#and the Your Turn to Die zine i have

[kerto-p]

can you share the pictures of the doujinshi you have?

i’m pretty sure i forgot a few of them but here they areeeee i put the titles and artists in the image descriptions👀 included the zines i have as well cus why not

[sagescider]

quick redraw of a sara from a while ago <3

[anthenasikes]

SOME SARANZU I DREW FOR @yuriturntodie !!!

[numbuh424]

REKOOO 🤟🎶

first time drawing her! thanks to everyone who voted in my poll a while back~

[bunabi]

You don't have to respond to this, I just don't have anyone irl who likes DA as much as me, but as a big fan of Origins I keep hoping for the next game to scratch an itch for me and with each game I get further and further from what I'm looking for. The in depth character backgrounds (that had real impact on the game!), the combat (it turns out I lothe RTS unless it's DAO but for some reason I love DAO's combat so much), and the impact of your choices are all things that seem to diminish with each game. I also agree with your frustration at not being able to be mean, I'm usually a goodie two shoes in games but my favorite Warden was one I made pragmatic and comfortable with authority to a dangerous degree because the brutal choices in Awakening result in the best outcomes for Ferelden. Plus even if you prefer the kind choices, you can't make choices unless you're given them. Luckily there's BG3 and Avowed coming out but it still feels like such a loss every time a new DA is released.

I wanna respond because you raise good points. 😔👍🏿

I feel the same way. I'm ride-or-die for Thedas as a world — the lore is easy to jump into and the amount of half-truths makes speculation really fun — but the games have strayed further and further from my personal tastes.

No DA entry is the same in its approach or execution, so I think having mixed opinions is completely natural.

Compared to Mass Effect which sticks to it's formula pretty closely from ME1 to Andromeda, DA is constantly changing. I think it could have benefited from more consistency. I understand why that wasn't always possible.

You're allowed to be disappointed or wistful or critical without it being construed as like...giving ammunition to bozos or tearing the developers down.

If we can't discuss those things what are we supposed to do? Sit in a circle pretending those features never mattered lol? That I never liked having more roleplay freedom, never liked companion relationships having more tension, never cared about tactics? No I don't think I will.

And I say this while fully accepting DAV for what it is. Even if I wasn't blessed with a code from EA I had every intention of playing it myself. I bought the art book. I've done two zines this year and contributed to two more. My career revolves around making art directly inspired by Inquisition's. Haven't read all the comics & books but I'm as 'hardcore' as it gets.

Me, of all people, being called a fake fan for wanting blood magic or not feeling the character model proportions shows how emotionally charged and unhinged things have gotten

All that to say: I think the best way to be a fan of anything is to acknowledge the good and the bad and let others do the same. So long as those conversations are in good faith there's nothing to lose and everything to gain fr.

[inkeyjay]

🫀 Eucharist of the Ravenous 🫀

It started out as a bellyache, guts rumbling after two days of barely eating. An unfinished visage, featureless, fixing the blurry sockets it had for eyes into his soul.

The humble priest dropped his brush onto the cold floor of the chapel and stumbled backwards. The walls, towards the ceiling, all full of still fresh perfect faces framed by golden halos, that he had been carefully painting non stop for days. Faces of dead saints and prophets, long gone, commissioned by the high church as a display of power and opulence in an age of religious and political crisis. And this last saint, the one that still had some loose and tired brushtrokes for it's face. There was something about it that made the priest flinch out of his creative trance. He swore the paint moved, vibrated with anticipation at the touch of the brush.

He laid tired in the center of the chapel, exposed to a hundred pair of eyes that almost felt judgemental, knowing of the priest's internal thoughts. "Why am i doing this" "Why do i have to over exert myself with work to survive while i use pure gold to embellish... You. This" "Why"

And the faces remained still and silent.

"Why all this for long gone martyrs that had the fortune to die for their for their beliefs, or to let their God speak through their lips, bestow miracles through their fingers"

"Why this for a God that let them die at the heretical hands of the non believers. That leaves hundreds if not thousands of people to die of the pestilence outside this golden, rotten, WALLS"

The bottle of turpentine exploded and its contents dripped down the wall, dragging hours of work with them, dissolving like acid false flesh and gold leaf alike. And then blood, through the priest's hand, holding the neck of the bottle. He panicked and kneeled towards the wall, trying to undo the mistake with cloth, only to make a bloody mess. Red running through the gold, ichor like.

The priest cried holding his hand, a deep wound running through his palm, burning because of the chemicals. But the pain was not the cause of his tears.

"A sign" "I just need a sign"

But the faces remained still and silent.

The priest got up, slowly, and turned around towards the door. Why be here then. Why remain hungry, at the mercy of a dying church that kept their riches safe in mausoleums and layers of paint upon gold leaf upon stone, while its believers died in the streets famished and sick. The priest saw it clear now. If God did ever exist, it was long gone, uncaring for its creation. He might as well die outside, with his people. It would be like inviting the sickness into his chest but at least his last breaths wouldn't taste of incense. His steps echoed through the chamber, determined, reaching for the doors.

But the faces opened their lips. And with a cacophony of voices, each one vibrating with a torrent of beating wings, It spoke. No.

It sang.

Super happy to finally be able to show you this illustration i made for Tome of Pacts, a zine about warlocks, patrons and their pacts! There's a leftover sale going on right now! This is Pantheon, a shapeshifting entity that impersonates long absent gods and feeds on the faith of their followers, always hungry for more. But it's not for me to tell you.

! First of all, credits to @/gothhoblin, the writer of our team, for helping shape out this Patron "...and it spoke with a cacophony of voices, each one vibrating with a torrent of beating wings, a thousand or more." Is a marvelous line of her creation.

Tome of pacts has 11 more patrons and 24 warlocks for your enjoyment, all beautifully depicted by teams of artists and writers. Im super proud to have been able to participate in this project 💛

This short story is about an original character i created after the patron, just as an appetizer, pun intended. You get it right??

Hungry for a copy?

[achromant]

AND HERE WE ARE! My project for the gw2 'zine!

Featuring Baruhn, reflecting on his life so far, the challenges, the small sparks of joy, the horrors, loss and gain.

For clarification's sake; I did in fact plan to depict every stage of Baruhn's life, but uuh. File was already too big.

Might do a series of short comics (graphic novels?) though, because i fking love storytelling.

Let's look at my idiotic level of detail a bit, eh?

[Long Text Ahead]

Baruhn's story begins in the Plains of Ashford. An unsuccessful attempt to stem the tide of Ascalonian Ghosts leads to the demise of many year-long allies. Dozens of brave soldiers gave their life for a mere week of peace until the ghosts reformed. They always do. Soldiers don't.

Shaken in his faith in the Legions, the first seeds of doubt arise.

Until finally he found someone to trust with his pain. In a tavern at the edge of the Black Citadel, he gets to know this odd fellow, who is continuosly follow by the faint smell of sulfur. Although Baruhn knew where that path led, the warmth radiating from the old veteran in front of him was not only a physical, but an emotional one.

With the Three Legions busy with their internal quarrels, fighting over an empty promise, Baruhn took the first steps down a previously thought to be dark path.

Surprisingly, die Flame Legion was welcoming, their fires offered light and guidance, the embers igniting the skies like stars. Surely this was better than the cold metal over the Black Citadel.

Baruhn took to learning first, handling the small flames with ease after years of throwing fireballs at ghostly shapes. Then, he figured out how to teach, and that is where the real magic comes from. Nurturing a flame, protecting it from harsh winds, adding a bit of kindling and coal here and there. He even taught the more elusive ways of magic that wield smoke and ash.

Baruhn knew about the war, the countless lifes lost on the other side of the fence. But those were humans, and here he was among family.

That is, until he met Molly.

After a small recon mission that was assured not to be much of a hurdle, Baruhn found himself alone in a forest. The small fires he conjured for light and warmth only drew in the nearby villagers. Those with pitchforks and torches, with crude swords and a thirst for blood. He couldn't really bring himself to hate them, this was war after all. But at what cost are these battles to be won?

Trying to escape the villagers was a futile attempt. He sank to the ground, his own hot blood dousing the little flames beneath his weary head.

For some reason - maybe hope, maybe resignation - he forced open his heavy eyes, only to discover his wounds cleaned and bandaged with fragile white cloth. A small human girl, of all things in this damned forest, tried to help. Even in his weakened state, even with just one hand, Baruhn could have easily grabbed her and cracked her skull. But the only thing he did was listen. He listened to the ramblings of the small human, going on and on about faries made of leaves and gnomes of stone. She called him "bear".

When the villagers came, they saw the girl at his side. That was all it took for them to turn on her. She was to be executed like that beast that now slowly stepped in front of her. For the first time, Baruhn spoke to the girl. "close your eyes."

Fire roared, not red, not orange. not a warm, welcoming fire. Not one that belongs in a hearth, that thrives in the arms of a family. This was so much worse. This was years of inner conflict, of doubt, of closing his eyes on the other side of the fence. For the first time in his life, this was the only thing that he wanted to do, protect the little insignificant human behind him. Fire roared, and it burned wood and it burned flesh.

Baruhn picked up the little girl, she held tight to his horns, nestled in his mane. He ran for hours, years of military training finally useful. The little girl, Molly, lost her mother years ago. She burned in the fires of a war she tried to escape. "And your father? What about your family?", he asked between deep breaths. Molly was quiet for a while, then whispered, her voice barely audible, "My father burned today."

They stayed together, for quite a while. He protected her, and she, with her head full of stories, and a book full of dreams, protected him.

Things came, things went. Baruhn rejoined the High Legions, acting as a spy for Ash, keeping an eye on Iron and Blood.

Baruhn ultimately took on his role as Novice, then Archivist, then Commander. He helped during the struggles against Scarlet. A small flame here and there, some shrouding smoke, a well timed lightning strike. It was other people that finally defeated Scarlet, but he was always in the background, with all the small things at just the right time.

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

It was but a small tangent in the grand scheme of things. Watching the fragile sapling while waging war on the jungle itself.

Their relation was something more than friendship, something else than love. They were there for each other when they needed to be. Be it only to keep a flame burning or to banish the voices to the back of the head again, they walked the same path for a long time.

Tarir, the Egg. Aurene. A new flame entrusted to him, his to nurture, his to raise. A gamble, again. What if that little flame would some day devour the world? But Baruhn did, what he could do best. Teach.

Darker times came. Caudecus and the White Mantle. The raid on the Mursaat's prison. Then facing the last Mursaat himself.

Balthazar came, and in his wake a new kind of fire. A war, similar to the ones Baruhn had seen before, but still different. A war without a cause, war for war's sake. War against nature, against the world, like a child lashing out when there were none to help them up. Maybe Balthazar's flames were not too different from his.

After the festering swamp that Joko was, came the mountain, Kralkatorrik. Death was not a hindrance anymore, not for the Commander and his dragon. The story went as the story goes.

When it came to face the frost, the whispers, Jormag. Everything fell apart. Jormag pried into the deepest, darkest corners of Baruhn's life, dragged every doubt, small as it may have been, into the light. In the ice, every truth was warped, encased in whispers, in lies. It suffocated any hope and planted even darker seeds than anyone thought possible.

It was the spirit of the Raven that aided Baruhn. Even the black feathers of its wings were shimmering like rainbows in the moonlight.

A small piece stayed with him, just a fragment. Nevermore.

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

So many stories that make a life, so many pieces. Every encounter, every step along the way is another fragment of the whole. People are made of other people, that is what it means to be alive.

[olderthannetfic]

You've encountered site changes over time as a fan elder, what do you make of Tumblr potentially being put out to pasture? Tumblr was my coming of age fan site, and im looking for advice to transition to the next thing with grace and less bitterness than I feel now.

--

Ahaha. God, you should have heard the howling about LJ. "Fandom is over!" "Never again shall we dwell in fandom's True Home!" etc.

Hell, this endless "only LJ was good" crap turns up in replies here on posts where I as OP have very clearly laid out why that's rose colored glasses nonsense and you can so make friends on tumblr, have a conversation on tumblr, etc.

I had my crabby phase about this during the transition from Yahoo Groups to LJ. A lot of the real olds had it over paper zines and the transition to the internet.

I don't know if reading these hilariously samey old posts would help. It does give perspective, I think.

--

As for what you should do, do what I did with Tumblr:

1.

Look around to identify the Next Thing fandom is going to camp out on.

It may take a few guesses and some time to figure this out. You will likely not be an early adopter. Fandom was well established here by the time I joined at the end of 2010. Of course, by now, all those 2009 and before accounts are long gone, but at the time, I was a n00b joining other people's space despite having been in fandom for ages.

2.

Don't expect to enjoy it

I didn't join tumblr because I liked it. In fact, I despised it. I kept right on despising it until a brief stint in Sherlock fandom, a fandom that was so active here at the time that I was able to finally see the good aspects of the site's structure and features.

This is the mistake a lot of people make. They give things a cursory try, don't enjoy them, and go "not for me", forgetting that the last site also had a steep learning curve that was either difficult or that they didn't notice because they were in a different phase of their life.

Bitterness and grief are, frankly, an inherent part of the process. You can try not to be a debbie downer in your public comments, but you can't just not feel those things during the awkward part of the transition. Sometimes, acting positive and cutting off excessively negative thoughts can make you feel less negative overall, but it doesn't happen immediately.

3.

Accept that feeling cranky and old is both a you problem and a state of mind, not a property of the new site

Relatedly, the way we remember fandom platform X feeling usually has more to do with us being in college with fandom friends down the hall or having discovered Our People for the first time or some other time when we had a lot of energy and positive emotions. Often, we were in the throes of a first or new fandom love too, probably for some megafandom that other people also cared about at the same time.

When fandom is leaving some site, there's a grieving process anyway, but we're also often in a worse part of our lives for starting new things. We're busy. We're tired. We're between fandoms. We feel like we already paid our dues to build up our community. Why should we have to start again?

But let me tell you, you always need to start again eventually. I go to a weekly vidders' zoom chat, and a lot of the people in there are old as balls, including Kandy, the person who invented vidding back in the 70s. She's a lot of decades and a few cancers in, and she had to relearn how to vid on a computer after transitioning from slideshows to VCR vidding back in the day. If bad health, platform changes, and dead friends were going to stop her, she'd be long gone.

It's like sharks: you stop swimming, you die.

This isn't just about fandom, obviously. It's about avoiding a midlife crisis and, later, about avoiding feeling emotionally geriatric even when your body is falling apart.

Change gets us all, but being mentally old is a choice. The real reason I gave tumblr such a try was that I had been so resistant to getting on LJ. I was 20. Even a year later, it was fucking embarrassing to have been a crotchety old hag as a college student. I promised myself I'd soldier through the next change instead of dragging my feet about it. And it totally worked in the end! But boy did it not make the transition any less unpleasant emotionally!

4.

Find your joy

As is obvious from the above, the vast majority of the problem is just emotions. Fandom has been on a million broken sites with shitty features. We go where the people are, regardless of whether it has the technological aspects we liked at the last place. The actual shape of that platform is largely irrelevant.

What does matter is whether we as an individual fan are still excited and happy about something. I was between fandoms recently and went looking around for BL series I hadn't watched yet. People kept suggesting things set in the present day with too-cheesy production values and too many banal schoolboys in modern day settings without even anything spicy going on. I realized that the BL/danmei scene wasn't really cutting it for me and I should go for production values and genre and non-canon ships. You probably scrolled annoyedly past the picspams that resulted.

(Of course, hilariously, someone has now shown me the trailer of Red Peafowl, so someone may be making BL that feels like it's for me after all. Look at all that badwrong and very dark color grading.)

When you're in a good place emotionally, it's a hell of a lot easier to weather any change, and when you have a new fandom, it's a lot easier to connect with other fans.

A lot of people wait around for lightning to strike twice. They found their first fandom by accident, and they expect it to happen seamlessly again. For me, it's far more productive to brute force it: collect up a big list of what's popular or what's new and go through it till you find things you might like, then try them all.

And part of this, obviously, is not waiting for other fans to make the party happen. The more you need to join something other people are already doing, the less choice you'll have in fandoms or in platforms. If you aren't picky and just go where the tropey longfic is, that can work, but even then, favorite authors disappear or go to fandoms you hate and former megafandoms dry up. If you're the one bringing the party, it's a lot easier to find a new fandom or platform or community to have fun in.

[oh-snapperss]

The King's Sunrise and the Rebellion's Golden Hour

Hello! This is a piece I wrote several months ago for @hermitseasonzine! Now that the zine is out, I'm excited to share this with you all:)

(be sure to check out the zine!)

(read on ao3!)

----------------------

At dawn, the preparations began. Most of the server slumbered, but for the king and his maker, rest would come with the end of their reign. They entered the throne room silently, somber and contemplating; the king stood before his throne, and the maker to the side. After a moment of reverent peace, they began. 

“Bring forth mine armor, Bdubs.” Ren adjusted his glasses, peering over to his kingmaker. The armor was strapped on the king with such pomp and circumstance as the king required. The gray light was giving way to muted shades of color when Bdubs spoke. 

“Your sword, my liege.” Bdubs knelt at Ren’s feet, presenting the sword above his head. Ren bowed his head, the weight of the crown enough to threaten his balance. He’d toppled over before – but not today, the most important of his days as king. 

“Thank you, Sir Bdubs.” Ren took the sword, looking up from the kingmaker. “We shall die today, I’m afraid.” 

“No, my king! We will be victorious!” Bdubs hastened to his feet. Ren met his eyes, sheathing his sword to reach for the cape that clasped over his armor–the mark of a king, of one about to fall. He’d had it made red, for this day – red as the blood that would stain the deepslate of the vault later. 

A snicker from the doorway of the throne room cut through the air, and Ren spun around to face whoever had interrupted–

“Sir Cleo!” Ren gasped, appalled. “The king is most displeased at your disrespect in his final hours!” 

Cleo’s lips twitched, eyeing the juxtaposition between Bdubs in his mossy cloak and Ren in gleaming netherite. “My… my deepest apologies, my lord! Please, do…” she gestured vaguely between them, “carry on your most kingly of tasks and… preparations for the event later.” 

“Thank you, Sir Cleo,” Ren turned back to Bdubs, who seemed to be holding back words of his own. “You may continue.” 

“You’ve been a great king, my liege,” Bdubs started back, eyes flitting to where Cleo was, before taking the cape from Ren. “Allow me.” 

Ren knelt, allowing the full weight of the crown to weigh his head down. “I fear what may come of this. Those ruffians broke into my most private of areas! They must not succeed today!” 

Another muffled snort came from the doorway, followed by a cough. 

“But, my king–” Bdubs moved towards Ren, draping the cape over Ren’s shoulder like a shroud billowing over one lost. “You have created the most magnificent of vaults! They’ll never break in! They’ll never even get past me!” 

Ren rolled his shoulders, settling the cape fully as he rose back up. “The world is unkind, Bdubs. You must do your duty, even as we fall in noble battle to those miscreants.” 

Ren turned to Cleo. “Sir Cleo–would you stop that!” 

Cleo uncovered her mouth, shoulders still shaking slightly from the silent laughs they had been holding back. “I–I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my liege. I am simply… doing my duty! To you!” 

“You’re the worst, Cleo,” Ren informed them, deadpan. “Let me have this, I’m a theatre kid!” 

“Fine!” Cleo straightened up. “My liege, who will take the crown after you fall?” 

“I know not. But know that you are worthy.” Ren turned back around. “Bdubs, please ring the bell for the rest of the knights to come and pay their homage at the square table.” 

“It will be done, my liege,” Bdubs knelt one more time, and Ren wondered – would that be the final time the kingmaker knelt for the king? 

The sunrise peeked over the horizon, bathing the throne room in warm light as they left. Ren felt deeply satisfied - his theatrics for the day were off to a wonderful start!  

—- Meanwhile, on the Hermitcraft Server —-

“Three… two… one… GO!” Gem called. 

Pearl broke into a sprint. Nearby, Impulse huffed, keeping pace. To Pearl’s left, Gem’s hair flew out behind her. In the distance, Pearl’s alien plants seemed to turn towards the blazing sun, while shadows cast from Gem’s castle gave blessed shade over the three runners. This was their third run of the day. But Pearl needed a break from her building, Impulse was looking just slightly too pale for a dwarf that spent the majority of his time underground, and Pearl personally believed that Gem needed the challenge for enrichment purposes. 

Focus. 

Still sprinting, Pearl spotted the bows up ahead. She reached them just a breath ahead of Gem, and grabbed hers, tucked into a roll, came upright, and shot the arrow at her target – King Rendog’s head. 

“Dang it!” Pearl cursed when her arrow flew to the left. A second arrow, Gem’s, whistled a merry tune past her ear, and sailed right into the target. Impulse wasn’t too far behind, his arrow impacting nearly on the target’s heart. 

“Nice!” Gem cheered. Pearl offered Impulse a high-five. 

“It was sheer luck, I didn’t even aim-” Impulse started, but Pearl shook her head. 

“Luck or not, that was incredible!” Pearl stretched her arms out. “Jog back around to the front of the castle, then a break?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Gem agreed, and they were off. They kept pace with each other, running slower since the sun didn’t cast nearly as much shade on this side of the castle. By the time they reached the entrance, Pearl could feel beads of sweat on her neck, and she sat down on the steps. Impulse sat with her, but Gem stayed on her feet, bouncing up and down with that boundless energy of hers. 

Impulse perked up after a few moments of heavy breathing. “Oh, guys, I brought something to celebrate the King’s downfall tonight!” 

“Oh?” Gem came over, peering over Impulse’s shoulder as if she could see the contents of the enderchest Impulse had placed. “Is it–” 

“Soup!” Impulse brought out the bowls excitedly. “I brought us all soup. I thought we could use it before we dethrone Ren.” 

“Oh, Ren,” Pearl shook her head, taking the bowl offered to her. “What kind is this?” 

“Mushroom! I know that’s you guys’ favorite.” Impulse sat back down. “So, we’ve been training, we’ve gotten decently good with arrows, Gem is gonna demolish everyone with her sword work, Pearl will swoop in and figure out the challenges first, and then…”

“No more tyranny,” Gem said cheerfully. “Hey, what do you guys think Ren is gonna do after this?” 

“Maybe he’ll go back to his bakery?” Pearl suggested.

“Oh god, I hope not,” Gem groaned. “The pies are good, but having them as the legal food was a bit much. We’re breaking the law right now, y’know.”

“Yeah, but…” Pearl took a satisfied bite, letting the flavors of the soup melt across her tongue. “Soup is good.” 

“Soup is good!” Impulse agreed. “I think Ren will be fine. He’s got his log business, he’s got that secret project he won’t tell anyone about yet, he’s got the pies, he’ll do great. We just have to do his challenge.” 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gem said idly. “It’ll be entertaining to see what all the court cooked up.” 

“For sure,” Pearl nodded. “Speaking of, we’d better go and get ready. The sun’s going down.” 

“How much do you wanna bet Ren prepared everything this morning so that he could do it really dramatically with the rising sun?” 

“I’m not taking that bet. I’m sure he did.” 

[dreamofbecoming]

yeah alright this got away from me. posting in pieces, part one is just stobin, no shippy stuff. steddie and rockie to follow. i'll drop it on ao3 once all 3 parts are done

now on ao3!

platonic stobin

rating: t

wc: 3.5k

---

Robin stopped being surprised by Steve Harrington showing up at her bedroom window months ago. Jesus, there's a sentence her 16 year old self wouldn't fucking believe for a second. The Hair, climbing up the trellis her dad built for the roses her mom planted and then forgot about three months later? Yeah right, as if. But it turns out alternate dimensions and sci-fi movie monsters and Russian conspiracies in Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA are all real, so how surprising really is The King himself, collapsing through her window with all the grace of a baby giraffe, out of breath like he- holy shit, did he fucking run here?

"Dingus, did you run here? What the hell?"

"Had to- hang on, Jesus. Holy shit." He bends over, hands on his knees, panting like he just ran a marathon. Which, she guesses, he almost did.

"You have a car, you lunatic, what could possibly be so important?"

"Didn't think about it. Had to get here."

"Is someone dead?!" Oh fuck, Is the Upside Down back? Oh shit, oh no, it can't be back, right? Superhero girl closed the gates! Right?! Oh god, oh no, oh fuck, it's back, the Russians are back, they realized they couldn't let her live after what she's seen, her parents will never even know what happened to her, and they'll kill Dingus too, and dorky little Henderson, and that menace Erica, oh god, they're gonna die, and Hopper's gone and superhero girl is far away and she doesn't have superpowers anymore anyway, which is frankly bogus because what the hell, Robin never even got to hang out with a real live magic person before, which, ok, that's a selfish thought, but that's ok, we can think selfish thoughts and then set them aside and not act on them, thoughts are not actions, thoughts happen all the time without our consent, they don't determine our character-

"Bobs, you're spiraling. Nothing bad happened, I just realized something and I freaked out and I had to talk to you right away. Forgot to call. Sorry, I should have called. Ran straight out of the house. I don't even think my shoes match, what the fuck?"

She's gonna kill him, she really is.

She loves him so much.

"Jesus, you're insane. Sit, you absolute dweeb. I'm getting you some water, when I get back you can tell me what the hell is going on."

He's sitting on her bed when she gets back upstairs, staring at something in his hands. Christ, his hands are shaking. What the fuck, Dingus?

He takes the water and downs it in one go- ugh, sports guys- then flops onto his back and covers his eyes with a miserable groan.

"I know we've got the whole twin telepathy thing going on, bubba, but I'm gonna need at least a little bit to work with here. Give me something. Is it your parents? The kids? Uh, what was her name? From Thursday? Janice?"

"Janine, and no. Ugh. Here." The arm not covering his eyes flops out towards her, holding- ah. A zine. He had promised to drive up to Indy last weekend to the secret bookshop she told him about and get her some new ones, even though she couldn't go with him because her cousin Randy got caught cheating on his fiancée and her parents made her come with the rest of the family to help him move. Fucking Randy. Maybe he should make better choices, so the rest of them wouldn't have to clean up his messes. Jerk.

Anyway.

"Marked the page." Which, yep, there's a purple paper clip stuck to a page near the middle, because Steve knows how much she hates people who dogear books, even books that aren't really books at all, so he's been training himself out of it, because he's sort of the best. Again, 16 year old Robin would have her committed for thinking that, but here we are.

The pamphlet isn't one of the periodicals she sent him for, so he must have picked it up on his own. It looks handmade, just some folded sheets that look like they came out of a typewriter, bound with the kind of twine you can buy at the hardware store. It's called Awakenings. The page he's marked looks like a personal essay, no title, no real signature, just a pair of initials at the end of the page and a half of writing. She starts reading, trying to figure out what the hell spooked Steve so bad.

"I've always been normal. I've always had crushes on men, just like the other girls. There was never a feeling of "I'm different," or "Oh, this is wrong." There was never anything to think very hard about. I'd giggle and blush when the boys looked over at us on the playground, same as everyone else. Later on when I was older I looked at my poster of Harrison Ford, shirtless and hairy and sweating, and I touched myself, and it felt good, just like it was supposed to. I didn't mind thinking of my future husband, and our future kids, and the pretty house with the pretty garden we'd have, just like my parents have, just like they wanted for me. I was normal. Everything was fine.

I thought everything about me was normal. So I didn't understand why the other girls at sleepover parties would giggle and stop and say "Ew, gross!" when we practiced kissing. It felt nice! I wanted to keep going! But it seemed like no one else did. I didn't understand why none of them talked about getting butterflies in their stomach when Laura, who was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, transferred in our senior year, why they seemed so angry at her. Those butterflies were what jealousy felt like, right? So why did the other girls seem to feel so different?

I made my first lesbian friend in college, on the very first day, right across the hall in my dorm. We sat next to each other at Orientation and I thought I'd never have another best friend that wonderful in my whole life, so I'd hold on to her with everything I had. She came out to me the night before Christmas break, hiding under the blankets in my dorm room with the twinkling lights glowing. She was so scared. I held her and told her I loved her no matter what, and she seemed so glad, to have someone to talk to.

When she talked about falling in love with girls, I was so confused. The way she described it sounded like what it felt like to have girlfriends, I was sure. I felt that all the time. I asked her if she was sure she was gay, and she looked so shocked and angry and hurt, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I tried to explain. That what she felt couldn't be liking girls, because I felt that too, and I was normal. I liked boys, so I couldn't be gay. I couldn't be.

I'm glad it was her I said all that to. If someone else had told me about being bisexual, I think I would have hated them. I would have cried, and screamed, and said horrible things. Because I wasn't gay, I was normal, and it was so scary to think that might be a lie. Thank God it was her, my best friend in the world, who I never want to lose. Thank God I listened.

Because I'm not normal. I'm queer. I like men, and I like women. I can love them both the same, but it doesn't matter anymore, because I love her. I love her, and she loves me, and I don't need to be normal anymore."

Robin's face feels wet, which probably means she's crying. She cries a lot, reading these sorts of stories, in the zines she has to keep hidden under her bed, or, these days, at Steve's house. It's never going to be her, she knows. Not here in Hawkins, but it still makes something ache deep inside her, like pressing on a bruise, but in a good way, seeing love happen to other people. People like her. Seeing that it can.

"So?"

Oh shit. Right, Dingus. They're about him right now. Something about this essay in particular freaked him out.

"Uh. It's. A nice essay? I'm glad things worked out for them?"

Stevie lets out a pathetic whine, sort of like back at Scoops when he earned a particularly bad tally on the You Suck board. "Robbiiiiiiieeeee!"

"I'm sorry! I think I'm missing something, what's wrong with this essay? I don't get it, bubba, I'm sorry. I need some context." She does feel bad. Usually she can pluck whatever's bothering him right out of his brain and into the light, where it almost never looks as bad, but she's at a loss right now.

He's got both hands over his face again, and his response is so muffled she can't make out a word.

"Try again in human sounds, please."

"Ugh! I thought everyone felt like that!"

Huh? "Felt like...what, exactly?"

"Like that!" He flails wildly at the pamphlet in her hands. He's sitting up now, hair all askew from tugging at it, and there's a vaguely worrying crazed look in his eye, like right before he tackled that guard. "Like kissing boys and girls both feel nice, and like seeing a handsome guy and feeling jealous of him makes my stomach flutter, and like having friends feels the same as having crushes! I thought that was just how everyone felt all the time!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Poor Dingus! No wonder he panicked and ran here like a crazy person!

"Stevie, can I hug you? Please?" She's not much for physical touch most of the time, but Steve is, and also she's found in the last few months that she doesn't mind so much when it's him. She sort of understands why other people like hugs so much, if they always feel like hugging Steve feels for her. And she really thinks he needs to be hugged, right now.

He nods miserably. She drapes her arms around his shoulders and holds on as tight as she can, hauling him sideways until he's practically laying down on her. He clutches her back and buries his face in her shoulder. She can feel her neck getting wet with tears, a sensation that would normally make her want to claw off her own skin, but this isn't about her. Dingus needs her.

"It's ok, bubba. I'm so sorry. I know how scary this is. When I first figured out I had a crush on Linda Sanderson I cried so hard I threw up, you know? I get it. It's gonna be ok, I promise. We'll make it ok. We faced down evil Russians and giant meat monsters, what's a little sexuality crisis, huh? We got this! We're the goddamn Wonder Twins!"

He snorts at that, which she's pretty sure leaves snot on her neck, which. Ew. Still. Problems for Later Robin.

"We are not, Will and El are the Wonder Twins."

"Uh, nope, no chance, I barely even met them so therefore I am vetoing their application. Sorry kiddos, better luck next time! Find your own nickname, losers!"

Steve sits back, laughing, and she preens a little at being able to bring him back from the brink so easily. She loves him so much she feels like she's glowing with it, sometimes. It almost makes her wish she was straight, because what girl is she ever going to find who loves her this much? But only almost, because. Well. Girls, amiright? Phew.

"So what now, Stevie? You wanna say it out loud? That helps, sometimes. You wanna not say it out loud? You wanna go to a gay bar and find you a boy? You wanna never think about it again? It's totally your call."

"Say it out loud, huh?"

"Hm. It took me like a month, and then the first time I could only say it sitting in the back of my closet with the bedroom door locked and the closet door closed, and I could only whisper it. Just "I'm a lesbian," to myself, like the world's most ironic little goblin. And I had to throw up again after. But it did feel good, once I rinsed my mouth out, anyway. Cleansing, you know? And it gets easier every time." Steve's eyebrows are raised and he's chuckling again, so that's a win. She's not lying, but it is sort of funny, she supposes. In hindsight, anyway.

"Ok. Ok, I can do that. I think. Yeah, I can do that."

She's so proud of him. He's the bravest person she's ever met, she thinks. "You wanna get in the closet?"

"Isn't the whole point to come out of the closet, Robs?" He's smirking at her. Bastard. She whacks him in the shoulder on principle. He may be having a crisis, but he's still a jackass. Her favorite jackass in the whole world, but still.

"Har har, you're a regular Bob Hope. Alright then, bigshot, let's hear it."

A little of that fear creeps back onto his face, and she wishes she could wipe it off, but that's not how this works. They can't make the scary things less scary. He couldn't make the Russians less terrifying, but he could hold her hand and make her laugh and carry some of that fear with her. She can do that for him now, too.

She grabs his hand, and he clutches back tightly. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm...fuck. Ok. Ok, I can do this. I'm...bisexual." The air leaves him in a big whoosh, and he laughs a little. "Yeah, ok, fuck. I'm bisexual. Holy shit, Robbie, I'm bisexual!"

"Hell yeah you are!" She's grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She's so fucking proud of him.

He's laughing again, a little hysterically, and he hugs her tight again, and she holds him back just as close and thinks oh, he's like me. I'm not alone. I have Steve, and he's like me, and he's mine forever and ever.

When they separate, she looks at him seriously.

"So do you, like, want this to be a thing? Because we can totally make it a thing, and like, get me a fake ID and go to a gay bar and do all kinds of wild shit if you want, but we don't have to, you know? If you need to just, like. Digest this, for a while. It's totally up to you, I just know it took me a while to feel ok with it, and I have no idea if it's different for you but I just want to be what you need, you know? You've been so good with me, and I've never had a queer friend before, so I don't know how, but I want to be just as good to you. You're my Dingus and I love you and I don't know how much of a gay guru I can be on account of, you know, I've never met any gay people besides me and the pretty lady at the bookstore but I couldn't even get real human words to come out of my mouth when I tried to talk to her so I don't think that counts, you know? But I still wanna help! Let me help!"

"Bobbie! Bobbie breathe, you're gonna pass out. I don't think I need a gay guru, I just need a gay best friend, and I have that, so I promise I'm good, ok? Promise. Also I love you too.”

She takes a deep breath, following his lead the way they worked out in the horrible days after Starcourt, when she couldn't sleep without him next to her, warm and alive and breathing, and even then she would wake up in the night with her breath coming short and her vision tunneling and Steve would hold her hand against his chest and breathe slowly, in and out, until she could follow him, and the world wasn't so terrible and scary and loud anymore.

She still thinks about that awful hour underground, thinking she was strapped to the corpse of a boy she never let become her friend, but Steve is always there now when she needs him, and he never complains when she grabs his wrist or puts her head on his chest to make absolutely sure that big, stupid heart is still beating.

When she's breathing normally again, he drops their joined hands down between them, toying idly with the chain linking her ring to her bracelet. "I think...I think I'm glad I said it, and I'm glad we talked about it, but can we maybe just...put it away, for a while? Like it's not...ugh. I guess this is kind of shitty to say, so like, hit me if you want, I guess, but I kind of don't think it matters right now?"

"No no, that makes perfect sense! Like, you still like girls, right?" He nods. "And you don't like. Have a crush on any boys right now. Or do you? Oh man if you do you have to tell me though, it's platonic soulmate law. It's in the bylaws, Steve, don't make me soulmate fine you!"

He laughs and shoves her face away. "Jesus, Rob, no! I don't have a crush on any guys, who would I even crush on in this town? We're not exactly swimming in eligible bachelors. I don't have a crush on anybody at all, I'd tell you, I swear. I know the rules!"

"Oh phew, good. You have to tell me when you do, though, I'm way excited to get you back for making fun of Tammy."

"It was the God's honest truth, Bobbie! She sings like a muppet!"

"Oh my god, shut up, Dingus! Ugh! As I was saying, you super duper have to tell me when you do, but for now, I think maybe you don't have to think about it really at all if you don't want. I mean, practically speaking, it's not really relevant to your everyday life, so we can totally revisit when that changes, but you don't have to like. Join a pride parade tomorrow, you know? You are you who are no matter what. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, especially not to me, not ever."

He leans his head on her shoulder, and she scritches her nails through his hair. It really has no right being as soft as it is, with the amount of hairspray he uses. It's frankly rude, is what it is.

"Thanks, Bobs. I think I'm just gonna put it away for now. It just...another thing to know about me, you know? Like, I'm bad at fighting people but good at fighting monsters, all my best friends are kids except you, I'm bi but it doesn't matter because there aren't any boys to date in Hawkins anyway. Plus my dad would kill me if he found out. Like actually kill me, not "oh geez I missed curfew, my dad's gonna kill me" type kill me, like I think he'd actually try and beat me to death. So there's really no reason to talk about it right now, you know?"

There's a pit of ice in her stomach, and she tightens her arm around him like she can keep him safe just by holding on tight enough. She hates how casually he said that, just like she hates how casually he always talks about how his parents treat him, like he honestly believes it's normal. "Jesus, Dingus. You know you can come here if you need, right? My parents love you, they already think we're getting married. They'd make you sleep in the guest room, but I could sneak you in here easy."

He snorts again. "We're totally gonna end up married for tax reasons anyway, we're never beating the rumors." That makes her snort, too. He's not wrong, though. She isn't going to be allowed to have a wife anytime soon, and if she has to choose someone to be her next of kin, it's always gonna be him. They're planning to move in together when she goes to school next year anyway. No one is ever gonna believe them that they aren't dating, but that's...fine. Honestly, there are worse things. Better to have Steve by her side than not, and if no one else understands them, well, they understand each other, don't they? That's more than enough.

"Yeah, I know I can come here if I need, Robs. It's fine mostly, I swear. They're not home until Christmas anyway."

He takes another deep breath, like he's settling himself. "I'm just glad we talked about it. I feel better now."

She cards her fingers through his hair again, basking in the feeling of her favorite person so close, and so content. "I'm glad, Dingus."

They're alive, and they're together, and they're queer, and neither of them is ever going to have to be alone again.

"Hang on, did you say you've kissed girls and boys?!"

part 2 part 3

[journalsouppe]

Sorry for the hiatus again!! I'm slowly getting back into journaling. In the meantime while I'm getting reorganized, here's the spread I made when my very first piece of physical zine merch I made came in!

Turnabout ballroom @turnaboutballroom !!! This was the first ever physical zine i worked on as a merch artist (I had been in a couple of zines as page artist before) so it was SO cool getting to have my merch printed!! This was such a fun zine to be a part of, and what a fitting theme for The Great Ace Attorney!! Since I was a part of this zine instead of structuring this how I normally structure zine spreads, I wrote down all my thoughts about the zine from my perspective as a contributor than a buyer.

I made the Sanguine Ball print, an illustration that was inspired by the Van Helsing movie! All the art, merch, and writing is so gorgeous. The merch is especially really high quality, and I’m saying that as someone who reviews all the merch in my journals not as a contributor to this project hfdjs. (Although it was sooo nice getting such a quality print of my print!!!) The stickers especially are not only really durable but super restickable. I am so honored to have been a part of this project!!

Leftovers are only open for a few more hours so if you want this zine now is your chance!

All writing is all typed below.

Turnabout Ballroom. Zine theme: DGS Ballroom

Merch List

Acrylic Charm

Dancing Print

Mascot sticker sheet

Herlock Wallpaper

Sanguine Print

Nikolina Button

4 dancing die cut stickers

Digital Icon Set

Color Page

Thoughts:

I had so much fun being a part of this zine!! All the art and writing is so well done, I am honored to have been in this zine!! I made the Sanguine ball print!! My inspiration was from the Van Helsing movie when Anna was dancing with Dracula in the ballroom and was dipped in front of a mirror and realizes she’s the only human in the ball. I wanted to use that idea for a fake Herlock Sholmes invesitagation case where Herlock faced a “vampire” attack and Barok was blamed due to his suspicious nature. All the iconography surrounding the two of them dancing are evidence. I’m so happy with the piece and it’s so nice having it physically!! Zeta even gave me the idea to turn the piece into shadow box art — I might just!! Or even reuse this concept for my DGS ballet au! This was such a great theme for DGS!! This and the tea zine are just too perfect, if DGS gets another sequel i really hope one of the settings is at a Victorian ball. The graphic design of the whole zine is incredible, the columns throughout the zine fit so perfectly and are drawn so well. The cover art is so dynamic and a perfect fit — they all look like they’re getting read to go to the ball and when you open the zine — you see them at the ball in different scenarios. I adore everything made! The production quality of the merch is especially great! The stickers are all durable and restickable. I have never seen such a nice quality button. I also love the quality of my print. The texturing adds to it! It was also really cool being in a dgs zine with so many dgs artists I admire! I’m excited for the day a new AA game is announced so the DGS community can be revitalized again. The mods were great!! It was fun working with familiar faces from the DGs sprig zine. TYSM to everyone on the zine, especially the mods, for making this such a wonderful experience. Being accepted as a pinch hitter opened up so many more zine opportunities for me. This plus the Sheik zine led me to being a merch artist for the TLOZ horror zine and that led me to now having multiple mod positions. My zine and art growth has been so dramatic since the start of this zine and I am so proud of my journey. Thank you again everyone, it’s been incredible!

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 15

Dethklok on Vacation

I wanted to write Dethklok chilling at the beach for this but I already wrote a Skwistok beach fic very recently for the Seasons Zine so I had to think harder for it.

And then, it came to me. The answer was so obvious...

Nathan looked at his surroundings. He had never been happier to see lines, crying babies, lovey-dovey couples or to have excited children bump into him, colored drinks in hand. 

It was their first vacation since the world almost ended, so Nathan was learning to appreciate all those little things he once took for granted.

Oh, and also, they were in Disneyland. Magic Kingdom, to be more specific. It was his favorite, he was a man of classic taste after all. Just the sight of the Cinderella Castle in the distance soothed his heart. Except this time, the crowds did too.

“Nethans, Nethans!” He heard Toki call him enthusiastically and he turned to him.

Toki was wearing Minnie Mouse ears, hand clasping Skwisgaar’s, who was wearing Mickey Mouse ears to match. Not that the latter had been keen to do it, simply given up against Toki’s relentless insistence. Even now, he looked less than excited to be there.

“Skwisgaar and me wants to goes to the Mad Tea Parties!” Toki said. “Cans we?”

Nathan exchanged glances with Pickles and they both shrugged. “Sure.” He said. They normally did everything together, the lines, the food, the attractions unless someone got lost. Things were different this time, though.

Beaming, Toki pulled Skwisgaar by the hand and they went in another direction and Nathan was left seeing their backs. Toki pointed at things, chatting happily while hugging Skwisgaar’s arm. While Skwisgaar didn’t return the affection, he didn’t reject it either and Toki seemed to read that as encouragement to kiss his cheek.

Toki and Skwisgaar had always been close, in their own particular way. Or rather, it was like they were two halves of the same thing. What thing was that? Nathan had no idea. But at some point after the defeated Salacia, that…wholeness seemed to turn into something else. While Nathan would’ve been shocked and even kind of thrown off before, he couldn’t find it in himself to care now. Lots of things lost their impact after surviving the end of the world. Walking into Toki and Skwisgaar kissing wasn’t impressive after witnessing thousands die and realizing your main connection on this Earth had been with the band all along. Hell, maybe they were all a little gay. Maybe he was kind of gay too.

Maybe?

“I’m going to Big Thunder Mountain.” Murderface announced and also left, like a child making use of his independence for the first time. 

Murderface has also changed lately, making less of a fuss about everything he did. It made Nathan wonder if all this time he had been simply seeking their attention and approval. And now that he knew he had it, he could act more naturally. 

Man, he was sure having big thoughts while in the line for “it’s a small world”. It was his ultimate favorite attraction, hands. down. Always made him shed brutal tears seeing those little dolls dressed as people from all over the world and dancing. And he had a feeling this time he would cry even harder over them.

“I fucking love Disneyland!” He said, to himself and anyone that could hear him, really.

Pickled snorted, shoving another handful of loaded fries into his mouth. He was wearing a Goofy Hat, complete with ears, and wayfarer sunglasses so the kids didn’t see how high he was. “I fucken’ missed it, dood.” He said.

“Me too!” Nathan agreed, raising his fists in the air with furor. “This is awesome!”

Pickles smiled. “Yea.”

As he let his arms fall, Nathan inhaled deeply and felt in the air. In the air, even. In everything around him right now. In the child that had dropped his ice cream just now and was about to start crying, in the trees waving with the afternoon breeze, in the sign that said they still had 40 minutes to go. In his friend standing next to him right now, waiting to get in this silly ride with him like there was nothing better he could do. 

“Hey, Pickles?”

“Yea?”

“I love you, man.”

Even with the sunglasses, Nathan could tell Pickles was staring at him with wide eyes.  “Huh?”

Usually, a reaction like that would discourage him from showing any more emotion. Not today, however. “I said I love you!” He repeated, pulling Pickles into a forceful hug and rubbing that dumb, balding head of his. “I do!”

As it happened, Pickles had a tendency to deflect compliments, though this time it was harder while being squeezed between Nathan’s arms. “Ow-What- Nethan did you take sumthin’?” He sputtered against Nathan’s chest.

“Uh, no?” Nathan tried to remember. It was stupid and definitely the kind of stuff he would’ve punched a regular jack-off for saying, but he felt high on life. Yeech, he shook his head, trying to shake off the cringe of even thinking that particular phrase.  “I’m just feeling it, man.”

“O-Okei!” Pickles finally managed to pull away from Nathan’s grasp, one hand holding the plate with the remains of the fries, the other holding his now smushed sunglasses. There was a mark on the bridge of his nose and his face was flushed so funny that it made him look like a fucked up strawberry. “I love ya too, dood.” He said, like he was trying to get it out of the way already.

“Cool.” Nathan smiled. “I already knew that.”

Pickles made an offended noise, though he still broke into a grin. “Now, aren’t ya fucken’ humble.” He shoved Nathan playfully.

“Whatever.” Nathan eyed the fries on Pickles’ hands. “Can I have some?”

“Oh, sure.” Pickles raised his hand, to bring the food closer to Nathan, but when Nathan leaned in, he smashed it against his face. While cold melted cheddar invaded his nostrils, Nathan heard him laugh. “Bet ya didn’t see th’t one comin’!” 

He wanted to get mad, yet he couldn’t. “You’re such an asshole, Pickles.” Nathan chuckled, wiping his face.

“Whatever.” Pickles shrugged, still laughing, which made Nathan burst into laughter in turn.

And so they remained, in hysterics over some dumb prank while the people in front of them threw them judgemental glare.

Happiness was really fucking brutal. 

[librarylexicon]

20 Questions for Writers

EDIT: Now with question 17!

Tagged by @cuephrase (ty bb!!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

32 (that are attached to my account).

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

283,405. I very nearly posted 100,000 of them last year, and only noticed when I looked at my stats in January. If I'd known, I would have posted something else to get it over that line!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, just Batman, but in the past I've written for Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables, Little Men, Tintin and a handful of other fandoms. I have a Road to Avonlea fic tentatively in the works, and might return to any of these fandoms if inspiration strikes.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All the Corners That Are Left is an outlier in my stats because it has more than three times as many kudos as the runner-up. It's an exchange fic that was my first foray into posting Batfam fics, and I liked writing it so much that it actually sparked a loose series of Post-Crisis oneshots, currently called Corners.

Family Crisis is my beloved canon divergence AU of War Games. It's the first fic I started writing for Batman, and I'm so happy that people are reading it. It's very comics-oriented, but still easy to follow without having touched a comic (imo).

Harry Potter and the Time-Turner is the first multichapter fic I ever wrote and completed, back when I was in my early teens. I won't reread it, lest I die of cringe, but I'm bemusedly grateful that it still gets hits and kudos.

Home Assignment is a Dick whump fic I drafted quite a while ago, and finally had an opportunity to finish and publish when I signed up for a Dick Grayson event. I had fun playing around with unreliable narration in this one!

In Retrospect is a HP fic that was written for a challenge where I was given five prompts and a week to produce five one-shots. I chose to make mine interconnected missing scenes set during and after Deathly Hallows, and particularly like how Painfully Abnormal turned out.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! It's a habit that's carried over from my fanfiction.net days, and I receive a manageable amount of comments, so I try to respond to every one. (The only reason I might not is when someone leaves a string of comments that are all very brief. In that instance, I tend to reply to the final comment only.) I adore reading and replying to comments! 🫶

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I've always been an angst lover. The Last Enemy, one of my oldest fics, ends with (canonical) apparent character death, and For the Sake of Our Son ends with both main characters (canonically) dying. How fun!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Other than a shipfic that's now anonymous, I don't know! I tend to go for uplifting or satisfying endings without necessarily aiming for happy ones (although I rarely have unhappy endings). Maybe You Know I Love You? I do also have a handful of Batman ficlets that I recently wrote for a zine, and there's definitely fluff among them.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think I got some on fanfiction.net back in the day, but the most hate I've received that I can remember is people being salty about a couple of fics I began when I was a teenager and never finished. I'm sorry, but it's been almost a decade! Yes, you can and should resist the urge to tell me that you don't respect authors who abandon fics!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope!

10. Do you write crossovers?

While I've toyed with quite a few crossover ideas over the years, I've only published one, which is a Rise of the Guardians and Peter Pan one-shot called Lost Boy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I can't recall any specific instances, but many of my fics have been on the internet for a long time, so they've definitely been scraped for knockoff sites, if nothing else.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, three times! Harry Potter and the Time-Turner has been translated into French, Shirley Not has been translated into German and At Home, They Call Me Tintin has been translated into Chinese. (Links to these translations are in my fanfic masterlist on Dreamwidth.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'm open to the idea! I'd have to really know the other author and get over my control freak tendencies, though...

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't ship much (to the point where I have plenty of NOTPs), but I do love TimSteph, and I have soft spots for DickBabs and BatCat (Bruce/Selina) as well. All-time favourite, though? That would have to be Anne and Gilbert from the Anne of Green Gables series.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Before the War(drobe). Narnia fandom, I really want to return to you someday, but I have a couple things to do first!

16. What are your writing strengths?

My most positive comments almost always mention characterisation. I also think I write dialogue pretty well. In my mind, well-written dialogue is essential to good characterisation.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Even though I write about characters who are superheroes, I rarely write about them BEING superheroes, because I struggle with action scenes. Also description, but I like to think I've grown better at it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't like to use non-Latin characters in my fics for readability reasons, and I don't like to include dialogue in another language if I don't know the language. So, when my characters speak a language other than English, I either just use an English translation with a dialogue attribution (e.g. She said in Spanish) or just use the attribution without the dialogue, depending on whether or not the POV character understands the language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter! I wrote for it before I knew what fanfic was. I also joined the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum on fanfiction.net back in the day, which led to my most prolific ficwriting period.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

My favourite fics tend to be my most recent ones, because they're the ones I've spent the most time on and am most proud of. I can never pick one of anything (as you've probably noticed), so my current favourites are:

Family Crisis – longtime labour of love and Bruce character study

All the Corners That Are Left – Dick character study feat. Jason

Flight Mode – Tim character study feat. Bruce

Phew, that was a lot of questions! I think a lot of people have already been tagged 😅

Scrolling through my mutuals and no-pressure tagging @silverwhittlingknife @geevesthevieve @batrachised @freyafrida and @silent-silver-slip and any other fic writers who see this! 🫶

[opmarcozine]

💙 ASK MARCO 💙

Q: Marco! Have you ever shared a pineapple with Buggy?

A: I tried to! I offered him once, a long time ago… But for some reason, when he saw the pineapple, he glared at it for a long time, then he turned bright red and started muttering something about how Shanks ruined his entire life plan and how all fruits that look like this should just die and well, I didn’t dare ask what that was about-yoi…

Get your zine now! 🛒

Preorders open until June 7

Appreciate any shares! @zineapps @zinefeed @zineforall @zinefans @zine-scene @zinecenter @fandomzines @zinesubmissions @anizines

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

@pocketramblr tagged me

The rules! Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

This actually isn’t all of them because I’m keeping zine stuff secret.

Spare dadmight concepts

Aizawa thinks all might is bad/a predator

Toshinko week fic

Within Cells Interlinked

The Spin - The Turn part 2

Unfelt Imaginations

Kirin AU

Prop

Green Noise

Habitus

Mental Age

One for Infinite

Dekugate Spin-off

Wholesome Dadmight Camping Trip

Son of the Sun

Die Historic - Mad Max AU

The Humarise Kidnapping Fic

Most of my writer friends have already been tagged so if anyone wants to do this you can pretend i tagged you.

[denverneumann]

A Game of Soldiers and Stories

Part 2: Enola

When Denver first got to the frontlines of the war in District Seven, she was given a military liaison. Ensign Enola Hollyhock was younger than Denver, but not by much. She seemed displeased to have been saddled with the job of watching Denver, or anything administrative. She certainly didn't believe that a war correspondent was necessary.

"We should be focusing on the war at hand, not about making it digestible for the readers back home," she said, when Denver asked her if there was a problem, given the carefully maintained stoicism she appeared to have when Admiral Pickett introduced them that dropped to a scowl when he left them.

"Look, Enola -" Denver started, but she was cut off.

"Ensign Hollyhock," the soldier corrected. Denver sighed.

"I just think -"

"You're not here to think, Ms. Neumann," Ensign Hollyhock cut her off again. "You're here to observe and report."

But Denver had rarely met someone she couldn't befriend, and she was determined to befriend Ensign Hollyhock.

-

"So where are you from?" Denver asked a few days later. The girl in front of her refused to answer, instead shaking her head.

"We're supposed to be discussing relevant information," Ensign Hollyhock said, face stoic. Before Denver could protest, Ensign Hollyhock continued. "I've been given clearance to tell you that an attack was made against our left flank in the westward quarter." That silenced Denver. She pulled out her notebook and began writing.

"What can you tell me about it?" Denver asked. Ensign Hollyhock unfolded a sheet of paper and laid it in front of her.

"Fifteen casualties," Ensign Hollyhock said. "Their next of kin have already been notified. We'd like their names and ranks to be reported. Does your zine have an obituary page?"

Did it? It hadn't so far, Denver thought.

"I suppose I could start one, Denver offered.

"That would be good," Ensign Hollyhock said. She got up then, and made to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" Denver asked.

"To do my job, Ms. Neumann," Ensign Hollyhock replied. She stood, her posture straight and her face unreadable.

"Okay," Denver started. "Well, can I come?" Enola turned back to her then, slowly, intimidating Denver in a way she hadn't thought possible.

"Ms. Neumann, let me make something very clear," she said. "You are a guest here. Your job is to observe and to write. Your job is not to interfere with everyone else's jobs. So no, you may not come hover with your little notebook while I try to help my commanders stop a war."

Well, Denver thought, that was that.

-

They fell into a routine. Every morning, Denver would be updated on what had happened the night before, often with a casualty list. Every morning, she'd ask Ensign Hollyhock a question about herself, which Ensign Hollyhock would ignore. In the afternoons, they ate rations together in silence. It was as close as they would get to friendship, Denver figured, but she found that she didn't mind so much. It was consistent, a relationship she could count on, and that was hard to find these days.

"Have you ever played Woozle Slam?" Denver asked one morning. That made Ensign Hollyhock pause.

"Woozle Slam?" she repeated, slowly, as though making sure she'd heard Denver correctly.

"Woozle Slam," Denver repeated.

"You're joking. That's not a real game," Ensign Hollyhock said.

"Is too," Denver insisted. "I'm willing to bet you've even played it."

"I have not!" Ensign Hollyhock protested.

"Sure you haven't," Denver said, watching her carefully. Ensign Hollyhock didn't respond, but there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes that noted a victory for Denver. Woozle Slam was a District Two game. Ensign Hollyhock, then, was from District Two.

-

But while their lack of friendship was consistent, the days they spent together were anything but. The casualty reports gave no pattern, no indication of just how many would die each day. When medics rushed into the camp, bodies on stretchers, Denver could only help clear the way before she was rushed off, unsure who the victims were, or whether or not they lived.

It had been one such terrible day, when everything had changed. When Ensign Hollyhock, covered in blood, pulled Denver away from the chaos, Denver wiped the blood from Ensign Hollyhock's face and begged her to open up, to tell her how she was feeling. And Ensign Hollyhock, proud, professional Ensign Hollyhock, had finally done just that.

"His name was Peter. He was my friend," she said. "We grew up together. When they deployed us, I promised to take care of him. I never thought I'd be stuck in admin. I never wanted to be pen pushing. I was supposed to protect him." Denver took Ensign Hollyhock's hand, and listened as she spoke.

They traded stories, then, of Denver's life in the Capitol, of Enola's in District Two. Denver talked about her parents, her Aunt Jessica, and her little sister, and Enola told her in turn about her older brother and the uncles that raised the two of them. She talked about the rock quarry where her brother worked, and the university programs she'd applied to before she'd gotten involved with the Vox. Denver told Enola about her own experience with university, about her misspent youth, and some of the craziest stories from working retail. Enola walked Denver through how she'd joined the Vox initially, and Denver recalled the nights spent in hiding with Monty and Cain. And Enola told Denver about Peter. She spoke at length about him, about how he had planned to be a teacher, not at the Academy but in a small village where he could train masons. He'd had his whole life ahead of him, and this war had taken him from it.

That night, Enola and Denver had done their share of talking, and sat in silence. The blood had been washed from Enola's face, but from neither of their memories. The stars, as vivid as they were, offered little comfort. The two sat side by side, staring at the vast expanse of the universe, and said nothing.

Eventually, Enola began to cry. After a brief moment of indecision, Denver held her. There was no other help that Denver could give. Nothing could replace Peter's sacrifice.

-

They started taking walks along the perimeter of the camp, if Denver was done the day's report and Enola wasn't on shift.

"Admiral Pickett's wife came to the base today," Enola said. Denver stopped. "What is it?"

"Admiral Pickett has a wife?" Denver asked, incredulously. "Someone took a look at that man, talked to him for more than five minutes, and decided ah, yes, that's someone to spend the rest of my life with?" Denver's face must have shown just how deeply shocked she really was, because Enola began to laugh. Her laugh was deep, and her eyes crinkled, sparkling in the twilight. She paused after a moment, and looked at Dener, who was smiling at her.

"Okay, what is it now?" she asked.

"Nothing," Denver said. "It's just...you have a nice laugh, is all." It might have been a trick of the just-set sun, but Denver could have sworn a faint brush rose to cover Enola's cheeks.

-

"Who is that guy you keep talking to?" Enola asked one day, while they ate their rations and Denver dealt the next hand of Woozle Slam.

"Which guy?" she asked, though she knew immediately who Enola was referring to, the man she couldn't stop following, so amazed that he was alive. "Cain?"

"That's Cain Gunn?" Enola asked, and Denver nodded. "The one you were in hiding with." Denver nodded again. "He looks different from the pictures," she said, and Denver laughed.

"Most of the Victors I've met are a lot different from the pictures," she told her. Enola stared at her curiously. "What?"

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Denver almost choked on her ration bar.

"No!" she said, too quickly. Why, did they look like a couple? Denver didn't ask, but instead said, "We're just...we're close, is all. He changed my life." Enola looked at her.

"Do you want him to be your boyfriend?" she asked. And it was funny. In another reality, Denver might have said yes, because of course she would want to date a handsome Victor who made her laugh and taught her card games and kept her safe. But staring at Enola now, the answer couldn't be more different, or more clear.

"No," she said. "He's a friend. One of the very best I'll ever have, I think." Enola nodded, and looked down intently at the cards in her hand. Denver paused, then asked, "Do you have someone? Romantically?"

"No," Enola said. Her eyes flicked up to meet Denver's, and then flicked back down to her hand. "Do you have any queens?"

-

A few weeks later, everything changed again.

"The Wilders breached Nine," Enola said. She didn't even give Denver time to react before she continued. "We're restructuring everything. New orders came in about an hour ago. Denver, I'm real sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Denver asked, incredulous.

"You don't get to come with us," Enola said. It hit Denver like a bomb to the chest.

"Admiral Pickett's call, huh?" she asked.

"I leave tomorrow," Enola said instead of answering. "You'll be assigned a new liaison, probably. You'll stay here for now. There's been some talk of moving you from Seven to Nine later." There was? Denver hadn't heard anything from Slate about it.

"I don't want a new liaison," she admitted, stubbornly. "I want you. I like talking to you. You make all of this bearable."

The kiss was a surprise, but when Enola pressed her mouth to Denver's, Denver couldn't help but lean in, one hand at Enola's shoulder to steady them both. The kiss was quick, but they both wore matching smiles as they pulled away.

"You make it all bearable too," Enola said. Their smiles faded slowly as they both felt the weight of the world around them, which hadn't changed.

"I'll see you again," Denver promised. "In Nine or in Two or in the Capitol or anywhere. I'll go wherever you are."

"You'd better," Enola said. She gave a small sniffle, betraying that she was holding back tears. "You were stubborn enough to win me over, so you'd better be stubborn enough to never let me go." She gripped Denver's hands tight in her own.

"Except for right now," Denver said, and Enola nodded.

"Now you have to let me go," she said. Denver squeezed her hands before releasing them, and with promises to write, the two of them parted.

-

Denver indeed got sent to District Nine, but it wasn't the same base camp as Enola. And for two weeks, they wrote to each other every day.

Something is weird about these attacks, Denver would tell her.

You'll figure it out, Enola would write back. You're brilliant.

The bombs are getting closer, Denver would tell her. She'd tell Slate, and TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R, too, but she'd tell Enola first.

I'm scared, Enola would admit. Don't tell anyone, but I'm scared all the time.

I love you, Denver would think. But she wouldn't write it. She never got the courage.

I miss you, Denver would write. Commander Groves isn't nearly as fun to talk to.

Sometimes when I'm near the edge of camp, I close my eyes and pretend you're here walking next to me, Enola would respond.

-

A message from Enola was waiting for Denver in the morning a couple weeks after she'd gotten to Nine.

Denver, it said. I won't be able to write for a few days. Don't worry. Fill you in soon. Enola.

Go get 'em, Denver thought, though she didn't write back. There was no point, if Enola was to be radio silent. She couldn't receive messaged any more than she could send them. But Denver could wait.

-

Denver waited three days.

"Casualty list," Groves, her liaison, said that morning. He handed her the familiar sheet of paper, nodded, and walked off. He had more important things to do. Denver nodded back at him, though he had already turned away. She glanced at the paper before it fell from her hands.

There was only one name on it today.

Denver picked up the paper, slowly, and read it again. Then she was running.

"Commander! Commander Groves!" She called out, over and over until he stopped. He turned, glaring.

"Don't you have places to be?" he asked. "Because I do, and so do the rest of the soldiers here."

"Commander, there has to be some mistake," Denver explained, gesturing emphatically at the paper in front of her.

"No mistake," Groves said gruffly. "Came in direct from Admiral Pickett first thing this morning." He paused, clearly sensing the desperation in Denver's face. "Why? She a friend of yours or something?"

Denver swallowed hard, and nodded. "Something like that." Groves sighed, and put a hand on Denver's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for your loss, kid." With that, he turned away once more.

-

Obituaries:First and final of the day. Ensign Enola Hollyhock, age twenty years old, of District Two. Killed in a raid during a routine perimeter check.