#Or hey! Maybe you didn't read it!

[talesofwhimsy]

hit the tag limit again lmao

[clonerightsagenda]

If you take Ling's blood sugar crashes seriously from a medical perspective and rule out medications I'm not sure existed yet and major organ failure, my best guess at a diagnosis would be an insulinoma, a usually benign pancreatic tumor that overproduces insulin and messed up your levels. Thus I propose the reason he stopped passing out partway through the story is that Greed went "hey what the fuck is this" and ripped it out.

[schwazombie]

So Monday is my set-up day for my meds, i.e., I sit down and put my meds in the little containers for each day so I know if I've taken it or not, and I decided to have a glass of juice while doing dishes only to be like hm. I have not taken my meds yet this morning; I'll have to wait a bit now since I've been drinking this juice before I take them to make sure they work.

Which fucking reminded me of the fact that I have two ADHDs in my life, Husband and K, and NEITHER of them were aware you can't take your ADHD meds with fruit juice and that you shouldn't consume food or drinks with charcoal in them because both of those things will make your med not be effective. Neither of them knew this because neither of them read the fucking info that comes in the medicine box. Husband doesn't read them because he doesn't think it's important and K doesn't because the list of possible side effects is 'scary'.

Like.

BESTIES. READ THE INFORMATION THAT COMES WITH YOUR MEDICINE READ IT FFS I DON'T CARE IF IT'S SCARY IT WILL TELL YOU IMPORTANT SHIT LIKE DO NOT TAKE WITH FUCKING CITRUS JUICE

[solarpunkani]

Ok fuck it you know something I've never really quite understood about part of the Leftist vs Liberals debate on voting.

So so so many people act like its either-or. Like you're either dedicating your entire life to voting and promoting politicians and phone banking or whatever, or you're a True Rebel waiting for The Uprising to Come and Solve Everything.

But like. In my experience. Me voting is just me kinda go 'which person seems kinda good? Which one at least sucks the least? ok lemme go vote.' and then its anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour tops of my life. And I still have plenty of time to do Stuff and participate in Conversations about Other Important Things. And also you can admit and acknowledge and understand that the system As Is kinda sorta really sucks ass, but also still admit and acknowledge and understand that at this current point in time we are still living in the suckass system and do something to alleviate the suckass At Least A Little while also working to bolster/create/advocate for Other Systems.

I guess just like. it's not a black or white thing. Between 'top 500 volunteers for a specific politician/voting office/etc' and 'absolutely positively not voting at all' there is a gray area called 'vote and then just do other stuff'.

[brown-little-robin]

the lil yawn Dimple does in s2 e3 enchanted me so much that it made me draw in pen and ink again

image descriptions: two photos of a pen-and-ink drawing of Dimple, a ghost consisting of a floating face, yawning.

[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. haemo complex, haesu 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, 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 older 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 older 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 born into flesh. 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 ꜱᴘɪɴᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ ʙɪᴋᴇʀꜱ.

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 needles 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 worked their own city and only 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 bikers 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 a power 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 ("for emergencies," san had said, and pointedly handed it to deokhee), there was less a reaction of disappointment or surprise, and more an acceptance that at least this way, the message would be easily delivered, in brevity, made 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 . . .

[cuteniarose]

The consequences of my poor financial decisions are here!!

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[quatregats]

Still debating whether or not I want to try for a second draft of the Hornblower time loop fic or just do some basic edits and throw it into the world as fanfic was intended to be published

[minos-bubbleworld]

Reading ORV felt like I found a beautiful gem at first but it actually was not really a gem. It became a warmth that quietly, slowly but surely seeped through the little cracks in my head and filled holes I didn't even know existed. Or maybe I knew but I covered my own eyes.

It continued on further and further down until it found the me who kept hiding out of fear. And it grabbed her by the shoulders like it was always meant to happen and it said "Live. Please live. You will survive. For your sake and for others, please live. Please keep believing and holding on no matter what. I promise you, you're not alone, you never were."

It's terrifying to realise that the one thing you thought would always hold true, which is that you are hopeless, is actually wrong. There's some sick sense of comfort to sabotaging yourself and seeing confirmation after confirmation that you are indeed hopeless. But then something comes to you like a slap and like a hug (ORV for me) and shoves a mirror right under your nose and you're like "I didn't actually totally give up... Oh fuck." And that changes A LOT in a very sneaky way.

And now here I am. I've been thinking hard lately as usual but not about the usual very negative things. And I think I might be able to take a first step and reach out. Jesus fucking Christ it's terrifying, there's a shit ton of things that I have to fix. Oh wow. Okay. Well, I don't have to fix it all right now right now, I can take it slow or something. Right ? Better late than never. So yeah.

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[caterpillarinacave]

You gather your nerves a moment, which is fair, strange doors have not been so innocuous for you as of late, then creep up to the establishment and push open the door, it gives easily and quietly you slip in, behind the door is small hallway with thick curtains you brush aside, you're looking at a small illuminated room that you would guess is the entrance to the museum, but there's no one manning the front, you call out and knock on the desk yet no answer, you've already come this far so you go further in.

At first it's just pictures on the walls in moderately open spaced windowless rooms, the pictures themselves are interesting, supposed creatures sighted, this places versions of UFO's and Bigfoot's, but also nothing you haven't flipped past in the books you've been searching, the next room is the same and you're beginning to feel the weight of your trespassing misconduct the longer you linger, the museum seems to be set up in a circle so if you keep going forward you should end up back at the front so you move on, the next room has a large curtained off display that takes up most of the back wall, your curiosity piqued you move to pull aside the curtain, the fabric is soft and slides beneath your fingers, you raise it just enough to see a picture on the wall of a strange landscape, short blue and grey plants and a dusty pink sky, in the picture is a smiling man holding a book and looking passed the camera, on his jacket dangles a white key...

"May I ask for an explanation?! Our door is closed for the night hours."

You drop the curtain and turn to find an older gentleman looking at you from across the room, he seems irritated and mildly alarmed, you hurriedly apologize and explain the door was open and rush to ask about the display behind the curtain, he is not impressed with your questions and asks that you leave, realizing your unfortunate situation you acquiesce and ask for the hours you can visit instead, he gives you a time and pointedly tells you the cost of the entrance fee as well, you head back to your friends place, your heart in your throat, this is the closest you've been to figuring out what to do next in almost a week, the itchy paranoia of last worlds government catching you shadowing your every move.

You reach your friends place, they're still out probably picking up dinner, you are still caught off guard at times by how similar this place is to your world, sure their versions of things are a little odd, the tv is circular, doorframes rounded out, other little oddities, it's all so similar though you may as well just be in another country maybe, with a strange accent.

You decide to take this moment to add to your journal and look over your things, while you did a quick inventory check when you first got here you haven't checked the items themselves until now.

Your walkie crackles when you flip it on, same as ever.

Your phone remains serviceless but fills its charge when you turn it on and off. Interestingly you notice it trying to pick up a wifi signal and when you check there seem to be a couple networks nearby, locked though.

The funnel still amplifies the noises around you and you hear the neighbors discussing something on the tv next door as clearly as if they were speaking to you. When you look through the funnel you don't notice anything. You hold it back up to your ear listening to all the different things around you and pull out the spinning top, as soon as the top hits the table the noise disappears, confused you look at the funnel and then listen again, but no noise, the top falls over and the noise returns. Strange.

The berries taste fresh and make you feel better, but you are running low even though you resupplied a bit before leaving.

The dog tags seem unchanged and your key and whistle seem the same as ever.

When your friend gets back you ask about the wifi, they call it something else, but once you parse it out they help you set it up. Your phone can now access their version of the internet so your friend shows you a program to message them just in case. They also give you a device to keep in your pocket that connects you to the wifi wherever you go, so you can contact them while you're out and about. You tell them about the museum you saw earlier, how you think it may be a lead, and the old man running the place. They seem excited for you and make plans to join you tomorrow to go see it.

You go to bed that night thinking of your plans for the morning and turn over the strange dreams or images you remember from when you passed through the door. You slip off into an uneasy sleep, gold threads weave from dream to dream until you stand before an open doorway of light, something about this doorway is wrong though, you can feel it, you reach out to touch, the crackles of energy electrifying the air...someone reaches out and stops you, you can't see their face but you hear them as if through water. You can almost make out the words...you know they're speaking to you, you just can't hear it well enough.

You turn to them, but you still can't see anything but their lips, it looks like their telling you to stop...to go...you can't make it out.

"...op...ea...G...ome!"

With that last echoing and indecipherable shout you awaken to the dark room, the walkie crackling from where you left it.

"S....l....o...h..." You fumble with it a second but the sounds die out no longer sounding like anything but static again. You don't end up sleeping much after that.

The next day you both head out to go to the museum. You take a minor detour to check the Door, but when you get close you see the alley has been blocked off, you notice some people from the last dimension around, their odd features sticking out to you but hidden away to fit in with the locals.

You cross the street with your friend and try to stay inconspicuous. Probably best stay away from here going forward.

You guys make it to the museum and head inside where the old man from last night mans the desk, your friend pays for the tickets and he hands them to you along with a pamphlet.

You don't bother looking at all the things you saw last night, your friend follows though obviously intrigued by the pictures. You reach the curtained wall and pull back the fabric, but find there's nothing there, dusty spots frames may have hung and empty tables where things had obviously been displayed are all that's left.

In shock you stand confused, your friend catches up and looks behind the curtain curious, you explain it's all gone, they seem befuddled as well. Obviously the content behind the curtain has been moved but it can't be far right? Maybe it's just in the back. Either way, it feels like someone is hiding something from you. You notice a door leading to the back that's for employee's.

Do you go through the door?

yes

[unproduciblesmackdown]

reread the rest thus far of lackadaisy and there's the both v easy & difficult task of gathering a shit ton but only a shit ton of excerpts (like every single page is a highlight i'm not exaggerating)

and every single element is superlative and the way it all only becomes More So....already mentioned the way the like smooth gradient shading made the successful evocation of 3D Shapes more noticeable, along w/the consistent geometries of character design & details in fabric folds; the way Lighting & Coloring only goes on to become more prominent elements only enhances that further. the compositions, backgrounds, pacing, angles....everything is so dynamic & expressive, such as including the expressions which you know i also Love / absorbed

going "hell yes for people to discover this superlative comic" then having to occasionally refresh past site traffic overloaded server errors like "nooo" but actually yes

whilest clapping & cheering for the fun of everyone who's been here a minute. My God the invigorating reward when again i started reading in '07 & the concept of rocky & freckle on a "proper" run had only manifested via fun official bonus art, then a literal decade later as it was actually happening in the comic like screeeeaammm i can feel it coming in the air tonight oh lord etc....i've loved following it, again, if i see another new comic page. i am going to be Enriched

i also really was right on the ball myself this time around like okay okay yep i have picked up on Everything, at least to the degree i can lmao. i love the mysteries. i love how Character Focused it is too ofc and there's no characters i'm uniterested in / dislike. you gotta point to one of them, truly, and i have been a [pointing at freckle] enjoyer these fifteen years but fr i am a connoisseur of everyone, i love that so many characters are a weird mysterious chaos element story driver in their own right. i considered mordecai more intently than ever, love his like ultra mystery (and that we leave off on him doing some detectiving even) and truly fun that like, the source of the more Immediate problems he keeps having in every damn interaction isn't the like [wow mordecai with the just diving into the hatchet murdering] factor so much as it's that he's generally like "i am just standing here" and is not nt in any way that matters and people insist on fucking with him on that front. the peak tragedy of him in a bonus comic getting bullied into having to dance with someone to Be Polite like i'm so sorry i wish you could be that ficus too. anyways intrigued with the marigold &/or mordecai mysteries including that it's like, how coincidental is it that he talks about marigold having a thorn in its side & the savoys' nickname for him is peekon = thorn. there is so much to consider, love that for us truly. and i'm rooting for mordecai & nicodeme's dynamic out here, is another conclusion....very enriched by comparing & contrasting that serafine nicodeme mordecai triumvirate with the rocky ivy freckle one, to be sure. im enriched

i'm also enriched by every footnote that's got like historical facts / research notes / [this is inaccurate for xyz prioritization but here's the disclaimer] explanations. i Love information. and everything else like i loooove this comic it's Soooo Fucking putting my hands to my temples and inhaling at length through my teeth

[smallishdoggo]

The idea that Dancer didn't and couldn't have known that FCG was a person, and is thus absolved of any responsibility for treating them like an object comes up every once in a while, and, like. Folks. She knew FCG had enough capacity for thought to be worth lying to. She lied to him about having made him. She cannot have considered them basically a toaster. Like, are we imagining that Dancer is out here lying to Pussy the Second to make herself seem smarter?

She bought FCG and restored them, and knew from that restoration that a lot of the technology behind FCG was beyond her understanding. She knew FCG could talk and reason, which is something no automaton we've ever encountered is capable of (excluding aeormatons). She spent four years with him, watching him be very very noticeably different than other automatons. She didn't need to know that he was an aeormaton or what aeormatons were historically capable of; she had all the evidence she needed to understand FCG as a person, and she just didn't.

Like, I can fully believe that she understood all that, that FCG has the capacity to think and feel on some level, and just decided that none of that made them a person. Cause that's the way FCG has thought about themself since their introduction. They think, they feel, they want things, just not how a person would. Not important, not weighty enough to matter.

And I think that matters when thinking about her! Specifically when thinking about her relationship to FCG. Dancer fucked them up! She raised them, he didn't know any other life than the one she built for him till murderbot mode. And I do think she has some responsibility for that. I don't think you can just say that she didn't know any better. She knew a lot! And she could have sought out more information on ancient automatons and their capacities. And she didn't! She knew enough to know she didn't understand FCG and how they worked, and she just. Decided not to do anything about that. She just decided that the thinking feeling robot that she bought should just be a thing that she owns and makes use of, and who cares where it came from or what it might do in the future.

I don't think she's a monster or anything, but it's wild how allergic this fandom is to considering her to have profoundly hurt the person she BOUGHT AND OWNED. Particularly given how gung ho this fandom tends to be about characters having the right to enact bloody vengeance on anyone who has ever made them feel bad.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Overanalysing texts isn't just for published literature, you can also do it with fanfic if you're motivated enough!

[aromanticasterisms]

my god i am ADORING the fontaine world quests so much they are so good