#internet marketing forums

[nando161mando]

[bulksiteseo]

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[malewifehenrycooldown]

oh my god. the one video talking about the vaporware fighting game that actually had decent traction was taken down 4 months ago, despite the video itself being 4-5 years old at this point. dear lord, you really can't go talking about it anywhere without a threat of a lawsuit. but also why are you doing that? like it's okay to NOT be proud of a product you made I get that, it happens. but there's a limit on what's acceptable behavior when people criticise the work. censoring and silencing them does nothing but perpetuate the Streisand effect. you are essentially shooting yourself in the foot without realising it.

[centrally-unplanned]

We (somewhat rightly) mock the 2000's era fansub translation notes for their otaku fixations and privileging of trivia over the media, but they should be understood as serving their purpose for a bit of a different era in the anime fandom. Take this classic:

Like, its so obvious, right? Just say "pervert", you don't need the note! Which is true, for like a 'normie' audience member who just wants to watch A TV Show - but no one watching, uh *quick google* "Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne" in 1999 is that person. The audience is weebs, and for them the fact that show is Japanese is a huge selling point. They want it to feel as 'anime' as possible; and in the west language was one of the core signifiers of anime-ness. 2004 con-goers calling their friends "-kun" and throwing in "nani?" into conversations was the way this was done, and alongside that a lexicon of western anime fandom terminology was born. Seeing "ecchi" on the screen is, to this person, a better viewing experience - it enhances their connection to otaku identity the show is providing, and reinforces their shared cultural lexicon (Ecchi is now a term one 'expects' anime fans to know - a truth that translator notes like this simultaneously created and reflected).

But of course your audiences have different levels of otaku-dom, and so you can't just say 'ecchi' and call it a day - so for those who are only Level 2 on their anime journey, you give them a translation note. Most of the translation notes of the era are like this - terms the fansubber thought the audience might know well enough that they would understand it and want that pure Japanese cultural experience, but that not all of them would know, so you have to hedge. The Lucky Star one I posted is a great example of that:

Its Lucky Star, the otaku-crown of anime! You desperately want the core text to preserve as much anime vocab as possible, to give off that feeling, but you can't assume everyone knows what a GALGE is - doing both is the only way to solve that dilemma.

This is often a good guideline when looking at old memetically bad fansubs by the way:

This isn't real, no fansub had this - it was a meme that was posted on a wiki forum in 2007. Which makes sense, right? "Plan" isn't a Japanese cultural or otaku term, so there is no reason not to translate it, it doesn't deepen the ~otaku connection~.

Which, I know, I'm explaining the joke right now, but over time I think many have grown to believe that this (and others like it) is a real fansub, and that these sort of arbitrary untranslations just peppered fansub works of the time? It happened, sure, but they would be equally mocked back then as missteps - or were jokes themselves. Some groups even had a reputation for inserting jokes into their works, imo Commie Subs was most notable for this; part of the competitive & casual environment of the time. But they weren't serious, they are not examples of "bad fansubs" in the same way.

This all faded for a bunch of reasons - primarily that the market for anime expanded dramatically. First, that lead to professionally released translations by centralized agencies that had universal standards for their subs and accountability to the original creators of the show. Second, the far larger audience is far less invested in anime-as-identity; they like it, but its not special the way its special when you are a bullied internet recluse in 2004. They just want to watch the show, and would find "caring" about translation nuances to be cringe. And since these centralized agencies release their product infinitely faster and more accessibly than fansubs ever did, their copies now dominate the space (including being the versions ripped to all illegal streaming sites), so fansubs died.

Though not totally - a lot of those fansub groups are still around! Commie Subs is still kicking for example. They either do the weird nuance stuff, or fansub unreleased-in-the-west old or niche anime, or even have pivoted to non-anime Japanese content that never gets international release. But they used to be the taste-makers of the community; now they are the fringe devotees in a culture that has moved beyond them. So fansubs remain something of a joke of the 90's and 2000's in the eyes of the anime culture of today, in a way that maybe they don't deserve.

[solxamber]

Starstruck || Malleus Draconia

After debuting with a gothic, fantasy-inspired theme, you somehow managed to hit Malleus Draconia’s exact vibe. Now, the fae prince has single-handedly appointed himself your Number One Fan—and he's taking his job very, very seriously.

It’s finally happening. After years of grinding it out in practice rooms, singing until your voice was raw, and dancing until your legs felt like spaghetti, the moment of truth has arrived. The managers want you to decide on your debut concept.

In front of you are two choices: school theme and gothic fantasy. You glance over at the school uniform option and cringe a little inside. At your age? No, thank you.

You’re not about to spend your precious debut years waving around pom-poms and trying to look sixteen. Gothic fantasy, on the other hand? Now that’s got some style. Dark cloaks, intense lighting, elaborate costumes—it’s exactly the drama you’ve been craving.

Your manager stands beside you, flipping through a spreadsheet with an expression that can only be described as financially preoccupied.

“Listen,” he says, in a tone that suggests he’s already decided, “school theme has a mass appeal. It’s relatable. Kids these days love a little campus vibe. And you know, uniform sales have great margins…”

“I’m doing gothic fantasy,” you reply, crossing your arms with a confidence that could stop a truck.

He blinks at you. “Okay, sure, I get the allure. But are you sure? Think of the numbers, the opportunities to connect with the youth. Imagine the adorable school scenes, the casual sports day outfits, the innocent love plots…”

“Imagine the smoke machines and black roses,” you counter, eyes gleaming.

He tries another angle. “Well, just consider the feedback from market research. School themes are—"

“Gothic. Fantasy.”

He sighs deeply, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “These artists and their egos,” but gives in, albeit with a look of absolute resignation. “Fine. Gothic fantasy it is. But you’re taking full responsibility if it flops.”

Release day arrives, and your first single—complete with a dramatic, shadow-filled video and costumes that look like something out of a Victorian vampire drama—hits the internet. The reactions are… intense.

Sure, maybe it’s not an overnight sensation, but it’s more than enough to get people talking. Your fans? They’re not your typical “bought it for the vibes” crowd. They are deeply invested.

You’re talking about people who can recite your lyrics like a spell. You even see fan forums cropping up where people dissect the symbolism of your music videos. There’s a post dedicated to the exact shade of black eyeliner you’re wearing, and someone actually counted how many flickers each candle has in the video.

One day, as you’re scrolling through the comments, a particularly poetic fan post catches your eye: “The ethereal aura this idol has given us with their gothic artistry is like a dark gift from another realm.”

Okay, maybe the fandom is a little… intense. But you can’t help but grin.

It all starts innocently enough.

One day, Lilia’s showing Malleus some music videos he calls "classics" (pretty sure some of them are just 20 minutes of bats screeching over synthesizers, but to each their own).

But, as fate would have it, Malleus stumbles across your latest release. His eyes widen as the screen fills with your dark aesthetic, the intense melodies, the dramatic lighting, the black roses swirling around you like a misty dreamscape. He’s hooked.

The video ends, and he turns to Lilia, awestruck. “Who is this human?” he asks, as if you’re some kind of ancient artifact discovered under a full moon.

“Oh, that’s a new artist. Apparently, they’re pretty talented.” Lilia raises an eyebrow, amused by Malleus’s reaction. “Why? Fancy yourself a fan, young master?”

“A fan?” Malleus looks scandalized. “Lilia, I am enchanted.”

Malleus’s enchantment quickly turns into an obsession. He spends the next few days discovering every song, music video, interview, and even those mildly embarrassing “What’s in My Bag?” videos where you show off your essentials (you had no idea one video about your favorite scented candles could attract such intense devotion).

He watches one interview where the host asks if you’re afraid of fae, and you reply with a casual, “Nah, I’d love to visit them one day.”

This is what seals the deal for Malleus. This human is not only a talented artist but also respectful, brave, and curious about the fae world. He has found his idol.

He decides it’s time to support you. And, because he’s the literal prince of the Briar Valley, he does what any fae royalty would: he orders some of your albums.

One hundred of them, to be exact.

In Malleus’s defense, he has absolutely zero concept of money. To him, it’s normal to go big. So he clicks “order” without even thinking, and in his mind, it’s done. Simple.

A few days later, when the delivery truck pulls up with boxes upon boxes upon boxes, Malleus’s reaction is… complicated.

He stares at the delivery man, then back at the wall of albums now stacked in front of him, and mutters, “I may have made a mistake.”

But Malleus Draconia is no quitter. So he devises a new plan: he’ll distribute these albums across the Briar Valley. Anyone who even mildly expresses an interest gets an album handed to them with an enthusiasm that’s both heartwarming and slightly terrifying.

It doesn’t take long before every fae in the valley knows your name, and soon enough, your music is echoing through the mystical woods. You, a mere human, are now an icon among the fae. The legend of the human idol with the beautiful music, who’s brave enough to express curiosity about fae life, spreads like wildfire.

Meanwhile, you’re in the middle of a heated argument with your manager. Despite your loyal fanbase, your concert venues are… sparsely filled, to put it kindly.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer,” your manager says, waving his phone around for emphasis. “We need more fans, more sold-out shows, or it’s not going to be viable to keep booking these venues!”

You’re about to respond when his phone dings. Then again. And again. Suddenly, it sounds like he’s strapped a vibrating blender to his hand. Ding, ding, ding, dingdingdingding.

“What the…?” He stares at the screen, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock. “I—it says you’ve sold out every single venue. Wait, wait—there’s a waiting list for tickets that haven’t even been put on sale yet?”

He looks at you, blinking in astonishment. “I never doubted you for a second!” he declares with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. You roll your eyes. “Sure, pal.”

Later that night, you decide to check the fan forum for yourself. And something strikes you as… odd. Suddenly, all these usernames sound like they belong to a fantasy RPG. You scroll through names like “Elder_Oak_Watcher,” “Pixie_Phenomenon,” and “Darkthorn_Dreamweaver” and can’t help but wonder if your fandom has fully committed to your fantasy vibe. You chalk it up to hardcore fans. Nothing suspicious, right?

The agency celebrates by booking more venues, announcing a new merch line, and—wait for it—a raffle event for a day with you. You’re thrilled but mostly relieved that things are finally looking up.

Cut to the Briar Valley, where Malleus gets wind of the fan meeting announcement. His eyes practically sparkle with delight.

“I have a chance to spend time with them?” he murmurs, clutching the announcement poster like it’s a sacred artifact.

“Of course, you do!” Lilia chimes in, grinning. “And if you’re really eager, I could help improve your odds.”

Silver, overhearing, asks. “Are we really doing this?”

“It’s for young master Malleus!” Sebek hisses, practically vibrating with devotion. “If he wishes to meet this human, we will ensure he wins that raffle! Even if I don’t understand why he’d—” He pauses, scowling. “—lower himself to that level for a human.”

Lilia waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, Sebek, let Malleus enjoy his hobby! It’s rare to see him so enchanted. Besides, a bit of human culture never hurt anyone!”

Silver shrugs, giving Malleus a supportive smile. “If this makes you happy, Malleus, we’ll all enter on your behalf.”

Sebek bristles. “Very well, if it is the young master’s wish, I, too, shall enter—though I don’t understand this human obsession.”

Lilia claps him on the shoulder. “Consider it a show of loyalty to the crown.”

Sebek mutters something about “weird human tastes” but agrees nonetheless. And with that, your raffle odds have just quadrupled, courtesy of the most enthusiastic and unhinged fae entourage you never knew you needed.

Malleus beams, and for once, the usual silence in Briar Valley is replaced with something very unexpected: the excited murmurs their prince getting ready for his ultimate fan meeting.

It’s your first “Unboxing Fan Mail!” livestream, and you’re bubbling with excitement as you tear through letters and packages. You’re halfway through reading a pile of cute fan letters when one catches your eye: an envelope with a hand-drawn gargoyle. This thing has personality.

“Whoa…,” you mutter as you carefully open it. Inside, you find a letter, written in such flowery, old-fashioned cursive you almost need a magnifying glass. Clearing your throat, you read a part of it aloud:

"Your craft has brought light and delight to the shadows of our realm. It is rare to encounter such reverence and elegance in a human. Know that your courage and respect have earned you an esteemed place in the hearts of those from lands beyond mortal reach. Enclosed is a token of my admiration—a rose from my homeland, blessed to be as timeless as the admiration I hold for you.

Sincerely,

M.D.”

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in. Your gaze drifts to the box sitting beside you, which you unwrap with careful fingers. Inside lies a single Briar rose—its petals dark and lush, radiating a faint magical shimmer that tells you this is no ordinary gift. The rose feels alive, pulsing softly with ancient magic. You gently lift it, brushing a fingertip along the petal’s edge, feeling the cool, unyielding softness.

And suddenly, you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Oh… wow,” you manage, voice wavering. You blink back tears but don’t quite succeed, pressing a hand to your mouth in a mix of joy and disbelief. “Thank you so much, M.D. This is… this is beautiful. I don’t even have words.”

Back in the Briar Valley, Malleus is watching the livestream playback with his usual calm demeanor… until he sees you crying. His face falls, and he looks at Lilia, horrified. “Did I… upset them? My letter was meant to honor them, not… bring tears.” He’s practically pale. Well, paler than usual.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Lilia chimes in with a laugh, patting Malleus on the shoulder. “They’re just happy! Look how much they loved it. You brought them pure joy!”

Malleus blinks. “So… I have not offended them?”

“Far from it! In fact,” Lilia says with a knowing smirk, “I think you’re officially their number one fan.”

Malleus’s eyes narrow with sudden, unshakeable determination. “Of course, I am,” he says, as if this is the most obvious truth in the world. “Who else could claim that title?”

You have no idea what you've gotten into.

It’s your first concert. The crowd is buzzing, their voices creating a low hum that vibrates through the walls, yet you’re backstage with a knot in your stomach that feels about the size of a boulder.

You shift from foot to foot, hands clammy as you grip the mic, wondering if this is actually a good idea or if you should just make a break for it now and head for the hills.

A voice echoes through the earpiece: “Three minutes, everyone!”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as the band gives you encouraging nods. All those years of training, of dreaming, of rehearsing until your feet felt like they’d fall off—this is what it was for.

Your fans are out there, waiting. You can already hear some of them chanting your name. And slowly, your nerves start to melt away, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

The lights dim. You step onto the stage, heart pounding, and the audience erupts. Thousands of people, waving lights and singing the opening notes of your debut song back to you.

The energy washes over you, filling every corner of your soul, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

The music pours out of you, and the crowd’s response is instant, electric. They're clapping, cheering, and singing along. You almost forget to breathe as you realize—they know every word.

It’s in the middle of your second song, during a moment where the lights are shining right on the front row, that you spot something peculiar.

Wait… Are those… fae?

Not just one, but three of them. And they’re not your typical, “blending in” kind of fans, either. One of them—the tall one with the horns—looks like he’s just stepped out of some mythical kingdom (which, granted, he kind of has). There’s an unmissable aura around him, and his eyes are fixed on you like you’re the most mesmerizing sight he’s ever seen.

The other two fae are close by, each one unique but unmistakably not human. And a very sleepy human is nodding off standing there.

You try to keep performing, but your heart’s pounding for a new reason now. The tall fae—he’s so intense. There’s something captivating, almost otherworldly, in the way he’s watching you, like he’s fully captured by your music. It’s a bit like he belongs here and also… really doesn’t. Yet somehow, he makes it work.

Finally, you reach the interaction part of the concert, the moment where you get to pick a “lucky fan” from the crowd for a backstage pass at your next show. Your mind goes blank for a second as you look over the crowd, but the sight of those fae at the front makes your decision easy. You raise a hand, pointing directly at the tall one, still staring at you with that intense look in his eyes.

You can feel the collective shock from the crowd as you exclaim, “You! Yes, at the front! You’re the lucky winner!”

The tall fae’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a look of pure delight crossing his face as his friends react with either shock or something bordering on exasperation. He steps forward a bit, visibly thrilled, and nods to you as if he’s just received the highest honor imaginable.

Lilia, standing beside Malleus, gives a knowing chuckle. “My, my, our prince has been blessed by fortune,” he teases.

Sebek, looking utterly scandalized, hisses, “The Young Master? At a human’s concert again? With a… backstage pass?” His voice drips with disbelief.

Silver, with a half-smile, murmurs, “Well, he does look happy. That’s what matters, right?”

And Malleus, basking in the moment, seems too happy to notice their reactions. He meets your gaze, nodding as if to say, Yes, it is I, your devoted fan.

And suddenly, you’re beaming, too, because in this moment, you realize—you’re not just performing for humans. You’ve captured the attention of beings beyond the mortal world, and something about that feels… magical.

It’s the day of your next concert, and you’re backstage, mentally preparing yourself. You’d think after the first show, the nerves would be easier to handle, but that flutter of excitement is still there. Just as you’re rehearsing a few last lines, your manager bursts in, a mix of terror and wild enthusiasm lighting up his face.

“You… you’ve got to see this,” he stammers, pulling you toward the edge of the curtain.

“Uh, okay?” You’re confused, but you follow him to peek out onto the crowd.

What you see is not what you expected.

The venue is packed. And not just with your usual audience—no, tonight, the crowd is full of fae. Like, really full of fae. A sprinkle of beastmen, a handful of humans (who look varying levels of petrified), but the overwhelming majority? Fae of every type.

You spot wings, horns, a few floating orbs of light that might just be small fae spirits, and an array of gleaming, wide eyes that are laser-focused on the stage.

In the front row, you catch sight of a familiar face. The tall fae with horns who won your backstage pass last time—he’s here, and still utterly entranced. On impulse, you give a little wave, feeling a bit silly, but somehow unable to resist.

To your surprise, he just stands there, looking stunned, until the black-haired fae next to him nudges him with an elbow. Then, almost shyly, he lifts his hand and waves back.

From Malleus’s perspective, everything is perfect. His people have fallen under your spell just as he has. Watching you emerge to greet the crowd, he’s already enraptured.

You look out into the audience, and then—to his amazement—you look right at him and wave. He freezes, utterly smitten, until Lilia nudges him. After a second, he waves back, his heart doing something he’s quite sure it’s never done before.

The concert begins, and it’s an experience beyond anything you’ve known. The fae audience is surprisingly intense—they’re quiet during the softer moments, like they’re absorbing every note, and then wildly enthusiastic during the high-energy parts.

For a second, you wonder if your music has some kind of magic in it, too. Their reaction fuels your own performance, until the final note echoes out and the crowd erupts in applause.

Then comes the moment of truth: the backstage pass winner’s meet and greet.

You’re resting in the designated room, savoring a post-concert cookie when you hear… raised voices?

“Only the winner is allowed in!” your security guard insists, sounding exasperated.

“And I’m telling you,” someone snaps back, “I won’t allow my master to go in alone to meet a human!”

Curious, you step out to find the same quartet from the front row having a tense standoff with security. The tall one—the same one who keeps catching your eye—looks as serene as ever, while his silver-haired friend seems half-asleep despite the commotion. You raise a hand. “It’s okay! Let them all in.”

The guard reluctantly steps aside, and the four file into the room. There’s an awkward pause as they stare at you, clearly debating who should introduce themselves first. The tall one steps forward, and you offer a small smile.

“So… we finally meet. What’s your name?”

“Malleus,” he says, his voice deep and slightly reverent. “Malleus Draconia.”

You’re about to respond when he holds out a hand—a hesitant, almost formal gesture. Before you can shake it, the green-haired fae scowls, clearly offended. “That’s His Highness to you, Don't causally touch him human!”

You freeze mid-motion. Highness? Fae Royalty?

“Yes,” Malleus says mildly, “though I’d rather you not call me that right now, Sebek. This is a personal occasion.”

“Oh, you’re… royalty.” You take a very controlled breath, willing yourself not to faint.

Malleus nods, completely unfazed, though Lilia snickers under his breath and gives you a little wave. “I apologize if that was not clear before. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You regain your composure. You're a professional. “Right, royalty. Got it. No big deal.” (It’s a huge deal, but you can scream into your pillow later.)

That's when it clicks. M.D, Malleus Draconia, Fae Prince.

In an attempt to break the tension(and to not spiral), you say, “By the way, I loved the little gargoyle you drew on the letter you sent me. It was cute.”

Malleus blinks, visibly taken aback. “You… liked the gargoyle?”

You nod, smiling. “They’re nice to look at.”

For a second, Malleus just stares, and it feels like his entire face is starting to glow. “You appreciate gargoyles?” he says, in a tone that sounds like you’ve just admitted you’re secretly royalty, too.

“Uh, yeah. They’re kinda cool.” You laugh, and Malleus looks like he’s been blessed by every possible deity.

Meanwhile, Sebek mutters something vaguely exasperated, and you catch a snippet: “This human has actually caught the his interest…”

Lilia laughs, giving Malleus a playful nudge. “Well, isn’t that something? I guess you truly are their number one fan, Malleus.”

Malleus nods seriously. “Of course. I am honored to be recognized as such.” His eyes gleam with utter sincerity.

You chat a bit more, exchanging small talk, until you mention offhandedly that your company has been discussing hosting a concert near Briar Valley due to the recent increase in fae fans. Malleus immediately perks up.

“Oh, well, you should simply perform in Briar Valley,” he says, as if offering his personal venue is as easy as lending a pen.

“Wait… seriously?” You look at him, not sure if he’s joking.

“Of course,” Malleus replies earnestly. “I would be delighted to arrange it. As the prince… and your number one fan.” His eyes are so bright and genuine, you can’t help but laugh.

“All right, I’d love that,” you say, heartily amused and impossibly charmed.

As they start to leave, an idea pops into your head. “Hey, Malleus, do you want a picture together?”

He blinks, clearly surprised. “A picture? I… would be honored.”

You take out your phone, getting into position, and then, on a whim, you lean over and kiss him on the cheek right as you snap the photo.

From the doorway, Sebek lets out a scandalized squawk, and your manager looks like he’s about to pass out. But Malleus? He’s wide-eyed, staring at you like you’ve granted him the greatest gift in existence.

With a wink, you murmur, “Consider it a special gift for my biggest fan.”

For a second, Malleus just stands there, wide-eyed, and then, slowly, a delighted, utterly smitten smile spreads across his face.

The concert in Briar Valley turns out to be way more fun than you could’ve ever imagined. You were nervous at first—after all, you’re literally performing in a hidden fae realm with the kind of audience that probably doesn’t even need speakers to hear you.

But once you get started, the vibe is incredible. The fae are enthusiastic, cheering and applauding in that slightly mystical way they have. Their clapping sounds like wind chimes, and every so often, you think you see little trails of magic light in the crowd.

And right in the front row, like always, is Malleus Draconia. He’s the picture of regal elegance, standing out in his official Briar Valley attire, looking like he’s attending some kind of royal ceremony. You’d almost laugh at the contrast—Malleus, dignified and regal, surrounded by a crowd absolutely hyped for a pop concert. And, because you can’t resist, you give him a cheeky wink mid-song.

Malleus doesn’t miss a beat; he looks like he’s been struck by some sort of enchantment himself. His cheeks faintly color, but he doesn’t look away, a faint, dazed smile on his face. He’s living his best fanboy life, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of his reaction.

After the concert ends, Malleus insists on personally escorting you around Briar Valley. You’re beyond thrilled—after all, it’s not every day that a fae prince offers to give you a tour of his homeland. Sebek and Silver, ever loyal, trail behind, with Sebek grumbling under his breath every five seconds about “proper decorum” and “human interactions.”

Meanwhile, Lilia is there for the pure entertainment of it all, throwing you little mischievous grins whenever you glance back at him.

As you’re strolling down a cobblestone path lined with Briar roses, you feel the first drop of rain on your cheek. “Oh no, I didn’t bring an umbrella…”

But the second you say it, there’s a flurry of movement. Malleus, Sebek, Silver, and Lilia all open umbrellas in perfect unison, like some kind of magical boy band choreography. Sebek even has an extra umbrella on standby, which he’s holding out to you with a solemn look.

But before you can notice it, Malleus shoots him a look that could probably summon a thunderstorm, and Sebek reluctantly withdraws, muttering darkly under his breath about “Etiquette.”

Meanwhile, Lilia, never one to miss an opportunity, flings the extra umbrella into a bush with a casual flick of his wrist before you can even notice.

He turns to Silver and Sebek with a bright grin, “Come now, let’s give the two some space! Isn’t it so romantic?” Sebek looks horrified, about to argue, but Lilia’s already dragging him and Silver away, leaving you alone with Malleus.

So now it’s just the two of you, standing in the rain, with Malleus holding his large, intricately decorated umbrella over both of you. The umbrella’s big enough that it shields you from the rain easily, but that doesn’t stop Malleus from stepping a little closer, just to be sure.

There’s an awkward, giddy silence as you continue to walk side by side. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and your hands brush against each other occasionally. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Did you enjoy the concert? Briar Valley’s… first, of this sort.”

“Oh, definitely!” you say, grinning. “It was amazing to see so many fae enjoying the music. And you were right up front! You didn’t have to—”

“It was… my pleasure,” Malleus replies, his deep voice a little softer than usual. “I wanted to see everything as closely as possible.” There’s an endearing awkwardness to him that only makes him more captivating.

From the moment you met him, you thought Malleus was just a really dedicated fan—sweet, if a bit intense, but ultimately adorable. Sure, he’s got that tall, dark, and slightly terrifying vibe with the horns and the whole royal aura, but he’s also so polite and gentle that you can’t help but find it cute.

But now, as you walk under the same umbrella, his warmth just inches away, it hits you with sudden clarity. Oh, I am so, so screwed.

Because you might like him a little bit. Scratch that—a lot a bit.

Malleus glances at you, noticing the sudden shift in your expression. “Is something amiss?” His voice is gentle, genuinely concerned.

“Oh! No, I’m fine. Just, uh, a little tired from the show,” you say quickly, brushing it off.

Malleus doesn’t look entirely convinced but accepts your answer with a soft nod. Then, almost shyly, he extends his hand. “Here. It’s quite cold… if you’d like…”

You stare down at his offered hand, feeling your pulse jump. It’s such a small, polite gesture, but it sends your heart racing. You slip your hand into his, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, and a small smile tugs at your lips.

As you walk together under the umbrella, Lilia, peeking from behind a corner with a very exasperated Sebek in tow, smirks to himself. "Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically, as if he were watching a play unfold.

Back under the umbrella, Malleus is telling you about the history of Briar Valley, his voice gentle and filled with pride. You don’t catch half of it because you’re too focused on the way he looks down at you, his eyes soft and completely captivated. Every so often, he leans in a little closer, as if he can’t help himself.

Eventually, you reach the end of the walk, the rain easing off, and Malleus turns to you, looking slightly hesitant. “I hope this evening has been enjoyable for you… I wished for you to see the beauty of Briar Valley, but I… I fear I may have monopolized your time.”

You laugh softly. “Oh, trust me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing me around. Plus,” you add, “it’s not so bad sharing an umbrella with my biggest fan.”

Malleus’s expression lights up, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his face. “Yes,” he agrees softly, almost to himself. “Your… biggest fan.”

Before they leave, you impulsively pull out your phone. “Hey, Malleus, would you like to take another picture together? You know, as a memory of Briar Valley?”

Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods. “I would… like that very much.”

You pose, holding up your phone, and just as you snap the picture, he looks at you with a strange spark in his eyes, he leans over, just barely hesitating, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Now you’re the one who freezes, absolutely flustered but trying very hard to play it off. You clear your throat, laugh a little too brightly, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as if it’s no big deal. “W-Well, um, I guess we’re even now!” you stammer, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your face.

Malleus gives you a small, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction, while Sebek is beside himself, practically vibrating at a frequency that could power one of your concerts, as he splutters, “YOUNG MASTER, THIS IS—YOU CAN’T JUST—A HUMAN—”

But Lilia just laughs, giving Sebek a playful whack on the back. “Come now, Sebek, it’s all in good fun!"

Sebek looks torn between yelling and fainting, muttering to himself about propriety and why, oh why, would the young master be so entranced by a human?!

You just barely manage to keep it together until they leave, but the second you’re alone, you collapse onto the nearest couch, burying your face in a pillow with a ridiculous grin plastered across your face. Because Malleus Draconia, fae prince and possibly the most loyal fan you’ve ever met, just kissed you on the cheek.

Somehow, you know this is just the beginning.

The fan forum has always been your little comfort zone. You’ve got your dedicated fans, who post lovingly questionable fan art, some surprisingly deep theories about your lyrics, and even the occasional meme thread.

Today, though, you’ve decided to go on a bit of a lurking spree. You want to see what people really think—especially the critics. And you do find critics, of course, all happily airing out their grievances. But what you didn’t expect is the replies.

Each negative comment has an oddly formal, razor-sharp response that’s practically dripping with eloquent disdain, all signed "M.D." You read on, completely baffled until it dawns on you: this is Malleus.

This prince has taken it upon himself to haunt your comment section, like a very sophisticated, slightly unhinged ghost. You try to keep from snickering too loudly as you scroll through his hilarious, painfully dignified rebuttals.

I-like-snails: “I don’t understand the hype. This idol is all looks, no talent.”

M.D.: “Your failure to comprehend excellence in its truest form is unfortunate. To imply that this individual relies solely on appearance demonstrates an astonishing lack of insight. Consider expanding your understanding of ‘talent.’ Signed, M.D.”

real-idol-fan: “I’ve seen cooler concepts than this ‘gothic fantasy’ nonsense. So pretentious.”

M.D.: “Ah, but what is more pretentious, dear critic? To appreciate grandeur or to boast of one’s ‘cool’ concepts with all the subtlety of a loud footstep in the night? Gothic fantasy, as you call it, possesses a depth your mind has yet to comprehend. Signed, M.D.”

aura-aura: “This idol’s lyrics don’t even make sense. They’re just trying to sound deep.”

M.D.: “An intellect as shallow as a millpond would indeed struggle to navigate profound lyrical waters. I urge you to revisit the lyrics in question after reading a book or two on metaphor. Signed, M.D.”

You have to clutch your sides as you scroll through the thread. The idea of Malleus, a literal prince, defending you with words like “millpond intellect” and signing every single comment with his initials—it’s ridiculous.

Ridiculous and, at the same time, ridiculously touching. You’d never asked him to do this, never even thought he’d care about what random people thought of you, but here he is, waging a dignified, solo war in the fan forum trenches.

After several minutes, you take a deep breath and manage to calm down, even though you know you’re never going to look at your fan forum the same way again.

It's interview time and things are going smoothly. You’re answering questions about your latest song, about the creative process behind the music videos. All very normal stuff—until the interviewer grins, pulls out a picture, and holds it up for you to see.

You squint and realize, with dawning horror, that it’s the photo. The one of you and Malleus standing close under the same umbrella, him looking at you like you hung the stars and you, very clearly, smiling back at him. Whoever took it managed to capture a moment that looks... well, almost romantic.

"So," the interviewer says, leaning in with a gleam in their eye, "is this someone special?"

You’re ready to laugh it off, to dismiss it casually with a polite “no,” but... you freeze. Looking at that photo, at the way Malleus is watching you, something catches in your throat. “No, of course not” dies on your lips.

Your mind rewinds to all the times he’s shown up, how he’s silently supported you, those comments on the forum—and suddenly, you can’t deny it, not even to yourself.

“No comment,” you manage to say, but it sounds weak, even to you.

The interviewer’s brow arches, and they chuckle knowingly. Meanwhile, you’re scrambling internally. Oh no. Oh no, you’re in trouble. You’re in deep trouble.

The raffle winner is announced, and your mouth drops open when you hear the name. “Malleus Draconia!” Your eyes scan the crowd and—yep, there he is, beaming in a way that could light up an entire stadium, looking like he’s won the lottery.

Well, technically, he has, but there’s something about his expression that suggests this is the best moment of his life. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the universe smirking, because it knows exactly what it’s doing by sending you this unattainable, royally handsome fae prince.

You’d had some time to think since that interview. The photo, the “no comment,” the dawning horror in your gut as you realized that yes, you’re down bad. Horrifically so. In the week since the interview, you’d come to accept it. The only issue? He's so out of your league, it’s practically laughable.

Meanwhile, Malleus is practically vibrating with excitement. As soon as his name was drawn, half of his kingdom exploded in celebratory fanfare. (To be fair, most of the Briar Valley population had entered the raffle in his name. “Statistical advantage,” Lilia had called it.)

By the time he gets home, he’s already lining up outfits, preparing what he calls “appropriate tokens of affection.”

“Perhaps... a small gargoyle?” he muses, clutching a miniature stone sculpture that weighs about as much as a small human child.

Silver clears his throat. “Maybe... consider something less... heavy?”

Undeterred, Malleus sighs but places the gargoyle back, moving on to his backup plan: a solid gold gargoyle instead.

Lilia, in the background, chimes in with, “Just give them a rock and say it’s a Briar Valley special!” Malleus ignores him.

The day arrives, and you’re waiting at a cafe for Malleus. The producers are buzzing around, setting up lights and cameras for some wholesome footage to share with your fans. You’re running through the usual script in your mind, but then Malleus walks in, looking... well, looking like Malleus. Tall, regal, glowing with excitement, and completely out of place in the modern cafe.

You’re trying to keep your cool, reminding yourself that he’s just a fan here to meet his favorite idol, but when he brushes his hand against yours as he takes his seat, you’re thrown into chaos. Wide-eyed, flustered chaos. In fact, you’re so visibly affected that one of the producers has to muffle a squeal.

You glance at Malleus, and for a second, it’s like the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to the cameras. You’re laughing, he’s smiling in that polite but endlessly fascinated way, and it feels like the meet-cute scene in every cheesy K-drama ever made.

After the cafe, the producers decide to set up at a bowling alley. It’s cute, casual, and definitely low-stakes—or so you think. You explain the game rules to Malleus, who nods in solemn understanding. Then, you hand him a bowling ball and stand back, figuring he’ll get the hang of it soon enough.

Except... Malleus does not get the hang of it.

He lifts the ball with such enthusiasm and raw power that when he bowls, it lands with a thunderous bang. The ball rockets down the lane like it’s been launched out of a medieval trebuchet, shattering the pins with explosive force and completely obliterating the machinery behind them.

The bowling alley is plunged into silence. Even the producers are speechless.

You, however, are not. You burst out laughing so hard, tears actually stream down your cheeks, and you double over, clutching your stomach. Malleus, meanwhile, looks at the wreckage he’s caused with a sheepish expression and asks, “Did I... do it wrong?”

You’re still laughing too hard to answer. His expression is priceless—equal parts apologetic and baffled. For all the confusion on his face, he’s smiling too, in that warm, captivated way, like every sound of your laughter is worth all the destroyed bowling alleys in the world.

One of the crew members has to remind you both to stop standing in the wreckage.

After the... eventful bowling alley scene, you suggest something calmer, like feeding ducks at the park. You arrive with a bag of crumbs, ready for a relaxed, picturesque afternoon.

Malleus seems thrilled at the prospect of feeding these “quaint little birds.” He declares “I will bestow upon them many crumbs.”

But, as it turns out, ducks seem to be as unnaturally drawn to Malleus as your fanbase is to you.

The ducks start waddling toward you, sure, but when Malleus bends down to offer a handful of crumbs, they completely mob him. You watch in bewildered amusement as the ducks clamber onto him, flapping and honking, climbing his shoulders, even perching on his head like he’s the world’s fanciest scarecrow.

“I... seem to be... a duck magnet,” he murmurs, looking helplessly at you, as if apologizing for attracting every duck within a ten-mile radius. He’s totally overwhelmed, but also somehow completely fine with it. If you find this amusing, then it’s a noble cause in his mind.

They hop onto his lap, perch on his shoulders, and one brave little duck even nestles itself on his head, honking proudly as it looks down at him.

You’re giggling again, snapping photos with your phone as he stands there, a bemused fae prince turned accidental duck king. Malleus, standing there covered in feathery chaos, looks up at you, his expression softening at the sight of your laughter. You think you see the smile on his lips, and you’re certain this day can’t get any better.

Dinner with Malleus feels like the culmination of every daydream you’ve ever had and every moment you tried to ignore the thrill he gives you. The restaurant is all soft lighting and quiet music, and you’re seated across from him, barely able to touch your food because you’re too busy trying not to stare. Or at least, not to make it obvious you’re staring.

But it’s impossible not to. Malleus, in the soft glow of the candles, looks ethereal in a way that’s borderline unfair. He’s taken off his usual high-collared cloak, and he’s looking at you with an openness that feels both heart-wrenching and unbelievably warm. His eyes hold that steady, unwavering gaze that has you feeling more exposed than any stage spotlight.

You’re talking about something light—music, maybe, or the utterly ridiculous game of bowling earlier. But the words are just filler, a flimsy attempt to distract yourself from the absolute burning feeling in your chest, a feeling you’re starting to realize is a little too big to be brushed aside.

It’s love.

It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. You’re looking at him, and it’s all you can do to not reach across the table, grab his hand, and say something incredibly unhinged like, “Hi, you don’t know it yet, but we’re soulmates.”

He leans in, head tilted as he listens to you with that pure, undivided attention. And then, his lips quirk into a faint smile, and you’re done for. Absolutely, completely done for.

Dinner wraps up, and he offers you his arm as you both leave the restaurant and step into the cool night. You take it, fingers curling around his elbow, and feel the warmth of him through the fabric.

The street is quiet, and the moon is hanging low, casting an almost dreamlike glow over everything. And you—well, you’re looking at him like he’s the moon itself, like he’s the only thing worth looking at in the whole universe.

You’re walking slowly, so slowly it feels like the moment is stretching forever, but somehow that’s not enough. You can’t stand it; you can’t stand just holding his arm and pretending this feeling isn’t eating you alive. So, finally, you stop, turn to him, and without even a thought to what this might mean for your career or the scandal it could stir, you say, “Malleus?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft, waiting.

And you just… go for it. You lean up, heart pounding so hard it’s a miracle he can’t hear it, and kiss him.

The world stands still. For a second, you wonder if you’ve overstepped, if maybe he’s going to pull away or question you or—

But then he’s kissing you back. Immediately. Thoroughly. His hand rises to cup your cheek, and he leans in with a gentleness that completely undoes you. You feel the warmth of him, the tenderness in his touch, and it’s enough to make your knees weak.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look up to find him watching you with an expression that’s somewhere between wonder and the same sort of ache you’re feeling.

And right now, the only thing that makes sense is to kiss him again.

So you do.

This time, it’s softer, slower, like you’re both savoring it, letting the world fall away until it’s just you and him in the middle of the quiet, moonlit street.

When you finally pull back again, there’s a lingering silence. You don’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone that you’re completely undone by them? That you’re staring at him and barely restraining yourself from saying things like, “Let’s make matching T-shirts,” and “You’re my favorite human being, even if you’re technically not human.”

He’s still gazing at you, lips curved in that barely-there smile, looking utterly unphased yet somehow entirely aware of the fact that you’re melting. He’s looking at you like you’re something delicate, something precious, and it’s honestly making you want to pull him down and kiss him senseless all over again.

But instead, you just laugh, quiet and breathless. He raises a brow, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks, in a tone that’s half curious, half amused.

“No,” you say, “I’m just… realizing something.”

“And what’s that?”

You look at him, eyes shining, and feel that burning again, that truth too big to ignore. “I’m completely in love with you.”

He doesn’t look shocked; instead, he just leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you feel it again—the absolute certainty that you’re screwed. Because here’s a man who looks at you like you’re his whole world, and now that you’ve had a taste of this—of him—there’s no going back.

Masterlist

[skrrts]

here in the rain, will you smile again? (oneshot)

✧ gn!reader x jeong yunho ✧ former high school sweethearts ✧ genre: non idol, romance, sad, still in love, comfort ✧ word count: 5,4k ✧ warnings: mention of heartbreak, insecurities, painful breakup in the past, crying

Jeong Yunho was more than your high school sweetheart; he was the love of your life, although you only understood it later, regretting how the two of you let your parents force you to break up to focus on your academic future. You never believed in fate, but that day, when you crossed the street in the pouring rain and saw him: soaked, the flowers of a bouquet falling on the street as he was waiting for somebody who would not come. Maybe it always had meant to be that way because, in the end, you always knew the two of you belonged together.

a/n: so far, my one-shots for him have been very sweet and soft, so i wanted to write something different. mostly a short story of high school sweethearts reuniting because they never really stopped loving each other. (it does have a happy ending)

You looked up to the sky, the heavy grey clouds swallowed even the smallest hint of sunshine. Autumn had come quietly just like every year and before you knew it, Summer was gone, the leaves started to change their color like a sad love song that everyone knew but nobody really wanted to listen to. You were glad now that you had a diligent friend such as Seonghwa who sent you a text not to forget your umbrella this morning because he knew you would have otherwise.

The workday had been short, really. When you arrived at the office in the morning, the internet already had been off, and there really only could be so much done when your programs mainly required to be connected to the digital online network. It had been some time since you last had a free afternoon in the middle of the week but it was a good thing. Every vacation, you just pressured yourself to shove as much as possible in the one or two weeks, to feel like it was worth it but it being so unexpected, maybe it would be fun just to go with whatever came to mind.

While the rain wasn’t the most inviting condition, you were used to it. In the small town you came from, the rain was as much a local as the several hundred people living there. As memories dwelled up, you shoved them aside and stared down at your smartphone instead, thumb brushing over to scroll through a few recommendations. It was sweet, that you found this little forum where people from different parts of the city recommended their favorites a few weeks ago and now finally had an excuse to try it. You hated crowded places and it was welcoming to go somewhere you could count on to be nice.

“This looks cute,” your gaze stopped on a small café which wasn’t too far from here. If you cheated and took the crossing at the cinema, you would be there in no time. The idea of a cup of big green tea was nice right now, maybe together with a slice of cake. You worked extra hard lately, and your latest project was a big success. 

You sighed as you finally stepped ahead and through the rain, trying to dodge little puddles of rainwater. From a career perspective, everything worked out for you. Thanks to some networking during college, you snatched a job with plenty of potential right after graduation, and from there, you steadily worked yourself up, you even only had two sick days in three years at this company. 

Your private life, on the other hand, it was hard to really say it existed and that wasn’t because you lacked free time, actually, if anything your work schedule was steady, your employer one to ensure that they could market themself with an accurate work-life balance. You had friends, went to the gym twice a week and a cutea pet bunny waited for you at home because your landlord wasn’t accepting bigger pets. 

Love just never worked out for you but there was no reason to waste time searching for advice online, going to speed dating, or having your friends set you up with somebody. The reason was always so obvious to you.

You already found the love of your life once, during those cursed high school years you often still yearned back for, not because life had been easier but because he still was in it. Nobody ever could live up to him because he had been the right one for you and you always believed it had been the same for him. 

It wasn’t that you tried but somehow…

You shook your head, trying not to let your throat go dry again because your body always still reacted to it, even after seven years, it was as it could remember the feeling from that day, when you called for his name and his brother finally pulled him away because both of your parents agreed you were a distraction to each other because you wanted to go to the same college, spending every free minute side by side, leading to his parents to forcefully make him change high school for his final year.

“Tch,” you rubbed over your eyes, stopping as stupid tears dwelled on it. Why was it that love like that would not go away? Yes, this too you would not mind, you often silently prayed to your heart to release you but it would not, clinging stupidly to a hope that did not exist.

Fate did not exist.

Somebody stumbled into you, only rushing an apology and a quick bow because it led to you dropping your umbrella. You cursed a little, more so scolding yourself to be lost in those silly old memories on a free afternoon when your gaze caught a figure. 

It was difficult to say what it was, maybe the familiarity you just never shook off, maybe it was because there was so much sadness about it that your own seemed almost like nothing.

He must have been standing in the pouring rain for some time, his clothes soaking, hair clinging to his face and the bouquet of flowers started to slowly crumble to the ground, little leaves falling as it was not made to withstand the angry autumn weather. 

Your heart was beating loudly, a drumming in your ears that even the traffic sound disappeared and all you could do was … walk. Your body was already on its way, it refused for your mind to actually step in, telling it how considering he had been waiting for somebody, quite obviously a person important, this was not the moment to make it worse.

Fate said: fuck you, I exist, now have your punishment for doubting me!

When you took the last stair, your steps finally slowed and you needed a moment to make it to his side. Carefully, yet gently your hand leaned forward and then, the world around you disappeared, all that was left was that small space underneath your umbrella.

“You shouldn’t stand here like that in the rain without an umbrella,” your voice scolded him gently.

Jeong Yunho looked up when your voice reached him. 

Why was it that he was crying when he saw you?

Yunho had known, this date was a foolish idea but what could he do about it? His heart yearned to be loved and to love, to have somebody who would smile at him and allow for his embrace to gently curl around. Lazy morning in bed, holding hands while walking through the city, ignoring the dull landscape autumn brought to it every time and a smile. He wanted to see a smile that would make his heart race.

It wasn’t a fantasy he desired to make true but a memory of something he had held until he lost it because of his wrongdoing. He wasn’t able to be the son his parents wanted and so, he did what they asked of him.

What would you do when you were seventeen, madly in love but also a child who wanted to make his parents proud, who believed so much in them that surely, they knew best?

He doubted it, the moment you screamed his name, asking him not to go and how his brother pulled him back to the car. Yet, both of you had accepted it, you lowered your heads to make your families proud and in return, his heart felt empty ever since. Nobody managed to fill it because nobody was you.

No, he didn't want any love, he wanted yours. He always did because once, it had been his.

Sure, the little flirts at his workplace had been sincere from his side or he told himself so, that woman was quick to return it but maybe as she learned how Yunho had this cliche dream of a simple life with a little family of his own, she changed her mind.

He felt like a fool standing in front of the cinema with flowers, knowing already half an hour later that she would not come, but not even the rain chased him away because maybe he wanted to cling to the hope that he was good enough for somebody, that maybe all it needed was time and they would be here, take him for who he was. Maybe he did not lose all the rights with you, but then would it be fair? Because deep down he just wanted ...

So he waited. For two hours. And then, he was found.

It was as the world cleared up, the rain stopped falling and a face came into view that was as beautiful as yesterday, yet so different that he could not deny he’d have been a little shy.

You held the umbrella right above him, scolding him for standing in the pouring rain.

Yunho’s mouth opened but no words were coming out as he was staring at you, the way how you had grown up so much but there was still all of the sweetness in your features he had fallen so hard for the first time back in junior year of High School, when introduced yourself as his science partner for the year. 

The damn tears wouldn't stop now.

You never were shy to do whatever it needed to make those you loved smile, even if it likely meant hurting yourself in the process.

To make him smile in the middle of the rain in a city, after seven years apart.

“Sorry I’m late, I got I was a little distracted. Are those for me?” 

It took Yunho a moment to realize you were pointing to the flowers in his hands which now were only a sad reflection of their earlier state.

He spent twenty minutes trying to choose a pair and only now, he realized he had gotten your favorite flowers. How did not pay attention to this sooner?

The world seemed to be standing still, that moment when Yunho wondered what he was doing. He waited and waited and he never … went back to you although it was all he wanted but he was undeserving.

So why were you here like that? 

And then you stepped closer and reached out for his cheek, he froze under the touch but your hand was soft and gentle. “Don’t cry, I am sorry I am late.” 

Your voice was a soft whisper and you brushed a tear away from his cheek before taking the flowers carefully from his hands. “Mh, I guess we do not have to worry about giving them water then any time soon. Here, let’s go. Get you somewhere warm and dry.”

Your hand grabbed him and you pulled him along, inside the cinema where a few people threw glances at you, no surprise, thinking how his appearance must have looked to any of them. 

Finally, after minutes must have passed, Yunho found his voice again, although it was far from its usual self: “Y/N?” It was as he needed confirmation that this was truly you and you were here with him.

“Sh, sit! We can worry about the rest later.”

You replied and pulled the wet scarf from his neck and forced him to shrug out of his coat. His cheeks started to turn red as he watched how you took care of him, using your own scarf to ruffle his hair a little more dry, and looked over his figure.

“Why are you so reckless? Standing in the rain like that. You always get a cold so easily,” you finally sat still and looked at him.

Yunho no longer could change it, he had to reach out and cup your face and you held still like you understood he needed to do this to be sure, that you really just had come back to him.

You always came running towards him while all he was doing was waiting. 

“I guess, I was waiting for you,” he whispered and hated how his eyes got wet again, how the tears would not stop from floating. The moment your arms curled around him, he found himself burying his face against your shoulder, feeling your hands soothingly brushing over the back of his neck. 

“It’s okay, I am here now. There, no reason to worry about it. I won’t go anywhere.” 

It didn’t feel like seven years were apart this moment and the last time you held each other in your arms just like that.

Yet, the familiarity finally managed to make him relax and he whispered your name again, wanting to make sure you knew.

It was hard seeing Yunho like that, his beautiful smile absent from his handsome face. Maybe it was a stupid idea for you to act like that, to say the things you did but then, was it? Did you not just admit to yourself how you longed for him, waiting for anything even close to what the two of you once shared to come into your life? 

People were staring, they always did and you did not worry about it, let them watch how somebody had a hard day. If they knew how seven years, almost a decade of separation was between the two of you, would they still?

Yunho finally seemed to relax, his fingers now took your hands and he looked at them like it was the first time, his thumb brushing over the soft skin. There was no rush, now that the two of you sat here together, if anything rush was what you feared, the thought of him leaving pushed far into the back of your mind.

“My apartment is close by,” Yunho finally said. “If you do not mind we skip the movie, I guess you are right and I should get something dry to wear.” 

Even if he tried to hide just how nervous he was to ask you that, it was easy to tell because you knew him better than anyone else and it seemed, the love of your life did not change to much, even with seven years passing by since you last held him in your arms.

It was the tears in his eyes back in the rain that made you do this, your heart could not take it to see him like that, not after longing for the softness of his smile for so long. In that moment, all that mattered had been to stop those tears but you noticed them constantly threatening to return in the edge of his eyes.

“That seems like a good idea, let’s get you there then;” you nodded and carefully picked up the flowers again, waiting for Yunho to slip back into the wet coat but when you reached for the umbrella, he shook his head: “Let me take this one for us. You haven’t gotten very tall still, so this will be easier.”

His little joke helps you to relax and you nod: “Sounds good.”

Back in high school, the two of you often would walk like that to school, when it would not stop raining just back then you were holding hands and talking about silly nonsense. It seemed so far away now with the buzzing streets of the city, and people rushing by to be done with their day. You wondered if Yunho was thinking something similar: Did he think about all the past memories or maybe, even wish to reach out for your hand? 

You would take it without hesitation.

“There we are,” his gentle voice made you look up and you were surprised just how close it had been. There was an odd feeling in your stomach, thinking how often you walked this street to work but you never knew your high school sweetheart was living here.

At least, the guilt shrank a little when you stepped in and it was easy to see that Yunho only must have moved in recently, a dozen boxes still standing around, some halfway opened.

“It’s a little messy. I used to work at a different branch, I only came here like two months ago… I kept finding excuses to take my time with it,” he explained, likely having noticed your gaze. He placed the umbrella next to the door and stripped it out of his streetwear. You were here to ensure that he would be okay but Yunho instantly fell back into his patterns.

He always put everyone else first, especially you and he was quick to offer you some comfortable slippers, some that brought some color to his cheek because they had the shape of cute dogs. 

“Do you want something to drink? Soda, coffee, tea? I also have water, of course!” He looked at you with his big eyes and if you wouldn’t know better, he seemed nervous.

“How about I make us some tea and you change into something dry? I am sure I can find everything I need for that,” you replied, giving him a small and playful shove, ignoring that you no longer were teens but two people in their mid-20s working big jobs. 

There was a small pout on his face, followed by a sigh: “Fineee, I shall be going. See you in a minute.” You couldn’t hold back the chuckle when you watched him almost racing to what seemingly was his bedroom. 

After shrugging out of your shoes and jacket, you put up your scarf to dry before moving over to the kitchen area, putting the poor bouquet into a glass of clear water before slowly opening the cabinets which proved to be a challenge. Damn Yunho was a giant and everyday necessities were stored at a height comfortable for him, so you needed to grab a stool to reach the packages of tea. You were quite sure to hear a wardrobe often a few times too often in the bedroom, and small hisses which made you smile.

When the two of you went on your first date, it was a little like that too. His mother had told you to wait but when still wasn’t there after fifteen minutes, you sneaked upstairs to find him being lost of what to wear best to impress you. You shook your head, reminding yourself that this was different, and poured two cups of tea. 

The place felt like him, small little details were making it comfortable and warm. You sat down on the couch and allowed your gaze to wander until it got stuck on one particular photo on the wall: it was the class picture from the last yearbook before he was forced to change schools. 

“Feels like an eternity, right”? his warm voice filled the air and you met with his smile. His hair was still wet but he had changed into an oversized knitted sweater, showing a little bit of collarbone, and a fresh pair of jeans. Somehow, it made him look younger again.

“Right? I can’t believe we are supposed to have one of those class meetings next year, I really do not feel that old yet,” you casually joked back before leaning over, and offering him the other cup of tea: “There you go, you need to warm up, even with dry clothes.” 

He made a face but listened, sitting down next to you. When you saw he wasn’t even wearing socks, you sighed because there were many memories of small summer colds because Yunho just was so reckless.

“You really are something, Jeong Yunho!” Your arm reached over and you grabbed a blanket, starting to wrap him up until you were satisfied he looked warm and comfortable.

“I’m fine, I promise,” he replied, muttering into the tea. It seemed neither of you really wanted to ask or talk about how exactly he had ended up in the rain like that. Instead, you sat down on the couch next to him, turning around to cross your legs and sipping on your own tea. It was not really hard to see he had so many questions, and so did you.

“My workplace is really nearby, our internet went off today and I suddenly found myself with a free afternoon;” you started, just to offer him anything.

“Maybe it’s time for a cat, you know? I am going towards my thirties now, being a single cat owner is almost mandatory to me but the firm who owns my complex says no. I got a bunny instead, do you want to see a photo?” 

It was so easy just to chat with Yunho, and tell him everything and nothing important. Your mind just settled with a habit you forgot you once had and you leaned over to show him the photo of the white fuzzy loop bunny. “This is Fluffs, yes I named him so because he just has too much fur but he is very patient when it comes to brushing.”

Yunho looked up, giving you a silly smile: “Right, so much to your talent of naming things.” You both laughed together and he was looking at the photos you showed him but all so often, you could feel his gaze on your face.

Did you mention being single on purpose? Yes, because you did not want to waste time on those things when instead, you would selfishly just take anything he’d give to you, ignoring that every day eventually had an end.

“I think, those were all,” you nodded and kept your phone in your hands, hesitant before offering it to him, looking away.

“You know… if you give me your number, I could send you photos of him here and then?”

Now you finally really blushed and you could see how Yunho seemed happy about it. He bowed and took the phone, saving his number before offering it back: “I am waiting patiently for updates.” 

It was when your fingers touched again and for a moment, the two of you held in and looked at each other. The cups both rested on the small couch table at this point and allowed for Yunho to be just a little daring because he was leaning closer, the blanket slipping off his shoulder. And then, his big hands rested on your face, one gently cupping your chin as your eyes met.

Words would be hard right now, there was no way to describe the sorrow of separation, the years of yearning and looking for something only one other person could give you. Regret would be wasted because there was no way to bring back what was lost but maybe, there was something true about the saying how one still had this very moment.

If this had been a movie, viewers would be disappointed now, because there was no kiss, no deep devotion of love. Yunho allowed his forehead to rest against yours, his arms finally curled around your body and he pulled you closer. His face was properly buried against his neck and you could feel the tears against your skin, the way his body tensed, and then, the small soft sobs that escaped him. 

You did not know why Yunho was in so much sorrow. Of course, your heartbreak had been intense too, you did not even go to prom on your graduation because all you could think was how he was not there. And in every important event of your life since, when couples embraced, your coworkers were picked up by their spouse, you thought of him.

Yeah, you really were a pitiful thing because how could you think of him every time but you never managed to get yourself out there looking? Times had been there, once, when you met his brother but he would not tell you anything other than Yunho was doing fine… and you just left it like that. 

“Hey there, look at me,” you finally very slowly moved after letting him cry for some time, now you captured his face: “It’s okay.”

But you could read it off his face: “It’s my fault. If not for me being so careless, we never would have broken up and I’d not … you’d not have to cry so much.”

You were relieved that he was not withdrawing but only looked away: “I was… stupid. I thought, that so many people had done it before so why not us? I meant to wait until we had graduated…But my mom found it and then she just lost it. My parents wouldn’t listen when I told them it was not like that, how it did not mean I planned not going to college, just that we wanted to go together and how I’d not see why not…”

Yunho seemed not to hold it back much longer but only a few things made sense. You could remember that day, in the morning everything had been perfect until you two came back from a small summer trip. His and your parents sitting together, then telling you how the relationship they supported for two years suddenly was no longer acceptable, how it would affect your grades and future, so they would no longer allow for it.

The way you both begged them, saying it wasn’t true and how you would surely go to college, do all of those things but they would not have it, Yunho’s parents already signed him into another high school.

“What do you mean?” you carefully asked, thumb brushing over his cheek.

“I brought a ring, from the money I made at the Summer job. I knew it would be the last chance to save up before college. I wanted to propose to you when we would have graduated, I knew how dumb I was back then but I just knew that you should be the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. When my mother found the ring by accident… she misunderstood it.”

Your mouth formed a small "Oh" because suddenly, it made sense. Yunho’s parents were kind people, but they always would do what they thought was best for their son and finally, you understood. Yunho must have blamed himself for all of this in the past seven years. The thought pained you greatly.

“Oh Yunho, we were barely seventeen and our parents had all of those great hopes and dreams for how the lives of their children should be. This is not your fault,” you pulled him into another hug and his tall form clung to you.

This was not his fault and suddenly, you came to accept nor was it yours. Yes, you could have looked for him but back then, there was nothing you could have done in that very moment, except to be reckless but this would not have been who you fell in love with. You two were in love but always caring for your families, like most kids.

For a moment, you hesitated and it was a foolish question but it blurred out before you knew it: “Do you still have it…?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about and moved back a little, his arm rubbing over his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the tears.

Yunho stood up slowly, moving to one of the boxes before he opened it. You remembered that silly shoe box he pulled out, covered in stickers and polaroids you took together. His fingers were gentle when he revealed a small satin box and walked back over to you.

There was a moment of hesitation before he opened it to show you the ring. It was delicate but simple, just a small silver band with yours and his name craved in and likely room for a date for the day of the proposal. It really suited him but also you because you never liked bulky or lavish details in jewelry. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered and he looked at you. Yunho swallowed before he moved to sit a little closer to you again. His beautiful hands were almost a little shaking when he lifted your left hand, waiting for a moment to see if you’d pull back but when you did not, the ring slipped on your finger and even after all those years, it was a perfect fit.

“It was always meant for you, so you should have it,” he whispered. This time, you were the one to shift, moving towards him and placing yourself onto his lap. 

“Yunho, you know I always waited for you, right? Even if I was so foolish this once not to rush towards you… nobody ever could fill that spot you left, it’s like it was always yours, just waiting for you to come back to it.”

The metal of the ring was cool against his skin when he reached out for this hand and placed kisses on it.

“You were the only one who ever really belonged to me.” 

The two of you were searching for something, but it was easy to find in each other’s eyes. “Then this time, let’s make sure it doesn’t stay empty,” you whispered. “I promise if you are late, I will come, running right towards you. Leave it to me, you won’t ever feel alone again.” 

Yunho looked at you before he pulled you into a hug: “You won’t have to run towards me again because now that you are back where you belong, I promise I won’t ever let go again.” You nuzzled your head against his shoulder and sighed in relief.

For a while, he just pulled the blanket over your figures, now feeling an awful lot exhausted. This was not how you imagined this day to turn out to be but it was perfect just like that. There was no reason to speak anymore, the comfort was given just by each other’s company and eventually, the two of you relaxed, laying down on the couch, Yunho holding you tightly in his arms as you closed your eyes and drifted off.

It looked like he fell asleep a little after you. Yunho stirred, his neck a little stiff from the uncomfortable couch. The moment he reached out for you and the spot was empty, his eyes widened and he sat up, mind split between barely awake and fear. 

He still could hear the fall of rain outside, splattered the windows but it had gotten dark, nightfall had come and only left small traces of light from the street lamps. Your phone wasn’t there either. Yunho panicked, he almost fell off the couch.

“Y/N?!”

The way he called out for you was a mix of fear and maybe more desperate than he wanted to admit. The idea of losing you again, he could not bear it. There was no way he could do this again and as his bare feet walked over the cool wooden flooring, rushing towards the front door, a wave of light blinded him, coming from his bedroom.

“Yunho? I’m sorry, my boss called me, she wouldn’t stop. I told her, I have to take a sick day tomorrow 'cause I got into the rain… hey, what’s up?”

He reached out for you right away, hugging you tightly: “Just a bad dream, I thought you were gone.”

It was barely a whisper but you understood him right away.

Just as you always did. 

“Not going anywhere anymore,” you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before taking his hand, taking a step back, and pulling him towards the bedroom.

“And where to? We have so much to do you, you know? Meet your colleagues, and then you meet mine. Take cute photos, try cake! Lots of cake! Decide what place we like best.”

Yunho blinked as he fell onto his bed with you. This was much more comfortable and he pulled you close, placing kisses over your shoulder before resting his chin on top of your head.

“Cake and places?” he asked before leaning back to look you in the eyes.

You had this incredibly cute and confident grin on your lips and now that he thought of it, it was more sexy than adorable. You had become such an incredible person and he could not wait to spend the rest of his life with you. To have the person he loved the most by his side again while also learning all about what was new.

Nothing would separate you again. 

“Well, we have been engaged for eight years now, yes? I think, it’s about time we do the thing!”

Yunho blushed as he looked at you and your features softened but the two of you knew it was true.

Because, the two of you always belonged to each other, been each others', and even with so many years apart, it never would change just that.

“I love you,” he whispered, and his heart jumped when you said those words he longed to hear again for so long back right away.

Without hesitation.

You were together

The drum of rain gently fell against the window. Autumn had come. 

But maybe with the right person by your side, it always could be summer.

[tapwater118]

Has anyone ever heard of “Battle for Dream Island” (1990) before? Really obscure NES game, doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page (or hell, even a mention in one).

From what little I can find about it on the internet, Battle for Dream Island was an NES game released on January 1st, 1990, apparently made entirely by a pair of independent American developers. Never made all that many sales, but eventually it garnered a rather niche following on an obscure gaming forum, though it had long since dissipated. Unfortunately, seemingly nothing from the forum threads was archived, so all I have to go on are a few vague threads titles from a navigation page.

I, rather cliched like, bought this BfDI cartridge from a sleazy old guy at a flea market (along with Puzznic and Wario’s Woods for a bargain deal). I dumped the ROM and booted it up on an emulator to take some screencaps.

Upon pressing start, you are prompted to “Choose Contestant,” and have a choice between any of 20 playable characters (who are all everyday objects, for some reason). Each contestant has their own stats, and while you can feel the difference while playing, the overall impact of character choice is pretty negligible. (Also some of these guys don’t even have arms?? Weird design choice but okay.)

Two screencaps of the character select screen. I went with Pin for my first playthrough cause idk she seemed kinda cute. I’m almost sure the stats are “Strength,” “Speed,” “Jump,” and “Skill.”

(Continued under cut)

While touting itself as a game show, BfDI is essentially a glorified minigame collection. The gameplay loop is as follows: You and the 19 other contestants play a minigame (referred to as “challenges”) to earn points based on how well you do (though I’m fairly certain the computer contestants just get a random amount of points for each challenge). Most of the challenges are various platforming segments, though some others fall more into puzzle game territory.

Two of the challenges. The green “Win Tokens” can be collected for bonus points. LEFT: A horizontal platformer level. The grey wall in the middle of the screencap moves up and down. RIGHT: A challenge about climbing ladders while avoiding “acid spitballs.” The game pauses to scroll vertically a la Super Mario Bros. 2.

After each challenge, this speaker thing shows up (pretty sure he’s supposed to be like a game show host?) and tallies up everyone’s score. The contestant with the least score gets “eliminated” and removed from the game.

The results screen. Leafy did rather poor on the last challenge, so she’s out of the game.

The game continues like this until you lose (have the least amount of points) and get booted to the game over screen, or until you are the last one left, in which case you win Dream Island! (Though of course in reality you just get booted back to the title screen. No Dream Island for you.)

The victory screen, with the gates to Dream Island in sight. Feels more like the gates to hell given how Pin’s staring at me.

It’s a fairly easy game for NES standards (I won on my first try). Took me about 80 minutes on my first playthrough, though subsequent ones could take less than an hour as I knew what I was doing. The brevity and the fact it saves your high score gives BfDI a nice sense of replayability (though this is probably best done sporadically, as the challenges tend to get a bit samey after a couple of back-to-back playthroughs).

So yeah, just wanted to share this in case anybody else has heard of it. I’ll probably rip the sprites and upload them sometime later cause it doesn’t look like anybody’s done that yet.

[artsekey]

I really hate how ads have taken over the internet. On one hand, I know that hosting a website costs money, right? And ad revenue is one of the simplest ways for free-to-use websites to cover their operating costs.

My question is-- and I would genuinely love an answer-- is this ever going to stop? Tumblr ran for a long time without ads. So did Youtube. I know that the cost of hosting so much media has gone up, but there are a lot of users on these websites that make the content that drives people to use the service that don't see any of the money generated by this revenue. On Youtube, there's at least a way for creators to make some money from what they do. For most, it isn't much, but the opportunity is there. On Tumblr, well... the ability to convert the visibility of my blog into any financial gain practically nonexistent, though they did at one point promise that users would be able to make money from ads run on their blogs (whatever happened to that, Staff?).

"You can pay to avoid seeing ads!" Tumblr says, as if the views on my main blog alone over the past few years have not generated more than enough ad revenue to cover the price they're asking me to pay, the person who is actively making content that brings eyes to their ads.

I'm not mad at Tumblr for hosting ads. I get that it has to happen because it's the easiest way to keep the site free, and honestly, I imagine Tumblr's staunch opposition to monetization has been a real obstacle for the team building Tumblr. But at the same time, it feels like yet another small concession in the usability of the site. I'm tired of ads that auto-play with blaring audio while I'm scrolling. I'm tired of adds that, if I touch them while trying to scroll past them, take me to an external site. Outside of tumblr, I'm tired of looking for information online only to get a webpage that's 95% ads and otherwise illegible. Hell, I recently got an ad on Discord. Was it unobtrusive? Maybe. But it was there, for the first time, and I know that won't be the end.

I know the first reply I'm going to get on this is "use adblock", and yes, that's a solution, but think about how much the landscape for media has changed in just ten years.

Popular forums are basically gone outside of reddit.

Youtube, without Red, is ad hell. You can't watch more than 3-4 minutes of video without getting sent to marketing hell.

Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter-- it's terrible. I firmly believe they've manufactured a worse experience through the implementation of ads to convince you to buy into their premium services.

Just Check out this video of Penguinz0 trying to watch a video on a third-party site.

There's discussion of putting ads into video games.

Remember when games didn't include micro-transactions? Blizzard is charging $70 for one mythic skin. You could almost buy Overwatch 1 twice-over at that price-point.

Influencers make a living by making their lives into advertisements.

Youtube has retaliated against users using ad-block on non-chrome browsers by artificially inflating the load times of it's videos.

What can we do about this? I imagine companies see it as an infinite money hack; users can't stop companies from hosting ads, and the action they could take to voice their displeasure-- leaving the site, using other competitive services-- has been all but obliterated thanks to the homogeneity of popular social media outlets. If someone is truly so incensed about ads, well-- it isn't like they have to engage with them, right? They can enroll in a cheap, auto-renewing service to get rid of ads entirely. Well, wait, the price of premium might just have to go up. Don't worry, it's auto-renewing! You won't even notice it. Oh, no, it's got to go up again, you won't even notice it.

There's no incentive for them to cap this behavior, and no way for us as users to pressure them to do so. We create these spaces; we fill them with color, art, activism, community, and the companies that ride on the tailcoat of the spaces we create tell us to give them more. What comes next?

[sreegs]

gonna start this post upfront by saying tumblr's fuckin up bad with moderation right now, regarding the wave of trans people being targeted. but i'm not here to discuss that issue, i'm going to talk about the nature of large and small social spaces on the internet

as this post rightly points out, examining our existing social network structure reveals the crux of the problem: we are tenants on someone else's service. extrapolating from that, we're the source of revenue for someone's business. under that model, there is no incentive whatsoever for a social network to apply a "fair" or "just" moderation scheme. their goal is to maximize the number of people using the service and minimize blowback from advertisers regarding "what goes on" on the site

there will not be an alternative social network that gets this right at scale, unless it meets the following criteria:

1. Has ample moderators to thoughtfully deal with user moderation cases

2. Has terms of service that you agree with

3. Has a moderation team that understands how to apply moderation according to the terms of service, and amends it when necessary

4. Does not rely on external income source to pay for the site

Number 1: An ideal social network is one that has numerous, well-treated moderators who are adept at resolving conflict. Under capitalism, this is a non-starter, as moderation is seen as a money sink that just needs to be barely enough to make the site usable.

Number 2: An ideal social network has terms of service you agree with. Unfortunately there's no set of rules everyone will find fair. While this is not a problem for the people who want to use the site, it will inevitably create an outgroup who are pushed away from the site. The obvious bad actors (nazis, terfs, etc) are pretty straightforward, but there are groups that do things you might find "unpleasant" even if you support their right to do it. Inevitably this turns into lines drawn in the sand about how visible should that content be.

Number 3: An ideal social network has moderators who have internalized the terms of service and consistently make decisions based on the TOS. If a situation comes up where there's no clear ruling in the TOS, but users need a moderation decision regarding it, the moderation team must choose how to act and then, potentially, amend the TOS if the case warrants it. Humans, though, are not robots, and no, AI is not the solution here jesus christ. There will always be variance in moderation decisions. And when it comes to amending the TOS, who's the decision maker? The sites' owners? The moderation team? Users as a whole?

Number 4: An ideal social network does not rely on an external income source to pay for the site. The site pays for itself, and its income flow covers the costs necessary with reserves for unexpected situations. Again, under capitalism this is a no-go, because a corporate social network's only goal is to maximize money. Infinite growth, not stasis. A private social network paid by members requires enough paying members to be sustainable, and costs will generally go up over time, not down. A social network that has some lump sum of cash just generating wealth is also unreliable because, first you need a large lump sum to begin with, and that mechanism is tied to the whims of the investment market. And, again, costs of the site will go up, not down.

As you've read through these you're probably reaching the conclusion: making a large-scale social network that is fair and sustainable is very, very difficult, if not impossible with our current culture and economic systems. There might be a scale where you can reach "almost fair" and "barely sustainable", but then you have to cap its growth.

So the "town square" social network is rife with problems and we need to abandon it's model as the ideal network. Should we go small instead? We have a model already for that with message boards and forums. Though they weren't without their problems, they didn't have the scale that exacerbated those problems to crisis levels. Most of the time.

If you're thinking maybe you need a small network like this, free from a corporate owner (like Discord), the tools are out there for you to accomplish it. However, before you try, keep the above points in mind. Even if you're not out to create a large-scale social network, an open network will run away from you. And all of those points above are guidelines for a good online community.

You and your network of 50 friends and friends of friends might all get along together, but every single person you add increases the risk of creating moderation problems. People also change, or simply have episodes of irrational behavior. You need a dedicated team of moderators who are acting coherently for and agreeably to the community.

And you absolutely must keep this in mind: inevitably, as you add more people, someone will do vile shit. CSAM and violence type shit. You have to be prepared to encounter it. You have to have a plan to see and handle that, and the moderators who are part of your moderation team must be prepared to see and handle it too.

There's been a steady trickle of new alternative social networks (or social media networks) popping up, but you cannot expect those to be perfect havens. Tumblr was once the haven for weirdos on the internet. Now it's hostile to its core members. This is not trying to rationalize staying here because "hey, it could be worse". This is just trying to warn you to temper your expectations, especially because new networks that suddenly get a huge influx of new members hit a critical point where many falter, change, or fail.

Examine who's running those networks closely. Think critically about what they're touting as the benefits of those networks. And if you decide to join them, do not, under any case, expect those new homes to be permanent.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

I'm curious, what if mc in the shipper au is polyamorous and dates multiple or perhaps all of the kings, what then?

I'll be including Asmodeus as one of the kings MC starts dating because I want to write for Dantalian as well.

Whb shippers reacting to a poly!Mc dating all the kings

Well, you're dating Satan, so Paimon doesn't complain that much. Would probably still bicker with some of the more active shippers about which king you like most, but he'll be chiller in the forums. He continues his usual fan-fic writing and edit making maybe throwing in some photos of you and another king so he doesn't get pilled on by the other shippers.

Eligos takes a hit when he hears that but he learns to accept it. This is... good, from his point of view. Mammon loves seeing you being greedy for lovers and Eligos likes seeing Mammon happy, it's a win win situation. After all, everyone in hell belongs to Mammon, so you're basicly just playing with some toys that belong to you. Eligos is of the opinion that you're only trully dating Mammon and the other kings are side-dishes, so he let's it happen.

Foras cries. He just cries. He's absolutely godsmaked as to how you could possibly convince Leviathan to let you date other people. On one hand, he's happy that you consider his majesty your lover. On the other hand, how dare you go out and show your affection to other's. He tries to keep you in Hades as much as possible, right next to Leviathan's side, and he'll only stop when either you or Leviathan tell him to. Stops doxxing people for a month since he's too sad to open the forums.

Glasylabolas is sad, but for other reasons. How is he supposed to start drama when it's public information that you're dating all the kings?! He tries to argue with people about which king you love best, but he only gets responses from try hards (Gamigin) which is less fun than having all the forums in chaos. Plus, Gamigin never leaves Paradise Lost and he was doxxed ages ago, so he no longer has where to show off his hacker powers.

You better hope that Beelzebub set Amon down and explained what polyamory is because the moment he finds out that His Majesty Beelzebub's s/o is being stolen by the other kings, he sees red. The one law that seperates Avisos from Abaddon is that you're not to steal someone's lover, which is how Amon percieves this whole ordeal. At one point you were on a peaceful date with Mammon and you see Amon making a beeline to you. He was ready to shoot Mammon (as if one bullet could kill him) but you had to throughly explain to him the concept of polyamory.

Amon: So it's like an orgy... but romantic?

Mammon: Sometimes it's just an orgy

Mc: Mammon! But yeah, that's kind of it.

Will leave you alone from that point onward. He has no interest in destroying a happy law-abiding relationship.

Dantalian is also sad that he no longer has anyone to fight with in the forums. But he has a lot of fun going "I told you" on every post he made about how a poly relationship is the only logical step for the relationship between you and the kings. Him and the whole Abaddon crew would ask if they can join in the bedroom fun and 9/10 Asmodeus even encourages them. Whether you like it or not, dating Asmodeus was always the gate way drug to being into polyamory.

Gamigin chockes on his spit when you tell him that you're dating all the kings. He looks at you with this face

He didn't know you could do that. He's still an avid Mc x Lucifer shipper and will continue to get into arguments with people that disagree. He had to be lectured by the Paradise Lost marketing manager (Buer) about how bad it looks for most of Paradise Lost's media output being arguments on the internet about a stupid topic. Gamigin stops redirecting his passion for the subject towards making sure that your stay at Paradise Lost is the best in hell. Finally he can talk with his brothers and they'll understand what he means by keeping you happy so you come to Paradise Lost more often.

[micahulrichdraws]

Hey Micah, how were you able to find your audience I need a guide as an emerging artist. Thank you

I get this question a lot, and I think it's the result of how folks view audiences and art fundamentally. I'm typing this out on my lunch break real quick, so apologies for any incoherent rambling/typos. Long story short: your audience is everyone, make your art as accessible as possible, and artistic culture is a crab bucket. Short story long:

Audiences aren't pre-made: that is there's no preexisting fan club for what you're doing, until you've already created your art, put it out there, and left the folks who've seen it wanting more.

When I first started out, I put myself literally anywhere that I could, and linked back to my socials on every image possible. Mostly I just linked back to my Instagram, built a large following there, then branched out to other social media platforms. It's way easier to snowball success once you've had it, and it's the same for social media. Therefore, I decided to use my large Instagram following to help promote my art on Instagram, then promoted my Facebook (same parent company, so the risk of having organic reach throttled was low, and most people who have one have the other) then expanded onto Tumblr (super niche, but tightknit community) and Twitter (was good, now insanely hit or miss and slowly sinking). By targeting one social media platform at a time, it made it so that my marketing was controlled, and wasn't overwhelming.

As for where to put the art itself that links back to your socials, you want to sit around on content aggregation websites and put your work out there. Tons of professors/talking heads in the industry will tell you to put your work in gallerys/shows/art magazines/forums, and those people are insanely wrong. Your audience is the general public, and NOT OTHER ARTISTS. Other artists and your peers will find your work, because they're also on the internet looking at content aggregators, however the general public won't find your art easily in artistic spaces. Why? Because artistic spaces have absolutely ludicrous barriers of entry. Most spaces carry an assumed knowledge of the art, artistic culture, and artistic association. 99% of people haven't spent their time in art school, so they sure as shit ain't spending their time in a gallery that's open two hours a week. Which leads me to my next point: artists tend to have a ton of art already, aren't looking to buy art, meanwhile we live in capitalism so you need money to live, and living is insanely important to making art. The general public will give you actually useful feedback on your art: if a certain composition is a killer, then folks will be breaking down your door to get prints of it. If it sucks, you'll be made super aware. They don't typically have as much art and are looking to buy some.

Your target audience is everyone who sees your art.

Hope that helps!

[pancakes4two]

sweet nothings

wc: 2.1k

preview: The rest of the world is so eager to view him like an object, assume that just because he spends his life in the public view, he’s somehow devoid of insecurities. But to you, he’s still the same Harry who cried backstage at Wembley after his voice cracked during a solo. The same shy, innocent boy who vomited backstage after his first show, terrified that he’d messed it all up.

An article criticizing Harry blows up on the internet, and it hits him harder than expected. Luckily, you’re there to help pick up the pieces.

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Industry disruptors and soul deconstructers, and smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more," to you I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it.

—Sweet Nothing, Taylor Swift

———

The article is released on a Friday afternoon. It's absolutely brutal—rips single every creative project Harry's ever done to shreds and leaves no endeavor unscathed. Every sentence is a biting remark, each paragraph swirled with vile accusations. It starts by criticizing his film roles, the creative direction he took in his third album, then accuses him of extorting his own fans. The author questions not only his artistry but his personhood, digs up unverified claims of rudeness and twists them into a narrative of Harry being an egotistical, ungrateful pop star. Within the hour, almost every major news station has picked the story up. It doesn’t matter how far-fetched it is. The internet takes to the author’s vitriol like wildfire, sharing it across social media platforms and online forums. Everyone wants to be the first to say they always knew something wasn’t quite right about him, that it’s about time someone knocked him off his pedestal.

It’s disgusting in every sense of the word. And it hurts even more because Harry is blissfully unaware. He’s asleep beside you now, the two of you having settled into bed to take a quick nap together three hours earlier, when the internet had yet to point their pitchforks towards him. You know he’s been overextending himself lately, still sleeping off the jet lag from tour but unwilling to slow down his life on account of tiredness. He’s always been like that, so dedicated to his music, because to him, putting less than two-hundred percent into the thing he loves most would be a waste. You can hardly remember the last time he’d slept earlier than two after coming home—even without touring commitments, he’s still found a way to keep himself busy—staying late in the studio and meeting with executives from his record label to review the marketing plan for his next album. He’s always thinking about the future, how he can reinvent himself and make sure he can stay doing what he loves for as long as possible.

It’s why he’d deserved this chance to unwind and relax in the quiet of your home. But now, he’s going to wake up to a rogue journalist completely assassinating his character, when all he’s ever wanted to do is sing and make others happy. The way you see it, it’s not the least bit fair.

You look at Harry and brush his curls away from his face gently so as to not wake him. Your phone is still turned on, the article glaring angrily against your palm as you watch him sleep. He looks so peaceful, his arm curled around your waist and his legs tangled with yours as if he can’t bear to be far away from you even in slumber. You wish everyone else could see him like this: soft and vulnerable, his lips upturned ever-so-slightly like he’s dreaming about something particularly pleasant.

The rest of the world is so eager to view him like an object, assume that just because he spends his life in the public view, he’s somehow devoid of insecurities. But to you, he’s still the same Harry who cried backstage at Wembley after his voice cracked during a solo. The same shy, innocent boy who vomited backstage after his first show, terrified that he’d messed it all up. Ten years down the road and he’s gained confidence, for sure. But when he’s not busy being this glittering, hip-wiggling rockstar who moves like he’s got the whole world in the palm of his hand, he’s just Harry. He still wrings his hands nervously before every performance, burns his tongue on hot tea that’s meant to preserve his voice. You remember what he said to you back in June before his first stadium show: I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be someone who doesn’t care about what others think of them. He cares more than the article’s author and the legions of people criticizing his every move online will ever know.

You shuffle forward, closing the gap between your bodies and press a soft kiss into Harry’s forehead. You don’t expect him to stir from it, but it seems he was just about to wake up naturally before you disturbed him, so his eyes slowly open and he smiles when his vision focuses on you. You try to school your expression into something relatively normal. Unfortunately, Harry knows you too well and can immediately tell that something’s off. In any other situation, you’d be impressed by how well he can read you. Even with his mind suspended between alertness and sleep, he knows you’re upset and reaches for your hand in concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asks, rubbing circles into the back of your hand. He knows the repetitive motion grounds you when you’re anxious, so he continues to graze your skin with his thumb, willing you to relax.

“H—“ you start to say, but you’re cut off by the sound of Harry’s ringtone. He reaches over you to grab his phone from the nightstand, his other hand still clasped with yours. When he falls back into the mattress, you manage to get a glance at his phone screen. It’s displaying an incoming call from Jeff. Fuck.

Harry accepts the call, still ignorant to the situation. His gaze flickers over your face as the line connects—he's clearly still worried about you.

"Hey, H," Jeff says. You can hear him sigh through the phone, "have you been online recently?"

"Been asleep for the past," Harry pauses to check the time, "three hours, so that would be a no."

"Shit," Jeff says, sounding significantly less collected than he usually does. "Okay. Um, do me a favor and stay off of social media for now. I'll call you when it's all been resolved."

"What?" Harry sits up slightly at the sound of Jeff's voice, running a hand through his hair. "I'm confused. Is everything alright?"

"Listen, it's fine. I've got it all under control, just... don't go on Instagram, or Twitter, or anything."

"Jeff," Harry groans, "don't be cryptic. You're obviously dealing with something that's got to do with me, don't you think I have a right to know what's going on?"

There's silence over line for a bit, Jeff clearly ruminating over whether or not to tell Harry the truth. You chew on your lip worriedly, waiting for his voice to come through again.

"There's an article that’s been published online," Jeff starts, "and it's highly critical of you. It's circulating through social media right now, and we're trying to put a stop to it. I've got a meeting with your label's attorneys in a few minutes, but seriously H, for your own good please do not read it. We'll have it taken down by the end of the day."

"Oh," Harry blinks, clearly caught off-guard. You can't blame him for it. People don't normally wake up from naps and find out half the internet has turned against them. "Alright. That's fine. Um, call me if you need anything. Good luck."

"H, I'm serious, don't—" Jeff begins, but Harry hangs up before he can finish his sentence. He's already sat up fully in bed, back leaning against the headboard as he types away furiously on his phone. You don't try to stop him from Googling the article; he deserves to see what's been written. You just sit up next to him and silently run a hand down his arm, tracing where the fabric of his t-shirt ends and the familiar ink on his skin begins. You reach for him and let him know that he has you to lean on.

"You know what they've written isn't true," you whisper, "you know that." It’s all you can say for now.

Harry doesn't respond to that, his eyes too busy scanning through the article. He spends the next seven minutes reading every word silently, taking each criticism and judgement in. When he’s finished, Harry shuts his phone off with a click and sets it down silently on the bedside table. You avert your eyes from him, afraid that if you look up you might be able to see every morsel of hurt on his face.

In the end, Harry’s the first to break the silence.

“Who approved that?” Is what he says, his voice faltering almost imperceptibly at the end. It’s quiet enough that only someone who knows him as well as you do would be able to notice.

“H,” you respond, splaying your hand across his chest and letting his head fall gently onto your shoulder.

“None of that is real. It’s not a reflection of who you are.” You say that with conviction. He’s got the most beautiful soul, does everything with so much heart. He’s so full of love that at times you worry he might burst from it. It’s completely unfair what he’s been reduced to.

“You can only read shitty things about yourself for so long before you start to believe them,” Harry says brokenly, and his composure gives away then. He takes a trembling breath in and you feel a wetness start to form on the sleeve of your shirt. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s crying.

It’s in moments like these where his façade starts to crumble, and you see him transform back into the boy you once knew, before the whole world knew his name. Spending every day terrified that at any given moment, people wouldn’t want to listen to his voice anymore and the rug would be pulled from under his feet. Fearing that he might wake up one day and have to return to Holmes Chapel, even though he’s always been too big for the small town he grew up in.

“Love,” you say, pressing a hand to his cheek. His skin is flushed and you can see the ghost of a tear falling down the side of his face. “How is anyone meant to believe anything they’ve said is valid, when they don’t know you? I know exactly who you are, and the person they’re talking about in that article is not it.”

Harry sniffles at that, pulling himself closer to you. You see him glance at his phone, so you turn it over facedown and revert your full attention back to him.

“You’re so incredibly special,” you continue, carding your hands soothingly through his hair, “you’ve achieved an immense amount of success in the last ten years. You’ve impacted so many people, used your platform to do so much good. There’s always going to be people who want more from you, who criticize and tell you you’re not doing enough. But you are doing enough, H. Seriously. You’re only human, and it’s not your fault that others expect you to be more than that. And even so, I think you make a pretty exceptional human already. You know how many people walk up to me when I’m alone and ask me to tell you that you’ve changed their lives? There’s so many that I’d lost track of the number about seven years ago.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something in response, but you pat his face gently and give him a smile as if to say, I’m not finished yet.

“And beyond that, who cares about the industry, about what faceless people online have to say about you? At the end of the day, you’re enough. I’m not here for the Harry Styles who fills stadiums or commands attention at movie premieres. I’m here for the Harry who accidentally leaves the coffee pot on for too long because he’s too busy trying to get me to dance with him in the kitchen. For the Harry who keeps movie stubs and pebbles deep inside his pockets because he wants to keep a souvenir to remind him of every little thing we’ve done together. The Harry who’s a huge sentimental sap, who’s got the biggest heart in the world.”

You finish with a sigh, gazing at Harry earnestly and hoping that he can feel the gravity of your words.

“You’re right,” Harry smiles softly, clasping a hand around your wrist, voice slightly raspy still. “I shouldn’t let it get to my head. It’s just hard sometimes, you know? I feel like I might be a little too soft for all of it.”

“I love your softness and vulnerability,” you say, “And getting upset when people are dragging your name through the mud is perfectly normal. I can’t even begin to imagine how overwhelming it is for you. But you’ll always have me right here beside you. And trust me, I’d be going to war for you over Twitter right now if I knew Jeff wouldn’t kill me for doing so.”

Harry laughs at that, loud and open in the way that you love. “My Princess Charming,” he says, wrapping his arms around you in a crushing hug. “Forever prepared to defend my honor.”

True to his word, Jeff and Columbia’s legal team get the article taken down in record time. They say Harry’s allowed to post a response to it, if he wants, but he’s never been one to start fights over the internet so he settles on this instead.

A single picture, posted to his Instagram of your hands, your fingers intertwined like the two of you were built to be extensions of each other. The caption is simple. It reads:

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they’re push and shoving; you’re in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

He turns the comments off, not wanting to entertain any further commentary. It’s a picture meant for just the two of you, a reminder that all the noise coming from the outside means nothing when you have each other. It’s sweet. It’s nothing. And yet somehow, it’s everything you’ll ever need.

———

reblogs & feedback are highly welcomed and appreciated <3

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[seat-safety-switch]

There's a whole lot of towns out there that you'll never visit. Most of them are chock full of people you'll never meet. Tulsa, for example. Never been there, might never go there. And that makes me a little sad.

Sure, I only have enough time on this earth to visit so many towns. And when I'm there, I don't have enough time to interrogate every single one of the locals to see if, say, any of them have a set of Mopar F-body windshield wiper linkages sitting in the back of their garage. They'll just go to waste, damned to irrelevance by my lack of time. That's what the MBAs call a "market inefficiency."

The internet has helped, sure, but you can only demand what other people have supplied. Any quick browse on a model-specific forum is full of lonely folks crying out to the heavens for a specific piece of trim, or an entire automatic transmission, that they will never receive. And it's a lot of work to put that stuff up for sale. Who knows what's actually inside that weird pile of oil-stained gewgaws that Pawpaw left behind before he joined that alien cult and drank all that Flavor-Aid? His surviving next-of-kin sure don't know the difference between a 4.11 and a 3.90 rear end, nor are they willing to teach themselves that information in order to list it on eBay for twenty bucks.

Don't worry, though, I have a solution. That solution is that the Boston Dynamics warehouse is not secured very well. Their robots are powered by a two-stroke lawnmower engine: it's like they wanted me to show up with a turbine-generator-powered plasma cutter and chop right through the rebar holding the walls of their robot storage lockup together. After that, it was a quick couple of dozen trips to the local electronics store to get the right USB-to-serial cable, and I soon had my harem of semi-autonomous Parts-Seeking Drones® roving the backwoods of America.

So, if you see a lanky, creaking doglike shape lurking outside your yard tonight, smelling oddly of pre-mix and human arterial blood, let it in your garage. All it wants to do is scan your spare parts so I can find that goddamn last piece of dash trim for the cruise control lever on my Volare. Don't worry: I won't have the robots kill you if you decide not to sell it to me after all. It would be hypocritical of me to judge another hoarder. We'll have coffee when I come see your town for the first time! We can trade junk and be best friends and call each other on the phone afterward and talk about nitrous oxide. No promises on what the robots will do if they search your entire property and don't find any Plymouth Volare stuff, though. I forgot to program that part before I let them out of radio range.

[centrally-unplanned]

IRL (In Real Life) - Buffydom Propaganda And The Internet-That-Was

It is 1997. You just got back from the latest Hot Topic run to restock on whatever the most raven-black bomb of Manic Panic they have on the shelves is, so you can do double-duty bleaching your hair in the shower while watching a CRT TV precariously mounted on the lip of your sink. On that TV is the Season 1 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you are obsessed. Unfortunately for you, no one else in Bowling Green, Ohio, shares your passion for a CW WB show about vampire hunting teens who purposefully fumble their line deliveries. You are alone, and you have shit you gotta say about it to someone, anyone, who will understand.

Fortunately for you, the marketing team at ye old WB anticipated that their audience would be a bunch of fucking nerds, and boy do they have a solution to your problem! Welcome to the Bronze:

A while back I stumbled upon the inexplicable existence of "IRL (In Real Life)", a 2007 documentary about the community that formed around the aforementioned Buffy fan discussion forum/chatboard. Officially running from around the launch of the show until it switched over to UPN after its fifth season (with the forum dying a dramatic death in the process), The Bronze was a highly active center for the Buffy fandom, which generated several spillovers into real life. In particular, it was famous for the creatives and even actors on the show occasionally posting on the forum, which culminated in members of the community organizing a yearly party in Los Angeles where posters would fly out and be joined by said cast and crew. This documentary charts its culture & history via interviewing an array of its members.

As always, I am not here to give the blow-by-blow; instead, what is the narrative this documentary is trying to sell?

My previous documentary write-up was about nerd culture in the 2010’s; newly ascendant, growing confident in its own values and looking to justify that to itself, wealthy and with a developed enough ecosystem for crowdfunding to create professional, polished documentaries of its own heroes. None of that is true for IRL. Filmed on whatever camcorder/potato hybrid proto-Ebay would cough up from its zero-bid listings in a series of hotel rooms and people’s living rooms in 2003-2004 after the forum had died, this is the era of nerd culture at its most conflicted and insecure; mocked by the mainstream and unsure if it should be proud of that fact or deeply ashamed of it. And this documentary wears this conflict right on its sleeve; one of its opening lines is a confident assurance to the audience of “don’t worry, we aren’t like those nerds”:

Throwing Trekkies under the bus in the process, cold! Particularly given how it proceeds to barely even blink before pivoting to explaining their hobby of running “WITTs”, multi-day-long collaborative roleplays:

You are exactly those Trekkies my dudes; you weren’t just at the devil’s sacrament you were hosting it! "WITT" stands for Whedon Improvisational Theatre Troupe, you can't recover from that guys.

(I love how “dozens” is large by the way - it was for the internet in 2001, right?)

Anyway, beyond documenting the forum and its members, the conclusion this documentary wants you to hold is that the Bronze was a special place of real community, and it is a community of “normal” people, who made real relationships. And in particular, that internet relationships can be just as real as those found in meatspace, that these relationships transcended the digital and entered the physical; and that this is what fandom can be about.

I want to start with the ways that narrative was correct within the context of the time. I can actually explain that Klingon comment! I have one extant interview with the director of the film, Stephanie Tuszynski, and she put her motivation as follows: 

FFN: What made you decide to study Buffy fandom, particularly the Bronze, for your documentary? ST: The idea to do a documentary film about the Bronze actually came to me very early on, because "Trekkies" came out in the late 1990s so I was already a Bronzer at that point. And when I saw it I started throwing things at my television. I was incensed. That wasn't a documentary about the fandom experience, it was "hey let's find the most extreme examples possible and have a freak show!" It infuriated me […] It reinforced every awful stereotype about media fans while purporting to be objective.

It wasn’t a random example - the 1997 documentary Trekkies set the “standard” view of fandom as extremist oddballs, and Tuszynski specifically wanted to counter that. It was the early 2000’s after all, nerd stereotypes were strong, you had to fight them explicitly! In a society where there is strong background hostility to one’s identity, you will attempt to normalize it using known reference points; and certainly the people on these forums were more “normal” than the stereotypes admitted to because that entire binary framework is a dead end.

More importantly to the narrative is the online aspect, “making friends on the internet”. Another find I have is a blog post from a professor who used the film in a class; and in the film’s narrative of “people with no one ‘irl’ to share their hobby with finding friends online” triggered a debate around if the online relationships are “taking away” from in-person relationships that are presumed to be more valuable. A debate that still rages to this day over social media! But the contours were different back then, the internet was presumed to be niche, ancillary, and relationships made online in a completely separate box from “in person” friendships. The documentary goes to great lengths to explain that they were a real community because that idea is so contested. Ironically, they do this by emphasizing that they met up in person, hung out, attended each other's weddings, etc; as if only by meeting up in person could the relationships be validated as real? But you can’t truly fault them for meeting their implicit critics halfway in making their case.

So what can I fault them for?

*****

I was perpetually amused when watching the doc that they included two married couples in the filming, and for both one of the spouses would talk and the other would sit there, in silence, the entire time. Maybe they were members of the community and just not talkers; maybe their lines got cut in post. But what I kept thinking was that they were there selling normality to me; married couples are just inherently less oddball, less threatening, and in the era where “nerd = virgin” just less nerdy. Like with the Klingon line, there is an intentionality to the “just like you” vibe.

Which, as mentioned with the extensive forum roleplay, inevitably breaks down once the reality of forum activity is dug into. And I buried the lede here - you may have seen the title of the “longest” roleplay was “RTBS Soul Restoration Project”, but what does that mean? RTBS was a forum member’s name, and well:

Oh yeah, we are saving our friend from “a fate worse than death: worshiping Britney Spears” - welcome to 2001 baby! This is peak “nerd wars” stuff, the normies hate our shit so we hate the normie shit right back. Which is exactly how nerd culture was in the 2000's. I am not at all throwing shade at their tongue-in-cheek roleplay, resplendent in the ludicrously purple prose and asterisk-laden action descriptions as required by the early internet; but it sits in clear tension with some of the other messaging in this film. Leave Britney alone guys!

The documentary highlights a number of common practices from the forum - people doing daily greetings, the way that it being one unending massive chain of posts with no threading or topics meant people would mass-tag individual people to respond to and form “circles” that way - but there are things it leaves out. I did what any normal person would do after watching this documentary and read through over a year of archived posts on The Bronze to understand the community - but man did I not have to, as on literally the first page of my archived link I see:

And through God’s good grace that second link is archived:

Yes there are pictures at the link, and yes later on it does compare Buffy’s cleavage to the Mona Lisa. (The Giles link is not quite functional, but I was able to find it; sadly it is not nearly as thirsty)

I also found these “onboarding” sites for new members. Remember, this forum was the official forum, which meant there were no community mods or ability to “pin rules”, it was pure anarchy - so advice filled the gaps. And one of the bigger ones, in its *sighs and rubs forehead* blue font on black background, warns against “hottie posting” aka talking about how hot say Angel is, not because it isn’t allowed, but because it is like “pointing out the sky is blue” - it is so common that it will just get washed out.

It might seem like a similarly sky-is-blue comment to note that this forum was heavily about shipping, hotness discussion, fanfiction, and the like. Of course it was, right? These website “senior members” were trying to minimize it, police it, but it broke through constantly and also simmered under the surface through discussions and RP’s from my own review of the forum. The documentary, however, spends incredibly little time on it. Brief mentions of Angel fics, and no mention (iirc) of discussion of how hot the women were at all. Because once again those details really don’t fit into the narrative it is trying to sell.

At one point in the documentary someone notes how diverse all the friends they met in this community were? Which I broke out laughing over. In one way it is not wrong, I get it! Midwest college kids meeting people from all over the country, ages 40 to 14, talking about something no one in their podunk town understands. But on the other hand, you could not come up with a more standardized slice of humanity if you tried to rig it. Everyone here is an American+ with computer access in 1998, it is a grab bag of sys admins, nerd creatives, and comp sci majors.  I did a random sampling googling the people interviewed to see what they are up to now, and literally a third of them are librarians. Even their fashion is like God played a prank on this director; not even a 2000’s anime con panel lineup is this stereotypical in the combinations of alt-goth lit girls and nerdcore computer bros.

The evolutionary process of joining this forum -> liking it enough to go to the live meetups -> liking that enough to participate in a documentary about it was a pressure cooker spitting out only a certain kind of person. Which is truly fascinating to see on display! This is the internet-that-was; and it bleeds through the grainy film despite the director’s efforts at times to the contrary.

Though even then it was only a very specific slice of the internet-that-was, because this is a very special breed of Online; namely, the professionals.

*****

Something that is decidedly not typical of The Bronze as an online community is that, as mentioned before, Joss Whedon and other creatives posted on the web forum, answering questions and also just playing around, and how that led to in-person parties where both forum members and cast/crew attended - the Posting Board Parties, or PBP’s. At these they hosted fundraisers, talked about the show, and in the documentary one girl reverently describes with incredible Repressed Lesbian Energy her experience of seeing Eliza Dushku dancing next to her. The PBP had a panel of party organizers, admission systems to keep out the “undesirables”, budgets, the works.

All this the documentary shares openly; it is a peak moment where the digital becomes real in a transcendent way, opening doors analog reality never could. It is also a cold-sweat-waking nightmare story from the lens of a modern Hollywood social media manager; one person in the documentary tells the tale of how one time lead actress Allyson Hannigan posted her phone number on the forum asking people to leave her cute voicemails. The person in question immediately called, and got Hannigan herself instead of the voicemail, so they chatted for a bit (The guy telling this tale is obviously lovestruck; his wife is sitting in typical silence next to him). Today this would be a code-red, nuke your phone situation; but the circle was so cloistered, and the rules so unwritten, that no one cared in these early years.

What they share less openly is all the drama that went into this event. They wax nostalgic about how the parties brought them together, but what isn’t mentioned is the church schism it caused, as the moment cast from the show started attending the party it got mobbed by outsiders. By its ~3rd year there were approximately 400 guests but only ~50 or so were from the forum. They had a huge fight about it, the head of PFP planning committee - “Morbius the Vampire”, who was later jailed for financial fraud btw - told the dissenting faction why don’t they just throw their own party if they hate his so much, and so they did. There was more fighting about it, and eventually they held a peace summit at an LA joint called Mel’s Diner to merge the two factions together. (My source for this is a book, which I will link later)

Hilarious, for sure, but while so much of what we have discussed is “proto online nerd communities”, this part is most decidedly not. The typical web forum absolutely cannot replicate the experience of roleplay-posting your way into shaking hands with Joss Whedon and having a shitfight over party budgets in LA. But most posters never got to attend these parties, of course, this didn’t mean much to them. While for those who did, you cannot help but imagine that this played a gigantic role in making them all become a “real” community. And care enough about that circle to, well after the forum was gone, schlep to a hotel room to be interviewed for a documentary about it. Participating in a documentary is always, in some way, an exercise in selection bias; but here the pruning is turned up to 11 - this is a very elite slice of a very unique fandom experience.

*****

I have one deeper level to go on this thread, somewhat buried in time today, that further shaped the participants here: “Whedon Studies”. The 2000’s was not the birth of media studies as an academic discipline; but it was the birth of fandom-driven media studies, and Buffy was nearly unassailably the leading light of that movement. Academics hosted entire conferences (and inexplicably still do!) on Buffy, Firefly, etc; almost all from the lens of gender & media, as Buffy’s brand was deeply entrenched in that deconstructive milieu. This movement would die a fiery death during the 2010’s shift in media & gender politics, and when the controversies around the toxic working conditions on the set of Buffy/Angel led to Joss Whedon’s near-total expulsion from creative pursuits. The whole edifice is, in a deep way, “cringe” for many of its former participants today.

But what is relevant for our story is that director Stephanie Tuszynski was a full member of that movement; while composing this film she was, for example, giving talks like these at conferences devoted to the Buffyverse:

God that is a lot of talks. This film itself was her thesis project for her I believe philosophy masters, and in our scant interviews lists other fandom-academic film projects she wanted to tackle (which as best I can tell fizzled out later). And the interview subjects were often participants in the same space as well! Academic-types doing media studies with a Buffy bent, or things like culture writers for new media outlets. One of them, writer Allyson Beatrice, even published a book about the Buffy fandom that was in regular bookstores:

To quote the blurb:

A hilarious collection of true stories from Allyson's days as one of the Internet's leading cult TV fan gurus, her mind-boggling escapades include meetings with network executives in dark steakhouses to try to save doomed TV shows and one hastily arranged wedding for two committed Buffy fans. 

I highlight this not to say that academics cannot make documentaries, they certainly can. What I am saying is that if you point your camera at career Buffyverse writer Allyson Beatrice, and label her as a typical forum member giving you the hometown everygirl perspective on the community, you are, however unintentionally, lying to your audience. In its quest to give you the just-like-me Buffy fandom experience, what this documentary elides is that it is often giving you the lens of people who are fans of Buffy as a career. Those people are going to be bringing very different experiences to the table - of course they are concerned with sanitization, with nerd culture debates, the works. That is their bread-and-butter trade.

This dynamic bled into the forum’s day-to-day; there was a very clear hierarchy of “veterans” and “top” posters, who organize the live parties, have deep roots in the community, and even the ear of the show team...and everyone else. Particularly because as mentioned there were no rules on the forum, but since that can’t actually function in practice they self-generated community rules and thus their own leadership class. Cliques and groups were common and named, and veteran posters even had formally designated groupies:

I had also by this time become a groupie. I so enjoyed one particular Bronzer’s posts that she allowed me to become the seventh of her groupies. It was through groupie-dom that I got my first taste of firsthand WITT: several Bronzers, on the occasion of the birthday of she-to-whom-we-group, each took turns grabbing the microphone and praising the day that she was born. In retrospect, I’m not sure why we did this. But it was fun, and very funny, too, as we each took turns waxing melodramatic off the top of our heads. And from work, no less.

The source for this by the way is a 400 page ethnography of The Bronze posted by academic who did *cough* “field research” there; I am sure their membership in the “Bronzers Adoring Darla” fangroup was purely for comprehensive data collection purposes.

And to emphasize, I am not saying this is problematic or anything - the groupie things were all in good fun, best I can tell. I simply aim to showcase how the Bronze wasn’t just a baby version of online fandom forum dynamics; but also a baby version of e-celebrity mechanics. Something the documentary does not even attempt to touch on because that would be something normal people would not understand.

*****

All of the above may have come off like one big roast, and it is a little bit, but as I have mentioned before every documentary is propaganda. It is just impossible to have a tight film building a narrative out of the pieces of letting people speak to the camera without that narrative being but a slice of the truth those people want you to know. The Bronze web forum was a very special place to these highly invested fans, and this documentary is not lying to you about that.

But it is also a big part of early internet fandom! The Bronze was famous at the time, and it is right there at the beginning of so many shifts; the first generation of non-technical internet users, a new era of ‘fantasy’ media with the trappings of prestige and social critique, a boom in critique-as-community, and more. I very much want the full picture of that community; who made it up, what did they want from it and what did they get from it, and so on. No film could offer the full picture; this film’s homebrew rawness gives a valuable piece of it, and I enjoyed it for that. I just aimed here to draw out not only what the broader, more accurate dynamics of The Bronze were, but also the cultural question of why the film focuses on what it does, hides what it refuses to show, and what that says about 2000’s internet & nerd culture. Hopefully I succeeded in that.

And also to have fun looking at some incredibly dated Buffy fandom bullshit. May it have been fun for you too! {hugs you and waves goodbye}

[l0st-marblezz]

“The LiB if they were human teenagers” headcanons (+ 1 Webby hc):

Tinky is obsessed with the backrooms but only the version where there’s no monsters. He’s constantly arguing on forums on how it’s the superior version and that “Kane Pixels is the reason the backrooms are seen as a joke”

Blinky runs a school confessions page and a school fights TikTok account simultaneously. He has the uncanny ability to be present and record every school fight ever. He’s the school gossip and stalks the other students’ social media accounts. Is chronically online and knows all the niche internet drama.

Wiggly is the type of kid to run a school black market monopoly selling contraband. He manipulates other students to do the actual selling while he rakes in all the money. Any other attempt at outselling him has been crushed.

Nibbly is the kid at the back of the class who is constantly eating. It’s always some sort of fancy gormet meal. No one knows where he gets his food from. He gets aggressive when you ask him to share.

Pokey is the certified obnoxious Theater Kid™️. Sings the most obnoxious theater songs and they always get stuck in peoples heads. Is the loudest kid in the class.

Webby volunteers in a lot of the school clubs. She’s the type of student that is very nice, but is quiet and you don’t see her often. She’s quite embarrassed of her younger brothers and doesn’t want to be associated with them.