#(this zine is going to rock by the way)

[nearwildheaven]

why the fuck did lindy morrison just follow me on twitter. does she know i’d die for her

[gottagobuycheese]

never been so relieved to get such a terrible night of sleep wow

[philosopunk]

Punk Academia, in my opinion.

Studying either at home with music blasting or at the public library, very quietly.

Possibly drinking a pepsi or something, whatever you got from a vending machine.

Whatcha reading? Books on anarchy, or maybe history, political movements, social studies -- anything that opens your horizons and educates you.

Hell, maybe you're even studying the history of punk rock? Getting familiar with its core philosophies?

Or, you know, you could also be reading a fiction book or a zine.

Taking notes on your notebook with a pencil.

The notebook is filled with poems and lyrics you've created or you've liked from other places.

Written rambling on whatever you read, something that might go up on your blog, or your zine if you have one.

Doodles, designs and stickers all over that notebook and the notebook cover too.

You're dressed however the fuck you want??? As you should??

Your hair is also however you want, casual, mundane, crazy as fuck, who cares.

Finding ways to help your community and those in need, that seems very punk academia.

Discussing what you learned with others.

Educating people who aren't in your scene, too.

Or, hell, talking to yourself about it while you work on a patch.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Notes on Nowhere Boy

Finally posting the long version of the close-watch I did for @sleeper9's Fete zine. The bad thing about me is I hate spending money and love pirating shitty quality versions of movies. The good thing about the Beatles fandom is we're used to dealing with grainy pics. Anyways, here goes!

The opening ten seconds really do set the tone for the film, and here's why. It's the opening of A Hard Day’s Night where the boys are running from a hoard of screaming fans and George biffs it. John sees him go down, laughs, and keeps running. Only here, it's just John. George’s fall has been erased, making John into a cocky, if slightly insane, little lone hero. 

Mimi: do I ignore you? No. So please don't ignore me. Me: ummm, yeah you do ignore him, Mimi. Enough to leave deep psychological scars. But it's fine. Moving on.

Ugh, Uncle George is so sweet! I wonder how much of John's sweetness he learned from him. I wish we knew more about him.

Actually that was Jim that set up a cord running into Paul's room from the radio downstairs. But it fits Uncle George's character, so it works. 

Why did they make Mendips look a lot more working class than it actually was? No fancy iron fence, no pretty hexagonal outcropping, no stained glass veranda? 

Aaron Taylor Johnson is nailing it though. The laugh sounds very John, and this posture? Perfect. 

Okay but if that doesn't heartbreakingly encapsulate John and Mimi I don't know what does. Uncle George has just died. John goes to Mimi, wraps her from behind in a tight embrace and lets out a sob. Her response is to push him away. “Please, let's not be silly. If you want to do that, go to your room.” Alright, it's making me feel things, it's winning me over. 

John making his cousin Stan go and ask Mimi where Julia is is also extremely accurate. Always had someone to do the dirty work for them, all of them. 

Mimi's concern as John's going to visit his mother in the “bad” part of town is very good to have in too. “And you will be careful, hmm? Careful who you talk to.” And John's response, “it's only Blackpool, Mimi.” It's true. It could've been Speke, or the Dingle. Which Quarryman did I read saying Mimi didn't like John even leaving Woolton?

John's hurt little face when he finds out his mum, all this time, has been less than a bus ride away is a very clever way to show us his painful confusion about the whole situation. 

Trying to remind myself that this is a very anti-Julia pro-Mimi movie that will try to make me think she's crazy. But it sure is doing a hell of a good job. She hasn't seen him in years and suddenly she's hand feeding him desserts, kissing him every chance she's got, flirting all over the place. “Do you know what it means? Rock and Roll? Sex.” “Don't tell Mimi, alright? This is our little secret. Promise me.” And to a poor affection-starved boy, that's going to feel good. That's going to put thoughts in his head like “this is how it should be”. I mean I know she was wild and fun and sexy and irresponsible. And I know John did have weird thoughts about her. But I hope she wasn't actually this crazy. 

But the weird Freudian thing aside, he's got to be so terribly confused hearing the woman who effectively abandoned him declaring her love for him. Between Mimi and Julia, John would've had such a messed up idea of what that word meant. 

The Daily Howl, my absolute beloved!!

Nowhere Boy John watching Elvis: damn I've gotta get the girls screaming for me like that! Actual John watching Elvis: he's so beautiful! He's perfect! I'm in love!

Also I do not think sixteen year old John was that good at fingering. Just saying. 

This part always drops my heart cold into my stomach. Poor John. Poor poor baby. You can hear his little boy voice calling, “mum? It's me.” And she mutters, very annoyed, “go away.” Again. I have to remind myself that this is a purposely negative portrait of Julia. But then. It is true that she was a mostly absent and wholly undependable figure in John's life. 

Sometimes dialogue is absolutely perfect. Like this – “Aw, why couldn't God make me Elvis Presley?” “Cause he was saving you for John Lennon.” “Aw I'll get you back for that, God!” And this – “you haven't told Mimi, have you?” “No point going through her bullocks if I don't have to.” “Why? She has to go through yours.” “Yeah well I never asked her to, did I?”

Ugh this whole movie just hurts so bad! How he looks to Julia as Mimi is ordering him out of her house, just begging her to claim him this time. And she doesn't until he makes a stand for himself. And then, later. “How long can I stay?” Is met with nothing. Not even a fake “long as you want, love.” It really plays into the title of the film. This boy's got nowhere to call home. And then, the final straw. Look at his face as he hears Julia agree that he does in fact need to go back to Mimi's. If I did that kind of thing, I'd actually be crying right now. Fuck, why was I knit-picking, this movie is working so well. 

 As he's announcing he's leaving Julia's, John wants her to tell him to stay. To at least pretend it's not what she wants. And she doesn't even look at him. Imagine if they did something like this in the John biopic mirrored with a scene with Paul in the breakup?

He's just so adorable looking at that guitar like he can't believe it's real.

John's gathered the og Quarrymen in the bathroom and Pete goes “I take it we're not here for a communal crap.” Idk Pete, wouldn't put it past him. It's not far off what you all do already.

It's making the Quarrymen look kinda cool here, and I really want them all to be shit except John, just because that's what I get from Paul's description. Not that he's biased or anything. He could've been watching John play with Elton John and David Bowie and he'd still say everyone faded into the background. 

Also Mimi would Not have been there. Not on her life. 

Okay now we're sort of seeing them from Paul's perspective. Bunch of losers surrounding this inimitable shining star. 

Accurate that the first thing John says to Paul is about jerking off. 

The dynamic in general is just so well-done in this first scene. John instantly testing Paul. How much shit will he put up with? And Paul instantly having none of it, showing off, and winning John over. 

All the other Quarrymen just know it's time to dust off the ole resume. 

But! Paul's fete “audition” is so toned down for this film. Although of course, accounts vary. He did 20 flight rock, yeah. But he also did it on someone's borrowed right hand guitar turned upside down. And he did little Richard and played the piano, and tuned John's guitar for him. In one telling of it, John says he asked him to be in the group right there on the spot. So. Yeah. 

But either way, watching John watch Paul is just gorgeously gay. It's giving extreme “Oooooh, he likes hiiiiiim!” It's actually illegal not to queerbate using Lennon/McCartney and I'm glad all moviemakers seem to understand the law.

Cut to “John, your little friend's here!” Can you imagine if they'd showed the “chalk and cheese” whirling dervish moment? Or Mimi making Paul use the back door? Those might change some thoughts and feelings in this movie. 

And then we get the reciprocated “Oooooh, he likes hiiiiiim!” Moment as Paul's too busy checking out John’s buddy Holly Look to remember where he is, let alone what cord they're on. And it's so sweet because Paul's the first person who gives John the idea that his real self is actually cooler than his tough-guy act. 

The little matching feet tapping?? Eee it's so cute! 

But why miss the opportunity for them to sing in harmony here?

Sometimes the dialogue is extremely inaccurate. “So mummy’s cool about baby Paul wanting to be Elvis?” “Oh she would've loved it.” Like hell she would've. She would've been as disapproving as Mimi. Then again, maybe it is accurate for Paul to be lying about that.

“Well she – she sort of – died. You know, em. If we're gonna do this we should write our own stuff.” Okay yep there he is. That's Paul. 

Also love how John gets his first calluses after Paul the bossy taskmaster comes into his life. (You know. And the reason to push himself and a person who cares enough to take the time to show him things and it makes John all dreamy staring at the stars that night etc) Anyway. It's perfect. 

And the first gig we see after Paul joins is in a venue on a real stage with a much bigger audience, and the matching suits of course. 

Mimi selling John's guitar because of a bad report card is like the lighter, kinder translation of what happened in reality when she had his dog put down while he was staying at Julia's. 

So they kinda make up for not letting Paul sing etc by having him nail the guitar instead of screw up at this gig like he did irl. 

And he's stealing Julia's attention, which is clearly Not okay with John. Reminds me of that quote of Paul's about how they were both in love with John's mum. 

George is appropriately infantile. Good. Cutie. 

The Quarrymen playing “That's Alright, Mama” as John's making up with Julia since she bought his guitar back for him. Okay. Very clever. 

Paul does Not like John disrespecting his mother after the show for obvious reasons. (“I said something wrong now I long for yesterday.”) But clearly he doesn't have the full picture here. I wonder at what point irl Paul got a full run-down from John on his messed-up family life. Or did he just have to pull it together piece by piece over the years?

And of course he jumps to light Julia's cigarette. Boy was patting his pocket for a lighter like it was the race of his life. Mister steal your mum.

Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, Paul McCartney’s number two complaint about this movie: John was Not taller than him. How dare they? Slander.  

That's one hell of a jacket.

At the party, John's of course pissed to find Paul serenading Julia in the kitchen. But Paul just wants a mommy so bad, John. Why can't you just let him have yours since you clearly don't want her? Right, because you really, really do. More than anyone can understand. But when you showed her that – how bad you wanted her to be your mum, not just a friend – she hurt you. Forced you to go through your abandonment all over again. So now you can't show that anymore. 

The washboard over Pete's head is almost exactly accurate, isn't it? John does not handle people leaving him well. 

Ugh his little voice cracking on the word “mum.” John Lennon is a poor poor baby and I will die on that hill.

I wonder how John did find out about Victoria and the real story of why he was with Mimi. No matter how, though, that's certainly a lot of mess for a young man to be carrying around with him all the time in his head. 

“When your father came back from the merchant Navy, he wanted to try and save the marriage, but your mother would have none of it.” I do feel like we're going with Alf’s version of events here, the one he sold John in order to get into his good graces after he was famous. Which is, again, not fair to Julia. I wonder how little Julia feels about this movie. 

In fact, I think this part –  “who do you wanna be with, John? Do you wanna be with me or do you wanna be with your mum?” – has been categorically disproven. But it certainly does make for some high drama. And John himself did believe his father's story, so there has to be at least some emotional truth there. 

Nowhere Boy John: There's no point in hating someone you love. I mean really love. IRL John: How do you sleep, you cunt?!

There he is. Art School John. Though he fell in love with every iteration of John, I think this one never left his head because he was one of the earliest Johns, and he was a John Paul had to fight for, you know, with all the Stu business and dead mother anger.

He really does an excellent job of playing John, though, when he's written right. “Woman took her kit off and we painted her breasts. Not actually physically. I got my eye on you two.” Ridiculous. Charming. Off- putting. Adorable. 

Ignoring the fact that I prefer to think of “Hello, Little Girl” as being about Paul (“you never seem to see me standing there”) and they're making it about Julia, this is a lovely scene. With John somewhat unsure still of his songwriting abilities and Paul looking up at him from the floor full of admiration. 

Oh he's gonna murder someone. To be fair, I think playing Julia's banjo at her funeral is exactly the type of insensitive thing Paul would do, because he just thinks and feels in music and it makes Sense to him even though of course it's going to piss John off. 

Hilarious, and probably accurate tbh, that Paul's pissed John off so he gives Pete a bloody nose.

But here we go, the number one complaint about this movie from Paul, which I think is actually valid. John never hit him and that was important to both of them and it's disrespectful to portray it and play into the myth of their rocky, angry relationship. 

But maybe in 2009 that's what it took for them to be able to show John Lennon and Paul McCartney in a genuine, loving embrace, crying into each other's necks about mothers. It has to be preceded by John punching Paul in the mouth. 

If I was John's writing partner, my biggest beef with this movie would actually be the scene where they're recording ISOATD and making it look like John wrote it and played the guitar solo. But Paul's never even mentioned it. Which I guess really shows he cares far more about the legacy of his relationship with John than his career legacy. Which. If you mean more to Paul McCartney than his fucking music? Well then you must be just about important enough to have your own movie. 

This is really the Vote for Mimi Smith campaign, isn't it? Putting across the screen the fact that John called Mimi every week until he died as “Mother” plays in the background is brutal. Ouch. But it's true. “It's Mimi time.”

[archeolatry]

Go take a look at this beautiful trove of old SparkSound magazines someone is selling on eBay. For the price they might as well be made out of gold, but the seller's been nice enough to take big, largely readable photos of so many of the issues. Is there a similar digital hoard of scanned versions? I'd love to see more! (I've seen photo pages in full but only snippets of the rest.) The absolute like... raw, sloppy, fanzine chaos of these as as official publications from a major label band is blowing my fucking mind, even if it is just for the fan club. It's literally their mom cutting and pasting and cramming mentions from both Melody Maker and TV Guide onto an A3 sheet of paper, layouts be damned. The apostrophe on her typewriter is broken for a couple issues but she carries on with an asterisk. She's also around 60 by this point and banging this out to an audience of hundreds or thousands like it's a local Kiwanis club newsletter. But she's doing it with gusto, by gum, and it's punk as hell. The best thing about it is that the lack of style is made up for by the absolute top-tier access to the band, and her being surprisingly on top of pertinent details.

For those of you who weren't in a fandom before the internet, those behind-the-scenes photos were like your favorite band's proof of life. There was no Instagram or Twitter, or anything that proved they existed between national TV appearances and touring in your area (besides those mentions in Melody Maker anyway). If you were lucky, your fandom had the capacity to trade videotapes and people in Scranton could see local TV appearances in Los Angeles and vice-versa. If you were really lucky they weren't all copies of copies with potato quality sound and video. Likewise, if you wanted the 12" extended European dance mix of a song with a B-side unavailable in the US, you had to either special order it somewhere and pay through the nose, hope it was in the imports section of a record store (and still pay through the nose), or you had to trade cassettes or burned CDs and hope the other person didn't flake on you. The fact that she's saying "Don't go running to the import section yet, the single will be out on ____ record label on this date with this track listing" is WAY more info than we usually got from our official sources. All "Mary Martin" needed to do for exclusive content was take pictures of her sons on vacation. On one page she's absolutely dunking on Russell them in wry cut-and-paste captions and on another she is the perfect hype man, telling people shows at The Greek Theater are gonna sell out so get your tickets early (but hold your horses on travelling- they're working on Japanese dates for September so you may not need to fly to the US). The personal thank-yous! The CARE! *slams fist on table* If any other band had their mom as the head of their fan club it'd be the most contrived shit in the universe, a complete lie, or both. I fucking love these guys.

[cordspaghetti]

hi sorry if this is a silly question! but i’ve seen your art around and it’s amazing!! i’ve been wanting to get into mcr for a bit because of it and i know nearly nothing about them (somehow) and it seems like they have a lot of, lore for lack of a better word. if you have any suggestions, where should i start? btw i adore ur style! :)

Hey!! this is such a fun question oh my god. And thank you so much, i’m so happy that you like my art!

ok so when you say you know nothing about them I’m going to assume you mean like… absolutely nothing. after listening to the music i think youtube is a pretty good place to begin getting into the My Chemcial Romance Lore. very visual band. definitely watch the music videos on their channel if you haven’t already—any behind the scenes/making of videos, live performances, and promo videos on there are really great too. their tour diary/documentary Life on the Murder Scene is CRUCIAL. Some other nice ones to look at afterwards are mcr in the studio 2002, this WSOU interview, this 97x a look back with mcr series, this kevin smith smodcast... also anything from steven’s untitled rock show or fuse tv for early stuff !!! mcr’s career can be split into 4 extremely distinct eras corresponding with each of their albums, so you can pretty much pick what you’re most into and investigate from there… some other fun ways to learn about them are searching up magazine scans/articles (AP, kerrang, and rock sound covered them a lot, plus SPIN and nme a bit), combing through my chemcial romance dot com on the wayback machine (their blog posts are a highlight), checking out fan zines and archives (lots on tumblr and also ig), and reading Books (off the top of my head i can think of Not the Life it Seems by tom bryant and Where are Your Boys Tonight by Chris Payne). Also the Killjoys comic series if you dig danger days 😎. ok i’ll stop there!!! this is mostly like… how to Find the lore, rather than the lore itself haha. i hope you find it helpful! anyone who wants to add on pls do…

[scum-man-of-pesto]

I really, really need more women and girls to make punk/punk adjacent feminist music like the Bleeders or S.C.U.M.

I need to see "SCUM Punk"/"Gash Rock" spread as the new dominant political/feminist movement in alt scenes (I think S.C.U.M. are using Gash Rock like the Bleeders instead of SCUM Punk now, but I still figured I should inlude it for those unaware, I know it was SCUM Punk in the zine, but obv it's not possible to retroactively edit a zine). I'm tired of liberal-ass Riot Grrrl music that's just like "I somehow "reclaimed" the status-quo and now I love it!!! I'm mainly going to yell about other women and personal occurances!! I will materially change nothing and only defend things I like without questioning why I even like them!!! Yay western hyper-individualism!!!!" etc. All while claiming to be radicals and leftists. Alt scenes are so filled to the brim with misogyny, and Riot Grrrl does genuinely nothing to challenge that.

It is so frustrating to listen back to a lot of my past Riot Grrrl favs sometimes now, but I do think that they were right about fighting for their beliefs with loud and angry music. It is such a solid avenue to build a movement out of. There's no better way to get people interested than artistic expression that they think is cool.

So, just like the Riot Grrrls of yesterday and the Gash Rockers of today, grab instruments and start yelling. Make a band. It doesn't have to be all women/girls to start. You don't need to know how to play when it comes to punk or music like it, you just need to be angry and have the ability to google basic chords or beats. Start yelling. Start screaming. Make it so that they can't ignore the voices of women and girls suffering in this patriarchal hellscape system anymore. There's already a couple bands literally doing it, so now is the TIME for you too!!

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Creature Comforts

Rated G | Vidow Cottage AU | 2557 words

Vio notices literal and figurative similarities between Shadow and Pinecone the cat.

I wrote this fic back in September for the Four Swords Winter's Delight zine, which has now been released! Please check out the tumblr page @fswintersdelight for the PDF, which includes art, fic, and other goodies from fandom creators. A special thank you to Kalh, aka @vagueandominousvibes and WriterKalhsScribbles on ao3, for creating and managing the event!

“I love it,” Vio says, turning the rock over in his hand. It reminds him of sunset dragon rides, the heat of the Fire Temple, the sweet taste of marshmallows roasted over fires they set together. “Thank you, Shadow.” In retrospect, Vio knows he probably shouldn’t have been so permissive of Shadow doing villainous things to impress him back in their evil days. It’s something Blue, Green, Zelda, and even Shadow himself have all since commented on, with various degrees of moral judgment. And to his credit, Vio typically attempts to walk it back, to express retroactive distaste for Shadow’s more violent and macabre ‘gifts.’ But deep down, some part of Vio will always take pleasure in the degree to which Shadow will go to prove his devotion. “We should probably dispose of the dead mouse, though,” Shadow mutters against Vio’s lips.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut:

Evil root beer is not meant to be served warm.

“Okay, yeah, experiment’s over,” Shadow gags, pouring the contents of his stein into the kitchen sink.

Vio winces at the waste. “To be fair, some beverages can be served hot and cold.” He retrieves the pot from the stovetop and begins to wash it, while Shadow sits up on the counter. His expression, Vio can’t help but notice, is almost comically sour.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Vio says, reaching for a sponge.

“It was pretty bad,” Shadow disagrees with an exaggerated shiver. “Oh hey, Pinecone.”

Their cat acknowledges them with a glance as she wanders into the tiny kitchen, headed straight for her food bowl. Wet food waits for her, as always.

Vio turns off the faucet and places the the pot on the drying rack, joining Shadow on the counter. “I know what might get the taste out of your mouth,” he says with a smirk.

Shadow returns it. “Yeah? I’d test that theory.”

Skrch-skrch-skrch.

Their attention returns to Pinecone, who scrapes the tile beside her food bowl with one dainty paw. After a moment of expressing her displeasure, she gives her roommates an indignant stare.

“Why?” Vio exclaims, gesticulating his offense. “It’s the same exact food as usual!”

“Relax,” Shadow says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll talk to her.”

“You’ll… what?”

Shadow winks, and suddenly he’s not Shadow at all. A lean black cat with familiar eyes replaces him on the counter, taking a quick second to nuzzle against Vio’s leg before he hops onto the floor.

Vio frowns. “Oh, right.”

Shadow crosses over to join Pinecone at her bowl, trilling a friendly greeting towards his three-legged friend. Pinecone sniffs him for only a second before she bonks his forehead.

They two cats communicate in a series of meows and chirps, none of which Vio can understand. After an especially long monologue from Pinecone, Shadow nods and leans down to sample some of her freshly-served, perfectly good chicken pate. After a few bites he consults with Pinecone once again, and then makes his way back to Vio on the counter.

Vio gives Shadow a full-body pet, enjoying the way he leans into his touch. And then Real Shadow is back, doing the very same thing, only his hair is purple instead of black. Shadow’s eyes are closed and he wears the dopiest smile, almost lost in the affection.

Vio clears his throat. Shadow opens one eye, as if remembering where he is and what he’s doing. He straightens his spine and leans against the kitchen backsplash.

“Well, nothing’s wrong with the food,” Shadow says, glancing over as Pinecone scrapes the floor again. “She just isn’t in the mood for chicken.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Vio huffs, crossing his arms over his sweater-clad chest. “I don’t want to waste food, and she’ll get another tin in twelve hours anyway.”

Shadow shrugs. “Seems reasonable to me. She’s fine, just being a little bit of a drama queen.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Vio teases. “Experiment’s still on the table, by the way.”

“I’ll ignore the insult if you kiss me.”

Vio indulges Shadow for only a second before he pulls away with his own exaggerated disgust. “Cat food! Your mouth tastes like cat food!”

Shadow bursts out laughing. “Sounds like someone isn’t in the mood for chicken!” Leaning back, he slams his head against the upper cabinet. “Aw, sh—”

Vio pats Shadow comfortingly as he reaches towards the shelf.

“Vi, what are you—”

Pinecone chirps happily as Vio opens a tin of tuna pate.

─────────────────

Vio found the book on cat behavior at the Castle Town library a few days ago, but this is the first time he’s actually been able to read it. Lounging on the couch beside a crackling fire, he hums as he turns the page.

A familiar chirp startles him to attention. Pinecone sits at the foot of the couch, staring intently towards Vio’s lap. He smiles, shifts his book to an admittedly less comfortable position, and pats the wool blanket. “You can come up.”

And so she does, immediately claiming her favorite spot on Vio’s stomach. She circles for only a moment before collapsing, resting her chin on his chest and meeting his eyes. He senses the soft rumble of a purr, and watches as she begins to knead the soft blanket.

It’s a weird angle, but Vio still manages to check the book’s index for ‘kneading.’

Kneading, also known as ‘making biscuits,’ is an instinctive feline soothing behavior.

Vio looks fondly down at his feline. “Are you making biscuits, Pinecone?”

She trills and kneads harder.

“Biscuits are in the oven!” announces Shadow, standing in the doorframe between their kitchen and den. He has flour all over his black apron, and looks very proud of his hard work.

Pinecone hops off Vio’s lap to rub against Shadow’s leg, and Vio finds himself on his feet as well. “You’ve got some flour on your face,” he observes, stepping closer.

Shadow smirks. “Totally not on purpose.”

“Of course not,” Vio agrees, running a finger gently down the other man’s cheek. He wipes the flour onto Shadow’s apron, and then pulls him by the waist for a kiss.

─────────────────

“Can you maniacs please get the zoomies one at a time?” Vio complains, seated at the kitchen table with a stack of handwritten notes and a warm cup of tea.

Pinecone responds by running straight into a wall.

Shadow, meanwhile, has been bouncing his leg uncontrollably for the past fifteen minutes. Vio finally leans down to place a gentle hand on Shadow’s knee, steadying both his partner and the table itself.

“I know the meeting was long,” he says, meeting Shadow’s eyes. “But we need to finalize this summary while the discussion is still fresh in our minds.”

Shadow glances longingly towards the den, where Pinecone gives an enchantingly peculiar yowling performance.

“She’s fine,” Vio reassures him. “Normal feline behavior, my book said so.”

Shadow sighs, trying his best to settle. “Yeah. I know. I can focus.”

Vio kisses his cheek, free to work uninterrupted for several peaceful minutes.

That is, until he hears the scraping.

Vio’s head shoots up, startling Shadow enough that he freezes mid-action. He appears to have been slowly sliding Vio’s mug closer to the table’s edge.

“What are you doing?” Vio asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shadow appears genuinely confused by his own strange impulse. “I… I’m not sure.” He pulls back his hand and examines it, bewildered. “It’s like I got possessed or something.”

They both hear a loud crash from the den.

Sighing, Vio caps his pen. “Wanna go see what she broke?”

Shadow is already gone.

─────────────────

This is the third dead thing Pinecone has brought him in a week. Vio winces down at the mouse’s corpse, only wincing harder at his cat’s self-satisfied expression.

“You really shouldn’t have,” he mutters, toeing the ‘gift’ with a sock-clad foot. “Where’s Shadow? He’s supposed to be watching you.”

Pinecone is almost entirely an indoor cat, but during the late autumn Shadow allows her to accompany him into the yard while he chops firewood. Vio can’t really blame Shadow for losing sight of the cat, who at the end of the day is naturally inclined to hunt and present trophies to the people she loves.

“Good kitty,” Vio tells Pinecone, petting her soft little head. She preens.

“Please tell me the cat’s inside,” Shadow calls from the front door, shutting it quickly behind him to keep out the November chill.

From his cozy spot in the den, Vio smiles. “Yes, she’s in here.”

Shadow stumbles into the room, wrapped up in a black and red flannel, still clutching Vio’s Four Sword. “I’m so sorry,” he says, slightly out of breath. “I was trying really hard to split this one stubborn log, and—”

Vio stands up and grabs Shadow by the waist, enjoying the lingering smell of trees.

“Hi,” Shadow tells Vio, tenderly stroking his back. “I’m a little sweaty, are you sure you want to hug me right now?”

“Too late.”

“Ah, I see Pinecone has brought you another present,” Shadow observes, somewhere between amused and disgusted. “I’m surprised she was able to do it in only a few minutes.”

Vio smirks, out of sight. “What a pragmatic little creature.”

Pinecone trills—probably at a bird out the window, but Vio likes to think she understands.

“She learned from the best,” says Shadow, and Vio pulls back to meet his eyes. His hands wander from Shadow’s waist to the pocket of his flannel, which contains… something?

Shadow blushes, and Vio loves that Shadow can still, once in a while, have his bashful moments. “It’s nothing, really, just…”

Vio withdraws the object from Shadow’s pocket and holds it between them. It’s a rock about the size of his palm, ash-brown, with strange irregular jutting edges. Shadow sighs and turns it over in Vio’s hand, revealing a smooth caramel-colored face.

“Found it and thought you’d be interested,” Shadow explains, still slightly embarrassed. “Could make a nice paperweight, too.”

Vio searches his brain for any knowledge of the peculiar specimen. “Petrified wood,” he vaguely recalls. “It’s sort of a fossil, I think. At some point, this area was affected by a volcano, or just a lot of fire, and the trees went through a sort of mineralization process.”

“Do you think that’s because of me?”

Vio blinks, genuinely puzzled by the question.

“Because of all the fire,” Shadow clarifies. “And the volcano.”

Vio releases a short laugh, but stops himself immediately. Shadow is genuinely concerned, he wants to take this seriously. “Love,” he says, reaching for his partner’s flannel-clad arm, “this is a fossil. Its creation might as well be ancient history.”

Shadow exhales. “Oh. Right.”

Vio feels Shadow’s muscles loosen—which, by the way, have become noticeably more pronounced since Shadow started chopping firewood.

“It’s just weird,” Shadow continues, not appearing to notice the blush on Vio’s face. “I know it’s been, like, more than a year since I did those awful things, but I still…”

“I love it,” Vio says, turning the rock over in his hand. It reminds him of sunset dragon rides, the heat of the Fire Temple, the sweet taste of marshmallows roasted over fires they set together. “Thank you, Shadow.”

In retrospect, Vio knows he probably shouldn’t have been so permissive of Shadow doing villainous things to impress him back in their evil days. It’s something Blue, Green, Zelda, and even Shadow himself have all since commented on, with various degrees of moral judgment. And to his credit, Vio typically attempts to walk it back, to express retroactive distaste for Shadow’s more violent and macabre ‘gifts.’

But deep down, some part of Vio will always take pleasure in the degree to which Shadow will go to prove his devotion.

“We should probably dispose of the dead mouse, though,” Shadow mutters against Vio’s lips.

From beneath them, Pinecone hisses.

─────────────────

The frequency of cat purring has been shown to fall between 25 and 140 Hz. The same frequency has been shown to aid in the healing of broken bones, joint and tendon repair, and wound healing. The combined effects of their relaxing presence and their purr make cats powerful against stress and anxiety. Cat owners report that—

“Put down the book,” Shadow mutters into Vio’s shoulder. “You need to rest.”

Vio sniffles and does as he’s told. Shadow holds him closer, pulling Red’s handmade quilt from fully over them both.

“You’re lucky,” Vio says, his throat dry, “that you don’t get sick very often. It sucks.”

Shadow hums sympathetically. “Strong immune system means I can still hold you, contagion be damned.”

“Are you sure that’s, like, a real thing?”

Shadow kisses the side of Vio’s forehead. It’s warm from his fever, but colder than it had been a few hours ago.

“Hi, Pinecone,” says Vio as the cat joins them in bed. She goes straight to Vio’s chest, plopping down and rolling on her side. Shadow scritches her soft belly with one hand and rubs Vio’s side with the other.

Pinecone’s purrs are immediate and much louder than usual. With wonder in his eyes, Vio gently presses two fingers to her throat. It vibrates steadily under his touch, and a slight press seems to make the purrs even louder.

“I’ll research her anatomy later,” Vio decides. “Too tired now.”

“Good idea,” Shadow says, completely earnest. “I love it when you know your limits.”

Vio musters the energy to roll his eyes. “Well now I have to—uh, Shadow?”

“Hm?”

Vio raises both eyebrows, turning his head to see Shadow’s face. “Are you purring?”

After a second of consideration, Shadow presses two fingers to his own throat. “Huh,” he remarks, self-satisfied. “Would you look at that.”

“Have you always been able to purr?” Vio asks, a little too weak to muster appropriate levels of bewilderment.

Shadow shakes his head. “Must have picked it up from shapeshifting into a cat so often. Neat.”

Vio has so many questions. Does this mean Shadow could just take on any quality he pleases? Could he take on more feline features, like really sharp claws and fangs? Just how weird can he get with this, if he so chooses? Because Vio already has a thing for his fangs, and—

Shadow purrs louder, adding to Pinecone’s steady rumbling. Vio shakes his head, too sick and too comfortable to stress.

─────────────────

“Please bite me somewhere less obvious next time,” Vio tells Shadow, wrapping a scarf around his neck. Shadow pouts, already bundled up for the snowy walk into castle town, and bats at the scarf’s fringes.

“They look nice,” he says, only earning a huff. Vio agrees completely, but one of them has to at least pretend to care about propriety. “Got your library book, nerd?”

Vio holds up the text on feline behavior. “Got it.” He then tucks it safely inside the tote bag they use at the farmer’s market when it’s in season.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

“Oh, come on,” Vio mutters, craning his head towards the den. “Pinecone, not the couch! Red just helped us reupholster that thing!”

The scratching stops for a moment, then starts again. Vio pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, love,” Shadow says, although Vio knows he’s more amused than apologetic. “I think we’re just going to have to accept a certain degree of property defacement. Take it as a compliment—she only wants to claim what’s hers.”

Vio sighs. “Yeah, whatever.”

Shadow removes Vio’s scarf, scrunches it into a ball, and tosses it into the den.

─────────────────

Shadow works in the kitchen again, while Vio and Pinecone share the couch in front of a crackling fire. She’s right on his chest again, purring away, staring directly into his eyes. Vio is still disappointed that he can’t talk to her directly, but borrowing the feline behavior book definitely helped him understand her. Vio will always treasure the unique bond they share, even if it’s not as verbose as hers and Shadow’s.

Pinecone blinks slowly.

“I love you, too,” says Vio.

Shadow abruptly leans into the den, holding a wooden spoon covered with pumpkin soup. “Did you say something?”

Vio smirks, bumping Pinecone’s forehead. “Not to you.”

Shadow traces Vio’s gaze to Pinecone as she slow blinks again. He smiles, shakes his head, and leaves them to their conversation.

[floralcrematorium]

fuck it, band AU time

with my mounting zine deadlines and drawings i owe friends for their b-days, idk if i'll ever get to draw the accompanying material i wanted to, so it is time to yap everyone's ear off. apologies if this is a mess! it's been a hot minute since i've properly spewed my nonsense out loud

i think i wanna talk abt Nat first... I love using Natalya in narrative works -- she's so so interesting to me and the character i've fleshed out the most

in Band AU, Natalya is a solo pop musician whose earlier music takes heavy inspiration from ethereal wave and dark cabaret. artists who frequent the playlist i've made for her are birdeatsbaby, revue noir, and then a bit of the dresden dolls and mirabilis. here's a hyperlink to her WIP playlist!

as for subject matter, her music probably deals a lot with existentialism and self identity

at the start of her career, Nat is very experimental in her sound, presentation, and image. i like to think she sees her music videos and stage performances as a version of semi-abstract performance art. she's very into symbolism

the pop part of her sound comes a bit later, after she starts dating Alfred Jones, the front man of Multifacet, an alternative(?) rock band (gonna be real, i have NOT nailed down what their sound is yet). her relationship with Alfred is mutually unhealthy - they are somewhat codependent and both feel a need to perform due to media pressure. he's using her for her preexisting fame, she uses him to feel the lonely void she feels

Nat cracks under the pressure. She was a very popular artist before dating Alfred, but she had control. When they start dating, her own achievements begin to be overshadowed. Her career becomes inescapably intertwined with Alfred's. She hits an absolute breaking point

as of right now, the sound of nat's music when she's with alfred is a bit like rina sawayama's. i find her voice gorgeous and i like the sound of urgency in the songs I have added to Nat's playlist -- it's a stark difference from her earlier slower music. I think Frankenstein embodies Nat at this point in her career the best

i know billie eilish is WAY too mainstream for Nat's taste, but I can't help but think of The Diner from billie's latest album for the AmeBel breakup...

also I much prefer platonic AmeBel - I think when in a romantic relationship, these two enable the worse parts of one another. however as just friends, they work quite well! anyway the best way I can sum up how I see AmeBel is:

someone else: what do you even see in him? Nat: he makes me laugh. he's stupid. i like that in a man.

I think the constant theme for Nat is a constant searching for a sense of identity because she continually destroys the identity she's built. I think Nat is a little insecure and to truly flourish, she needs to find some confidence. she also needs a good support system, which comes in the form of Tereza (miss Czechia), but I'll talk about them at a different time (wink wink, nudge nudge)

If I have to give you examples of Nat's different "Eras":

Debut: The Silent, The Tragic Tantrum She's having fun. Nat's a bit cryptic, she's eclectic, and enjoys putting on a show on stage. Start of the AU: Girl Anachronism, The Dresden Dolls I associate Girl Anachronism a lot with Nat in general, band AU aside Dating Alfred: Frankenstein, Rina Sawayama The lyrics of this one really hit for Nat. "All I want is to feel beautiful inside and out/You're the one who can save me from myself." This is when AmeBela are mutually codependent Breakup: Nothing Lasts, Glycerine I don't have anything to add other than this is an old personal favorite of mine. That's it. Breakup, but with plot relevance: The Diner, Billie Eilish I really want to use the lines "I'll go back to the diner/I'll write another letter/I hope you'll read it this time/You better" Nat and Al are having a very public breakup, that's all I have to say Healing: Seventeen, birdeatsbaby Nat's like. 27 at the start of this AU, but I think the themes are still relevant. I also LOVE the dramatic and grandiose intro to the song -- I feel like it's a return to form for her... Healing Nat Part Two: I Always Hang Myself With The Same Rope, birdeatsbaby

Nat will get a happy ending. I do need to figure out in more detail in what ways she damages Alfred, but I think with the general theme of the whole AU being a cautionary tale about fame and the effects it has on an individual, I've focused more on the "good ending" route with Nat's story. She has a moment of self realization and puts in the time to work on herself.

[silverlulus]

The last update on the whole Dead Zine drama for now-warning contains certain imagery with an underage fictional character-

Originally i was not going to update the doc nor put anything new into it due to a certain topic that is very much a grey area but I felt that I need to be touched upon a bit and that certain places do not allow content like that, even if there is no intent on doing anything offline like that.

The update and so on can be found later on in the doc, I will be sharing the whole doc though as the issue unfortunately is still going on and I have to remind folks that there is evidence is there and know that I don't know how to make fake screenshots like that, I only know how to edit mlp and show head atem content, in case anyone is thinking that the screenshots here are fake.

keep in mind again that I am not calling anyone a certain word because this is a grey area, I am only warning about the content created and that certain places do not allow it and in some ways the nature of how content like that can be frowned upon, I ask however is do not wrongfully name them, just be wary of what some people draw and that we may never know if they do the actual thing offline or not.

-I will say that writing that doc and mentioning certain things was not easy, it had to have been the hardest thing I have ever had to write in my 20 years on this ball of rock, looking back on someone's passing like this, was uncomfortable and has left a bit of impact on me mentally, more so with how some have used it for their own clout and are trying to get away with as the weeks go on.

I am aware that others have started to hide behind anonymous on this site as well and eh, I have been through this plenty of times over many years of people restoring to name calling because they don't know how else to respond when they are backed into a corner, but you do you boo on this one if it makes you feel privileged or whatever.

But i have said what i needed to say on this whole circus, that is a learning point in who you trust or let into a fandom space, this is one of the many cons when it comes to being a founder and I have never regretted more in my life in letting this happen and letting certain people in who ended up making a mock of something that was supposed to have good meanings and for people to just enjoy.

I feel tired physically and mentally from doing the same contest dance with crackers like this.

I will be however taking a step back and only coming back sooner if it's urgent.

I just need to take time for myself, I need to enjoy life for once and not feel like others are constantly breathing down my neck or thinking this is like 2014 again with a different drama and a bunch of people hacking and running something into the ground.

I have said all i can say again for now, I have provided as much as I can, this is me saying that I need to take a step back at the moment and that unless they can provide evidence on their end before all of this went down, then I'm all ears.

for now, however, actually understand the word ''no'' and think before you go around trying to pull things out of thin air take to time to think about others and how this is affecting them in all of this by carrying on trying to run a dead project and just let it go for all of my sake and others out there and also think about the art content you posting as well during this more so.

[anixdraws]

Since I forgot to share this like a moron, I’ll recap my contributions. I worked on the Rowdy Runway: A TWEWY Fashion Zine as the artist who not only did the cover art (seen above) but also I did three different artworks.

The first artwork I did was for my hubby Higashizawa, repping the now defunct Sheep Heavenly (replaced with Top’ o Topo in NEO for garishly cute and saturated clothing). Each item worn by Higgy here is a piece of Sheep Heavenly clothing interpreted by me staring way too hard at the pixel clothing sprites. This one was so fun to color and I get to draw muscular men in bright cute colors??? Like hell yes!

(Also yes I had to make that Sheep Heavenly logo myself)

The second artwork I made for the zine is one of Susukichi rocking the monocrow drip! This piece was a traditional art piece I colored digitally to fit the zine. I’ve included the lineart version so you can see how much pain and suffering I mean detail I put into this one. I went with MonoCrow as a way to push myself out of my comfort zone and focus less on rendering and shading, using simple cel shading and heavy shadows to make Susy K look cool~! In the end this one turned out to be my favorite traditional art pieces.

This last one was a collab between me and a writer friend who goes by Stinkfly03 on twitter/X. They made a fic about Beat truely seeing himself as more then a Neku copycat and he cuts his hair to match his younger self. I went fully into my comfort zone with this one by relying on rendering and lighting. In this story, Beat’s physical appearance is thinner and a lot more Neku like which (I hope) I conveyed well. The fic is called “Reflecting Neku” by PetildaFan on A03 (Archive of Our Own)! Pls go check it out. It’s a super interesting character introspection on Beat that is worth the read!

Interested in the art I do? You can check out my other works or support me by checking out my linktree.

[cetaceans-pls]

Are you ever going to post the full version of this teehee https://www.tumblr.com/cetaceans-pls/685147739958509568/preview-for-the-jason-todd-zine-red-lights-dark

hey anon! i have so much work strewn between google docs and ao3 and here and i lost track :') here's a lil sunday treat, fic below the cut!

A Habit of Domination BruJay, R, petplay Good boys go woof.

Sometimes, after a particularly athletic night of sex, Bruce and Jason will go to sleep on opposite ends of Bruce’s absurdly huge bed and sleep facedown and unmoving for a solid 10 hours. The blankets will all be on the floor, bare butts facing the ceiling, and if they’re feeling romantic in their sleep they’ll wake up at acute angles to each other, bare toes barely touching.

Sometimes, after a particularly athletic night of sex, Jason just gets more and more and more wound up, and the absolute last thing he wants to do is fade into quiet sleep.

Nights like these Bruce doesn’t have to do much more than just sit back and take it, sex-drunk and worn down enough that the quiet core of him, that desire to serve that’s kept Batman running for decades, is close enough to the surface that Jason just looks at him and it has Bruce unwinding with a quiet yes on a quieter exhale.

“Must be the full moon,” Jason says as he roughly tugs Bruce to lie flat on his back before he climbs astride his hips. “Must be some janky bit of astrology, B, because you fucked me hard and good,” a quick kiss for a good job well done, “but I’m cranked up worse than before.”

Bruce just snorts, hands coming up to hold on tight to Jason’s waist. “Can’t blame planetary alignment for being a brat, Jason.” He rolls his hips, but the night’s gone soft and so has he. “What do you need?”

Jason, meanwhile, isn’t suffering a similar fate. He rubs his hard cock against Bruce’s chest, leisurely marking his territory. “Dunno, trying to figure it out.” He leans down and bites into the curve of Bruce’s shoulder. With the obscene packed muscle there, it’s more an imposition on his teeth than it is on Bruce, which is offensive. “Could get you to fuck me with a toy, but you look wiped out.”

  

He gets a pinch at the waist for his taunt, Bruce looking placid but for that no-good smirk right at the edge of his lips. “Talking mighty confident for someone who comes on a hair-trigger, Jay,” Bruce says mildly. “Do you really want to get up on your High Horse?”

The only way to stop Bruce from prefixing their sex toys with Bat-something has been to relent and let him instead name them with  godawful puns nobody under the age of 40 would find funny. It’s maybe a little fucked up that Jason finds that endearing, but the High Horse is the world’s finest(!) Sybian redesigned on a rig that makes it rock and roll like a fucking bucking bronco, and a terrible name is a small price to pay for orgasms so intense the oversensitivity starts feeling like death (Jason would know).

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t want to leave the room, don’t want to leave this bed, really. Even if I get you to go fetch the stupid thing, you still haven’t fixed that squeaky wheel, and I’m gonna go fully feral if I go down for breakfast tomorrow and Alfred’s got a can of WD-40 on the kitchen counter.” He slides lower down Bruce’s body, and looks over his shoulder at Bruce’s cock. “You sure you can’t get it up? C’mon, I’ll even go reverse cowgirl. I’ll moan extra loud, go ah ah ah Bruce you’re so big!” He grins, reaching up to press down on the bite mark on Bruce’s shoulder. “A special extra big ego boost as a reward.”

Bruce sits up, and they both wince at the ungodly crack his back makes. “Couldn’t get it up even with that as incentive,” he says, rubbing his scruff against Jason’s neck. “Couldn’t get it up even to please you. I think I’m broken for the night.”

Jason’s never one to be stopped by something as minor as physical limitations. Got an autopsy scar up-down his chest, Jason barely even let death slow him down. “I’m pretty good with my hands,” Jason tells him, dragging his nails up-down Bruce’s chest. “Pretty good at making things work even when they’re not supposed to.” He lets his hands slip up and up and up, till they rest warm and light around Bruce’s neck. “You wanna see how far I can take you?”

“I already know,” Bruce says, almost polite but for the way the grip he has on Jason’s hips go tighter. “You’re being a handful tonight, Jaybird.” 

Oh, Jason’s going to be getting bruises tonight. It warms him right up, riles him further, and he ruts against Bruce’s hip. “Wish I could say the same ‘bout you,” he says pointedly, reaching back and rubbing the back of his knuckles against Bruce’s soft cock. “Wish you were better at taking orders.”

That seems to land exactly the way Jason had aimed, has Bruce twitching and shuddering under him even if his face remains calmly impassive. “Is it going to be that kind of night, Jason?” Bruce asks him very, very quietly, and Jason hadn’t planned on it at the start but right now he really can’t think of anything he’d like more.

“Looks like it’s gonna be,” Jason says, excitement helping him rise to his feet as he jumps clear off the bed, landing with a heavy thump. “Off the bed now, B,” he says as he heads towards a patch of wall that looks like any other patch of wall, except this one rolls up at his light touch. “You know pets aren’t allowed on furniture.”

If Bruce isn’t feeling it, Jason knows he’ll turn around and the man will mutinously still be on the bed.

He’s barely got the collar out before he hears the creaking and thudding of a heavy man being careful to make sound as he climbs off the bed and sits back on his knees. Jason feels a shiver crawl up his spine, makes him straighten up and roll back his shoulders, because yeah, it’s going to be one of the best kinds of nights. 

Nothing too fancy, he thinks. For all that Jason enjoys push-push-pushing Bruce till his breaking point and, on extra special occasions, well beyond that, Bruce has been run down worse than usual with an attempted Arkham breakout. 

No one can accuse him of being a bad owner. 

“Here boy,” he says, clicking his fingers and pointing at his feet. Bruce comes by, limited in his grace by cracking knees and an old back, and comes to a halt right by Jason with his usual mild, impassive face.

That look’s not going to be on there for long. Jason flicks his finger up to the ceiling, and Bruce obediently sits up and looks up, head tilted back, the exact perfect right angle for a collaring. He has a well-trained boy, he does. Jason smugly puts the collar on, just  a thing of black leather that’s softer than butter, free of embellishments. Need little more than a buckle to make Bruce look his best, need less even than that for Jason to know who's a good boy, or

who's a bad one.

He checks that the collar is on just right (a little too tight), just the wrong side of being perfectly comfortable, because Bruce's tastes are, like all the rest of him, aggravating but also precision-designed to maximally appeal to Jason. It says a little too much ‘about the both of them, probably, but what could you want out of a partnership beyond someone who likes it too tight and someone who likes to make it so?

“Down, boy.”

Smooth as anything Bruce comes back to all fours at his feet, and Jason lets his hand rest in hair that’s starting to go gray, takes a moment to feel exactly as on top of the world as the man who domesticated the Bat deserves to feel. “You were bad, weren’t you? Asked you for one little thing, and you couldn’t even give me that.”

Bruce nods gravely, hangdog look dragging down the corners of his lips. Jason presses his palm to Bruce’s cheek to reward the admission, and the heavy push into his hand is headier than a lifetime full of blood rushing to the head.

They’ve tried slave-master stuff, they’ve alphabetically worked their way down most common kinks, and sortof-pet play has stuck harder than most because it’s a pleasant novelty for Bruce to do what’s asked of him and get rewarded for it, and Jason gets off hard on the control and gets off harder on being the only one who can meet the needs of this big bat brute.

 

Yeah, they make a hell of a pair. Jason wants him so badly it’s giving him the beginnings of a migraine.

“You just need more training,” Jason says, brushing hair behind an ear, not forcing eye contact because he knows how funny Bruce can be about that when he’s Like This. “My bad, I let the leash run too long, and now you don’t know how to be good any more, isn’t that right?”

Another nod, and Bruce leans more heavily against Jason, face to thigh, and he’s probably halfway gone just from this. God, Jason can barely contain himself, feels frizzy with electricity and power, and he cannot help but drag his nails down the back of Bruce’s neck, see the slightest red welts trail after them. “Tail kinda night?” he asks, because he’s a conscientious owner, and also because there are fewer things more singularly satisfying than watching stone-faced Bruce trying to adjust to a plus with a wagging rubber tail to it, face caught between embarrassment and a strange sort of satisfaction.

He gets a shake of his head for his trouble, which is unfortunate but also, like. 

Isn’t it the right of pets to be a little bit spoiled? 

“Fine. But you still need to get trained, so’s you can be good for me. C’mon, big guy. Present.”

The early days of all of this had been A Mess, with fights erupting and rocketing out of control at a glance gone wrong or a word better left quiet, both of them extremely keen not to let on just how into this they really, really are. 

Now, though?

Bruce takes a moment to suck a hickey into Jason's thigh before he sits back on his heels, hands propping himself up so his back’s in a curve that hurts, and his hips are tilted up and out. God, if he’d been hard, Jason might have salivated. As is, it’s a near thing.

“Good boy,” Jason says, easy with the positive reinforcement. “See, now, you’re being good all over, but you still won’t get hard for me.” He steps between Bruce’s spread thighs, and nudges at his soft cock with the top of his foot. “That’s no good to me now, is it?”

Bruce shakes his head, and Jason takes a second to mourn how he’s yet to get Bruce to agree to wearing ears. Jason sure would appreciate something shaggy to bury his hands in or see fwip side-to-side whenever they’re in this type of mood.

“Good, at least you know that. Now, how’re we gonna get you going?” There are a few possible answers, depending on what Bruce is feeling like and what Jason is feeling up to. It’s not an elaborate kind of night, long as it’s been, and there’s something to be said for a sure thing, so Jason rubs his thumb across Bruce’s cheek, putting in the exact right amount of pressure to have Bruce’s eyes slowly close.

“There’s a good boy,” Jason says with the confidence of a man who knows he can do almost anything right now and damn well get away with it. He keeps the gentle teasing up for a while, because even in the absence of ears and a tail Bruce fully looks like a massive, hulking dog come to be sweet, and it’s an addictive sight. “Let’s start with a treat, baby, so you know what’s waiting for you if you behave.”

No extra warning needed, he presses the head of his dick against Bruce’s lips, deigns to wait a second to let Bruce have a careful, thoughtful taste, before he’s pushing home with a hearty groan. “Christ, the mouth on you,” Jason says, a little out of breath, reaching down to wrap a hand around Bruce’s throat. He reckons he can almost feel himself, and he definitely can feel the way Bruce is struggling to breathe and struggling to swallow. “Take it now, don’t you want to be good?”

He gets a half-nod, Bruce’s eyes closed, nose pressed flush to Jason’s skin, shuddering like he’s about to burst apart. Jason enjoys the wet, tight heat, pulls back an inch and gives back a mile, biting his lip as Bruce chokes and shudders.

He doubles down, and on the next pull-out push-in he goes as far as he can manage before he squeezes the sides of Bruce’s neck, the exact right way to stop blood from going to the brain. “Hold it,” Jason says sternly, even though he knows he’ll get whatever he wants whatever tone he uses. Bruce doesn’t reply, just works his throat harder, and doesn’t struggle as the seconds crawl by and his breath is gone.

It’s well over a minute when Jason pulls back of his own volition, and Bruce’s deep heaving breath is accompanied by a sharp slap to his face. “How many times do I have to tell you, you tap out when you need to,” Jason says, slapping Bruce again, before holding his hair back so the man can gasp in peace. “Worse ‘n worse ‘n worse, you’re all over the place tonight.”

Bruce, ah, can’t  really register anything except for the disappointed tone of voice. This deep under, it’s hard to realise how close he’d come to passing out, or the edge of concern in Jason’s voice.

Nothing really matters except for Jason, though, so Bruce bends down down down and contritely presses his cheek to Jason’s ankle. This, at least, he’s learned. Submit hard enough, mean it whole enough, and his faults stop being his. All he needs to do is focus on Jason, after all.

(What is Jason if not a miracle, that he came back from the dead with a vengeance? And what’s a miracle for, if not for believing in?)

Jason looks down, and struggles to stay mad at the Bat lying prostrate by his feet. Careful not to dislodge Bruce who’s Gone, and is Gone because he knows Jason’ll pull him back, Jason kneels down on one knee. “C’mon, act this sweet and I’m not gonna punish you for anything,” he says, rubbing down Bruce’s back, nails catching on scabs from the most recent time Croc got his teeth in him. “Just gonna get more and more spoiled, aren’t you?”

 

Long, slow strokes down Bruce’s back, right down to the tailbone, and big guy’s shuddering like a spin cycle falling apart. Delicious, delicious, and if spoiling Bruce rotten is all part of a grand plan to be irreplaceable (to be even more irreplaceable), well.

In the bedroom’s the best place to air out all desires and grievances; Bruce knows what he signed up for, accepting Jason’s vicious single-minded pursuit way back at the start.

Speaking of desires….. Jason digs his hand into the meat of Bruce’s ass, then reaches down and around to grab hold of Bruce’s soft cock. “You really are tapped out, huh, B?” Jason says pityingly, giving a rough squeeze that’s more unpleasant than not. “Really got nothing left to give.”

He half wants to see if he can’t pull out a toy or twelve and force him into hardness, but Jason discards the thought almost as soon as he has it. No, no, for all of Jason’s Big Talk about discipline, he’s still a lost cause when it comes to his big brute. Treats enough to rot your teeth out, thy name is Todd.

Bruce still hasn’t moved, and Jason would be concerned if he was a lesser man. Instead, he reaches back to Bruce’s hair and tugs a little harshly. “Up, up, on the bed. Have a blowout and call it a night, even when you’re bad I’ll still treat you good.”

The slow drag of seconds for the words to settle in Bruce’s head is an ego boost, the panting that accompanies it even more so. Jason stays down, even as Bruce takes long, sweet moments to figure out how to get to his feet and totter hazily towards the bed, scarred back on display, once again tempting Jason to get a big red bat tattooed on from scapula to scapula.

Narcissistic? Sure, but look, see, there’s just one thing about that.

Jason deserves it. Jason’s fucking earned it.

How could you argue to the contrary? Bruce is sprawled out on the bed, looking like a relaxed man dead asleep, but his face is half pressed into the sheets, half turned towards Jason, and the look in his eye is on fucking fire.

“Shoulders down, get on your knees, big guy,” Jason says with fake calm, stalking towards the bed like Red Hood on the prowl, because yeah, this’ll work just fine. He has to squeeze the base of his cock when Bruce obeys without question, even if the temptation’s there to just cum all over that beautiful, beautiful back.

He deserves a treat too, though. Jason climbs onto the bed, reaching over for their expensive lube, and pulls it over to him. “Right, baby,” he says as he gets his fingers wet, gets Bruce’s hole wet. “Gonna have to punish you for being bad, and the punishment is me fucking an orgasm out of you while you’re soft.” Soft all over, takes a finger and then another in like he’s made for it, like he’s made for Jason, rrr. “And when you cum and you’re so oversensitive you think I’m gonna kill you, you’re gonna say thank you. Do you understand me?”

Jason doesn’t get much of a response, just a mess of half-words groaned into the mattress. That’s not good, that’s not what a well-trained mutt should be doing, and Jason would be remiss if he left it as is. He shuffles closer to B, sits up on his knees so he can press his cock to the slick mess of Bruce’s hole, catch on the rim and push in with that heated burn of not-enough-preparation.

God, if he hadn’t been so well worked over in the night, Jason would have lost it then and there, but instead he keeps pushing in, inch by unceasing inch, as Bruce makes unintelligible sounds and tries to buck his hips up. 

It’s a lifetime before Jason’s fully seated, pressed in as deep as he can go, and the heat has him dizzy, sweat beading all along his brow. He takes a breath, then another, and leans forward so his bulk covers Bruce’s back. It somehow gains him another impossible half inch closer, and he’s in the exact right position to set his teeth to Bruce’s shoulder and bite him to blood.

(Might be more than one dog in this bed, fancy that). 

“I said,” Jason growls, pulling out slowly and pushing back in with a sharp snap of his hips, “do you understand?”

Bruce nods fervently underneath him, urgent and desperate as he scrabbles to grab hold of where Jason’s arms are caging him in. “Yes, yes, Jason, yes, thank you, Jason, please,” he says in a voice fucked hoarse, and

Fuck, Bruce has made a liar out of Jason.

There’s no way they’ll be done in one round.

-

Jason comes to slowly, dazed and feeling dehydrated. No surprise, given the hell of a night and they’ve had, but he’s pretty sure he’d fallen asleep while still fully seated inside Bruce and neither of them had gotten up to any kind of aftercare.

Bad practice, bad owner, bad all around, Jason thinks to himself, sitting upright all in a hurry, expecting an empty bed, Bruce tucked in the Cave pretending he hadn’t been brought the lowest he’d ever gone.

Instead Bruce is still next to him, with them both lying in that weird only-feet-touching position they gravitate to when it’s too warm but they’re too loving. Jason waggles his toes, and Bruce waggles his back.

The relief’s like a Heimlich maneuver gone right, probably. Jason lets out a shuddery breath and reaches across the divide to lightly brush his fingers against Bruce’s shoulder. “You doing all right there, old man?”

“Hmm,” Bruce murmurs absently, still looking at Jason as he fiddles with the collar that still is around his neck.

Bad, bad owner. Jason curses, and reaches over for it. “Sorry, should’ve gotten it off before we fell asleep. Are you hurt?”

He gets batted away for his troubles. “I think,” Bruce says, unprompted and absently as he continued fiddling with the buckle, “I might want to try with some ears.”

Jason finds himself swallowing around a mouth gone dry, his cock making a spirited attempt to come back to life. “What? You know you don’t have to-”

Bruce ignores him again, and Jason would be annoyed, he really should be, but the absolute madman just keeps flicking his thumbnail against the metal buckle, a little Gone but mostly returned. “I think a tag would be good,” Bruce says, calm like he’s discussing the weather. “A little red tag, perhaps. Bat-shaped, of course. With the name and number of who to contact, should I get lost. How does that sound, Jason?”

And there’s that crack, that quirk of the lips that indicates that Bruce fully knows the hell he’s unleashing on Jason, that’s got him shuddering like a spin cycle spinning apart, holy fucking shit.

“Give me a taste and I'll take a whole thigh, Bruce,” Jason warns him, scooting closer while he imagines a tag that matches with a brand on the small of a beautiful back, and it has him fully wholly feral. 

Bruce just smiles a little quiet smile, hand still messing with his collar, eyes fully on Jason.

“Then take it.”

[hinamie]

any songs that remind you of megumi? good luck w your zine piece im sure it'll be so cool <333

hi rin!!!! omg okokok i have a lot to say abt the first one so i will limit myself to 2 fr brevity's sake

parables - former vandal

big surprise a fv song i knowwwww anyway i feel like i've mentioned this one a fair bit in passing and like. in tags and stuff but i've never rly gone into much detail. there is literally a song called jaded on the same album but parables to me is THE jaded song and it makes me think of megumi so hard i Ache. this is what u sing when life has fucked you. th lyrics r like i have had to fight and claw my way through every second of this miserable existence and i kind of hate the person that my circumstances have made me into but i'm not dead yet so might as well keep going. this is the megumi voice whatever! song

it just reminds me so much of him alone and angry but having nowhere productive 2 direct those emotions so bottle em right up kid! .,this is him knowing full well that the life of a sorcerer is one destined to be short and lonely and building his walls a mile high to protect himself from getting hurt by it to the best of his abilities. desperately wanting to become stronger and having to lick his own wounds when he's Not

this part especially reads as a bit of a self-destructive spiral to me. coasting downhill makes me think of jujutsu society as a whole n megumi's place within it, fighting day by day in an uncaring system tht lands him not only downhill but at rock bottom . 2 me this is the apathy n resigned/jaded aloofness with which he sometimes treats his own life. not rly caring whether he lives or dies

anyway fv is going to be the fucking death of me

オフィーリア/ophelia - warbear

drastic tonal shift whoops gomen .,, this song is so sickeningly /longing/. so "there is a good thing in front of me and i dare not touch it bc it will fade/i'll scare it away/i'll taint it" and i want to cry whenever i hear it. i will admit idk how well the translation website conveys the original lyrics but all the mentions of shadow and light,,,of Art..,,,,, ozaki yuuki do u want me dead...........

side note is this an itfs song to me, Yes, and while i definitely see how some of it can read as yuuji's pov imo the yearningness of it all tips it more in megumi's favour. it's very "gon, you are light" to me and i am unwell as usual

[muuum-am-i-adohhhpted]

here comes the sun (Empires SMP)

Written for the GeminiTay focused zine. If you're interested in the other writing and art created for it, you can find it here: @hermitszine!

Summary: A young Gem has lived in the Goblands ever since she was left outside their gates as a baby. She doesn't quite fit in with the goblins, but it is her home. Then, she sees the sun.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3940

~~~

Gem remembered the first time she saw the sun.

It was right after a particularly bad rainstorm, the earth above them shifting and groaning all through the night. Even though she knew the roof of the cave over the Goblands was particularly safe, she still feared her family’s house being crushed by rocks and debris.

The next morning, she, fWhip, and the other children were told to stay indoors while the older goblins completed a safety inspection to make sure the nearby caves wouldn’t fracture and break while someone was walking beneath them.

But Gem could smell something that enthralled her. Fresh and clear, so unlike the moist dampness of the Goblands that fWhip insisted was warmth.

“Gem,” fWhip hissed, following her hastily as she stepped outside, although he didn’t go farther than the doorway. His eyes shifted back and forth through the empty streets before floating upwards to the roof of the cave. “You know it’s dangerous out here. Remember what happened to kNock last storm?”

“kNock didn’t know the caves well and got himself trapped in a dead end,” Gem said, fluttering her eyes closed, breathing in the crispness off in the distance. “You can stay here if you want.” She started towards one of the caves where the scent was strongest. 

She heard fWhip’s feet pitter-patter as he rushed to follow her. “You might need me.”

“I can navigate these caves perfectly fine, as good as any goblin,” Gem said, bristling, some sharpness in her voice. Even on regular days, when the caves were stable, her parents insisted fWhip accompany her when she went out.

Gem knew she wasn’t a goblin. She didn’t have the tough skin of them, didn’t have the enhanced hearing as they did, couldn’t eat through rocks as goblins could. She was a creature from the above world with bright orange and black wings, left at the mouth of a cave as a baby, and taken in by a goblin family. Still, she had grown up in these caves, like the other young goblins, and knew which ones were older and more prone to falling to pieces.

fWhip didn’t reply, but Gem could still hear him following her. Even if she were half-asleep and barely paying attention, she would be able to recognize her brother’s footsteps a mile away. They were quick, like he was always in a rush, and light, favouring his right foot.

They walked in silence, their echoing footsteps the only thing keeping them company.

Gem remembered being frightened of the caves when she was young. Shadowy areas were commonplace, despite the glow lichen creeping up the walls, and her overactive imagination went wild. Not only that, but the walls felt constricting and tight like, at any moment, they would move closer and closer together until they squeezed her flat. The older she got, and the more she grew, the smaller and smaller the caves seemed.

They arrived at a junction, where multiple caves converged. The ceiling was lofty, as caves solely dedicated to mining were higher up and connected by goblin-made bridges with rails along them. Lone minecarts chugged on their way to one of the many warehouses, rattling with ores and stone.

fWhip’s footsteps came to a halt, and Gem glanced behind her to see his ears twitching. “Two goblins are coming towards us,” fWhip said, pointing at the cave mouth to their left. He glanced around at the other openings, looking for a place to hide.

Gem couldn’t hear anything, only the dripping of water running down stalactites. Nonetheless, she unfurled her wings from her back and squatted down. fWhip, still getting over his fear of heights, took a moment before gently climbing on her back.

Then, as silently as she could, she shot herself upwards onto one of the many bridges above them. The usually dead air whipped around her face, rustling her hair and, for a split second, the squeeze of the cave fell away. Her wings stretched out as far as they could go after being crinkled up since the last time she had used them a couple days away while giving aChoo a little ride around the Goblands.

fWhip kept an ear out for any minecarts that might run them over while Gem waited with bated breath.

Then, two goblins entered the junction, walking leisurely across the floor and into the cave she and fWhip had just exited, likely going back to town to give the caves they had walked through the all clear.

Once fWhip nodded at her, Gem brought them both back down to the floor.

fWhip let out a puff of nervous air as soon as his feet touched the ground.

And then they were off again, into the cave next to the one the two goblins had been in.

They took a few more bends, the freshness growing stronger, and Gem’s inner compass urged her closer. As they took another right turn, fWhip’s hand immediately went to shield his eyes. “Ow,” he groaned, squinting and turning his head away. “Why is it so bright in here?”

Gem didn’t notice a difference, but knew goblins’ eyes were much more sensitive than her own. Here, the floor was at a slight incline and, up ahead, she saw a massive pile of loose rocks. The ceiling had caved in. She glanced back at fWhip, still squinting. “Stay here. I want to check this out.”

As Gem got near the pile, she was momentarily stunned by the view above her. Where the roof of the cave had collapsed, there was now a large hole. Tall birch trees reached upwards, and she heard a bird whistling nearby.

And the sky.

The bright, blue sky seemed endless. And there, amidst its beauty, sat a bright, yellow orb.

The sun.

Gem had never seen the sun before, only ever heard of it. She didn’t want to look away. It was like the ultimate chunk of gold, polished to perfection and placed in the goblin vault, only a million times better. As if in a trance, Gem climbed the large pile of rocks, fWhip’s voice sounding miles away.

She’d been above ground before with the other goblins, but only ever on cloudy nights where the moon was hidden. And she never liked it either; the darkness put her on edge. She flinched at every sound, not liking that she couldn’t see very far. After a couple of trips to the above world, she stopped asking to tag along.

Being here during the day, on a cloudless afternoon, was utterly magical. Her body thrummed, her wings fluttered, her eyes felt like they were seeing colour for the first time. 

Wet grass tickled her ankles as she walked farther away from the hole in the ground. It was chilly up here, and she was reminded that it was springtime and that the above world felt physical changes during the seasons. Down in the caves, in the Goblands, she only knew them apart from the yearly celebrations. 

Still looking skywards, Gem gently flapped her wings, then faster and faster until they were beating rhythmically like a heart. She surged upwards, blood rushing in her ears. She forced herself to stop once she was high above the tallest oak trees. She could see an empire a little ways down the mountain with colourful roofs.

The above world looked breathtaking from this perspective, the sun’s rays warming her body from the spring chill. She could’ve stayed up there forever, drinking in the way the lakes ripped like silk, how the trees’ spindly branches bristled in the light wind, the golden acres upon acres of wheat.

Something caught her eye, a brown mass of fur moving near the edge of the forest. She slowly drew nearer, descending closer to the ground, and the mass only got larger and larger until she saw his ears flick, and Gem was feet away from a brown bear still sleepy from hibernation.

His eyes were black as coal, and his fur looked so soft. Gem wanted to reach out and pet him, despite knowing the dangers. Goblins were taught from a young age to not just go about in any random caves as, during the winter months, it might be home to a bear or a family of them.

Gem kept her distance though, and watched as the bear pawed at some sweet berries on the ground. They crunched under his large jaw and then, when he lifted his head, he gazed straight into Gem’s eyes.

Some kind of energy coursed between them. An understanding, maybe. Inexplicable. Like kismet. Like her life had been leading up to this point ever since she was left at the Goblands’ gates. The world seemed larger, now. Infinite. So much more than the caves she grew up in.

Her feet carefully touched the ground, her dress fluttering in the breeze. She slowly lifted a hand, and the bear’s nose inched towards her open palm.

The soil beneath her vibrated and fell inwards, and Gem was swallowed by earth. A goblin caught her, shielding her from the falling debris. fWhip stood a little away, fidgeting with his hands.

Frantically, Gem glanced upwards, making sure the bear was safe.

All she saw was the sun nestled in the sky.

~~~

Once she had a taste of the above world, the caves of the Goblands felt even more dismal and small. It was home and would therefore always have a place in her heart, but she wanted more. She needed it. Needed to feel the expansiveness of the sky, the way the sun kissed her skin. 

“I’m not one of you,” Gem told her parents as soon as fWhip, and the other goblins who had dug the ground out from beneath her, took her back to their house. “I can’t stay down here forever.”

Her parents looked tired, like they expected that this day would eventually come. Dreaded it, even. But they had to have known she would need to leave at some point, right? She wasn’t a goblin; she couldn’t stay in the caves forever. She couldn’t thrive down here like fWhip did.

After a long pause, her mom nodded. “Let me contact a friend who lives above.” She went to the kitchen where the ink and paper were.

“You’ll visit?” her dad asked after a sigh, taking off his glasses to polish them with the end of his shirt. “We’re still your parents, after all.”

“Of course!” Gem exclaimed, surprised at how defeated he sounded. She had never known her dad to be anything but boisterous and confident, even in the direst of situations. He was a beacon in the Goblands, a constant; you knew to go to him when you needed brightening up. She couldn’t have asked for a better dad. “I wouldn’t even think to not come back. You’re my family.”

Her dad nodded as he slipped his glasses back onto his nose. He made a ‘get out of here’ motion with his hands. “Alright then, that’s enough soppiness from your old dad. Your mom has a friend from Lore Village. She’ll get in contact with her and see if you can stay over there. It’s not that far away, really, only a bit down the mountain.”

“Is that the place with the colourful roofs?�� Gem asked. She wouldn’t mind living over there; it had seemed cozy and cheerful, the houses looking like they were hugging.

“Must have been Animalia, you saw.” Gem’s dad gave a shiver. “I was near there one night gathering food, and the whole place gave me the creeps.”

When Gem climbed up the stairs, fWhip was sitting on her bed and immediately began speaking quickly, not looking her in the eye. “That bear scared me. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran back into the cave and bumped into other goblins who helped me create the hole.”

Gem understood where fWhip was coming from. A bear was not usually a creature you tried to go near; how should he know that this one was different from the others?

But before she could say anything, fWhip continued. “Why do you have to leave?” he asked with a short sniff.

Gem sighed, sitting down next to him. “fWhip, I’m not a goblin. I’m not meant to be underground. But that doesn’t make us any less siblings. We’re brother and sister, and I’ll visit plenty. I just need to…” a wry smile took over her face, and she unfurled her wings so that they brushed up against the ceiling, “spread my wings.”

~~~

Lore Village wasn’t nearly the most exciting part of Stratos. Stratos itself was. The quartz reflected the sun's rays in such a way that made the floating city glow. It was ethereal. There were so many chunks of polished and raw gold embedded in the architecture that she wished fWhip was with her to see it all.

When she’d arrived, Jazza gave her a quick tour before having to go to work at the library, leaving Gem free to explore the village on her own.

She spared no time in flying up to Stratos and peering into all the buildings and shrines for godly beings she didn’t know. The floors were slippery, and the buildings were created to let the air flow through. It was a glorious feeling, running and jumping from island to island.

She was mostly left alone, too, allowed to roam on her own. No one seemed to question her or her wings that she hadn’t folded up since she left the Goblands that morning. Or maybe the people of Stratos were quietly wondering who she was, too nice to say anything.

That evening, while Jazza was making supper, she gestured to a thin book she had brought home from work. It sat on the dining table amidst a bowl of grapes. “You might find that interesting. It’s about people like you. With wings.”

Gem blinked, unsure if she heard correctly. She had never heard of others like her, although she supposed it made sense. “Like me?” she repeated, leaning forward to grab the book, laying it on her lap.

“Don’t know how accurate it is,” Jazza continued, as she continued chopping fruit for their salad. “It’s from an outside perspective; some guy did some field research on them and didn’t seem to get super close to the community. At least, that’s what I gathered from what I read when I skimmed it.”

Gem flipped to the very short introduction, which seemed to summarize most of the book.

Dawnlings have many similarities with humans, including their vast diversity. Their only physical difference appears to be their large, orange, black-lined wings. They have a penchant for the sun and daylight, while conversely disliking the night. Is it an inherent characteristic, or a learned one? This must be researched more. For more information on Dawnling characteristics, see Chapter 1.

Dawnlings are migratory people, unable to fly long distances in the cold of winter due to the fragility of their wings. It is interesting to note when Dawnlings migrate. During the winter, they travel southwest in the evening to warmer temperatures, when the sun sets. Then, in the spring, they make their way back home to the coast in the morning, just as the sun rises. This way, Dawnlings keep the sun in their vision each time they travel. For more on Dawnlings’ migratory practices, see Chapter 2.

Dawnlings do not seem to have a ruler, instead making decisions as a collective. They have some sort of religion, seemingly only understandable amongst themselves. This must also be studied more. To learn more about Dawnling society, see Chapter 3.

Gem wrinkled her nose. “What’s the point of writing a book on people you know next to nothing about? Why not wait until you learn more, or gain the trust of an inside perspective?”

Jazza shrugged. “Maybe the author was on a deadline? Or was just planning to make a quick couple of diamonds? Anything’s possible.”

~~~

The next night, Gem awoke for seemingly no particular reason. Maybe it was because she was still unused to the bed, still getting comfortable in Jazza’s guest room. It was a nice space, although larger than her room in the Goblands.

Suddenly, there was a scratching sound at her window to the right. She had decided to keep the curtains open, allowing for the glow of the village lamp posts to break up the darkness in her bedroom. Now she wished she hadn’t.

Gem sat up straight in her bed, gripping the sheets. Maybe it was the wind jostling stuff around outside? She still wasn’t used to these noises. Back in the Goblands, the only sounds she would hear as she tried to sleep were the dripping of water, the soft voices of her parents, and occasionally the snort of a boar. 

The scratching sound came again.

Gem slid off the bed and crept to the window, keeping herself low to the ground. Maybe it was nothing; maybe she was just being paranoid. Still, she had to be sure. Once she knew there was nothing there, she’d go back to bed. Taking in a quick breath, she peered up over the windowsill.

Coal-black eyes greeted her, the bear’s nose pressed up to the glass. 

Gem stifled a laugh, her previous fear now evaporated, and she pushed the window up. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, a smile on her face. How had he found her?

Of course, the bear didn’t respond.

Maybe she’d been right when they first met: something else was at play here. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this bear had found her, on the complete other side of the mountain that the Goblands was under. It was destiny; their paths were bound to cross.

The bear turned around, his fur ruffling in the night breeze. His tiny tail flicked a little. Then, he glanced back at Gem, tilting his head to the side. As if he were saying, well, are you coming or not?

“Where are we going?” Gem asked, although she was already in motion. She pulled on her dress and grabbed a coat. Then, glancing around, she bit her lip. “One second,” Gem said, rushing out of her room as quietly as she could.

Her shoes were by the front door, and she quickly slipped them on before digging around the drawers for some paper and a quill to write a note to Jazza.

Jazza,

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon.

Gem

Then, she slipped out the front door and snuck around to the side where her bedroom was. The bear was pawing at the ground and looked so out of place amongst Lore Village’s wooden paths and sandstone buildings. He turned to face Gem when she got near and, suddenly, the night didn’t feel so scary.

When they stared at one another, Gem felt it again. A sense of rightness. The bear’s eyes seemed wise and all-seeing. She trusted him, and he trusted her.

“Okay, let’s go,” Gem said.

The bear bent down and then turned to look at her, tipping his head towards his back.

“Are you sure?” she asked him and, when the bear made no movement, Gem carefully crawled onto his back and sat atop him like he was a horse. His fur was thick, and he radiated warmth.

In one swift movement, the bear rose and started up a quick pace, navigating through Lore Village’s winding sheets until they were out, headed in an easterly direction. The mountain that the Goblands was under slowly and steadily grew smaller and smaller.

Gem constantly glanced back until it was nothing more but a speck.

“We’ll be back soon, right?” Gem asked the bear, worrying her bottom lip. While she trusted him fully, and knew she’d be safe as long as they were together, she didn’t want to be gone too long, or Jazza might get distressed and then contact Gem’s parents. How could she ever explain all this to them?

They travelled for a long while, and Gem dozed off, waking up every so often. Each time she awoke, the night was a little brighter.

It was nearly daybreak when Gem re-awoke and noticed they were surrounded by tall mountains. The bear was following a little, rocky path, walking slower than they had in the empty field a couple hours earlier. The mountains were snow-capped, and there was something in the air.

Was that salt? Were they near an ocean?

Gem sat a little straighter. She’d never seen an ocean before. The bear seemed to pick up on her interest, for he sped up just slightly. And then, around the last bend, sat a tall gatehouse that had a glass window in the shape of a sun.

The barricade was lifted, which Gem wasn’t sure was strange or not. Weren’t gatehouses supposed to keep outsiders away? It was early in the morning—the sun wasn’t up yet. Maybe the building was from a different time, a remnant of a violent past.

There was a sudden ringing that had Gem pressing her hands against her ears. Still, she heard someone’s voice bellow from the gatehouse. “Apollo has returned! He has brought the princess! The prophecy has been fulfilled!”

The bear’s stride didn’t falter, and they passed through the gate, the bell still ringing. 

And there, sprawled on the coastline was a quaint little town with red, orange, and yellow roofs. Then, beyond was the soft roll of waves in the dark blue ocean. A little sliver of golden yellow was beginning to peek out on the horizon.

Doors started banging open and, suddenly, winged people glided out of their houses. People with orange and black wings. People like her. A flutter of bodies surrounded her.

The words “prophecy” and “Apollo” were repeatedly thrown about. What was that about a princess?

Childrens’ hands reached out to pet the now stationary bear, who Gem assumed was named Apollo. She liked the name Apollo; it suited him.

“A prophecy?” Gem repeated, climbing off Apollo who was likely exhausted from carrying her all the way here.

A girl about twelve looked up at her, mouth slightly agape. Her wings were flapping excitedly behind her. “Welcome to Dawn. Your arrival is a part of a prophecy.” She grinned proudly before saying, “I can recite it for you.”

For three bleak years, Apollo will disappear,

On the third day of the third spring, he’ll bring the princess here.

She who has spent her life underground,

Apollo will retrieve her; she will be found.

They will travel together, haste they will make,

And arrive in Dawn at first day break.

Gem blinked, the words settling around her.

The girl floated a couple inches off the ground, her eyes sparkling, and the people around her gave her a wide breadth of space for her beating wings. “We haven’t had a ruler in ages. Prophecies don’t come around all that often, and that’s how rulers are always selected.”

A princess. Gem didn’t know what to think. The title in reference to her felt like a dress that didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t uncomfortable in a tight or constricting way, just far too big and daunting. But, really, all that meant was that she just had to grow into it. 

Her thoughts flitted to her family. She couldn’t wait to tell fWhip and her parents about all this. Maybe she could convince the Goblands to create a tunnel to Dawn. It could be her first degree, the Goblin Empire her first ally.

Gem smiled and, on the horizon, the sun rose.

[fantasyfantasygames]

Go To Hell

Go To Hell, Vnarchy, 2020

This is not the most-zine zine I have in my collection, but it is definitely very zine. This shit is on construction paper. It's printed on construction paper. It takes something pretty nasty to make me feel bad for an office printer, but I feel extremely bad for the printer that created this.

Go To Hell is a cyberpunk game of tearing down the powerful and casting them into the muck and day-to-day survival of the 99.99%. Everyone in the future is chipped with their ID, which lets them access pretty much everything they own. Chips are even used to verify identity in the constant VR that the rich and powerful live in. No chip, no property, no power, no way to get it back. You're tearing it all down starting at the top by kidnapping people and violently un-chipping them.

The game uses a rock-paper-scissors system that will be very familiar to those of you who played World of Darkness LARPs in the early aughts. There are abilities that let you call for a best-two-out-of-three, re-throw (up to 3 times), "throw the bomb", or "ghost out" (losing but taking a lesser penalty). Character archetypes are your typical hacker, bruiser, face, and sneak; pick two. The game is expected to last a few sessions before a TPK as highly-paid security and military-grade ICE take you all out.

The back of the book has four pages of disorganized scrawl containing corporation names, rich family names, cyberpunk handles, cyberdeck program names, street names, and other useful things to pull from when improvising a scenario.

Vnarchy wrote a sequel to Go To Hell, entitled Hands In Go Team. HIGT was actually the original idea, but they felt it wouldn't be possible to write an optimistic game without giving an outlet to the violence and pessimism first. I can understand that.

Go To Hell is "guerilla stocked" in game stores in the Boston/Atlanta Metropolitan Axis, snuck in with the small-press offerings with a $6.66 price tag. Some people have taken to photocopying it and stocking it themselves. Vnarchy's comment on that was a flexed-bicep emoji.

[voxphantasma]

i drew the cover to the d20 x dunmeshi crossover zine Dimensions In Dungeon, which i ran along with oj @vauxphantasma for this years @d20zinejam 🎲🍳

there are over 60 zines in the zine jam bundle! head over to d20zinejam.carrd.co for the itch.io link. all proceeds are going to the occupied palestinian territory humanitarian fund!

[IMAGE ID: the front and back covers of the zine, a redraw of the dungeon meshi vol. 1 cover using the rock’s sisters instead of laios and his party.

the back cover has a few eatable things/creatures from d20 and dunmeshi (bear, mandrake, basrar’s ice cream, walking mushroom, bagel of all things, corn cutie, and green slime), and the following text: “it’s eat or be eaten… literally! as the 2024 dimension zine jam comes around, many in the dimension 20 fandom have fallen deeply in love with delicious in dungeon (also known as dungeon meshi). the two series compliment each other in many ways and a lot of the characters would surely do well in each other’s worlds, but there is just one problem: dimension 20 in an actual play web series and delicious in dungeon is a completed manga series, there is no way they will cross over! but the fandom comes up with a brilliant idea: “let’s do it ourselves!” characters, settings, and even themes… none are safe from the creativity of these fantasy-loving fans!”

the front cover has rococoa is at the forefront, holding a frying pan and spatula. her three sisters are behind her, in a dungeon, around a walking mushroom that’s being cooked over a fire. / END ID]