GodAwfulCreature

This is very sweet and gives me hope for their future relationship but

Liam and Louis could at least scooch one inch closer. Liam looks like he wants to make sure that they can cut him out if needed. Even his arm disappears behind his back again

please check the tags for any trigger warnings before reading as some of these fics revolve around some heavy topics. happy reading!

➼draco malfoy and mortifying ordeal of being in love by issthisselfcare

➼a season for setting fires by mightbewriting

➼the right thing to do by LovesBitca8

➼pros and cons by ChaosAndCrumpets

➼the disappearances of draco malfoy by speechwriter

➼this world on any other by olivieblake

➼happy pills by malfoy101

➼wait and hope by mightbewriting

➼seventy times seven by steeely

Dramoine fanfiction blurs the lines between gift economy and capitalism, and we should talk about it.

With the rise of purity culture, fandom etiquette dying as consumerist mindsets enter our spaces, and fanfiction becoming mainstream, it sure is a hot mess riddled with pitfalls for anyone who do not tread carefully.

Which is why I am disappointed but not surprised that the publishers of certain Dramoine fanfics-turned-originals are shoving all consideration aside to monetize on the fact that these books were originally fanfics.

Fandom is not to be monetized in any way, shape, or form—and yet, that is exactly what’s happening when the publisher releases a poster to explain Dramoine fanfic to a mainstream audience and the author claims her fic on Goodreads along with naming AO3-tags in a comment about original work.

This also prompts readers and fans to create fanart to share on social media where they utilise fandom-related knowledge to (knowingly or not) market what is supposed to be an original work, further blurring the lines between fanfiction and books, which endangers one of the only communities left not fuelled by capitalist intent.

There needs to be separation between fandom and trad literature, because they serve separate purposes. Fanfiction is art created for the sake of creating art. Money has never been a motivational factor in the creation of these stories, they are written for the joy of writing as a gift to the community.

Books are also an artform, but a monetized artform where the intent of publishing them is to earn. Books become products, which is why we can critique and review them, just as we do a movie.

Fanfic writers and traditionally published authors can be the same person. Many of us strive to be both, but we must keep these spaces separate, because fanfiction and trad books are separate things with separate purposes.

There are other MDZS maps out there but they either only have the major sects or, if they have any other information, they’re super blurry and basically unusable. So I’m making my own. Here’s the general locations of every named sect, plus a version where they’re color-coded – Green is for sects that are exclusive to the Donghua, Pink sects are exclusive to the Audio Drama, and Blue is exclusive to The Untamed. Obviously the sections of Gray, Yellow, Blue, Purple and Red denote the territories of the Nie, Jin, Lan, Jiang and Wen.

Hi! After receiving permission from @bigbadredpanda, I decided to translate a 2016 interview about Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Here, MXTX discusses why Jiang Cheng would never find a girlfriend and why Yi City Arc was a tearful tragedy. Also, when did Lan Wangji start falling in love with Wei Wuxian?

Second part here.

The interview was transcripted by this person on Lofter.

I was dreaming of a summer sky and the wind blew the other way.

Hyrule Cultivators AU: Vah Dafan

Because sure, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were being shamelessly cuddly, but Jin Guangyao—the man who was revealing his supervillain masterplot bit by bit throughout this altercation—spent a portion of that time on his knees in front of Lan Xichen with a tearful, "it's not true baby let me explain," routine—during which you can physically see Lan Xichen yo-yo in real-time between fully buying into jiggy's excuses, then snapping himself out of it with a colorful spectrum of emotions that are definitely in contrast with the Lan family precepts.

What's worse, not only are Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen essentially two of the biggest celebrities of the cultivation world, but most of the cultivators present actively work for Jin Guangyao. That is their boss ugly crying on the floor trying not to fumble the man they are actively holding as their prisoner.

Do no repost, this piece belongs to the commissioner only 🙏

(Jiang Cheng never had to worry about that. Whatever he did was sure to be the wrong.)

Entirely because he didn’t have the energy to get dragged into children’s games, and not because he didn’t want people to see him, Jiang Cheng waited until the girl had darted away and Wen Ning had faded back into the underbrush, the chains wrapping themselves about him like…they kind of reminded Jiang Cheng of crossing his arms around his torso for warmth, actually.  Something in Jiang Cheng’s chest squeezed. He cleared his throat. Damned Spring colds and their congestion. “You’ve been here for a while,” he said, striding forward so he wouldn’t step back. A stick under his boots snapped: crack, crunch. Wen Ning didn’t jump, but the chains did, rising slightly from his shoulders and glowing. They quieted down when Wen Ning saw it was just Jiang Cheng. “Zongzhu,” he said, politely. Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I can, can go if you want?” No, Jiang Cheng thought, with surprising vehemence. He cleared his throat again, tried to cover his reaction by squaring his shoulders. There: he was close enough to stare Wen Ning down. It was one of the things he was good at, glowering.

“…or I can not go?” Wen Ning was trying, it was clear, but the undercurrent of anxiety that Jiang Cheng was used to when dealing with the other man was faint, if there at all. Instead he seemed bemused. Like Jiang Cheng was being the strange one here. (He probably was. It was humiliating. Jiang Cheng took the emotion in both hands mentally and ripped it to shreds.) “I just meant that you must have more important things to do,” he said, catching himself before he listed to the right, took himself out of his sturdy posture. Spine straight, feet planted. Don’t lock your knees. “We’re fine here. You can go off and fight demons, or whatever it is you use to fill time.” “Mostly I just walk,” Wen Ning said. There was that smile again, but it was wider; just a touch. “I like your home very much, Jiang-zongzhu. It’s pretty.” It was godsdamned beautiful, was what it was, and yet still could never live up to the Lotus Pier in Jiang Cheng’s memories. The flowers were vibrant but always too small. The river was too cold. The boards were in their second decade but looked as fresh as the day they’d been fitted, spelled and resined against wear. They didn’t remember.

Well, they’d done a job and a half of rebuilding, at least, and his people had roofs and fishponds.

He jerked his chin at the tree the kite had been in, meaning to say something about his disciples being a handful, and hissed as a line of pain lanced up his neck. The older he got the more it felt like he couldn’t sit for half an hour without putting something out of alignment.  Prying his hand away from Sandu–when had he grabbed her?–he rubbed at the base of his neck. Fuck. He did not have time for this, afternoon exercises were going to hurt like a motherfucker– “How long has that been hurting?” Jiang Cheng looked up (ow) to find Wen Ning very, very close to him, and bit hard on his tongue to keep from shrieking. If a fox ever tried to go up against Wen Ning for silence in hunting, he’d find himself skinned for mittens before he even realized they’d begun. “I’m not hurt.” Wen Ning made a noise that, in a strange falling moment of vertigo, sounded so much like his sister that Jiang Cheng almost wondered if he was asleep. He was not, he confirmed, as his thumb found a particularly stiff knot and that stripe of pain struck again. This time he could feel it in his teeth. Shit fucking fucker. Cold fingers touched beside his hand, at the top of his collar. This time Jiang Cheng really did shriek, though he tried to turn it into dignified indignation. It came out sounding mostly like a waterboarded finch. “What!” “You don’t have any ice. I’m very cold.” “I can feel that!” But oh, it did feel nice, numbness leeching from Wen Ning’s skin to the firey pinch of his muscle. Slowly Jiang Cheng let his own arm drop. They were nose-to-nose, now; nose-to-throat, with how Jiang Cheng’s head was bowed. Odd: Wen Ning didn’t have a smell. He didn’t sweat, Jiang Cheng supposed. He did not whimper when Wen Ning took his hand away. 

Despite the fact that the Ghost General was now a semi-frequent attachment to various sect gatherings and to his nephew’s group of friends, Jiang Cheng had not until this trip spent a great deal of time one-on-one with him. He’d come to the realization last night, stoking the fire, that it was the most time he’d spent in Wen Ning’s intimate presence since Wen Ning had carried his unconscious body out of the Wen Supervisory Office. It was an unpleasant thought; it sat on his skin, oily and smelling vaguely of blood, all the way through to the next morning.

“Do you do this often?” He asked now, painfully aware of his own awkwardness. Hard to miss the equivalent of a ten-inch thorn in your foot. “Walk into large bodies of water and, what, wait for fishermen to row up so you can scare them?” “No,” Wen Ning said. He was treading water, and doing a poor job of it; too much flailing about. Automatically Jiang Cheng grabbed onto his hands and held him still, offering support while he convinced his body that it wouldn’t sink. Wen Ning tilted his head and looked at him with wide eyes, mouth parting. Jiang Cheng flushed. Wen Ning’s hands were– fucking freezing, but the water was decently warm this late in summer, so it wasn’t too much of a problem. (He’d known Wei Wuxian was playing him, when he’d burst into Jiang Cheng’s office at Lotus Pier, trailing that husband of his like a loose shoe, and gone on and on about the yaoguai problem two towns over that Wen Ning was going to inspect. 

“I’d just feel better if you went with him, since we can’t and Sizhui is spending the summer back home,” he’d said, pouting in that way that was so big and fake it made Jiang Cheng want to punch it off him. 

So the Cloud Recesses was “home” now, was it? Whatever. Jiang Cheng didn’t want his nuisance around while he was trying to host dignitaries and keep the shidis from killing each other, either. He’d probably blow the whole place up.)

“….No,” Wen Ning repeated, snapping Jiang Cheng’s attention away from a pile of very painful emotions he didn’t feel like examining, now or hopefully ever. “But you wanted to go, to go swimming. So.”

“What?” Something slimy brushed across Jiang Cheng’s leg; seaweed, likely. He stifled the instinct to jump and shriek. 

Wen Ning just ducked his head. He was getting the hang of keeping himself afloat, kind of. Jiang Cheng let go of his hands and tipped himself back so he was looking at the sky, sweeping his arms out to either side of him for balance, and direction. The water crept in around him, swallowing up his ears and with them all sound.  Jiang Cheng had always liked that. It was…nice. Calm. 

Lan Sizhui said, “He’s probably hidden somewhere down the mountain, waiting for us to find him the next time we go night-hunting.” After some thought, he continued in a worried tone, “But when we parted, still Jiang-zongzhu seemed quite angry. I hope we didn’t make things difficult for him.”

Wei Wuxian said, “Ah? Jiang Cheng? How did you run into him while night-hunting?”

“We invited Jin-gongzi to join our night-hunt last time, so…”

Wei Wuxian immediately understood.