#a winter’s night zine

[dazeceleztial]

Here's my piece for A Winter's Night YOI Digizine made by @rememberingyoi

I'm incredibly saddened by the news of Ice Adolescence officially being canceled but I won't ever forget this beautiful story.

Please support the zine and donate to the charities linked if you are able to

[kewpiemart]

My piece for the Yuri on Ice zine, "A Winter's Night."

This show changed the trajectory of my life entirely, and I am heartbroken to hear the news regarding Ice Adolescence; However, our fond memories of it, as well as its everlasting impact, will last forever. ♡♡♡

Go check out the zine with other amazing artists! The zine is free, but donations to humanitarian organizations are linked and encouraged!!!

@rememberingyoi

[rememberingyoi]

❄️ APPLICATIONS ARE NOW CLOSED! ❄️

Click here to apply for your art to be featured in the #MAPPAWhereisYOI team’s first issue of the YOI Digital Zine! We look forward to seeing what everyone comes up with <3

[thescreamingwall]

Decent haul of books from Canty’s this weekend

[centaurworks]

Preparing for Christmas Night

Commissions Open I have a Ko-Fi Social Medias Characters (Peyton De Zine, Basalees, Kenna Flamber) © @CentaurWorks     This took a long while but I really wanted to do it! After last year and since Cynthia won the OC Ballot of 2021, I want to keep doing a yearly Christmas image and this one came out so amazing! I went with a more Bob Ross-style with the trees, I wanted to make sure to have a beautiful starry sky with the moon, and doing the Basalees (my Slimes) felt so good after their introduction. The other thing I loved, is the shading for the fluff on both Kenna and Payton, looking better than most other times. I wanted to add Kenna to this one to keep the tradition going for the OC Ballot winners but this might be her last image for a while.     Hope you like it! 

[alicenpai]

princess tutu: die jahreszeiten 🌸

kind of a companion piece to my 2022 ptutu drawing | it's on inprnt

this print was at anime north; next con is otakuthon!

oops so my hand slipped and i made another princess tutu drawing. i admittedly don't watch that much anime so my catalogue of work is gonna be the same 5 animes LMAO. what can i say, i love "dark" fairy tales, and i've been really enjoying the more fine art approach to a lot of my drawings as of late (and the watercolour brush i've been using has been so perfect for that...!)

as my first princess tutu drawing is now 2 years old, there are some areas i've grown to have ... qualms with... although both drawings as a whole are pretty much exactly what i envisioned, and that's always satisfying!

both of these were drawn in roughly a week's time (yes really...) for con crunch period (and i went back to this drawing after the con to touch up some areas that were a bit rough!). i wanted a different approach to this new pt drawing, with the focus on the line work, rather than on colours and lighting in the 2022 drawing.

this drawing had 2 goals: to continue the style i adopted in my witch hat atelier "lantern bearers" drawing (which i promise i'll post in full soon as soon as all of the zine artists get their go-ahead to post their pieces!), and to emulate the art nouveau movement's heavy emphasis on line work, albeit not a 1:1 style replication of course.

the seasons also aren't a 1:1 representation, as i didn't necessarily pick flowers or colours that are most strongly associated with the season (e.g. summer being a dark tone is a bold choice?). but it's kinda whatever, as i said before i drew this in a week, there may be more appropriate flowers with better meanings. i couldn't spend too too much time drafting and researching.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM:

- spring: apple blossoms, tulips - the apple blossom is a quintessential spring flower, and thus symbolize the arrival of spring. spring is a season of change, which ahiru/princess tutu is a force of, instigating change in her friends and unravelling the story around her. the flowers below her are tulips, and there are many meanings to tulips depending on the colour, due to their ubiquitous nature. i narrowed on one, and intended for them to symbolize happiness. princess tutu's pose is one in which that is open, inviting, and warm - reflecting her nurturing nature in the series, and her willingness to help others achieve happiness.

- summer: deadly nightshade flower, yellow rose - i chose for rue/princess kraehe to symbolize a fiery summer's night instead of the typical dazzling heat of a summer's day, a rather bold and unusual choice. the warmth of sunshine didn't quite fit, as the character is quite dramatic and passionate, with her intentions often hidden in shadow. next, the deadly nightshade - atropa belladonna - has a lot of mythological associations, a lot to do with poisoning, as the flower is toxic. the flowers bloom at night (another reason why i picked a nighttime backdrop for "summer") and also outwardly match rue's dark design scheme, as the cherry on top. yellow roses, at the bottom of her frame, are the archetypal flower depicting jealousy (as with many yellow flowers are), and at one point in the story, rue only wished for her own happiness at the misfortune of others.

- autumn: douglas fir needles, orange calla lily - autumn is another season of change - although much more tumultuous, as this season is traditionally taken to prepare for a long winter ahead - fitting for fakir as the role of the storyteller. the douglas fir is not a flower of course, but is a tree - with many different parts of this tree offering many benefits in advance of the winter season. i wanted the versatile nature of the douglas fir to reflect on fakir's dependable personality. next up, the calla lily is a flower with a dual meaning - on one hand you have life, on the other you have death. a storyteller quite literally can grant both at the tip of their fingers.

- winter: birch tree, snowdrop - winter is a rather still and unchanging season, a lull in the passage of time. this symbolizes mytho's passive nature at the start of the series, especially with his doleful pose here, as if almost in hibernation. to contrast, mytho is perched on the branches of a birch tree, which means new beginnings and renewal - as mytho is one of the characters that undergo the most change throughout the series (i'd argue the most?), regaining pieces of his heart. under mytho's frame is the snowdrop flower - and if you've read my witch hat atelier: seasons piece symbolisms, one of the snowdrop's meanings is rebirth, with connotations to the bible, bringing hope, when all had forsaken eve. the snowdrop is one of the first flowers to bloom even when the snow has not yet fully melted, further echoing mytho as an analogy for rebirth.

[amateurconfessions]

Daily Constellations #3 "December" mini-zine

by Hannah Stokes

[astronicht]

So this is an AU pwp snippet that I originally wrote for the motorsports zine exchange, and truly it's an AU of the princeps vale AU, but instead of making valentino a grown-up and slightly maladjusted previous boy emperor of Rome, everyone is a Roman charioteer. practically motorcycles. anyway--I think it stands alone, and I wanted to also have it on here!

Marc makes his way to the circus following the smell of horse piss; it wafts on the wind. It is one of those glorious hot afternoons in early September, and Marc is racing for the Ludi Romani tomorrow. The holiday itself is arriving three days later than it's supposed to, because the annual schedule has been thrown off since the end of Februarius. This was one of the years where they had to insert the extra month into late winter to make the calendars work, which would normally be fine: since then the holidays have fallen in place with some difficulty on someone else's part, but it was doable. Then a victorious general and his army came back from Anatolia and Marc had to sail to Rome to race at the victory procession in the middle of Iunius, and now even the edited schedule is off. Marc knows he's racing tomorrow because his brother was gearing up in the morning,  and because walking around Tarraco he can smell the horses already grouped in the circus, sweating, waiting.

Marc walks in a wide circle around the outside of the circus, which is surrounded by the detritus of all the market stalls and the annoyed prostitutes who have been unceremoniously removed to make room for the horses, and the race tomorrow. Marc's team is in there somewhere.

The next morning it is either day three or day one of Ludi Romani, depending on your calendar, and Marc wakes early, in the dark. It's too hot to sleep well; everyone forgets that September never gave back summer's teeth.

A holiday is holy first, so Marc goes to the river and then the usual two temples. People yell insults or support when they see him pass by on the street, even though the sky is barely more than gray, and he is nothing but a reddish-gray figure in the gloom. It’s hot enough that people are sleeping outside their houses on mats, on their roofs, perhaps not sleeping at all. 

Marc is recognizable: he has to wear red togas and belts when he goes out in order to match the team colors. The yellows and greens are more popular in most places, but not in Tarraco. 

In the baths, after the temples, they scrape him down. His face is shaved, and Marc tilts his head for the razor. The Pleiades rose last night, harbingers of the harvest, and unlike so many young men Marc does not have to go home for the reaping. He does not pick olives in winter. He does not wheeze for breath in the copper mines of Flavium Muniguense, in the south of his province.

In fact, Marc had bought out his contract years ago, back before his brother had won anything yet and before Valentino had retired: bought it out himself with his winnings, and then nearly died a free man and mostly a citizen of Rome with his team’s reins around his ribs and crushing his lungs.

To be pulled apart by horses is a terrible execution. To have the horses that do, in fact, love you, dance away from your body that has been thrown from the chariot, trying not to crush you, is another thing. They are well-trained but they are horses so they are foaming and terrified, and the reins are around your ribs— well, it wasn't a successful execution, but not for lack of hapless trying, between Marc and the horses both.

That’s all healed up now, and what isn’t healed up is fine. That his eyes still bother him is the bigger problem, maybe. The arm is a non-issue; no one good at this job would hold the reins in their hands. It’s about the strength of your legs, your ass, your trunk. You move side to side with your body. A charioteer's arms are for the whip, for bracing, and for grabbing the little curved knife that they all keep in their belts, to cut themselves clear of the reins if they're thrown. Marc had gotten to his eventually.

He leaves the baths as the sun is rising. He passes the Temple of Augustus, and then the Temple of Saturn. No one is around, so Marc stops to piss against the building next to the Temple of Saturn.

There, as the first truly bright sunlight of the morning streaks across the dust at his feet and Marc idly takes his hand off his dick and drops the skirt of his toga back down, a voice cuts through the hot morning, and the quiet susurration of the priests chanting inside the closed temple, singing to their god.

“I’m not holding your horse forever, Marco,” the man across the street says, an easy lilt, relaxed. Not an accent from the City, but much closer than Marc’s is.

Marc straightens the drape of his toga, heart pounding. He can smell where he just pissed in the dust. He can smell incense and the baking mud down by the river. Gulls call, but none are floating in the hot air. His belt feels suddenly tight, the rings on his fingers too.

That is Valentino. The shape of that man across the street, slender but slouched and just slightly bow-legged, godlike anyway, is Valentino. Valentino is in town.

Valentino is in Tarraco, not far from the dusty little village where Marc was born.

It was always possible, on a race day in a capital, that Vale might show up, even in the Provinces. But most of each year he is busy training boys up for a debut in Rome at the Circus Maximus.

Marc doesn’t move. Valentino is standing facing Marc and the temple, ostensibly watching the little line of worshipers coming by to leave their offerings at the steps for Ludi Romani. He looks bright, curious, when he is watching the worshipers. Blank and heavy-lidded when he looks back at Marc. Valentino is holding the reins of a lovely gelding, Marc realizes. Marc’s heartbeat is thudding in his throat, in the bad arm, in his ribs.

Another voice. Marc hadn’t even noticed the young man, curly-haired and young, standing with Valentino and the gelding. The young man with Valentino is angry about something: a slight against Valentino, it seems like. He is talking low and fast, and Marc can’t quite make it out.

“Well, he called me a cunnilingator,” Vale says, louder. His voice is amused.

Their eyes meet. Just across the street, Vale looks away and smiles slightly at his companion, or maybe at the horse. His face is wry, creased. He's not old yet, Marc tells himself. The young man he’s with is sunburnt, curly-haired. His neck goes red when Vale speaks. “Now I cannot greet him with a kiss on the cheek, you see,” Vale continues. He is looking at Marc, not the young man, who has not noticed this.

The young man says something, shoulders tense, like he will reach for a weapon.

“No, no,” says Vale. “It is funny, Bezz.”

Marc’s heart is pounding in his gut, his throat. He is not afraid, of course. Perhaps angry? Not even that. It's just that it should be more of a shock than it is, he tells himself. Valentino should be in Rome. Marc saw him from a distance, earlier this year when he raced for the victory parade in the City. That was when Marc was thrown from the chariot and dragged by his good horses, who didn’t mean to do it, but certainly did. It hadn’t been Marc’s first big injury, but the scars on his arm are still a little swollen. He is wearing his curved charioteer’s knife in his belt the opposite direction than normal, so the left hand can grab it.

Vale is sending off the boy — who is in the uniform of the greens, Marc realizes. He must also be racing today, against Marc. Vale is drawing a hand down the flank of the gelding and sending it off too, ambling along after the angry young man, whose hand is nevertheless surprisingly soft on the lead rope. Marc stands there, dressed in red, sweating. Vale is starting to look angry, like he does for Marc now: a cold kind of thing, nothing like the way he laughed off an insult from some unknown man just a moment ago.

Marc is racing today, but not for hours. He is feeling something happening in him, full-body, that is very familiar. His palms are tingling. He feels like he slept outside like all the men and women of Terraco seem to have done, and that he has woken in the heat of the morning to find Valentino here. What year is it? Of whose reign?

They are in Tarraco, Marc reminds himself. They are in Tarraco, and everyone speaks like Marc does. Vale's eyes are hot.

*

Vale has him in the amphora storage room of the inn where Vale is staying. It is maybe twenty steps from where they saw each other and inside it is already stuffy and hot. It barely matters; Marc always sweats so much when he fucks Valentino that the heat is almost a good excuse. Valentino seems to think it is normal, or else he just likes it. His hands slip on Marc’s hips. Marc is clutching a shelf and hissing through his clenched jaw. Light from high open windows slants across his body, his arms, the back of his neck. It flashes across Vale, too, his sinewy arms with a fine fuzz of hair. It ties them together.

“‘Cunnilingator,’” Vale murmurs again, and lets out a sharp sour laugh. Vale's face is wet with his own saliva. He has been licking at Marc’s ass until Marc had to hold the shelf, until Marc had to come, and then past that. He doesn’t seem to want to stop. This is dirtier, probably, than if Marc had a pussy. Valentino doesn’t seem to want to stop. 

The boy from the street had looked the smallest bit like Valentino, but Marc had written this off. He has fucked people who look like Valentino before, and it’s never worth it. The resemblance, he realizes, was truly there this time, but only in the angry mouth and the strong and careful hands.

The angry mouth is wet and red now. Ah, well, Marc’s face is wet too.

Valentino, behind him, says something filthy, and then says, “Let me, let me.” Marc will let him. He doesn’t seem to know this, or isn’t willing to do it without the begging. “Marc,” Valentino says. He spits on Marc’s ass. Marc shakes.

“You know what I want,” Marc says.

Valentino hisses and squeezes Marc’s hips. “Oh, do I?” he says.

"Like always," Marc says, some part of him giving in a little.

"Yes, yes," says Valentino, eyes dark and intent. "I will take care of it."

Marc cranes his head to see Valentino raise the skirt of his own toga and stroke his cock once. He is shaking with wanting Marc, or maybe the strain of the awkward small space.

Marc lets his mouth fall open. Valentino blinks at him and then falls on him, and Marc’s pushed upright and naked against the wall. Valentino’s wet mouth is on his neck. Valentino’s hand is between Marc’s face and the wall. One finger from that hand is easy to suck into Marc’s mouth.

Valentino grunts but waits for some signal known only to him, just says, “Marc—Marc,” in the shining gleam of a single band on sunlight making its way through the wooden slats of the wall and across his face. Marc has to wriggle backwards against him once, twice, before Valentino stops pinning him back into stillness and grips his own cock and rubs it in the spit, then eases in the tip. Marc bites down on Valentino’s finger. The sound he makes is— he doesn’t know. It might be bad if there were anywhere deeper to go, but there isn’t. Valentino doesn’t try to stop him. He maybe tries to shove his finger deeper instead. 

Valentino is in him. Valentino’s gentle hand on his ribs becomes for a moment a claw. His grip gentles again but Marc wants the grip back. He doesn’t gentle his jaw on Valentino’s finger. Valentino will wear Marc's teeth like a ring all day. The base of his finger might bruise and swell. He tips his head back, neck limp. Saliva is on his chin now, too.

Vale's face is tacky when he pulls it away from Marc's neck for a moment to look down. He sticks for a moment. Ah, cunnilingator.

"Ah, look at you," he says, looking down at Marc's nude body. The red toga is in a heap on a shelf. Its belt is tangled around Valentino's ankles. Vale is nearly dressed.

Fingertips of the hand that Marc is not biting touch his spine, and then move right to touch the spine of the long scar on his arm instead. Marc stills, and the touch moves on.

How long is the voyage from Rome to Tarraco? His arm is nearly healed, but Vale did not look surprised at the scar when Marc undressed among the amphorae of wine. Just touched it like he did just now, soft as the streaks of sun had touched it. Which was too soft; the nerves are damaged, and it feels like nothing or like a burning itch to be touched softly.

But he had moved on, stripped Marc of his belt in one fast move that made Marc nearly laugh because it did, in fact, remind him of reins around his chest. And then Vale had touched his temples, just lightly, as Marc shed the rest of his clothes.

But now he is panting and fucking into Marc incrementally, rough and shallow, thrust by thrust. Marc's jaw keeps nearly loosening around the finger held in his mouth, and then he regains control and bites down again. Bruises like a ring of purple. Vale never tries to take it back, even when Marc is open-mouthed and panting for breath, still not able, quite, to tip over.

Finally Valentino's left hand pinches Marc, savagely, on the thin layer of fat over the ribs. Marco is so slick with sweat this must be difficult, but Valentino manages it on the second try. And so Marc's body tightens under him, comes for him again, and this time it feels terribly real. There is just enough of Valentino inside him for Marc to avoid being destroyed by it. Maybe.

Valentino pants savagely in Marc’s ear, like the roar in a seashell when no one is there. There is something desperate in it. Ah--Valentino is going to come too.

It takes another minute, and Vale pulls out to stroke himself, but then-- there. When it hits Marc's ass his whole spine relaxes, his whole body relaxes. He sags against Valentino, whose nice toga is now stained with Marc's sweat.

Vale pulls his hand out of Marc's mouth and shows it to Marc. "Ah, look at you," he says. He is still out of breath, though Marc is catching his. Marc blinks blearily at Vale's hand. He drew a tiny bit of blood. Vale turns his hand up and down, showmanlike. The bitten finger is already starting to swell; Vale smiles at this. And yes, at the base of it is a ring of purple set with the pale indents of Marc's front teeth.

[riotwritesthings]

Unrequited Dreams

WinterIron, M, 3.5k - Soulmate AU, Angst, hopeful ending

I can finally share my piece from the Reforged WinterIron Zine! I'm so excited, I'd had the idea for this fic for years and it was delightful to finally bring it to life. And now I get to share!

Thank you to all the mods over at @reforgedzine for making this happen!

~~~

The night before his thirteenth birthday Bucky is so excited he can barely fall asleep, because he’s going to have his first dream about his soulmate.

The anticipation has been building for weeks, for years; his family has taken to fondly rolling their eyes because Bucky can't talk about anything else. He can’t wait to find out something, anything about his soulmate, about how they'll meet for the first time. He can't wait to start trying to make sense of the hazy details the dream will leave him with.

In the morning, Bucky wakes up sobbing, because now he knows that his soulmate is gorgeous and graceful. That knowledge is crystal clear even if few other details are.

And now, Bucky knows that he's going to put a gun in his soulmate's face and pull the trigger.

~

Thirteen year old Tony wakes up feeling cold and hollow except for a sharp ache settling deep in his chest.

Apparently, it was stupid to be excited, just like Howard always said. Because now he knows that their first meeting involves his soulmate pushing him away.

Literally.

Tony knows that dreams are funny things. He read all about soulmate dreams and how easy it is to misinterpret them, how they tend to exaggerate, back when he was dumb enough to look forward to them. But he would swear that the shove felt hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, felt strong enough to throw him clear across the room.

The ache in his chest lingers the entire day, and every morning that he wakes up from the same dream, the pain is agonizingly fresh, digging a little deeper.

So Tony grows up and learns how to push people away first. He tells himself that when he meets his soulmate, he’ll be ready.

~

Bucky never tells anyone about the dream, even when his parents give him concerned looks. Eventually people stop asking.

Every time he has the dream, Bucky remembers a little more. His soulmate is dressed in mostly black, moving gracefully and carelessly through a room in chaos. His soulmate has gorgeous eyes and a wicked, beautiful smirk.

Every time, Bucky shoots his soulmate in the face and wakes up nauseous.

At least when he joins the army, no one else talks about their dreams either. Most nights, Bucky is too exhausted to dream at all, and it’s almost a relief when nightmares start to overtake the few times that he does.

~

Most nights, Tony drinks until he falls into a short, restless sleep, just to avoid the one dream he doesn't want to have.

He doesn’t want to see his soulmate’s cold, emotionless eyes. He doesn’t want the all-too-brief feeling of his soulmate's hand beneath his own before he's shoved away.

When Tony does dream, it’s of clenched fists, feeling frustrated, helpless. Feeling like his entire life is falling apart around him, and it’s all so stupid.

So he refuses to figure out any other details because he’s already going to have to live through it at some point. He doesn't want to know if that fleeting contact of hand against hand is a first meeting, doesn’t bother trying to remember anything about the large, bright room the dream takes place in or the people around them. He doesn’t care if it's a charity gala or something else. None of it matters.

Tony wakes up and drinks more.

He builds and smiles for the press. He does his best to not lose the few people he has, and tells himself that he won’t care when his soulmate doesn’t want him.

Sometimes he even believes it.

~

The Winter Soldier doesn’t dream at all.

Not during the short, fitful sleep he gets on missions. Certainly not while he’s frozen.

He forgets.

~

When the moment finally happens in real life, they don’t recognize it.

Bucky isn't in his right mind. He’s barely clinging to awareness past the hold of the conditioning in a room in chaos. He doesn't recognize the graceful motions of the gorgeous man who jumps into the fight, or the moment he points his gun in the man's face.

The bullet doesn't connect, and when Tony doesn't die, the Winter Soldier rips his hand away from Tony’s, shoves him across the room and knocks the air out of his lungs.

Tony isn’t thinking about the brief contact of his hand on Barnes’ over the barrel of a gun, of Barnes’ hand splayed across his chest. He’s thinking about the fact that his life is falling apart, and that he needs to stop a rampaging Winter Soldier. He doesn’t have time to think about the splinter itching at the back of his mind.

They don’t even notice when they stop having the dreams, after that moment.

~

Tony is alone in his workshop, in the too-empty compound, when it hits him that he doesn’t even remember the last time he dreamt of his soulmate.

It’s not just because he barely sleeps, not just because when he does dream it’s of his friends falling from the sky, of cities and worlds crashing to the ground. He’s spent so much time trying to ignore the dream, apparently he’s even been ignoring the fact that it’s gone.

It’s a stupid thing to be upset about.

Tony has always known how they would feel about him, known they wouldn’t want anything to do with him, but he still has to sit on the cold tile floor as his legs give out. He blinks back tears, wondering how far he must have fallen, if he doesn’t even deserve a soulmate who pushes him away anymore, doesn’t deserve anyone.

He wonders if his soulmate dreams about someone else now.

~

Bucky is in Wakanda, trying to find peace, when a doctor asks about the dream.

For a second Bucky doesn’t remember. And then he does. And he can’t breathe.

He doesn’t dream much anymore. When he does, it’s always nightmares. He hasn’t dreamt of his soulmate since before the war.

Before the Soldier.

And Bucky realizes he’s probably already killed his soulmate, and doesn’t even remember it. Everything goes fuzzy.

No one asks about the dreams again. Bucky has so many regrets to move past, he just shoves this one down with all the others. His soulmate is probably long gone. There’s no need to think about it.

So, he tries not to.

~

Having everyone back at the compound is exactly as awkward-as-hell as Tony thought it would be. It only makes him feel a little better that he’s clearly not the only one feeling it.

The reasoning is sound, the threat is coming, but that doesn’t mean Tony has to be happy about it.

But he smiles, shakes hands when he has to, and reminds himself this is for the best. He can bury his hurt feelings for the good of the world. He can be an adult, pretend everything is fine. He shows everyone to the residential wing, despite most of them already knowing their way around, and doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he says to make themselves at home.

Slowly, they start putting the team back together. There’s lots of talks about trust and honesty that feel hollow and stilted, but Tony supposes it’s progress.

They still work well together in the field, but that was never the Avengers’ problem.

Around the compound, though, the split remains obvious. Everyone seems torn between walking on eggshells and the urge to act like nothing’s changed even though it has, Tony among them.

The different sides of the war still give each other wide berths in the hallways, and Steve still stands protectively between Tony and his shadow of a best friend when they happen to run into each other in the gym.

Tony spins on his heel with a lazy wave, doesn’t even care if he’s too obvious. For just a moment, Tony’s gaze meets Barnes’ as he turns.

For just that moment, Tony finds himself caught in that deep blue stare before the doors slide closed behind him.

~

Bucky spends a lot of time wandering the compound.

He’s aware everyone thinks it’s a paranoid-perimeter-check thing, which it partially is. But it's also just him enjoying the novelty that he can spend his time wandering aimlessly. He can go where he wants when he wants, never has to sleep unless he chooses to.

He’s still getting used to it; remembering how to enjoy the freedom.

Which is how he runs into Stark in the kitchen at three AM, when he’s trying to outrun his nightmares. Tony is apparently making pancakes.

Bucky freezes in the doorway as they stare at each other. Just when he’s preparing to back away, Stark’s lips curl into a tiny smile. Stark tips his head towards the rest of the kitchen, obviously inviting him to stay instead. Bucky grabs an apple and sits at his usual spot at the far end of the table, trying to look comfortable, and it’s somehow easier than he’s expecting.

It’s only a couple minutes before Stark finishes making and neatly stacking his pancakes on a plate. Then he dumps everything in the dishwasher and shoots Bucky only the briefest look before leaving with his plate of food.

Bucky tells himself to avoid the kitchen around that time. He should give Stark some space, because he’s so clearly uncomfortable with everyone being back.

But two sleepless nights later, Bucky’s feet carry him on a familiar path without thought.

Stark is making waffles this time. He barely even looks up as Bucky takes up the same space at the table. Stark glances at him again as he’s preparing to leave, at the power bar Bucky’s been picking at, then transfers one waffle to a smaller plate. He sets the small plate on the table, just within Bucky’s reach. Then to Bucky’s surprise, Stark sits at the counter instead of leaving.

Bucky pulls the plate closer, and they eat in total silence. They’re not even facing each other and Bucky is actually a little relieved. He doesn’t know what to say to anyone these days, much less Stark.

It’s the first time they’ve done more than pass in the hallways, but it’s not as uncomfortable as it should be. When Tony stands to leave with a wave and a small, warm smile, Bucky finds himself disappointed.

~

As the weeks go by, Tony notices Barnes getting more comfortable around the compound, sometimes with Steve but most often alone.

Not that Tony lets himself wonder why he cares, why he scrolls through security feeds of the hallways like he needs to check on Barnes. It’s just morale has been slowly improving, and that’s the last bridge Tony has to mend. Or, the last bridge to build from scratch over a giant chasm, in this case.

He’s coming back late from a charity event, a little tipsy with plans to head to the lab, but gets sidetracked when he passes through the living room and realizes Barnes is on the couch watching Star Trek. Tony pauses for a second, filled with nostalgia, but he tells himself to leave Barnes to his marathon in peace.

To his surprise, Barnes looks at him with a tiny smile, unsure but devoid of suspicion or impatience. Tony sinks into an armchair, asking himself why. They proceed to watch four and a half episodes in silence.

Tony wakes up to Steve and Sam clomping through after their morning run, slumped down in the chair with a blanket carefully draped over him.

It becomes a habit, and Barnes becomes Bucky, even if they haven’t actually spoken yet.

So maybe Tony has FRIDAY alert him when Bucky is queuing up the next episode so he can head to the living room. After the first time, though, Bucky waits for him to arrive before hitting play and greets him with a smile that gets brighter every time.

Tony doesn’t let himself wonder about the why’s. Like why he spends so much time simply existing in the same room as Bucky, why that doesn’t feel awkward at all. Or why it seems to be the only thing that helps Tony ignore the empty pit in his chest.

One night, Tony realizes he hasn’t seen Bucky in a while. There’s been no marathon nights despite being due to start Next Generation. He tells himself it’s not creepy to flip through security feeds., He’s just curious how Bucky is spending his sleepless nights now.

Tony’s heart leaps into his throat when he finally locates Bucky on the roof of the hanger, standing on the ledge. He’s breathless by the time he makes it to the hangar, heart racing and legs shaking from the sprint. He doesn’t even know what he thinks is happening, except…

Bucky looks at him with wide, exhausted eyes when Tony bursts through the door, and he could swear Bucky’s shoulders drop in relief. Tony doesn’t have time to think. He just starts talking, because Bucky looks so haunted, and Tony knows a thing or two about distractions.

They’re still on the roof when the sun comes up., And Bucky has to stop pointing out all the constellations he can remember while Tony fills him in on the new star science he’s missed.

~

After the roof, something shifts.

Bucky can’t put his finger on exactly what it is, or even when it happens. But that one stilted conversation about the stars becomes less stilted conversations about whatever’s on TV becomes friendly debates about the merits of different toppings as they make pizza at midnight.

Before Bucky knows it, he feels like he’s home.

He finds a groove with his new life and starts branching out, starts connecting with the rest of the team. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a person. To actually interact when he passes people in the hallway and eat with a group.

To be more than a ghost, to be part of something good.

Always though, he gravitates back to Tony. Because Tony actually makes him laugh and it fills a void in his chest Bucky has long gotten used to. Because Tony is always trying to do better and god Bucky wants to learn how.

Because when Tony’s been on an inventing binge, Bucky can trick him into taking a nap by putting on home improvement shows, and it makes Bucky feel like he’s doing something right. The team smirks when they walk in on Tony drooling on his shoulder, but it’s not like that.

He recognizes the look Steve and Natasha start to give him, smug and knowing. And fine, maybe Tony would have been exactly his type, before. But it’s not like that.

Because Bucky is the man who killed his soulmate. He doesn’t let himself think about that kind of thing.

~

When Bucky decides that he wants to officially join the Avengers, Tony leaps at the chance to make him new gear.

He does the same for the entire team, after all, making sure everyone’s safe. It doesn’t make Bucky special. No matter what the wide grins from Rhodey try to imply.

Tony just loves a challenge, loves the excuse to build something new. So maybe he gets more input from Bucky than anyone else, offers to help Bucky test all the gear on top of team training, but it’s not an excuse to spend more time together. He just sees what Bucky is trying to do, and he’s all too familiar with that struggle.

Despite the knowing looks from everyone, it doesn’t mean anything that he lets Bucky into the lab to see the prototypes, even if it is Tony’s only place of solitude in the compound. Even if eventually Bucky just hangs out there with him for hours.

Tony keeps telling himself it means nothing.

Watching Bucky try to teach DUM-E checkers is the final straw, though. Warmth fills Tony’s chest so fast and hard that he can’t breathe around it. And he finally admits that maybe it all means something.

But Tony is the man who doesn’t deserve a soulmate, who never even got to meet them. Who’s not sure he’d want to meet them anymore, as guilty as it makes him feel.

Maybe he can’t lie to himself anymore. Maybe he’s completely in love, but Tony knows better than to say anything.

~

Days spent in the lab with Tony run together in the best possible way. It’s a blur of playing with the bots, watching Tony create the future, and trying to convince him maybe the new reboots of Star Trek do have something to offer.

Bucky knows what a privilege it is to be here, to see Tony at his most relaxed and occasionally unhinged. He tries not to let it go to his head, give him ideas, even though every day he falls more in love. He’s even getting used to the pangs of guilt over the soulmate he should miss.

Until one day they’re watching a movie on the lumpy couch in Tony’s lab. When it’s revealed that Tony called the plot twist from the very beginning, he smirks at Bucky at just the right angle.

Bucky’s heart drops into the floor.

He knows that smirk. He’s seen it a thousand times in a thousand dreams, even if he hasn’t had it in years, he remembers.

And of course it’s Tony, who’s smart and gorgeous, graceful and just the right amount of wicked. Who Bucky already loves so much he can’t breathe sometimes.

Tony, who he still can’t possibly deserve.

So Bucky says nothing, as happy as he thinks he’ll ever be. Tony is here, alive. Bucky’s soulmate is too smart and too tough to die. Bucky gets to watch the way he laughs when their friends do something stupid, to watch Tony’s back in fights while they both try to do better.

He’ll never get to taste the edges of Tony’s smile, but he shoves that aside. Tony is alive. That’s more than enough.

~

Tony’s first thought when he wakes half-buried under rubble is that he’s officially over alien invasions. The second is that the power of the suit fading in and out, causing the concerned shouting over the comms to cut in and out, is really not helping with his throbbing head.

The aliens swarm into what’s left of the nightclub, stealing his attention before Tony can work up the breath to answer, and all the suit’s questionable power has to go to blasting the ones that get too close. The oversized bug-like soldiers just keep coming, and Tony starts to wonder if he’d be better off ditching the deadweight of the armor.

But he’s not sure he can make a run for it. His head is spinning and he’s dimly aware of blood filling the suit, and the aliens are still coming—

There’s a roar of approaching gunfire and then Bucky is bursting into the destroyed building, wielding a large knife and the only gun Tony has built in years.

And the thing is…Tony knows those movements.

He knows that brutal fighting style, the blank rage in those blue eyes. He recognizes the wrath of the Winter Soldier. He’d been dreaming of it most of his life.

Tony can’t believe he never put it together before, because of course it’s Bucky. Resilient and brave and so kind, Bucky who still deserves so much better than Tony. Of course.

Maybe it’s just easier to recognize him with unconsciousness trying to drag Tony under. Maybe Tony’s already dreaming.

He must be, because suddenly Bucky is leaning over him. His eyes are warm, and scared. Tony doesn’t know this part of the dream, doesn’t know what happens next.

Everything is going black. Tony struggles to find his words, to plead. To beg not to be shoved away again.

~

Bucky sits unmoving beside Tony’s hospital bed for three days, even though all he wants to do is run.

He saw the recognition in Tony’s eyes, he knows that Tony knows. He wants to leave before Tony asks him to, because what else could Tony want from a soulmate like him?

But that’s not what Tony had said. Tony asked him to stay while sounding so scared, so resigned. Like he knew Bucky wouldn’t and it was already breaking his heart.

So, Bucky stays.

He’s staring at his fists, trying to stop himself from wondering, when the heart monitor starts beeping triple time, giving away that Tony is awake. Bucky jerks his gaze up to meet Tony’s big brown eyes, watches the flashes of fear and hope that go through them.

Bucky knows he must look terrible, hasn’t slept or shaved in days. He’s barely eaten, and he can feel the lines of worry set into his face. But Tony’s still looking at him with something like awe, just because he’s here.

When Tony smiles nervously the wave of hope that crashes over Bucky nearly overwhelms him, could crush him beneath it.

Bucky smiles back.

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

Happy New Year! I hope you all had a good December! These were my contributions to the @welcomehomefanzine winter zine! I managed to do more art this time too! For my contributions I wanted to draw art on various Winter traditions from different cultures, such as also my own! If you decide to colour in any of these, please @ me!!

Also keep in mind, we are not affiliated with Clown or the team behind WH, we are just fans who love the work!!

I wrote more on all the artworks under the cut! Including the traditions they were based on!

First one was a little visual pun on the first verse of '12 Days of Christmas', Poppy is the partridge in the pear tree! Not much to say about this one, it's my only Christmas related thing! Second one was based on the Southern Welsh winter tradition of the Mari Lwyd. The Mari Lwyd is a hobby horse made from a horse's skull and is then decorated. It is puppeteered to go to the doors of various houses where its handlers will sing verses on letting it in to the home, you are supposed to sing back excuses on why you can't let it in, and if you relent, you invite the Mari Lwyd and its handlers in your home, where it will eat your food and alcohol and terrorise your children! The tradition and its true origins and meaning and even etymology is unknown, but it's thought to have ancient Pagan roots! It seems here, Eddie relented in his songs to it and regretted everything immediately after!

Third image is another Poppy centric piece because I love her. Here she is dressed up as a figure from Schnabelperchten! This is a tradition seen only in Rauris Valley in Austria and is a manifestation of Perchta, a goddess from Alpine Paganism that took the form of a old woman who'd punish misbehaving children by slitting their bellies. For Schnabelperchten, on the 5th of January, figures dressed in smocks, jackets, and a beak-like mask will visit various homes to check their upkeep and cleanliness all while emitting a soft 'ga ga ga', in more ancient versions of the legend, if you did not keep your living quarters in good enough conditions, the Schnabelperchten would slit open your belly and dump all the rubbish inside! Poppy would never do that though! No one tell her about that part!! Last but not least is one based on a tradition from my culture! Here you see the entire neighbourhood celebrating Yalda Night and spending time with one anotherThis is a Persian/Iranian festival with Zoroastrian roots held on the Winter Solstice. This day was traditionally seen as ill omened as being the darkest day of the year, the forces of Ahriman and his Deevs were most active, and so much of the day entailed family and friends getting together in good company. They would read stories and poems (especially the Shahnameh or poems by Hafez) with nuts and various fruits from previous harvests being served, watermelon and pomegranates being the most prominent! It was also encouraged to stay well up after midnight lest misfortune befall you! Due to it also being the longest night, it was also seen as the birthdate of the sun deity Mehr (or Mithra), as the subsequent days would get longer.

This was all fun to do and I hope I did all these traditons justice!! I am most likely missing out a lot on my explanations for them, so I hope I at least peaked your interest in these different Winter festivities enough to look into them on your own!

[fswintersdelight]

Four Swords: Winter's Delight 2023 is live and the event open!

It has been a lot of hard work, not only for myself, but also for all of our featured artists and writers, and for our technical editor. That said, it's finally here: Winter's Delight 2023, the e-zine.

You can view and download it, either by clicking on the image or by clicking here. It will take you to a PDF shared through Google Drive.

Alternatively, you can follow the instructions here to get a print copy.

The zine itself contains:

New fanart by nine artists

New fanfics by six writers

Three interviews with prominent and active fans in the Four Swords fandom

An overview of a fan's online shop with Four Swords themed items

Seven reading recommendations from fellow fans

The final results of the Fandom Awards

31 prompts for artists and writers in December

You might find the fanart posted by the individual artists on their social medias (full information on where to find them in the zine) throughout December. The fanfics might appear on Ao3, where our official collection for 2023 is Winter's Delight: A Four Swords Calendar (2023).

We invite all fans of Four Swords, on Tumblr or elsewhere, to join us in making this December a creative and joyful month for the fandom. Use the prompts (or not), take inspiration from other artists and writers (or not), and share what you create (please do!). Even if you don't consider yourself a creator of any sort, we would love for you to feel like you can test the waters this December.

Our themes this year are WINTER and COZY NIGHTS, so if you create anything pertaining to these, feel free to tag us (@fswintersdelight) so that we can see and share your creation with others! Our overall guidelines for participation can be found here, and an individual post with our December prompts here.

Finally, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has made this zine special: our general editor, @pokegeek151; our artists, @astrolabe-blade, @dergshadow, DKS01 Gaming, @fourswordsfairworld, @kaenith, @mckittyarts, @nextik, @sleepygremlin11, and @umbrenshadow; our writers, @1esor2, @adel-memes, @vagueandominousvibes, @zarvasace, @pokegeek151, and @hey-adora; and our interviewees, @hauntinghyrule, @hey-adora, and @zarvasace. This zine would never have seen the light of day without you. Thank you.

Hugs, spice, and all things bright,

Kalh

PS: We're testing printed options for those who might want a hard copy. Assuming it works as it should, we will provide the necessary documents and instructions for individual printing through Lulu.

[defjux]

Here's 100 of the albums from 2024 that i''ve enjoyed the most: 50 hip hop records, and 50 albums in other genres. There's still a ton of stuff I haven't gotten to yet or need to revisit, but i'm feeling pretty good about this and don't think too much would change aside from the order. Insane year for music overall, and surely there will still be some big releases in the next two months. Biggest surprise for me was definitely The Cure making a comeback after almost two decades and putting out their best album since Wish. I'm also convinced that Robert Smith is an actual vampire. he still sounds great after all this time. Charts with album titles included Again, i'm sure there's plenty of stuff that has gone under the radar for me so as always i'm open to recommendations. Let me know what your favorite records are, i'd genuinely like to know. I'll post the list of albums below, and maybe at the end of the year will do some kind of spotify playlist with one or two songs from each. Peace.

Hip hop:

ELUCID - REVELATOR

Ka - The Thief Next To Jesus

AKAI SOLO - DREAMDROPDRAGON

Mach-Hommy- #RICHAXXHAITIAN

Cavalier - Different Type Time

The Fortunate Ones - RESIN

Armand Hammer - BLK LBL

Dead Players - Faster Than the Speed of Death

ShrapKnel - Nobody Planning To Leave

Sunmundi & klwn cat - Lived and Born

Desert Camo - Desert Camo

Nakama - EMBERGO_

Lee Scott - To Tame A Dead Horse

Joshua Virtue - Black Box: JOSHUA IS DEAD

Freddie Gibbs - You Only Die ince

Navy Blue - Memoirs in Armour

Phiik & Lungs - Carrot Season

Nickelus F - MMCHT

Nuse Tyrant - Juxtaposed Echoes

Mary Sue - Voice Memos From A Winter In China

DJ Muggs & Raz Fresco - The Eternal Now

Revival Season - Golden Age of Self Snitching

Midnight Sons - Money Has No Owners

Tyler, the Creator - Chromakopia

Sasco - The Hottest Year on Record

Boldy James & Conductor Williams - Across The Tracks

Hester Valentine - Valenta

Mavi - Shadowbox

Serengeti - KDIV

JPEGMAFIA - I LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU

Rap Man Gavin & postureless - Memories, Dreams, Reflections

yungmorpheus - WAKING UP AND CHOOSING VIOLENCE

Sadistik & Maulskull - Oblivion Theater

Roc Marciano - MARCIOLOGY

R.A.P. Ferreira - the First Fist to Make Contact When We Dap

Deca & Dealz - Bough

Nxworries - WHY LAWD?

Oddisee - And Yet Still

Rich Jones & SINAI. - Sour Dub

Lupe Fiasco - Samurai

Noveliss & Hir-O - Cyberpunk Rhapsody

Cavalier & Quelle Chris - Death Tape 2: We Gon' Need Each Other

Killah Priest - Abraxas Rebis Simha Pleroma

Vince Staples - Dark Times

Kooley High & Tuamie - All Infinite

MIKE & Tony Seltzer - Pinball

Daniel Son & Futurewave - BUSHMAN BODEGA

Vic Spencer & August Fanon - Psychological Cheat Sheet 5

Jack Jetson & Illinformed - Winter Forever

bromethugzine - THUG ZINE issue 002: WORLD-SPIRIT

Everything else:

Chelsea Wolfe - She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She

Iglooghost - Tidal Memory Exo

chat pile - Cool World

Frail Body - Artificial Bouquet

The Cure - Songs Of A Lost World

Trauma Ray - Chameleon

Terry Green - PROVISIONAL LIVING

Gouge Away - Deep Sage

Thou - Umbilical

ØKSE - ØKSE

Tenue - Arcos, bóvedas, pórticos

Krallice - Inorganic Rites

Nala Sinephro - Endlessness

Punchlove - Channels

Milton Nascimento & Esperanza Spalding - Milton + esperanza

Arooj Aftab - Night Reign

Hammok - Look How Long Lasting Everything Is Moving Forward For Once

Blood Incantation - Absolute Elsewhere

Crumb - AMAMA

Kamasi Washington - Fearless Novement

Fievel Is Glauque - Rong Weicknes

Camila Bañados - Viento 1.

julie - my anti-aircraft friend

Oranssi Pazuzu - Muuntautuja

Skee Mask - Resort

Mary Halvorson - Cloudward

Infant Island - Obsidian wreath

Blushing - Sugarcoat

Godspeed You! Black Emperor - NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD

MAGDALENA BAY - Imaginal Disk

Leaving Time - Angel in the Sand

Joel Ross - nublues

Both Gibbons - Lives Outgrown

geordie greep - The New Sound

Nilüfer Yanya - My Method Actor

Nails - Every Bridge Burning

Hiatus Kaiyote Love Heart Cheat Code

Liana Flores Flower of the soul

Babii - Daredeviil2000

Blind Girls - An Exit Exists

HERIOT - Devoured by the Mouth of Hell

Julia Holter - Something in the Room She Moves

Cindy Lee - Diamond Jubilee

Melt-Banana - 3+5

Ulcerate - Cutting The Throat Of God

Spirit of the Beehive - YOU'LL HAVE TO LOSE SOMETHING

Hannah Frances - Keeper of the Shepherd

Ginger Root -Shinbanguni

Martha Skye Murphy - Um

Pluma - Não Leve a Mal

[muitamaita]

Here is my submission to DBTR-server's zine, this time we had folklore and fairytales as our inspiration, see the other amazing artists behind the link!

My little comic was inspired by my favorite folklore ghost story, which in Finland is usually called "The Dead Travel Light" or "The Dead Travel", it is a "dead bridegroom carries off their bride"-type folktale, the most famous version is the German Lenore-ballad. In these tales two young people are lovers, and the bridegroom is send away to work or to war, where he suddenly dies. One night he arrives to fetch his bride, but she has no idea he is a walking dead as news of him dying have not reached her. He tries to carry her to his grave, but the bride is saved the last moment.

In the Finnish version we have some special features I wanted to incorporate, such as it is always a cold winter night and the bridegroom arrives on a horse drawn sleigh instead of riding.

I have brought the story to BG3 here, as I found Astarion's story is a perfect fit to it. Bride's part is played by my Tav Eris.

[rememberingyoi]

Our tenth applicant is Risa (@animatedrisa, also found on Twitter) who will also be submitting art to the zine! Here’s one of her previous and very gorgeous art pieces, more of which you can find through her accounts. We look forward to sharing her contribution to the project with you :)

Thank you so much for joining us! <3

[nivdoodles]

On this sad day (thanks, Mappa! not!) I can finally post young Viktor that I drew for YOI Winter Nights zine.

[stiltonbasket]

MXTX Food Zine: Fic Preview!

Hello everyone! The MXTX Food Zine will be out on October 31, so here's a preview of my entry (part of a fic-and-art collaboration with the wonderful @stardustinjune❤️).

For the first two summers of her once-again mortal life, Shi Qingxuan did not so much as dream of following a new cultivation path, or regaining her lost divinity.  She could not tell why, exactly. It was not that she thought herself unfit for any life other than a vagrant’s, or imagined that her suffering might appease the man whose destruction had been the price for her three-hundred-odd years of joy in the heavenly courts. Nor did she believe that the way back to godhood was forever barred to her—Pei Ming was one of many who would have gladly taken her in as a junior official, if she had been willing—but she was not, and for those two years, she and the rest of the beggars in the capital wandered from place to place like strands of milkweed cast adrift on the wind.  It hadn’t been a bad life, so far as such things go. Hunger came and went like the wind, for busking was only so easy with a broken arm and leg, and she passed far fewer nights with a roof over her head than without one; but she and the strange family she fell into were happy together in their own way.  And then one of the children fell ill, early in the second winter.  They scraped together enough money for a doctor and medicine; and then for another doctor, and advice from a second apothecary when the first prescription did not work. But the second doctor could not help, either. Little Tang Xiao grew worse by the day; and at last, with no other recourse left to her, Shi Qingxuan made her way to an abandoned wind and water temple and prayed for the child to be spared. When she looked up, she was no longer alone. On the place where the old Lady Wind Master statue had stood, there was a living woman dressed in robes of verdant green; and when Shi Qingxuan lifted her head, she found herself looking at the smiling face of Yushi Huang.

You can check out more zine previews at @mxtxfoodzine! Most of our entries will be posted to AO3/social media on November 7, 2024.