself as Hawkins' most reliable handyman. He had told Scott how impossible that dream turned out to be when you were named Munson, had no high school diploma and no one to vouch for you – and how that dream had officially died when his nephew showed up on his doorstep with nothing but a change of clothes and a rumbling stomach.

They had never talked about it since. Scott knew that Wayne wouldn't want it to sound like Eddie had come between him and his dream, that it wasn't like that at all, that Eddie easily was the best thing that ever happened to him, even if it meant working nights at the plant until his death.

'What if you got yourself an investor?' Scott tried to keep his voice light.

'Scott.' It sounded like there was a warning in Wayne's voice – like he knew exactly what plan Scott had in mind and like he would never even consider it.

'I'm serious about it!'

'I ain't gonna be your charity case.'

'That's not what this is,' Scott protested. 'It'd be a loan, because I believe in you and because I want you to live your dream. You deserve it. I have the income to provide for a whole family, and for years, my only family member has been a well-behaved snake who doesn't ask for much. I'm not suggesting to provide for you, I know you wouldn't want that. I'm just... offering you a way out. Because I care about you.'

Wayne sighed heavily. He switched in Scott's arms, leaned closer towards him to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

'I love you,' he said. 'I ain't takin' your money.'

Scott sighed, too. He could've seen this one coming, of course; Wayne Munson and his damn pride.

'Alright, then. You wanna stay here for the night?' he asked, knowing it would be pointless to continue the conversation.

'You can go to bed,' Wayne answered. 'I ain't tired yet. Was counting on workin' till sunup, remember,' he added darkly.

Scott hummed, pulled Wayne closer towards himself. 'You can still keep me company, now that you're here anyway. I don't have to go to sleep right away,' he said in a low voice, shooting Wayne a meaningful glance to make sure he wouldn't miss the hidden meaning behind those words. 'And you should allow yourself some rest.' He pressed his lips against Wayne's. 'Maybe we could try and get you out of that night owl rhythm, now that you don't need it anymore. Means we finally get to spend more than one hour a night in bed together.' He placed another kiss at Wayne's temple, one that seemed to persuade him, judging by the way he finally started to let himself melt into Scott's touches.

'Alright, I'll come upstairs with you,' he murmured. 'Remind me to call Eddie in the morning.'

'Hey.' Scott stretched out his hand and let his fingers glide over the crease between Wayne's eyebrows, as if he could simply wipe all his worries away in one single sweep. 'We'll figure something out. I'm not letting you struggle with this all by yourself. You're not alone in this world anymore; better get used to that, love.'

Wayne didn't say anything, but Scott hadn't really expected him to, anyway. He just hoped that his words would stick with Wayne until the morning.

---

It was one of those beautiful sunny days and both Scott and Steve were over at the trailer, enjoying a simple lazy afternoon with not much going on except for soaking up the warm sunlight together and listening to the birds that were singing their hearts out in the trees at the edge of the woods. It was peaceful – but not peaceful enough for Wayne to forget about his money issues. The steel factory preferred strong young guys over old men like Wayne and the mechanic didn't currently need any new employees. If he didn't find something within two weeks, he might not be able to make rent. He kept shooting worried glances at Eddie, afraid that the boy might notice his fretting. He didn't want him to worry yet, needed to find some way out by himself before Eddie would realize how tight their money was; preferably one that wouldn't involve some sort of humiliating dependence on his partner.

'C'mon, I need to show you something,' said Eddie in a hushed voice, startling him from his brooding.

Slightly confused, Wayne followed him, leaving Scott and Steve in each other's company on the porch.

'Everythin' alright?' he asked Eddie when they were out of earshot of the two other men.

Eddie shot him a wide, excited grin. 'Couldn't be better,' he said. 'You see that van over there? That's yours. I raised some money to get you to start your own company.'

'Oh hell no,' Wayne answered immediately, a hollow feeling settling in his chest. 'I'm an honest man, you know I ain't takin' your damn drug money.'

Eddie gasped, dramatically clutching at his heart. 'First of all, rude,' he said, 'and second, it's not my money; man, I wish selling drugs would pay that well.'

Wayne's eyes flashed over Eddie's head, towards Scott, who was animatedly talking to Steve, waving his arms around the way he always did when something got him all excited. He suppressed a smile at the sight and tried to look stern and annoyed when he focused his attention back to Eddie.

'Did Scott set you up to this?'

And Eddie got that way too innocent look in his eyes that was telling Wayne all he needed to know within a second.

'No...' he said. 'It's actually, um – Steve's parents. Who wanted to invest in your business.'

Wayne crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving his nephew the most intimidating glare he could muster.

'Steve's parents, huh?'

'Yeah.' Eddie nodded vigorously, still all wide-eyed.

'They came around to their son bein' a queer and dating trailer trash, and decided to invest in his piss poor father-in-law's business?'

'Hmhm, yep.' More fervent nodding.

'Well, I guess I should go congratulate the boy, then.'

Wayne started walking back towards the trailer and got exactly what he expected:

'No! Okay, they didn't – it's Steve's college money, alright? He still had access to it, and he doesn't wanna go to college anyway, and we both wanted to spite his parents – it was the perfect setup! And he didn't pay for everything, alright?' Something gentler crossed over Eddie's face. 'Everybody chipped in with whatever they could spare. A couple of bucks for an advertisement in the paper, a nice new screwdriver set, some unused tools that the Wheelers found in their garage...'

Wayne felt a lump in his throat at those words. He didn't have to ask who Eddie meant by “everybody” – he knew exactly who had been there for his boy when Eddie most needed people to have his back. Over the past year, all those kids had become like family to Wayne as well.

'Okay, and yeah, maybe there also was an anonymous investor who believes in you and wants you to be happy,' Eddie admitted. 'Look, they all love you, man. You gave them – us – a place where we could feel safe. Where we could be ourselves. And you can't –' tears were appearing in Eddie's eyes now, 'you can't express any of that in money, you know. So just – just be grateful, okay?' He took a quick breath to recollect himself and Wayne politely pretended like he didn't notice.

'We already got you the van, Will designed a logo with me, it's already on it, and it looks really cool – even if I say so myself. Look, if you can't accept it out of love, can you at least accept it out of spite for Steve's parents?'

Wayne abruptly pulled Eddie towards him and wrapped him up in a brusque embrace, ruffling his hair and patting his back.

'I love you, Ed.'

It wasn't something he said often. He tried, especially since everything that happened last year, since he almost lost his Eddie, but it was still difficult, to say such powerful words out loud. It didn't come naturally for him. He preferred showing it rather than saying it. But he had learned that it sometimes needed to be said.

'Love you too, man,' Eddie murmured, squeezing him tightly in response.

---

When the evening fell and Steve and Eddie had left to go out for burgers at the diner across town, Wayne walked up to Scott, who was already rummaging around in the trailer's tiny kitchen about to cook up something delicious. He caught his partner's attention by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Scott looked back at him with a vaguely distracted look in his eyes.

'You are an evil man, Scott Clarke.'

And Wayne could see that Scott immediately understood what he was referring to; the lines around his eyes deepened as he started smiling that slightly mischievous smile Wayne loved so much.

'Why? Because I want you to be happy?'

'Cause you went and exploited my weakness. You know I can never say no to Eddie.'

Scott's smile widened.

'So... Are you mad at me?'

Wayne huffed. He wrapped his arms around Scott's waist, tugged him closer, tightened his grip when an adorably surprised sound escaped from Scott's throat.

'Thank you,' he said.

And Scott started beaming like the goddamn sun before he leaned in to press his lips against Wayne's.

[bluastro-yellow]

get it Kim has a lot to unpack do you get it

it's imperfect I'll never polish it just take it as it is I should have put aerostatics not airplanes...

[jerrsterrr]

comic ideas? hmmmm maybe sun/moon attempting to buy y/n their fav thing at a grocery store? HFKSKE i live for domestic stuff!!

Late night grocery run into a late night snack :3

ID: Mostly grayscale sketch panel of Moon and YN. YN has a stick with fruit in it, holding in their right hand a strawberry facing up. On their right is moon facing them with a similar posing strawberry in hand. In front of them a plater of fruit of Grapes, melon, apples and grapes some cut up into shapes of stars. Moon lovingly enjoying setting up snacks for YN to watch them enjoy. End ID.

thankz for the request :D as always comic below the cut !

ID: a six panel low quality comic of YN, and the DCA. First three panels take place in a grocery store. YN wears a hoodie, while DCA is in a white tee and sweatpants. Sun has his rays reduced, with his hand on his chin. "hmmm" making a choice of what to get. Moon in the shared headspace saying, "sun. Sun. Sun it has to be perfect." Moon exaggerates. YN comes up to Sun exclaiming, "oh hey! You've been in the fruit isle awhile" catching sun off guard. YN asks, now facing the same way as Sun at the fruit, basket in hand, "what-cha getting?" Sun replies "oh! just thinking about.." their conversation drifts off. Later at home, YN asks, "I'm going to go wash up, do you need help?" But sun interrupts "Don't worry! moon says he'll do it" holding all the grocery bags on his arms. Switched, Moon flaying arms around in happiness, "yess" there is unbagged fruit behind him. Set up, Moon is over a cutting board of apples, knife in hand. Sun in shared headspace says, "you should make an animal!" Moon replies "bunny?" "yeah!" End ID.

extra:

ID: Extra doodle 1. moon staring down, wide eyed at table. On table are platters of fruits. Sun in shared headspace, "i think we went overboard" Moon replies, "...no such thing." End ID.

they r so silly ^__^

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible