#'is that why you made it' no. this isn't even the original ones i made i was doing a mock up for something i'm not posting here TT0TT

[book-lore]

Okay so I wasn't going to reply to this but I am still getting over being sick and this stuck to me. And for the record, it's okay that the OP feels this way and what I'm about to say doesn't mean they are wrong or bad or anything. Let's leave that person in peace. But as to why people don't like Valentine's day and some people even hate it, a gentle reminder:

There are a wide variety of reasons people can find certain holidays objectionable and one that tackles love specifically can be especially difficult for people who are struggling. A recent divorcee might wish to sit this day out because it can bring up how difficult being newly out of a relationship can be. This can be made even worse if the relationship was decades long and they aren't sure how to navigate the world of being single that looks nothing like when they were dating before. People who struggle socially who want relationships can find this to be a day that makes them feel a little more lonely. People who have lost a partner might feel their absence more acutely, even if that loss was years ago. People who have escaped abusive situations might have extremely mixed or hostile feelings about Valentines day (especially given how violent partners tend to become worse around holidays and this is extra true where the abused party is expected to behave a certain way). People who are in the closet might be feeling particularly confused or wounded right now as they feel worlds away from being able to accept or even find love.

The point of this isn't to drag the original poster, but it can be good to understand why sometimes hearts can be delightful for some and heavy for others. I know that some people can be well intentioned and say things like "think of the chocolate and candy" or "it's made up anyway" or "celebrate it with your friends instead", but those aren't really helpful. Love and its reminders can mean a lot of things to people and sometimes they bring up the bad emotions. Sometimes what people need isn't candy or hearts or even a pretend reason to see a friend. Sometimes they need to cry and a day that reminds them of loss or something they lack is what does it for them. Sometimes what they need is to know that they aren't the only one who feels like that when stores and displays and everything around them seems to point out what's making them feel sore.

It's okay to enjoy Valentine's Day. There are plenty of ways to do so if that's what you like. It's also okay to sit it out if you're sore or you're feeling a lot. It's alright if it's just another day in February.

dont understand people who "don't like" valentines day... I personally dgaf that its "made up" and "commercialist"... i love heart shaped things and i love everyone in my life. Its really simple

[micahulrichdraws]

I come in peace! I don’t wanna try to convince you to take commissions! But I am curious about why you’re so strongly against them, did you have a bad experience working on one? Anyway, love your stuff, your tarot designs go so hard

Thanks for the love!! The reason isn't a bad experience or some such, it's 19 years of being a professional artist and knowing the field!

TLDR: I'm a traditional pen and ink illustrator, so it's not financially viable or creatively fulfilling.

I'm always down to talk art business, so here's a brief breakdown wall of text:

On the financial side, commission designs are almost always done at a net loss/break even for the artist, and I'm no exception. They're alright for starting out, or if you're looking to incorporate them into your marketing (IE: doing a poster design for a band to gain exposure), but typically they're roughly half the cash-per-hour for any established artist VS making an original design, and creating a print run of it.

Example: while tons of folks would look at someone charging $1k USD for a commission and think that it would be crazy cash, once you break down the math, it's pretty bad. An average design for me takes on average 30-40 hours, and that's because I don't have to communicate with anyone else. I'm just drawin' my idea. Assuming this is a dream client who has the mind-meld with me, wire transfers the $1k straight into my bank account the second it's done, that's roughly $25/hr. Once again - this looks *great*, that's around $50k/yr from drawing custom stuff! But that's not how it works. First of all, most folks would lose their *minds* at paying $1k for a commission - over the years I graphed it out, and back when I was a less-established artist, most folks would start with a budget of $100, have their limits pushed at $300, and outright refuse $500. You have to sift through all of those folks in order to get that reasonable commission. That includes folks who aren't willing to commit to a commission, don't want to say no to the price, but will still take up your time. Roughly, for me at least, 10 hours a week of it. You'll also have to run collections on roughly 20% of your customers - they may pay the deposit, but you'll have to chase them for the final payment. Even if you take the payment *in advance* you'll end up having to chase them down/get ghosted. So, realistically: you end up taking the $500, for *at least* 50 hours of work. On average, it clocked in closer to 65-70. $7.14 an hour. That's less than a third living wage and less than minimum wage. You cannot grow an art practice while actively starving. It's easier to make a design, sell it/license it/etc. to make more cash without losing your mind.

That said - After 2020, I reached a point in my career that when I take on custom work, it's typically from a larger brand with a larger scope and larger budget, ranging anywhere from $5k-$30k. That said - these businesses are typically ones that understand the industry and are far less of a headache to work with than individuals, and will give several months worth of work at a time at a living wage.

On the creative side, I enjoy making my own designs and work as opposed to other folks. I have a ton of drawings and projects I'd rather work on and share with folks of my own that are infinitely more fun than the 200th identical commission request (a biblically accurate angel that also is the grim reaper that is also Baldur's Gate 3 thirstraps/Dark Souls fan art/primarchs because Y'ALL AIN'T CREATIVE BUT MY ASTARION X SANGUINIUS SHIP CAME FIRST.) Also, most of the fun of my career is knowing as many folks as possible get to enjoy my art junk. I'd rather go through a few extra hoops and have thousands of folks see my stuff vs something only one other person gets to see.

If you made it this far, congrats, here is my favorite image I have saved in my camera roll:

[isa-ghost]

I'm fucking insane over The Realm Veteransduo.

If they really are both q!Phil and q!Fit respectively, they're coping SO BADLY with the loss of their kids. They've made multiple references to QSMP and such, but I know Phil isn't rping intentionally. I have no idea if Fit has confirmed anything on his end.

Phil is keeping everyone at arm's length, even the two people (Sneeg and Fit) he has explicitly said he trusts and clearly enjoys the company of. Even to the point of snapping at them and wishing even they'd leave him alone sometimes.

He doesn't want any attachments or investments. No faction alignment, no snail or pets, leave him alone. Attachments can be used against him, to bribe or blackmail him, to hurt him.

He's still grieving the loss of Chayanne and Lullah, he doesn't want ANYTHING to remind him of them and the pain that comes with those memories.

He's been trained between DSMP and QSMP to expect attachments and anyone/anything he cares about to be weaponized and used against him in one way or another, or ripped away from him in the end. He CANNOT go through it again, he's sick of it. It's slowly driving him insane and he's at a breaking point right now.

And despite wanting nothing more than to be left alone so nothing can hurt him or be used against him, he can BARELY tolerate actual isolation right now after spending that time on QSMP almost never being alone. The thing he wants most is the very thing he can't actually stand at the moment. And this is why he's begrudgingly made exceptions, allowing Sneeg and Fit to hang around him.

And Fit...

He's homeless, addicted to redstone, he's going about things the same as Phil, but he's a little more emotionally better off than Phil. He didn't let going from being accustomed to isolation in 2B2T to constant company on Quesadilla Island and then back to isolation eat him alive, at least not the same way as it has Phil.

He's aligned himself with a faction but not out of genuine allyship, he's doing it for his own benefit, true to someone of his origin. In 2B2T you do what you gotta do to survive, including use people. He's basically on the same page as Phil, but instead of shoving everyone away to avoid being hurt again, he's lurking in their periphery so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty himself to get by.

[cheshireliam]

"Growing Feelings Poured Into Chocolate" Collection Event

Nica Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

If you're not new to Nica, you'd know that he calls MC (Kate) "Robin" in German, instead of the usual Komadori. Since I see that the fandom has generally accepted "Spatzi" as the German translation for it, I'll be using that as well and typing it in italics so it's clear he's not saying it in English.

???: Spatzi.

Kate: Whoa!

While I was walking down the corridor, an arm suddenly wrapped around my abdomen from behind.

Nica: You didn't notice when someone's sneaking up on you. You're seriously lacking in awareness, don't you think?

Kate: Please let go of me.

I struggled and flailed about, but—

Kate: Ah!

Nica: What's this?

Nice snatched the box I was holding and examined it curiously.

Nica: Are these sweets? Handmade, perhaps?

Kate: They're chocolates.

Nica: Chocolates?

Nica: Is this a Valentine's thing?

Kate: That's right, but…

(I kind of didn't expect that reaction.)

With how knowledgeable Nica usually was, I didn't expect him to look that puzzled about a big occasion like Valentine's Day.

Nica: You must be thinking my reaction's unexpected, aren't you?

Kate: Yes, I assumed you took the chocolates knowing exactly what they were.

Nica: Valentine's Day isn't a thing in Germany, so can you really blame me?

Kate: Really?

Finally letting go of me, Nica leaned against the wall with his gaze fixed on me.

Nica: I know about Valentine's Day as a concept.

Nica: But since it doesn't exist in Germany, it never felt like something familiar.

The unexpected revelation surprised me.

I reached for the box, but he dodged me effortlessly.

Nica: You get gifts for a special someone on Valentine's Day, right?

Kate: That's correct, but uhh…

He grinned widely and spoke.

Nica: So, Spatzi , who were you planning to give these chocolates to?

Kate: That's—

For some reason, Nica's face was the first one I could think of when I was making the chocolates—

(But we're neither lovers nor family.)

Our relationship was Crown's Fairytale Keeper and her guest, Nica, from Germany.

(Besides, I think someone like him would receive plenty of chocolates from other women.)

Even as I tried to rationalise my thoughts, knowing how popular he was with women, I couldn't find the courage to give him the chocolates.

I decided to just eat them myself instead, and that was when—

He suddenly grabbed my arm.

When I looked up at him, I was met with his grinning face.

Nica: I asked who you were planning to them to if not me.

The pressure in his words made my breath hitch in my throat, leaving me at a loss for words.

Seeing this, he gave me an awfully cold look.

Nica: Forget it if you're not going to answer.

He released my arm and started walking away, but I hurriedly went after him.

Kate: — I was going to give them to you, Nica!

Nica stopped in his tracks at the end of the corridor and turned back to face me.

Nica: Should've said so from the start, Kate.

The moment he flashed me that sweet smile of his, it hit me.

Kate: … You knew all along and did that on purpose, didn't you?

Nica: Of course I did. It's because I knew no matter how long I waited, you wouldn't say you made them for me.

Looking thoroughly satisfied, he picked up one of the chocolates from the box.

Nica: Can I eat one?

Kate: … I'm not sure if it'll suit your tastes, though.

Nica: Don't mind if I do.

I watched nervously as he popped the chocolate into his mouth—

Nica: Mm, it's delicious.

Kate: Really?

Nica: Why don't you try one yourself if you don't believe me?

I reached for a piece at his suggestion—

Nica: Nope, you can't do that. Because you've given them to me.

Kate: Then how am I supposed to—

Nica: Like this.

Nica wiped the chocolate from his lips and smeared it onto mine.

Nica: Go on, taste it.

Leaning in close to my ear, he let out a soft chuckle.

Nica: But if you lick it… it'll be an indirect kiss.

The sweet scent of chocolate, his teasing whisper, and the heat spreading from where he touched me on the lips blended together.

Nica: What will you do, Kate?

Before the chocolate on my lips melted, I felt like I might melt because of him first instead.

[breadvidence]

Why each Jean Valjean can't fuck. And yet...

The Brick: The first time you come on to the man, he smiles. The next time, he gives you money (hey, you're not too proud). Then? He ghosts you. So much for physical prowess; the two of you never made it to first base. Whether out of choice, trauma, or authorial fetish, the man's a committed virgin. And yet... you have to admit, the sweet memories of how those muscles looked during the whole cart debacle have done more for your alone-time than some in-person performances.

'34: The strength, the money, the air of dignity—he's got the same appeal as the original, and if he embodies his sadness with the aesthetic of a melting candle, well, that's a phallic-adjacent image, ain't it? Awful shame he's just as caught up in his penance and his duty, too. With a sorrowful (if somewhat aggrieved) shrug, he's off to the sewers, and that's not any kind of euphemism. And yet... you've seen how he can balance a guy on his back and not bat an eyelash. A person has got to wonder about natural talent.

'35: You think you can get between him and that young woman he raised, do you? And yet... if you did, that's a lot of built-up frustration, isn't it? And he's mediocre handsome; maybe it's all a matter of how lonely the night is.

'48: You hear he's into this identity play, right? Well, you appreciate a man who can play a role. From all you've heard, it'll be as explosive as an inexplicable outbreak of violence in a foundry. He takes out a cane—hell, yeah. Then a pair of sunglasses—well, maybe—no—is he pretending to be blind?—is this ableist—?—you're pretty sure—good grief, this hasn't gone in a direction you expected. And yet... you know he got another guy to enter a hole despite there being zero sense to the thing; maybe the same will happen to you.

'52: There are men who could fuck if they could learn to appreciate what they've got, and this one can't; multiple boyfriends in the wings and what's he got eyes on? That young woman he raised. And yet... something makes Robert come home every night, doesn't it?

'58: What's he look like? what's he say, or do? You can't quite remember. You keep forgetting to add him to your body count. And yet... you can't actually say he can't fuck, with the memory so vague.

'67: This fuckin' party time rolls down the tracks until it drinks too heavy and falls right off. You can't even call it bad so much as absurd, but you can only go so far off-script before it's certainly not good. And yet... how many friends have you told about it, eh?

'72: Fucking a glacier would be a less chilly experience. And yet... he'll give you the silent disappointed daddy look the whole time, if that's your kind of thing.

'78: This fella's wearing a promise ring for someone else. Or, a sacred vow ring? In any case, he's pretty sure all that sweating and grimacing would be bad for his skin. And yet... there's a clueless virgin trope in a certain kind of fiction for a reason, right?

'98: His belief in worker ownership of the means of production and strong ACAB stance might get you in the mood, but this Valjean hasn't gotten to the point in his politics where he's unpacked the impact of heterosexism on his ability to express vulnerability, by which I mean he's absolutely not going down on you. And yet... he survives the story and still has time to learn and grow, and it's hard to beat a sugar daddy who hands out company shares.

'00: No. And yet... no.

'07: The impediment of being a cartoon aside, makes it real hard to be skilled when his mustache mostly stands in for his mouth. And yet... the potential of cartoon physics, am I right?

'12: With that little fluid in his body the only flag this babe's raising is at low tide in a dry-dock. And yet... your nostalgia does a lot to shine a positive light on the performance he can muster.

'18: I've seen what it looks like when he roars into a mattress and can tell you not to bother; nobody's that frustrated who's been having a good time, and he'll pass the energy along. And yet... maybe I would have a different opinion if I'd been viewing him from behind?

[the-fabled-void]

What’s your opinion on Lust Sans? How do you think the creator could have handled hypersexuality better? Because honestly I don’t think it was handled very well -as a hypersexual anon myself.

What’s your opinion on Lust Sans? How do you think the creator could have handled hypersexuality better? Because honestly I don’t think it was handled very well -as a hypersexual anon myself.

I can't really say much about hypersexuality as i have no experience with it, and it's been a while since I read the Underlust comic.

One thing I have to say, I don't think NSFWShamecave probably didn't intent to portray SPECIFICALLY hypersexuality? From my understanding at least it doesn't seem like it.

Despite the way monsters behave being similar to hypersexuality, I believe the creator was trying to portray something that they believed was fictional. (The lore reason being the fact that everyone's injected with an aphrodisiac.)

And that's where a lot of the issues come from.

I will have to say, it was a genuine attempt by someone to make something with serious lore out of an AU with origins that are hard to take seriously. I would blame it on age, but I'm just gonna go on a limb and say someone with the username NSFWShamecave was at least 18 back then.

Regardless, it's not a story that's easy to tell. Even with genuine intentions, their story- you can tell it wasn't made by someone who knows their stuff.

Additionally, it seems like a kind of AU where the creator thought 'designs first, lore after'.

Which isn't a bad thing on it's own! It's interesting to already have a point in the story that the characters are at and think "okay, how did they reach it". But the creator didn't execute it well.

There's also the 'love fixes everything' vibes I remember getting with Papyton with what happened to Mettaton.

The AU itself feels kinda puritan, with Frisk needing to show the monsters true love as if they've never had it before. It feels extremely reminiscent of the internet's culture at the time, especially the Undertale fandom. I remember being very active on Wattpad at the time, and I remember on there... It was treated jokingly, but we did call anything sexual 'sin' and shamed people for being into it (12 year olds like I was SHOULDN'T be into it, but still...)

Not to mention... Chara. Obviously the character who was the fandom's genocide scapegoat, who was seem as evil back then, is gonna be made weirdly lustful. Good thing they aged them up, I'm glad this creator didn't try to dive into child hypersexuality (while it does exist, someone with those views on sexuality would not have handled that very well, and they would have received more scrutiny), but giving them the soul trait of Lust? That was probably not the best way of explaining why everyone is horny.

In short:

The main issues are that the creator was portraying a real issue bad because they didn't know it was real, and that the creator wasn't all that experienced in writing stories (and designed most characters other than Mettaton and Frisk without a story for them in mind).

As for Lust Sans himself, I didn't really answer that question specifically very well, did I?

Firstly, he suffers from what most characters in the story do.

Additionally, as a Sans, I'm gonna have to think about him in the context of the multiverse.

His portrayal is what happens when an already not too well executed idea is brought towards a bunch of kids.

Of course there were older people in the fandom, but I say the majority of us were not the intended demographic for the AU.

And kids, especially in today's day and age, are notorious for wanting to seem mature and therefore portray stuff for adults, but at the end of the day, we weren't and we couldn't.

So Lust, in especially the early fandom's eyes, was reduced to "non-consensual flirt bordering on rapist".

-

I do have my own version of the AU, slightly altered. So far it's just lore from the AU itself instead of individual characters or story. I wasn't really planning on doing much with it, and I made it before voicing my own criticism, so it doesn't really address more than the Chara sexualization. Feel free to read it if you're curious though!

[caffinedragon]

The Demon of Vyrantium's Scary Dragon Privilage

Chapter 1: Coffee?

Plot: Lucanis befriends the new transfer Dragona de Riva(rook) after he realizes they have been sneaking food and coffee from the pantry instead of eating meals with the family and brings it to them instead.

"You shouldn't be doing this cousin." Illario pleaded. "Do you see what they did to my hand?"

Lucanis in fact did see what they did, but he held no sympathy for him.

He glanced down at Illario's hand, now bandaged from their new arrival sinking there very pointy fangs into his hand when he went to touch them.

"I did. And you should have known better." he stated as he finished up the simple but filling sandwiches he had crafted for their new family member.

"Even their original house has said that they are a danger to other Crows." Illario insisted. "We should be locking them up not bringing them sandwiches and coffee."

"If you don't wish to welcome the new member into the family," he began as he poked his cousins nose. "then don't come. I, however, am not going to let them collapse from malnutrition."

"Malnutrition? Are you serious?"

Lucanis glared at him, "Yes. You may have been blind to it but Dragona has been here for over a week and not once have they come down to eat any meal with us."

"Perhaps they think they are better than us."

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose as the coffee finished brewing. He continued packing up the little basket of sandwiches and grabbed two empty mugs form the cupboards to place inside as Illario doubled down.

"Seriously cousin, think about it. Ever since they got here they haven't left their room unless Catarina herself went to speak with them. Everybody else don't even get an answer."

He sighed and faced Illario then, "Do you know what house they came from?"

"Of course, cousin."

"Do you know that Houses infamous reputation?"

"Yes. But what does that have to do with it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Illario, that house pits Crow against Crow to the point they often kill each other so they can be 'The best of the Best'. Dragona, does not believe they are better than us. They believe that the moment they let their guard down, we are going to kill them. The fact that they only bit you when you snuck up on their blind side is a miracle."

Illario deflated a little.

"Dragona hasn't come out of their room because they are terrified and paranoid. Leaving such an abusive house isn't going to suddenly make them trust us."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because, ever since they arrived, i have noticed simple ingredients like apples, carrots, dried meats and bread missing from the pantry. Anything that can be squirreled away into a pocket and keeps for a while has been taken. Which means..."

"Meirda...they expect us to even poison their food."

"Exactly. They do not think they are better than us. They are afraid of us."

"Then why do they still meet with Catarina?"

"She's First Talon?" He answered as if it was obvious. "And Catarina was the one wh9 arranged the transfer and arrived in person to make sure it happened."

Ilario opened his mouth to argue then stopped himself. "Hmm. I didn't know that."

He made a gesture at him that meant, "Exactly."

"So, what, is your plan now to feed them like some stray cat to gain their trust?"

"Got any better ideas?"

"Well, no..."

"See?" He then pushed past Illario and began to head out. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see them before the coffee gets cold."

----

Dragona could sense Lucanis coming towards their door as they spun the old bone ring around their finger.

Meirda, what kind of house makes their Crows afraid of a meal amongst their peers? Hopefully they like these sandwiches. It was all i could do since grocery day isn't until tomorrow.

They tucked a strand of long white hair behind a pointed ear as they stared out their window to the street below.

They didn't like being like this.

They knew that this place wasn't like where they were from but, it didn't make it less nerve wracking.

It was still a Crow house and a few of the residents had already started to believe the rumors surrounding them their old house was feeding into the gossip pool.

Illario, one of the First Talon's grandsons, being one of them.

Not that they blamed him, really.

Some of those rumors were true. They just missed the fact that they had done it in self defense.

Besides, Illario's fear was something they were used too.

The Genuine concern for their well being coming from the other grandson, was not.

And it scared them.

Genuine concern and kindness was not something they knew what to do with.

Most people when giving kindness expected something in return.

A transaction.

That they understood but, that wasn't what the ring was showing them.

This Lucanis just wanted to make sure that they didn't go hungry.

That they had enough to eat so they could stsy in tip top condition.

But, was this going to come back on them later like it so often did?

Was this going to be used against them down the line to get something out of them they didn't want to give?

I kept you fed so you better spread those legs for me or i will make sure you wont eat again.

Their hands started to shake as panic began to set in.

Was this going to be a ruse to stab them in the back?

Was this gonna be a way to let thier guard down so they can later-

A knock on the door made them jump into the little nook in front of the window, a hand on the latch in case a quick escape was needed.

"Dragona? It is Dragona correct? May I come in?"

They took a deep breath and began spinning the ring again and focused on the man on the other side of the door.

Lucanis DelaMorte. Favored Grandson of Catarina.

Kind. Compassionate. Highly skilled and...

Safe.

He was safe the ring told them.

If not a bit suppressed emotionally but, that was the usual with Crows.

With hands still shaking they flicked their fingers through the air, using magic to unlock and open the door.

A moment later a hand popped out around the door holding a still steaming kettle of coffee, followed by dark hair, tanned skin and big brown eyes the same shade as the beverage in his hand.

The rest of his body followed, shorter than they expected but none the less strong, carrying a plain basket filled with about half a dozen wrapped sandwiches.

The door was closed softly behind him once he cleared it, before he turned to them and waved awkwardly.

"Buenos Dias. I am Lucanis Dela Morte and I couldn't help but notice you rummaging around the kitchen at night instead of eating with us so..." He held up the basket of sandwiches.

Dragona nodded, still too anxiety ridden to talk.

They watched as he found the small table and moved it to the center of the room and began to set up the coffee and sandwiches on it.

It was like a performance only those that have lived lives like them would understand as he laid out everything he brought.

When he set down the empty mugs he tipped them upside down and showed them the inside, before placing them on their side of the table so they could inspect them.

Dragona used a quick spell to bring the mugs over and while they did that, Lucanis began laying out the sandwiches across the wood.

Once they were sure the mugs were just mugs they got up and walked over to the table and placed them down.

As they watched him lay everything out, Dragon wrapped one arm around their middle and began tapping their collar bone with the other in an attempt to self soothe that only partially worked.

So instead, they studied the man before them, stilling their spinning of the ring in order to properly focus.

His eyes were warm, they noticed, not cold like those of their old house but still none the less focused and sharp.

They were filled with a compassion that some how hadn't been beaten out of them like so many.

The ring told them it was because of his immense well of deyermination, and a little bit of spite.

They smiled internally at that last bit.

Being kind out of spite.

They liked that.

"There, go ahead and pick one for me and i will take a bite to prove nothing is wrong with it. Any sandwich, doesn't matter."

Dragona pointed to the one nearest them.

Lucanis grabbed it and without a second's hesitation removed the wrapping and took a big bite out of it. He winced a moment later and held his hand in front of his mouth. "Mierda, I bit my tongue. Ow."

Dragona chuckled, allowing some of the anxiety to recede.

"Eager are we?" They teased.

He still managed to swallow his bite and then open his mouth to prove it was empty, before beginning to earnestly munch on the sandwich.

"I may or may not have skipped breakfast this morning."

"Ah." He sighed as the anxiety finally ebbed away and he felt settled in his form again. "What kind did you bring?"

"Mmm. Just some sliced chicken, a bit of cheese and some dressing. Grocery day isn't until tomorrow so it was all we had left."

Dragona picked up the second closest sandwich and took a bite.

The chicken mist have been from some sory of roast that had been shredded by the savory spices and moist nature of the meat. Thw cheese was light and creamy which allowed the vinegar based dressing to give a good but not overbearing kick.

Compared to the bland, whatever he can scrounge up meals he had had most of his life, the sandwich was the best he had ever tasted.

It didn't take long before half the sandwiches were gone.

"Good I take it?"

He nodded, "Mmhmm."

"I am glad."

His smile was just as warm as his eyes.

Lucanis then began to pour the coffee , and just as he did with everything else, took a big sip before pouring a second mug for them.

"Coffee?" He offered.

"I would love some."

A good two hours later, both Crows were sat on the small lounge chair in the room, coffee pot near empty and sandwiches gone while they talked shop and swapped tales.

Falling into it had been easy, too easy that overly cautious pary of his mind told him, but the ring said he was safe and he was choosing to trust it.

And so he was regaling him with one of his first contracts as a crow, and how well that ended for his "partner".

"I told him exactly what that trap was going to do but nooo, I didn't know what i was talking about." Dragona took a sip from his mug as he used his other hand to gesticulate along with his words. "And so I was like fine. You go that way, I go this way. Let's see who survives."

"Let me guess, he sprung the trap." Lucanis figured out.

"You could hear his scream echo through half the market district."

"Meirda." He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying his best not to laugh.

"On a positive note, he became the dostraction I needed to claim the target so it all worked out."

Lucanis broke, which caused both Crows to start laughing.

Once the laughter died down, Dragon leaned his head sideways against the back of the lounge, his eyes glancing down to where the two mens legs were tangled.

"Thank you, Lucanis."

"For what?"

"For this. For...welcoming me...i guess."

"No need. You should feel welcome in your own house."

A self deprecating chuckle escpaed him, "Tell that to my old house."

"I'm sorry. You should not have had to feel that way."

He shrugged, "It's all I knew. This..." He waved in Lucanis's general direction. "Is strange to me. It will...take some getting used too."

"If it helps, once the pantry is restocked, I could make you something. I am a pretty good cook. Or at least that is what I have been told."

"Gonna let me watch you?"

"Of course."

"Then, if those sandwiches are any indication, I will look forward to it."

[lpsgirl109]

Whenever people say stuff like this i can usually see where they're coming from but you're bringing up a post where the point was not "If you hate Willow you hate lesbians." The person who made that confession said so themselves. It was about people beating Willow and Sunlow down for the horrible crime of not being perfectly written while not holding male characters and mlm/straight ships to those same standards. I've already mentioned before about the time someone came on this blog saying jamapple was written better than sunlow, but it's a good example of what I mean. Because no they weren't. Im not gonna say Sunlow was one of the best written ships in the series but Jamapple literally boils down to ome scene where Pineapple is leaving the rainforest and Jambu literally doesn't give a fuck. Which feels incredibly out of character for him and I don't understand why Tui made him so uncaring there, but at least Sunlow loved and cared for each other and it was an important aspect of their stories. This is what we mean, when a gay ship that had barely any screen time gets put on a pedestal (despite honestly not being that good) but a sapphic relationship that gets to be the focal point of one of the books gets brushed off and deemed not worth people's time because. It wasn't written perfect. Which is not to fucking say people can't like jamapple more than sunlow before people twist my words like they've been twisting the original sunlow anon's words. There's a difference between preferring one over the other and trying to argue why one is Better than the other. It's the latter where I start to side eye you because 1. You'd be wrong even if Sunlow wasn't a sapphic ship; Sundew and Willow value each other a lot and their love is a key aspect of TPJ. Jambu and Pineapple have one scene together and all it tells me is that Jambu is somehow genuinely too lazy to care about Pineapple's well being. 2. While I'm not gonna say it's an immediate sign of misogyny or lesbophobia, because it isn't, but its already very common in fandom where people boost gay ships up for existing while beating down lesbian ships if they don't meet certain requirements, so it Is at the very least off putting seeing someone try to argue why a gay ship where one partner cared more about sleeping than the other partner going away on a dangerous mission, was handled better than the lesbian ship where both characters are shown several times how much they value each other

some of y'all are like the wc fandom when it comes to ppl not liking a specific female character.

It annoys me to no end when I see someone who is complaining about ppl not liking a female character and somehow relates that with "do you hate lesbians/female characters?" like???? NO???? Just because someone hates a character does mean it has anything to do with hating the group that the character just happens to be in.

a specific confession a while ago was sad at the willow hate, which can be understandable, I get how people hating on your fave will bring you down but what annoyed me is that the people below somehow related that with?? queerphobia? its literally that one meme. "I don't like *character who happens to be a woman/queer*" "So you hate women/queers??" like no that isn't the case.

"it made me uncomfy as a queer person" I'm sorry! but that has nothing to do with this.

and I get how someone would be concerned about it, trust me I do, but its stupid to see someone say they don't like a character and assume they hate the group that the character is in, because that Is Not The Fucking Case and you're just making erratic assumptions.

Just because someone hates a female/queer character does NOT mean they hate women/queer people they literally JUST hate that character for their own reason. get a grip.

.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Kyoshi in Tagaka's outfit (Avatar Generations portrait edit)

(Done for.......reasons. Reasons I won't explain. But sharing for you all to enjoy =w=)

[dazzelmethat]

Long time no Bud. Wow the last time I made her a ref was 2018. I experimented some with her pallet. Unsure if I like the profile head but oh well, open mouthed anime inspired profile faces are notoriously hard for a reason.

Sigh. What am I going to do with her.. my writing conundrum workshopping in tags. My tag rant mentions plot related suicide and ableism (in relation to the zombie trope).

[novelconcepts]

i don't make resolutions, but if i did

it would be to finish this fic

(and to be kind to myself for however long it takes to actually do so)

[giantkillerjack]

My sister-in-law frustrates me to no end even though we barely ever interact because she keeps inviting my partner to parties with her Christian Republican friends, even though my partner told her not to send an invite to us if those friends will be there. And even though my sister-in-law is bisexual!!

And then she turns around and complains about not knowing how to deal with her friends saying, like, horrible sexist stuff as though that is just some natural unavoidable quirk of having friends!

Like, these Christian Republicans she has befriended don't seem to be kind - they're not even nice a lot of the time! They don't make for good friends, and she doesn't seem happy or supported in relation to them. In fact, she basically only ever talks about how her friends and/or current boyfriend are making her unhappy!

Because here's the thing: The effect of prioritizing 'including your Trump-supporter friends at your parties' over 'being invested in creating a safe space for marginalized people in your home', is that people who DO care about creating those safe spaces... won't wanna hang out with you! Because if you invite both cats and mice to your table equally, only the cats will show!

She's so afraid of losing the shitty friends she has now that she allows them to act as barriers to accessing friends who are invested in her wellbeing in a capitalistic hellscape!

It makes me sad because she's basically trapped herself, and there's nothing I can do to offer help without either compromising my morals or making my partner's life way harder by starting shit with her family.

Like, I consider myself a good friend, yeah? I try really really hard to be one, and it matters to me immensely. I am ride-or-die for the folks I love, and I am invested in being open and vulnerable and radically safe to be around when it comes to building strong friendships that are mutually fulfilling. I have a unique talent for validating people that I have honed for years because I genuinely want to make sure people feel safe and loved and seen.

And if my sister-in-law and I were friends, I could give all of that to her. I would strive to be an example of what it looks like when someone decides to care about you and treat you right on purpose, without expecting anything in return but your mutual respect. She would be family. She would be [Queer] Family. I would see to it that she knew she could call on me when she needed a friend.

But like.

This asshole has invited me to hang out with Trump supporters on multiple occasions.

We ain't gonna be friends.

[svnnykokoro]

I'm sorry the tags are so long and so many lmao

cats is a great example of a show that doesn't work as a movie because all of the magic of it is in the live performance (the costumes, the dance numbers, the absurdity of it all) and dear evan hansen is a great example of a show that doesn't work as a movie because the show sucks

[cheshireliam]

"My Ideal Life of A Doting Love" Story Event: Chapter 2

Azel Radwan

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

With his hand against the wall, trapping me in place, Azel's brows were in a deep frown.

Azel: It's just—…

Azel: This kind of thing— right?

Emma: … I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that.

Azel: That's why…

Azel: —… it was in the book.

(Even though we're this close, I still can't hear him.)

He was definitely mumbling about something, but his voice was so soft it was nearly impossible to hear what he was saying.

Azel: Basically, there's nothing you need to worry about.

Emma: Saying that while your face is so red only makes me mor— mmph!

Before I could finish, he resorted to the drastic method of physically silencing me with his lips.

It was apparent that Azel had no intention of backing down until I gave up on pursuing the subject. Each time I tried to speak, his kiss would grow more aggressive.

(This is so unfair…)

His tongue intertwined with mine, gradually increasing the pleasure in my body. My heart was racing, and I was losing strength to keep upright.

I was about to go limp, but Azel caught me just in time, wrapping an arm around my waist to support me.

Emma: … You went too far.

Azel: It's your fault.

(Not an ounce of guilt in him.)

I shot him a piercing glare to express my embarrassment, but he simply turned away.

Azel: Fine, fine. It's my fault.

Azel: Umm… well…

Azel: … Want to go for a stroll?

Emma: A… a stroll?

…

In what seemed to be an attempt at making up for his actions, Azel led me out of the temple to an oasis deep in the desert.

(I never knew such a place existed nearby.)

Since few people would go near the sacred grounds of the primordial temple, there were no signs of human activity.

If Azel was the only one who knew of this place, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it "God's Garden".

Emma: This lake is beautiful… it feels good to be here.

As I crouched down and scooped the clear water with my hands, Azel placed a hand on my head with his usual grumpy face.

Azel: Not there.

Gripping my head lightly, he turned it to face a different direction.

Further back, beyond the oasis, near the water's edge— the scenery was absolutely breathtaking.

Emma: No way… is that a flower field!?

Flowers of vibrant colours were in bloom around the lakeside, bringing life to the dry desert sand.

I hurried over and looked at the flowers from up close.

(These are… "Al Flowers".)

The flowers, named after Azel, the Living God, were a special variety genetically modified to bloom even in the desert.

Emma: I never thought they'd grow naturally.

Azel: … They rarely do, so don't tell anyone.

Azel caught up to me and awkwardly averted his gaze.

Azel: This place might be ruined if people found out about its existence.

Emma: I'll keep it a secret.

(… What's this uneasy feeling I'm getting?)

I was curious to know, but I couldn't resist the temptation from the flower field and crouched down to gently touch a flower petal.

Azel: Do you like flowers that much?

Emma: I do. They're soothing to look at.

Azel: … I see.

Azel: I don't care much for flowers, but if you like them, you can come see them again.

Emma: Please come with me when I do.

Azel: …

Emma: Thank you.

Azel: I didn't say anything.

Emma: Your answer is written on your face.

Emma: Eeek…! What the—!?

Although he was firmly pinching my cheek, Azel didn't look entirely displeased.

Azel: I'm charging you an escort fee.

Emma: Shouldn't it be called a date fee?

Azel: … This isn't a date.

Emma: It is to me.

Azel: No, it's not. There's no way I'd do something so frivolous.

Emma: Azel… did you know that flower field dates are a thing?

Azel: …

Emma: That means it's too late now!

I stood up and clung to Azel's arm, with him looking like he was about to flee at any moment.

Emma: Next time, let's bring a tent and lunchboxes so we can have a picnic.

Azel: … Do as you please.

Despite the long and deep sigh he let out, Azel's had a tender look in his eyes.

…

That night,—

(I knew it. He's reading a book again.)

I secretly watched Azel from the bed as he sat by the window, unaware of my staring.

Tonight, I wasn't awake by chance. I was only pretending to be asleep, waiting for the right moment.

(He managed to dodge my questions during the day, but this time…)

Emma: AZEL!

Azel: WHAT!?

I raised my voice on purpose, causing Azel to turn toward in me in shock, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Emma: I heard a noise coming from outside…

Azel: … Huh?

The kind-hearted god didn't doubt my words. He immediately walked to the door to check on the "noise".

(I feel guilt… I'm sorry for deceiving you.)

Making a promise in my mind to prepare a luxurious meal for him tomorrow as an apology, I slipped out of bed and reached for the book "containing national secrets" Azel had left on the floor.

Azel: It was just your imagination. There's nothing outsid—

Azel: …

Emma: …

Azel: … You tricked me.

Emma: I'm so sorry. But…

Emma: … I love you.

[okalanissolis]

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . .

pt. ii | | series masterlist

focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier), choi san, & song deokhee word count: ~4.6k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death, Even More Gods Are Introduced and i think that is lovely

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: still knee deep in history but with more character introductions! i think at some point i might do a character recap page where i can offer some quick stats about the character's strengths and role, but idk if it would be helpful or just another way that i Procrastinate™ — let me know your thoughts !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ my girl pinched my hips to see if i still exist / i think not ⌟

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏ ᴘᴏʀᴛ was the main harbour of hoku city. home to the oldest and most robust working port on the island, the leeward side of the city was often referred to as haemopu side — an amalgamation of the names ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏꜱᴜ, the god of light and namesake of haemo port; and ᴋᴀᴘᴜ: sacred, taboo, forbidden. it was an unspoken rule that the shadows that danced on haemopu side were all puppets of that power known as serpens, and if you saw their strings or witnessed their plays, you would keep quiet, or your days were numbered — your gift from samgong through.

— still, haemo port was vast and wide, and business had to keep. it wasn't particularly bad luck to be a shop stationed near haemo port: there was so much foot traffic there, so many lives crossing back and forth, still hungry to survive; the best of money could be found for those who dared haemopu and kept their sight where it belonged — out of their eyes and in the open hands of hoku — or so the urban prayer went.

to the untrained eye, haemo port and ʜᴀᴇꜱᴜ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ (the road that led to the devouring mouth of it) were the same as any other harbour on the island: only slightly more complicated than the sum of their intricately stacked, labyrinthine parts; bathed in light by enormous streetlamps so that when the sun went down, the majesty of ʀᴀᴋᴇᴛᴜ, night, couldn't be the refuge with which spirits attempted to thwart demons. but the fangs of some serpents still found their venomous purchase, and the storefronts along haesu street were often just that — fronts. legitimate stores, but facades for things still sinister, sliding their way through the waters, encircling your world, whole.

— on the furthest place inland haesu street ever went, there was an old business complex that had stood so long the original signage was lost and along with it, the precedent name. haesu complex, haemo park, haemo plaza, haemopu ether — old things have many names, and in legend, the many named becomes gods. inside the six story building, shops and establishments checked in and out like aimless souls in a graveyard: some lingered, some faded, some lasted the test of time.

on the first floor of haesu complex stood a taekwondo studio.

next to it, an indoor shooting range.

— we start this story with the taekwondo studio — the dojang, where mountains go to be edified and pupils to be fortified. eventually, we will open the door to see what is made with bullets and loose gunpowder, but for now, we take an abrupt turn right, through the third set of doors on the ground floor.

ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴊᴇᴏɴɢᴄʜᴇᴏʟ, father of one, was the owner of the modest studio: a stern man with a compassionate underbelly, a fourth dan black belt and the first sabeom — teacher — to enter the business complex. in the early days, when he was newly teaching and the world was more cruel and wanton than it ought, he orchestrated and ran illegal fights in the backmost part of his dojang. necessity begged it; life forced his unwavering hand. he'd never been proud, but he stood in his choices steadfast, and if you only saw the whole of him from an angle upturned and below, it seemed the might of him was his honor, unmarred.

dealing in entertainment and prestige, jeongcheol made ends meet in the evening to bring necessities and opportunity to his wife and newborn son at dawn, and by noon, instill dreams in the children that called him sabeom, center of their budding confidence.

when the serpens found out about his midnight habits, they paid a prompt price for front row tickets. by the end of the evening, jeongcheol's rental payments were moved to an account more reliable, and his small family moved out of the back office space and into one of the apartments that sat on the fifth and sixth floors. in exchange, the fights would persist on a grander scale at a more regular schedule ad infinitum, and the serpens would get their due cut.

jeongcheol always knew that this favor would amount to more debt, in the future, but for the security he was promised, in this blood oath? for the advantage and chance he could bestow upon his son? if it were shortsighted and misguided — this business deal with the serpent of the sky — then forgive him, but omniscience was simply the name of his city, not the power in his mind.

— and as san, his darling boy, grew from jeja to seonbae and in the course of time, sabeom all his own — a 3rd dan black belt and the pride of jeongcheol's world — the price of a demon's mercy became ever clearer, crystalizing into the certainty of future: law.

— it was in that very dojang, after all, that jeongcheol added to his myriad of students two young girls: diane and soyeon, dawn and dusk. jeja diane, a student named wisdom, took early to sparring with san, never minding that the younger always won, ever scheming to learn from a protégé's skill.

when san was chosen to be the demon heir's protector, it wasn't a matter of surprise or honor, simply that of providence.

and san was dignified by it, at any rate.

— only ever envisioning an inherited taekwondo studio for himself, a modest future but fulfilling dream, san's world expanded at the hands of diane — and his dojang, while still being the center of all his tethered existence, was a future now shared. ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ, a pupil and friend, would aid him in handling the fights in the backmost part all of his father's hope and shame, an eternal rite, the sisyphean promise the choi family would never complete.

— jeongcheol had slowly backed away from the uglier side of his business as he aged into complacency and fatigue, and san had taken up the mantle in his place. now, sin would beget sin and shackled to the serpens would be yet another soul.

yeo was clear that he didn't mind.

already one foot into corruption, what was one more leg?

— he'd been cleaning up bruises from betting fights and broken limbs from shadow duels for years. he'd sewn flesh together the way others might knit tenderness and virtue, goodness and love.

every dojang needed it's medic. and every medic needed his charge.

— this was merit enough, for the both of them. respect for san in being trusted with something on which the whole of the underworld revolved; prestige for yeosang in the power inherent of a ruling head of a domain long standing, and in it's ancience, revered.

and watching them both, once the hand that led them deep into the mouth of something ravenous, still, stood choi jeongcheol, left wondering when security was no longer security — a promise no longer words of honor.

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— diane had asked him to disappear, again.

— it was never an explicit demand, not since the first time, when she'd been following the tail of a banker and realized it would be so much easier to approach him if she were just a woman and not a daughter, held.

the nameless banker had decided he no longer wished to be a pigeon fed from an opened hand but a raven shot out of the sky, the shiny things he stole slipping from his traitor beak and landing back into the hand of the power that wielded the shotgun evermore.

— "you're intimidating, san." and it hadn't been her words or the command in her eye so much as it was a shift in her being — sarang to diane, veracity to something mutable and ever brewing. "i need to ensnare him..."

and he'd slipped away, taken her half-cue and was already gone.

— if the demon of hoku knew how often diane asked him to slip away, san was sure the mythic ernest would be none too pleased. it takes half a second for malignance to seize you in hoku city, and only a fraction of that if you're particularly inclined. of course, san was never far, and sarang more competent than what the wills of well meaning fathers offered her, but it would be more than just san's immortal soul on the line if something befell her and he were at all still breathing.

but it was always sarang's eyes that sought for the mercy of him, in the hairbreadth turn of her infinitesimal micro-expression, the graceful warp into something so unseen it were all but hidden to eyes that were any less devoted than his. and it was never a question because she would never need to ask; he'd learned to read the depths of her during sparring sessions in a dojang made of his youth and all his tomorrow. once, he'd crafted alongside her the armor that was so much a second skin, there were barely any joints or seams that one could rub the pad of their thumb along.

he'd seen her, then, and so he always knew.

— and that's how he found himself here, again. vanished from a spot he said he'd always defend: dematerialized, because bang chan had come to call.

— or so diane let the boy think. she'd found chan first, weeks before this encounter he'd name 'chance' or 'fate'. it had been simple to learn his routine and easier to insert herself in it. a coffee shop he always walked past. her new favorite window seat. a position so comfortable it looked as though it had always been.

and so they talked; this woman neither diane nor sarang, crafting a life by degrees of admission, chan warming to the gentle flame of her lies so that eventually, perhaps, knowledge of him would melt, secrets in him slip between them, in this place behind glass, warm between cups of untouched coffee.

not even san would hear the things chan would reveal in his adventurous, half-flirtatious speech. the thought often made the black belt's heart skid — his resolve stutter — but the bulk of him never wavered. he was a mountain and summits never crumbled; their might certainly never moved.

and that simple conflict of interest was something his friends never failed to entertain, and in mocking, enjoy.

— ᴅᴇᴏᴋʜᴇᴇ, twin sister of ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ and the one-minute younger half of their expert gunman team, was the one to first discover san's internal battle, having joked about his affection for diane from his sabeom days at the dojang. first, a true baseless joke, then overtime, a comfortable uncomfortability for san as it grew in truth and size.

san and his diane; no one loved their work the way san did; if san could marry duty he would.

— if he wasn't always looking at deokhee down the barrel of her sniper rifle, he just might knock some humility into her near prophetic teasing and her twin's identical shit eating grin.

but what was he to do when she was, in part, always right?

— sarang laughed at something chan said, and diane reached out to touch his shoulder with the soft of her hand. san turned his gaze, somehow half guilty, and that's when he saw the ephemera of a shadow he should not have.

what was kim hongjoong doing all the way here?

— first order of business would be to pull sarang from the place at which she stood. second would be to see just who the informant whisperer was that hongjoong strove to meet. third would be to evaluate just where that placed this puppet-master of secrets in the ever turbulent waters of organization and fealty — obeisance and axis.

— san was standing in front of her in the coffee shop before the shadow had ever truly dissipated — before any of the prior thoughts had fully formed in his mind.

sarang was good at smoothing her own confusion and concern, and playing the part of the innocent and sheltered. she huffed a convincing sigh and muttered something about a father that, overprotective, cut her time with this young officer short, and san caught the thrown word of 'cousin' like a fire-hot, thousand pound and ever-burning coal.

so that's how she'd explained his presence to chan.

— when she knew she'd almost been caught in the act by hongjoong, sarang swore.

— ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ was a member of the serpens syndicate, and had, since the death of byeonghwa, been the watchful eye that extended past the confines of hoku city. loyal to the demon — a horkos made potent in the poignance of a blood debt — hongjoong was trusted... so far as anyone could be reliable, in this city that ate you whole, in these times that twisted the sinew of your very heart. at any rate, he was an informant of ernest, and while not one nearly as volatile as soyeon, still convoluted in intent.

he would be interested — perhaps even moreso curious than san, who daily burned all of his inquisition and steadfast resolve near through — as to what the demon heir was doing out here, in the pristine half of hoku city, talking with an officer that would just as soon as imprison her, if he knew even a fraction of the atrocities and moral impurities she ordered and aided, abetted and carried out.

— of course, even if hongjoong were to ask, sarang would never tell.

— not even with san, himself, did sarang reveal her true intentions in this business involving newly minted officer bang chan, a rookie at some few years post-graduation, an acquaintance turned friend from their first windfall encounter. not even with san, who knew the verity of sarang and had cherished her humanity from it's first appearance, did she let any information slip, a single hint pass.

he'd look into her eyes and unexpectedly, a wall was there — a guardedness of which he'd never known. she was no longer forthright about all possibilities with him. her thoughts were not so easily read, her want not so readily known.

— but that was not the worry that had the jaw with which to gnaw at san. not yet, anyway. not when hongjoong was surreptitiously on the same path as them, in a place where neither was colloquially seen (his informant hadn't been anyone of note, and so the consequence of his gained knowledge that day couldn't have been much, but one could never be complacent, if they wished to thrive).

— not when soyeon was unhappy, and sarang was the fool to not believe it.

— not when ernest, kingpin of terror, chessmaster of the underworld and ruler of hoku city, was mired in that slow changing-of-hands and place of gentle retreat where all of his speech was about the hand of iku, that terrify in the weight of dying.

the death of a demon was always a wounded threat that demanded first redress.

— it had started, in part, with the death of byeong-hwa. what was a king, after all, when his sworn shield had fallen? what menace was left in a monster, when his right hand was rotting, 6 feet below? the monsoon season would come, and a sickness would plague ernest along with the rain. jangma was the will of bada — the monsoon season the cursing volition of the sea. it was divine law, in some ways, that bada would claim her vengeance on hoku by taking it's epicenter and sweeping it's fortune and prosperity into her tumultuous seas, but it was still too soon, and thus, a secret well hidden.

no one in the serpens outside of the few remaining elders that sat at the demon's table, byeong-hwa's only daughter, his heir, and his warded nephew knew of the state of ernest's true mind.

the tides were swelling, the ground was saturating; bada was clambering toward the city, and at the time least affordable, the cracks between sarang and soyeon's friendship and intertwined lives deepened to a schism, with roots on either side, blooms torn apart, thorns tearing stem like gnashing teeth devouring flesh.

— when it rains, it pours, and in jangma, the storms were violent and unending; when bada raged, all the gods hovered close to witness her torrential price.

— "i'll tell ʏᴜɴʜᴏ." when they were haemopu side, diane turned to san, the silence between them broken, the confidence that always held in it's place perhaps worse for wear, if either of them had the resolve to mention it. "he'll have some clever way to spin hongjoong off our track - if he even saw anything in the first place."

— san nodded: just once, a jerky motion that left this world still buzzing, a dull, low whine.

yunho, sarang's cousin, was a close confidant of theirs. he moved into the serpens complex when he was 17. some commonplace tragedy left him with a want in the pit of his belly, and ever since the breaking down of all that tied sarang to soyeon and night to the dawining day, he had played the role of strategist and pragmatic advisor to his cousin — a safer, less volatile option for diane to pick, considering soyeon had always been her council, former.

— diplomats need their advisors; conmen require their marks. diane had a necessity for yunho and a plan for bang chan, and of course, they would be dealt with first. san was just a bodyguard, and in this way, he'd always known his place. but favor had a way of lead to want, and if he tended to that fire, it could always lick its way past his defenses and consume him whole.

— sarang blinked, and the change pulled san from his thoughts the way it always would. born to serve, her movements were what he'd been shaped to read. "i guess i'll tell hermes that you stood him up for yunho again, when it's time for your 13:00 date and you don't show."

— sarang laughed at that, warm and clear, almost chasing away the mist that had gathered all through the day day, at choice intervals and expected alleyways, thickening to the obscurity of fog. hermes was sarang's greyhound — the puppy she'd once found when younger but crowned wise. she never had taken him to the serpens complex, where he could be socialized with the dobermans she'd cared for most her life. instead, san took him in — an act of kindness she never stopped praising him for, never quite forthright about her reasoning but offering just enough to where he was satisfied.

"tell the twins when you see them i need to have a word."

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— the shop never had a name: just a wordless sign in the shape of a generic gun scope: the focus for an eye you'd never look into as you took your final, heaving breath.

the shooting range, the eye, akita's place, the final shop on the ground floor of haemo plaza.

— every child who'd ever touched a gun — any soul who had enough of some small mercy they had the fire to protect it in this heaving city — had, at some point, entered the shooting range that sat haemopu side. established longer than jeongcheol's dojang, but having changed hands at around the same time, the shooting range was owned by a woman named ᴀᴋɪᴛᴀ — ex-military but dishonorably discharged, a mother of twins, and simultaneously warm yet cold: distant, but always manning her station.

it was only natural that, sharpshooter of her squad, akita had taught her children to shoot from the moment their hands had the strength to thumb a trigger.

eyes bred to look at you through the barrel of a firearm, hearts trained to see the liberation at the end of a mission and none of the causalities between. akita took her twins, cradle of her future, and gave them all the skills she broke skin and bruised knuckle to hone. they would never have to struggle, because they would be born with skilled gift. they would have the freedom of honor, because no training would mar their resolve.

— at first, the shooting range was only that which sat within the four walls in the ground floor of that complex. but slowly it expanded: the back property, accessed through the side entrance, narrow but deep, for single sessions with moving targets; the abandoned lot near the docks that akita had come into possession of by chance and was appraising for sale until her daughter showed an aptitude for long range and a spark to pursue it.

before long, what was modest expanded, and with an open mouth, devoured until engorged. the shooting range was well known. beloved. conspicuous. exactly the sort of place one would expect to find a doorway into the depths of a now illegal, though still legitimate syndicate, and therefore, a place where they could never be found. in reverence and renown, akita secured a safe haven for her children, a place where they could rest without the fear of being poached.

two doors down, the serpens paid a lease, but here, in the four walls she maintained, they could never sink in their teeth.

but fate was the domain of samgong, and mischief the trait of hoku, and here, in a city where the presence of gods were only so strong because they were so ceaselessly revered, the two powers often conspired to thwart the dreams of those who dared trying, and those whose complacency masqueraded as crown.

— wooyoung, the younger of the twins, was the impulsive to deokhee's passion. touched by caprice, drowning in compulsion — akita whispered into his ear as he grew up, tickling the soft skin hidden there, that he was born the same star sprite as hoku: before he became the omniscient eye, back when he was nameless, and his fervency was tried by the test of his father's tedium. in constant motion, neverending activity: "make no deals with iku, listen not to the obligation of horkos. you are a star, you belong to nothing but your own burn."

— deokhee, of course, was the fire burning her younger brother brighter, still, the combustion in his path that kept him from apathy, that saw all his visions through. ᴇɴᴊɪ, her mother would call her, the fire god incarnate. the ardor, the devotion, the commitment deepening to obsession, the dedication to wooyoung's whims, the conviction in her twin brother's mania. akita adored her daughter's fervency, fanned the flames of her exuberance never quenched. "shackle yourself to no one, my enji, you are not meant to be contained. never turn in on yourself; find a direction to incinerate: you are meant to set this world ablaze."

— avoiding flirtation with the fetters of the serpens was an unspoken request from akita, a desire never plainly raised. if she had been wiser — if she saw all too clearly the way serpents rise to challenge and adaptable, warp their venom to something honey-sweet — perhaps akita would have been more explicit in her demands, exact in all she envisioned and prayed to conspire. but it seemed an evident requirement, a moral anchored deep and in it's inevitability, made potent and strange.

"you are made for more," she had always told them.

but what can be done when your only framework of 'more' and 'greater' is the gunpowder residue of a superior weapon?

— once, akita built her children into crook of a firearm. ever after, they would know mostly it's bitter taste.

— none of this is to say, however, that the twins were a tragedy and their penchant something acrid, lead.

— deokhee was bottled excitement and effervescent joy in every task, and wooyoung the kind of gregarious that surrounded him with enthusiastic friendship and kindred brotherhood in every space he ventured to grace.

— and ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴜᴍɪɴᴀʀʏ was one of those third spaces that wooyoung and deokhee frequented most.

a serpens owned establishment: an electricity plant on the edge of town, with hidden rooms that opened into dark things that could only hide in the shadow of a generator as massive as that which fueled a never-blinking city. the luminary was one of the largest holes in the wall that the serpens ran. there, you could order any sin you could pay the ferryman to usher you to.

so long as you were in the right room, of course. the serpens liked to keep their messes orderly.

— the twins mostly frequented the rooms with standard bar fare. alcohol, dance, betting and games of chance, fisticuffs when more than just spirits hit you square in the jaw after one freedom too many. a common enough vice with a burgeoning sea of acquaintances and a militia of contacts and friends. it was here, in the pale of haemosu's light — all the glare they could harness but never reach — that the twin's sociability spun a web that was never meant to entrap them, but still made them the perfect players for a serpent game.

after all, it was in the luminary that the twins aligned themselves with the spine breaker bikers.

a group of criminals and delinquents that rode through ꜱᴋɪᴛ — the next door neighbor of hoku city, and the border at which the serpens let their spines halt. the serpens owned hoku, and every gang and group of would-be hopefuls that they'd long run out had taken up station in skit and brawled it out, there. a neighboring city was of no consequence to the serpens as long as they spilled blood on their rightful side of the fault line, and the spine breakers were a fairly established group that occasionally crossed the borders of hoku — careful to always show their deference and pay their dues. they were a infrequent though to some familiar face in the luminary on nights when the moon hung low, mostly to work deals with the mercenaries for hire in the back, and always to chase a drink alongside the twins.

ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ was their closest companion of the lot, and if his drink of choice was an expected usual, and his uninspired flirtation with deokhee an affectionate and comfortable aside, then the night would be warm and the luminary waitstaff would make better money in tips than they had all month.

— and it was precisely that friendship with jungkook (and perhaps their closeness with san, though why make complicated something already written by fate?), that brought the twins to the serpens those aging years ago.

it had been hongjoong, newly syndicate minted, that noticed these two sparrows who somehow seemed to know everyone he had been keeping his thousand eyes on, and dared to ask himself what use could come with knowing their names.

it had been simple, after, for seonghwa to convince him that wooyoung was the easier approach, and for soyeon to cast the die on his fate.

(but that had been years ago: before the breaking down of factions, before suspicion and envy cast shadows that demons new not how to play, before ties were cut like marionette strings, and seonghwa and soyeon became a duo, and hongjoong, far enough from the barrel to not yet choose how to align, had to keep his ideas in his breast pocket and his lies tucked beneath his tie.)

— in the end, the twins were brought into the serpens because their connections would open doors that had no keys. it was through wooyoung and deokhee that the serpens greedy left hand reached into the heart of skit and, with an emboldened and wanting jungkook, staged a coup and installed this friend as the spine breaker's acting head.

ever after, the gang would be in debt of the might of hoku, and in perpetuity, there would be scouts and reinforcements, should there be need of aid from a distance.

— it was simply providence that the twins would have use beyond their sociability and want. it was the work of that ever mischievous hoku that in a chance encounter and a single ploy, diane was gifted with the two best marksman the city could afford.

danger, of course, in the single-minded passion of deokhee and the brilliant aimless apathy of wooyoung, but when combined together (and wooyoung under the threat of the only one he swore obeisance to: san), they were more than their arsenal, a weapon greater than their might and distant reach.

— when san found the two of them sitting on his couch, deokhee knuckle deep in affectionate rubs for hermes, wooyoung eating noodles out of the pot, on his pinky swinging the apartment's spare key, there was less a reaction of disappointment or surprise, and more an acceptance that at least this way, the message would be easily delivered, sweet.

"diane's calling."

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. ii | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - jeongcheol, san's father, used to run a taekwondo studio. because times were hard, he ran illegal fights in the back of his dojang, and when the serpen's found out, they co-opted his business and expanded it. as he got older, he passed down his dojang to san, who now works as the bodyguard of diane. because of his busy schedule, he co-manages the dojang with yeosang, the medic of the taekwondo studio.

2 - the taekwondo studio is situated on haesu street in an unnamed work-live complex often referred to as haemo plaza. on the same floor as the dojang there is an unnamed shooting range, owned by akita, the mother of twin gunman for the serpens deokhee and wooyoung. akita does not know of her children's affiliation with the syndicate and would disapprove if she knew.

3 - san, deokhee, and wooyoung are all friends are are closely allied with diane. diane is also close allies with yunho, her cousin and strategist council after her falling out with soyeon has deepened in the past few years (there has been a vague multi-year time skip from pt. i to pt. ii).

4 - ernest, kingpin of the serpens, is currently dying. it is a well kept secret - but not from soyeon, who diane fears will use this knowledge opportunistically. recently, diane has been keeping many secrets from even her closest confidant, san, especially regarding her consistently visiting officer bang chan, trying to weasel from him secrets... but about what?

5 - hongjoong is a member of the serpens with many secrets and many informants. diane is unsure if, in the power vacuum created after ernest's death, if he will show loyalty towards her or soyeon, and so she is wary of what he knows, when he was in the area as she was meeting up with bang chan.

6 - hongjoong was the one to originally recruit twins deokhee and wooyoung, because they have many contacts in hoku and neighboring cities - notably jungkook, now leader of a biker gang in the neighboring city named skit.

7 - diane has a mission for deokhee and wooyoung heretofore lacking details or rhyme.

now onto pt. iii . . .

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.