#hard times cold open

[mx-anthony-janthony-crowley]

we don't talk about this shot enough

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"And soda; runs off into the street..." "...and soda... is totally okay!"

[howsdeanshole]

imagining an alternate ending scenario where cas comes back (handwavey, thanks jack/whatever) and he and dean talk about The Confession after some sort of episode-long miscommunication/avoidance as usual and they get together. but i’m imagining the aftermath of this, where they’re getting used to permitting themselves the casual intimate touch that comes with the new emotional territory and dean is working up the nerve to tell sam so he keeps shrugging off cas’s hands or taking his own back or inching away whenever sam comes in, and eventually sam is like “*scoff* dean, im glad cas is back, too! you don’t have to hide it. it’s not like i’m going to think you’re gay or something.” thinking he’s lightening the mood and taking a weight off of dean.

however. lol.

after this dean keeps trying to tell sam that actually he and cas ARE in love. unfortunately sam is convinced dean is pissed about the gay comment and being weirdly PA about it, and he’s mad that deans dragging cas into his charade because why else would dean be sitting in cas’s lap or petting his hair or getting cas to put his hand in deans back pocket???? he GETS it, okay! dean doesn’t have anything to prove to him! can he just leave cas out of it??????

this would be a 2-3 episode long conflict. in my heart. which is only resolved when sam walks in on them hitting fifth base in the dean cave and is like. okay. well. i don’t think that was for my benefit whatsoever. going to go as far away as i possibly can and scrub off my brain.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Since the Neighborhood are adventurers, I'd like to imagine they travel by sea a fair amount of times too! A nice boat trip while occasionally breaking out into a sea shanty, eh? (And for gits and shiggles, to keep up with the whole.. Eddie in water joke, I imagine the poor guy is clumsy enough to go overboard. He may not be unconscious during it, but it wouldn't make it any less funny with the group desperately trying to pull him back aboard-)

OH OH OH allow to ramble at length about this!!! what an idea!!! i fucking love boats & the ocean & being on the water so this ask is checking all my boxes rn

first i imagine that the length of their trips varies wildly, along with the quality due to the glorious variation in weather & bodies of water. and i'm choosing to believe this universe uses tall ships instead of like... fantasy steam ships. because i fucking love tall ships. the sails, the rigging, the elegance... an absolute bitch to maintain and maneuver <3

i imagine that depending on the ship, captain, and size of the crew, the Neighborhood may be required to help out to earn their keep. especially since they're a crew of nine eight, and some ships are woefully understaffed!

I'd imagine that Poppy sometimes takes the cook's job if the crew is currently lacking one (or if the cook wants a fucking break, jeebus it's a demanding job. there's a reason ship cooks in moves/tv are always stern & serious). Barnaby can probably charm his way into doing nothing but provide music/entertainment (much to Sally's aggravation). everyone else are plain deckhands

of course i imagine that that doesn't always happen! plenty of ships are probably content to just take their coin and tranport them. some of them (Eddie, Poppy) may still wheedle their way into helping out though. they strike me as characters that can't Not help

who i imagine loves their little water journeys: Barnaby, Wally, Sally, Wormie

neutral: Frank, Julie

hates it: Poppy, Howdy, Eddie

allow me to provide reasoning!!

Barnaby's impeccable balance probably means that he's stable as a rock even in choppy waters, and i'm reasoning that he doesn't get seasick either. his vestibular system is as solid as his sea legs! he probably finds the whole experience relaxing as anything. He gets to just recline on the bowsprit's base or wherever he isn't in the way & smoke/play his accordion/nap.

Wally just has such a love of life and new things, so why wouldn't he love being on the water? it's different! it's new every time! there are ample things to learn about and do! Home probably keeps his systems stable so that he doesn't have to deal with seasickness. though it probably takes him a little bit to find his sea legs... catch him stumbling around like a lil newborn lamb. sometimes he is facedown on the deck <3 i imagine he'd enjoy going aloft!

Sally would probably love the inherent romanticism and adventure of it all. Who knows what dangers and glory they may face! I bet she writes up a storm during this time - plenty of story material! food for the imagination! what does Anne say... Scope for the imagination, i believe! i bet she also loves having a captive audience. Literally. they're stuck on this ship with her <3

so many lines for Wormie to climb... so many little places to crawl into... new people to trick into giving her treats... down time where the Neighborhood is relaxing in one place. abundant time for affection!

Frank probably doesn't have strong feelings about it. It's a boring ship with no bugs or things to do. Except when he manages to rope crew members into having a lil impromptu fight club. Or when the Neighborhood is put to work - i wonder if he'd find the maintenance soothing or pleasant... or if he'd relish in the hard work of pulling lines

Julie is likely in a similar boat (ha) as Frank. once the initial "wow! whoah!" wears off, it can get boring! and games are limited - there's only so much you can do on a ship (depending on the size of the ship of course), and there might be strict rules to keep passengers out of the crew's way and to lower risk. She probably entertains herself by "bothering" her friends and the crew & cloudgazing.

Poppy... do i need to explain? wooden ship on the ocean, which i understand can be terrifying. who knows what lurks below the waters? if the weather will change on a dime? if one of the flammable things on board catches fire? if the ship hits something? etc. I imagine it's impossible to get her to go above decks. They have to literally push her statue-frozen body onto the ship when they first board

Howdy! honestly i just think it'd be really fucking funny if he gets Violently seasick! like, curled into a ball in his bunk & involuntarily making agonized noises. he sounds like a ghost w/ all the pained moaning. his sea legs suck unless he stances all four at the right distance to anchor himself in place. he's a weak, sickly, fragile little thing, take mercy on him... he doesn't even have the strength left to swindle or sell...

Eddie. now we get to the point of anon's ask - his sea legs would be nonexistent. he's staggering and stumbling all over the place. the ship just barely tilts and he's smacking into a mast or careening across the deck. and of course, hitting the guardrails at precisely the right speed/angle to allow him to tumble overboard. i bet this happens enough that every time the Neighborhood is so much as on a dock, there is at least one person either holding his arm or acting as a barrier between him and the water. as soon as they get on any ship, he's immediately sent below decks. any attempt he makes to come up is instantly blocked.

there's a lot of both comedic and angst potential there. small ship, calm waters? comedic. some neighbors are playing cards, there's on off-screen splash & Frank immediately sighs and gets up all "god damn it, Eddie-". lmao im imagining him floating there and rapid-fire blabbering in fear 'cause there's a shark (it's not a shark. it's a dolphin. everyone on board is so unimpressed.) he's sobbing in fear as they pull him in <3

but angst? imagine there's a storm. imagine it's an all-hands-on-deck situation, every available hand is needed, and Eddie is strong as fuck - he'd be a monster at pulling lines. probably wouldn't even need to sweat them. but a violently rocking ship, slick decks, maybe even waves splashing over the deck... oof i can so easily imagine Eddie slipping & sliding right over the side. maybe while the others watch. maybe they try to grab him, but they're too late. and in such a horrible storm, there's not much they can do - it's dark, the water is incredibly turbulent, the ship can't turn around easily, there's torrential rain. a high stress situation! i'm imagining Frank grabbing a lifebuoy, firmly fastening it to a pin, and then throwing himself overboard after Eddie. something to think about! (i'm imagining that after the storm clears up enough, everyone rushes to the side to check. Eddie & Frank are trailing after the boat, lashed to the buoy and exhausted. maybe a little banged up, but overall fine!)

and then yeah.... oh the shanties Barnaby could lead... the whole ship sings! and then them all in their bunks (or in their hammocks!) in the [insert term for living quarters here, it can vary] when its sleepytime. y'all would not believe the shenanigans that can occur in the fo'c'sle (or the main hold, basically wherever the ship's sleeping quarters are), especially before actual sleep occurs. peak silly time.

there's a lot of potential here, thank you anon!

like now i'm thinking - what about sea monsters? or jobs that Require them to go on the water, as in the job takes place on a ship? ocean battles! ocean searches!

[incorrectquotesideas-deactivated]

Person A: Do you want a beer? I’m paying.

Person B, going through the restaurant’s menu: No. Ugh, where’s the good stuff?

Person A, half jokingly: I thought you were an alcoholic.

Person B: Exactly. I’d need at least, like, four beers — without food — to get slightly buzzed, and my stomach can’t fit over 2 beers in it. I’m small. I’ll have a rum, neat.

[aphnatasha]

not the best lighting but! i did a study page of winnie istg i'll do one of mary nd sarah too, but winnie has completely stolen my only braincell and refused to let anyone else have it (including myself, gimmie back my braincell please)

who the hell gave her the right to be so godsdamn pretty shhdhd

[bilaudad]

I hauve covid :(

[iniziare]

'These people are of different ages, statuses, and origins, but there is something equally peculiar to them, that is, they all share a slight addiction to pain. They like the stinging sensation when pharmacists apply herbal remedies to their wounds and enjoy the dull pain caused by pressure on their bruises. They even seem to care little if anesthetic is used or not when they are put through painful therapies. Surprised by their extraordinary endurance (...)' — Yelan: Lore (Character Story 1).

The topic of her supposed 'addiction to pain', or as fanon light calls it: her pain kink. No, and no, it's not a no because I feel any specific way towards said kink, but because the take doesn't align with the rest of her character. Yelan, arguably more so than any muse I write (even Kafka), seems to be written off as being 'the most sexual' because of how playful and seductive she presents herself as, and worse yet, the amount of both extremes of sadomasochism being tied to her character is absolutely unreal. So let me... set the record straight as to what I believe that they're insinuating, simply if you look at the consistency that this plays into. Forgive the preface here, but it's important.

'Yelan wasn't always on her own. Many years ago, she once had a team who watched each others' backs. But back then, Yelan had not yet realized that her clever tricks and ingenious traps, the skills that she took pride in, could not solve everything for her. Enemies with a strong sense of self-control would not bite her bait, opponents with cunning and calculating minds would not fall for her schemes, and those with overwhelming power would simply strong-arm their way out of her traps. Therefore, Yelan and her team paid the price.' — Yelan: Lore (Vision).

Yelan is actively responsible for the death of the entire team that she led into the Chasm. Of course she didn't 'pull a trigger' directly, but it's described as an obvious case of negligence. She's described as having been prideful when it came to her capabilities, and apparently assumed that she could handle anything the Chasm could throw at her (and her team), and she was proven wrong in the worst of ways. It was likely the result of a naive mind, and the lesson that she faced immediately had an immense effect on her, as she stopped, isolated herself, and trained until her bowstring was ridden with the blood that hung at her fingertips, and her intense dedication to never letting this happen again, resulted in her hydro vision. Yelan carries a survivor's guilt that she never talks about (and is mentioned by Yanfei during Perilous Trail: 'From what I know, she's lost comrades in the line of duty before, and then was rescued herself. Maybe being a survivor is what makes her so against seeing other people sacrifice themselves. How can things ever be the same again, knowing that your life was saved when others weren't? In a way, salvation can also be a burden.'), but such a mental burden is carried with a person throughout their lives, in many things that they do, and she is no exception. Her way of dealing with it, seems to come out through an incredibly methodical approach to her work, she investigates everything from all angles, because never again will she be neglectful, never again will she leave a single stone overturned, nor will she ever overestimate her own capabilities in planning, battle or anything else. Very simply because doing so could cost others their lives, and that's a no no.

Now you may go, 'okay Sae, but you just ranted about how methodological she is, you haven't touched on—', actually, I laid all of this out because it lies at the forefront of why a line like this is a thing:

'You have to be very careful with sweets. That powerful sense of satisfaction... it weakens your willpower and makes you relaxed. It only takes a few bites to get addicted, and with long-term consumption, you'll slowly but surely lose your edge.' — Yelan: Voice-overs (Least Favorite Food)

She's practically outright stating that she doesn't enjoy things that seem to control or rather, influence your mind in any way, and beyond that, continue to affect it well after that (addiction, and long-term consumption that leads to 'losing one's edge'). This also would tell me that Yelan would primarily likely steer clear of alcoholic beverages and caffeine ('I prefer drinks like this (tea) with a long-lasting aftertaste to things like coffee and spirits.'), or would consume only very little of either, as the former influences you directly, and the latter sends you on a sort of 'high' which results in a mental dip afterwards. It would be disastrous for someone like her if she's intent on staying very aware.

Now, after all of that, the topic on pain. The reason behind this is likely two-fold, I wouldn't be surprised if I one day learned that, on a lighter level, this is 'the least she could suffer' for not doing enough to help others. God knows how much they may have suffered in pain, so enduring even a semblance of pain may be a form of punishment. But more so, I think that this part of the first quote 'they seem to care little if anesthetic is used or not', plays into the same reason that she doesn't enjoy anything that inhibits her mind in any capacity. Anesthesia numbs you, it numbs you to touch, it can numb you to smell, it can influence your sight, it simply numbs a part (or parts) of your brain, it'll make you a lot less fast on your feet. Everything about it screams a big time 'no' for Yelan. So no, it's not that she enjoys pain, as nothing else about her character seems to insinuate that whatsoever, but everything about her character does insinuate that she's inherently methodological, and so anything that reduces (or risks) the efficiency of that part of her, is generally a big no-no.

[gynandromorph]

The worst part about the dog dying isn't that she's gone, even though that's pretty miserable. It's knowing how much pain she was in and being unable to do anything to help. The only thing that would help was something she veritably didn't want

[plushievash]

protip: do NOT sit on your feet and then immediately get up. you WILL roll your ankle and fall on your ass and even god cant save you then. and DEFINITELY do not try to immediately get up again you WILL blackout and fall flat on your back again. not that id know or anything. i wouldnt do something as foolish as that in the first place.

[fingertipsmp3]

Save me skincare routine. Save me stupidly expensive skincare routine in tiny bottles

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

every night i wake up and say "this is the night i respond to my friends' messages" and every morning i say "i swear i'll do it when i wake up"

[meatriarch]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[dicktat]

🦇The first day of Halloween my enemy & me🦇

🩸Dueled in the moonlight flesh in my teeth🩸

Anyways come get some of ‘em Van Crane and idk some bastard tyrant vampire

⚰️⚰️⚰️Happy (early) Halloween to my mutuals

[crowlore]

praying i get some art done today

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.