#so glad everybody loves this comic

[wispforever]

[Image ID: A five page comic framed in pastel colors and drawn in a pencil comic fashion.

Page 1: Two panels framed in pastel blues with a white space beneath them. A cartoon sprite with long hair and pointed, fox-like ears says: "Happy Pride Month from your friendly neighborhood system". This is Wisp, the drawn representation of the artist who made the comic. They have a big smile and flowers surrounding them, depicting their joy. In the next panel, Wisp appears again; this time, they are a talking head. They say: "let's learn together how you can be respectful to queer systems by talking about: pronouns, identity, consent". The last three words are illustrated each in separate speech bubbles outlined with sparkles. Below the first two panels appears an additional nondescript sprite speaking to Wisp, meant to represent the audience. They ask: "but Wisp- what IS a system?". Wisp points their finger matter-of-factly, saying "being a system can mean many different things depending on each individual's experience, but for me, it means there are more people than just me in my body- my alters!"

Page 2: Four panels framed in pastel reds and pinks. At the top of the first two panels is written: "members of the same system sometimes all use the same pronouns". The word "pronouns" is bolder and surrounded with sparkles. It continues: "but not always! Everyone's pronouns could also be unique". A smiley face punctuates this sentence. To illustrate the written concept, a switch between Wisp and another member of the system is drawn. In the first panel, Wisp appears introducing themself to another nondescript sprite. They say: "Hi, I'm Wisp!" while wearing a shirt that reads "they/them". The appearance of the words on the shirt is made more obvious by attention lines. The sprite responds: "Hi!", looking happy. The space between the first and second panel is labeled "switch!" surrounded by action lines. Then in the second panel, a new sprite appears (one of Wisp's alters) who has the same pointed, fox-like ears that Wisp does, but at a different angle. He is drawn with long hair, a jacket with buttons on the front, and sunglasses resting on the top of his head. His expression is tired but friendly. He says: "using he/they today", referring to his pronouns. The nondescript sprite replies: "great!".

The third panel appears directly below the first. At the top is written: "the same goes for names". The word "names" is bolder and outlined by flowers. Below, Wisp is drawn sitting next to a nondescript sprite. "Wisp is my system's group name. But I also have my own", they say. The sprite smiles and responds: "nice". Identical to the first two panels, the fourth panel is next to the third, depicting another switch, which is labeled. A new sprite appears (another one of Wisp's alters) who has the same pointed, fox-like ears that Wisp does, but on top of the hood of a hoodie. They are drawn with shorter hair than Wisp, bangs, and are wearing a hoodie with the hood up, the inside of which is blacked out. They smile and say: "call me Squid today". A nondescript sprite responds: "okay!" with a smile.

Page 3: A single panel page with six different colored frames, corresponding to Wisp and five of their alters. Each person is drawn with at least one corresponding pride flag. At the top of the page, a black text box with white lettering reads: "likewise, identities vary person to person". At the bottom of the page, it continues: "but can also be shared". A smiley face appears at the end of the sentence.

The first colored frame is purple. In it, one of the alters from the previous page is drawn. They are smiling happily and wearing a hoodie with the hood up, the inside of which is blacked out. Above and below them appears the genderfluid, bi, and a variation of the polyamourous pride flag. The second colored frame is light grey. The alter drawn there has short hair and wears a relaxed smile. They appear with the genderblank pride flag below them. The third colored frame is electric blue; inside is Wisp. They are drawn with the trans, bi, and nonbinary flags surrounding them. The fourth colored frame is lime green. The alter drawn there has shoulder length hair and eyelashes. Above and below her appear the aromantic and agender pride flags. The fifth panel is light purple. The alter inside smiles excitedly and wears a mask which obscures half of their face. The mask has two ears, two eyes, and a mouth; it resembles the face of an animal. They are drawn with the catgender and idingender pride flags. Lastly, the sixth panel is rosy pink. In it, one of the alters from the previous page is drawn. He looks tired but friendly. He has sideburns, stubble down his jaw, and wears sunglasses on top of his head. Above and below him appears the trans, bi, and pink triangle pride flags.

Page 4: Two panels framed in pastel yellows. At the top, a note that reads: "and remember! just because one person is out" the word "out" is underlined, and there is a gap before the sentence continues, "doesn't mean everyone is!" Below, in parentheses: "or is comfortable sharing." Beneath this message, several talking heads are drawn, representing Wisp and four of their alters. In the first panel, there are examples of system members who are out and comfortable sharing. Wisp is there and merrily says: "I've known I'm nonbinary for years! I don't mind talking about it!" Beside them, one of the alters from the previous pages is drawn. He wears heart-shaped sunglasses on his head. He says: "I love it when people ask me about my pronouns".

In the second panel, there are examples of system members who are not out or are not comfortable sharing. The first has long, messy hair. They look visibly uncomfortable. They have their eyes closed tight and are sweating comedically. "eeee I'm shy", they say. Next to them is another alter who has long, semi-curly hair. They appear relaxed. They say: "I'm not actually sure about my labels, sorry". Lastly, below them, one of the alters from the previous pages is drawn. They wear a hoodie with the hood up, the inside of which is blacked out. Only the outline of their face can be seen inside, other than a single eye and a gently smiling mouth. "You just met me. That's personal," they say. Below is written an additional message for the audience: "you are not entitled to any system member's info!"

Page 5: Wisp appears one last time, framed by a single pastel blue panel. They wave a progress pride flag in one hand and a disability pride flag in the other. Cartoon flowers surround them. They look overjoyed. Above Wisp, a large speech bubble reads: "when in doubt, just ask! Have a happy pride". This sentence is punctuated with a heart. /.End ID]

happy pride, everybody. ask me about my queer system

[Edit: now has image description]

[ruporas]

birthday party (id in alt)

[aeb-art]

they never went, but it was a nice thought at least

geo belongs you @8um8le as always 🙇

edit: realized this is a good soundtrack for this comic

[acid-ixx]

i think it's a bit funny that with some new neglected batfam fics i've read so far from others, people began to portray damian the same way i did (an injury he left on the mc after their first meeting/after a certain incident, or his overall aggressiveness that stems possessiveness being the blood sibling, or his desire to be babied/seen as a baby brother, a parallel to dick seeing you as his baby bird).

and it's not only with damian, i see some with the other characters, too.

it's fun finding similarities between my portrayals of the characters and theirs. also, the love for conner kent that suddenly surged, too! i'm not complaining, though; his 90's version deserves more love and i'm glad that there's so many people in my inbox admitting that they got into comics because of me.

i appreciate everybody who sees what i wrote as an inspiration <3 this post is meant to be my gratitude for the community of writers who found my silly fanfics and found motivation to write for their own stories, too! the same way i found fanfics from my favorite authors (gotham-daydreams, klemen-tine, and so much more). i think it's really nice.

[isagrimorie]

This is a really good interview with Jac Schaeffer about episode 7 of Agatha All Along.

Schaeffer orchestrates “Death’s Hand in Mind” to unfold with an emotional clarity that allows LuPone to shine in one of her best ever on-screen performances.

[snip]

What sort of feedback would she be giving?

She has a number of mini-monologues, and as we got closer, I tweaked a few of them. She came to me and was like, “Can we please just do it how it was?” And I was like, “You’re the boss, absolutely.” She’s a theater actor. She respects the page. I was trying to streamline and get us moving, and she was like, “No, I want to say all these things.” And bless her, I’m so glad she said all the things.

There are really two different tracks in the episode: the linear timeline as the other characters are experiencing it, and the emotional timeline as Lily is experiencing it. How did you and Patti navigate that?

Patti asked for a script in correct order so she could understand what she was doing. She really did have a solid handle on it, but she would get lost a little bit. Her focus was, “Where is the big emotion? When do I really unravel?” That’s why she wanted to see the episode strung out linearly, but I was like, “You’re the one bouncing around.” She’s the constant, so whenever she’s feeling the deep emotion of it, that is correct, because she’s being wrenched all over the place. So I think her process was finding when the pulling around really starts to trigger her vulnerability.

[SNIP]

The other thing that was very complicated about this episode was the practical part. Those swords are real, and they’re on piano wire. We had to number them and know the order and decide where they went before any actors set foot on the set. So we had this sword map that was nuts, and Ishi was my sword angel, keeping all that in both our minds. And the actors — they were so lovely — they were willing to let me say, “We cannot explore dancing around the space. I need you here right now, otherwise a sword is going to hit you in the face.”

THEY USED REAL SWORDS. When they said that they used minimal CGI… they were not kidding about it!

[snip]

Lilia, Alice, Mrs. Hart — are they all really dead?

I anticipated this question today, and I’ve been thinking about my answer. What I want to say is that this is a show about death. We actually have the character of Death in our show. I am interested in that conversation, and I am fascinated by how death is used in the comic space and in the MCU. Personally, I feel that when a person dies, you can still talk to them and feel them, and they can still be in your lives. But death is immutable. It is permanent. With this show, we wanted to pay respect to that. So this a more earnest and grave conversation about death than maybe you would find in another superhero project.

I like this actually. I like that in WandaVision the show dealt with grief and trauma. This time it’s dealing with death face to face and having an honest discussion what death is.

I think what it will end up showing is that death… is not evil. Death just is. It is a fact of life.

To paraphrase the Ninth Doctor: Everything has its time and everything ends.

So are the Salem Seven dead?

Yeah, the Salem Seven are dead. They’re off the board in our show, is what I will say. Lilia has saved everybody!

And true to my hypothesis, when Jac is fibbing or not telling the whole truth, she answers as succinctly as possible. Because it is technically true the Salem Seven are dead because the remaining Salem members are now just the Salem Two.

Since only five appeared in the Tower.

Lady Death has been a significant character in the Marvel Comics for a long time. When did you decide to include your version of that character in the show?

Oooh, it’s so fun to be talking about this now. We wanted a pursuant character. We wanted somebody who was going to be after Agatha, and therefore after the coven, because we liked the logic of whatever Agatha’s problem is, once they become a coven, it becomes the problem of the whole group. Very, very early, we had this character we called the Debt Collector. Witchcraft is a lot about intention and exchange and checks and balances. So we had this notion of someone being after them for unpaid debts of witchcraft. I don’t remember when we pivoted to death, but it was just so sexy. We were just like, who is the perfect ex-lover of Agatha Harkness? It was just so obviously Lady Death. It felt so right. 

It’s so interesting what they conceptualized for the ‘pursuant’ character before locking on to Rio/Lady Death. The ‘Debt Collector’, it says a lot about their initial thoughts and rules for Witchcraft which sounded (to me) something similar to Fullmetal Alchemist’s philosophy of ‘Equivalent exchange’.

The intention of checks and balances and unpaid debts of witchcraft.

Also, I still love that the person, the character who brought Lady Death, the cosmic being into the MCU wasn’t Thanos with his trillions of death via snap. It’s not Deadpool.

The character who brought Lady Death into being is Agatha Harkness.

Executive producer Mary Livanos and writer Giovanna Sarquis were instrumental in the character. Giovanna came in with the Dia de los Muertos [look] and having her be Latinx, and Mary was very much an influence on Rio’s darkness and toxicity and how enmeshed Agatha and Rio are. It was something that needed approval from on high. We had to get the sign off from Kevin [Feige]. There was a moment where we were all holding our breath, worried we weren’t going to get it. We were really delighted that we got the OK.

I love this, @mswyrr pointed out that Santa Muerte and Lady Death actually has similarities. And to know now that it’s deliberate? It’s so amazing.

Also, Mary pointing out the darkness and toxicity knowing that Mary Livanos is a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan and quite possibly a Buffy/Faith shipper… The knife scene in the first episode feels more like a deliberate reference now!

This is what happens when fangirls become in charge! Wooo!

You said Rio is a “pursuant character” — is she a villain, or at least an antagonist?

Yes, I would classify her as an antagonist. I would classify everyone in the show as a villain and a hero at one point or another.

[snip]

Again with a carefully short answer. But also the emphasis that she is an antagonist and Jac’s insistence that in the show no one is purely a hero nor a villain. Because people are more complicated than that.

we designed this show to really take off dramatically in the back half. I’ve been really interested to see how that lands with people. I think for the most part, people are on the track that we hope they will be. It’s not about the specifics of characters showing up or cameos or revelations, really. But it sounds to me like what people are emotionally interested in, I hope that we deliver on that. There is more Agatha, there is more Rio, and there is a conclusion to this story, and there is some truth to be shared about Agatha.

I like that— for Jac it’s not the cameos or the revelations, it’s the emotional interest and investment. It’s the unpacking of Agatha as a character, its Agatha and Rio individually and together. This is what Jac and the writer’s room are interested in.

I love that in superhero show, they’re tackling the very heavy subject of death. And I trust this team of writers to bring it home.

[barrenclan]

HI i just finished reading the comic and it's so so incredible!!!! your art is gorgeous and your work with the story is completely unmatched <3

I've been listening to the song Butcher Vanity by Vane Lily a lot and it strikes me as a Deepdark song!

Thank you! I'm so glad you like the comic. I agree, Deepdark's desire to kill and eat and never stop consuming is what defines him. I'll use the chance to share a PMV by my pal Katti, the creator of The Exiled comic who made a really excellent PMV with the song :)

I think someone else had the same idea as well, it looks like it's already been suggested before :) but yes it does fit very well! Any song about a land/town/etc that's been cursed and rotten forever works great.

Tell me now of the very soul that look alike, look alike Do you know the stranglehold covering their eyes? If I call on every soul in the land, on the moon Tell me if I'll ever know a blessing in disguise

The curse ruled from the underground, down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before

I never knew this song was from the Justice League movie?? Wow, that's wild. It is a good song for PATFW as a whole.

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich That's how it goes Everybody knows

I have! In fact, the song "Hellfire" is the character theme song for Cootstorm. I made a drawing of it awhile ago.

Did you know that in fact someone made an animated video with Rainhaze to this very song? It's really cool, you should check it out!

Yeah, it's pretty Rainhaze! Especially in his post-Asphodelpaw murder manic phase.

If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see You’d look through illusions, hallucinations, and lucid dream And I know that meaning can be such a pretty thing to keep But I got facts and I’m not afraid to use ‘em, take the good with the bad, take off the back you make a new front Some days I'm glad that I am a madman and I’d rather be that than An amicable animal, mild-mannered cannibal

Aww wait :(

Looks like the cat did a number on you Vienna, oh He took a brick off the side of the stoop Poor vienna It'll be over soon Your mamas waiting for ya But you're not coming home

Your mamas been so worried Cause you never came home Beneath the ground you're buried In memoriam

Yes I think it could be! Even more, I think it's exemplary of Deepdark's general charisma and desire to recruit people into Defiance, reminiscent of his speech from Issue 28.

You and me should go outside And beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em All pathetic flag waving ignorant geeks And we'll eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em

Come join the cause, come join the cause Who wants to come with me and come join the cause? Hide in the sky, hide in the sky Who wants to come with me and hide in the sky?

Oh, my mom loves this album, I grew up listening to it. This does remind me a bit of them, how sweet and sad.

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes Let them know you realize that life goes fast It's hard to make the good things last You realize the sun doesn't go down It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do you realize That you have the most beautiful face? Do you realize?

What a unique take on their relationship! I do like the theme of Ranger guiding Rainhaze's hand, and the parent-child energy is very interesting for them. Interesting take on Mordred, for that matter.

Guileless Son, I'll shape your belief And you'll always know that your father's a thief And you won't understand the cause of your grief But you'll always follow the voices beneath

Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty only to me

[presidenthades]

Day 1 of HOTD adventures at New York Comic Con 🎉

First thing I did today was run to my photo op with Matt Smith.

He. Is. DELIGHTFUL.

At these conventions, photo ops go super fast because they have huge lines of people to go through. The whole 10-second process is basically step up to the celebrity, smile, and immediately leave so the next person can go.

Matt is hugely popular so it was definitely important that they hurry through his line, but he was still friendly with everybody in the 5 seconds they were standing beside him. Really great energy. My interaction went something like:

Matt: “Hello, glad you’re here!”

Photographer: snaps photo

Matt: “I love Caraxes! 😃”

Me: “Thank you! 😃”

Handlers: usher me away so the next person can go

You can tell that Matt has done a lot of these fan events, and he’s very good at it.

Since my Matt photo op went faster than expected, I was able to go to an earlier TGC autograph session than I was originally planning. (This proved to be a very good decision later.)

Autograph sessions tend to take a little longer than photo ops, because the celebrity generally will exchange a few words with fans while signing. It’s still considered good etiquette not to hog too much time, or else people behind you have to wait even longer. TGC’s line was not super long when I arrived, so lucky me!

TGC also offered selfies at his booth, which was a pleasant surprise. (Not everyone offers it.) He seemed a bit tired (important note for later), but no judgment: conventions are really hard work. The celebrities are taking photos and signing autographs for hundreds of people over multiple hours.

He was VERY polite and nice. When I took out my bookbind for him to sign, he spent a good minute looking at it and complimenting the cover etc. And when he finished signing, he very neatly arranged the ribbon bookmark to mark the page where he signed.

(He was definitely wowed by Debustee’s art too.)

Fabien was in the booth beside Tom’s. Fabien was announced as attending the convention much later than Tom and Matt, so I hadn’t made plans to get photos or autographs with him. Maybe tomorrow if scheduling works out. 👀

Then I went to my pre-reserved photo op with TGC immediately afterwards (different from the selfie). There were dozens of people in line in front of me, and the photo ops go super fast, so we didn’t have a particularly long interaction. But I managed to get Sunfyre in there.

After a lunch break, I went to get in Matt Smith’s autograph line. He was scheduled from 2:20-7:00 with a few short breaks every so often. When I got in line at 2:00, the line was already HUGE.

I waited in line 3 hours 45 minutes to get my autograph. 🙃😤😮‍💨

HOTD was the main reason I was interested in attending the convention in the first place, so I was prepared to wait in lines to do everything I wanted. But in case anyone was wondering: Matt Smith is indeed very very popular in the year Two Thousand and Twenty Four.

While I was in line for Matt, I heard from other people in line that TGC went home about three hours early. So anyone who hadn’t already gotten their autograph that day needed to get a refund (or maybe a transfer to the next day, I’m not sure). He is still scheduled for autographs tomorrow, but it made me extra glad that I was able to get my autograph early.

I had previously been told to always do photos and autographs ASAP because sometimes the celebrity gets ill or has to leave early, etc. Just a tip for anyone who wants to go to a con and do celebrity interactions in the future!

Back to Matt’s line: I was almost to the front when an event handler announced that Matt was no longer doing quotes. With autographs, there’s of course the actual signature, but sometimes you can add-on things like a quote for the celebrity to write. When I was planning my convention trip months ago, I pre-reserved the quote add-on for Matt. At some point in the last few weeks, they removed the quote option because they realized he would be on a time crunch if he wrote too many quotes. But I’d already paid for and reserved my quote, which the event was supposed to honor even if they changed the process later.

Another woman in line who’d paid for a quote was also upset, and I imagine other people were too. But the event handler came back out and clarified that those of us who already paid for quotes would still get them; they just wouldn’t allow anyone else to get a quote.

Here is the autograph and quote I waited almost four hours for. 🥰

I made an updated version of the Handbook’s dust jacket specifically for the convention. The original dust jacket had my author and fic info on the back flap, but I thought it’d be fun to do one where Daemon gets the author bio.

“War was easier than daughters” is actually a Ned Stark quote, which I borrowed for the Handbook Chapter 11’s title. When you get a quote during an autograph signing, you first write down the quote on a slip of paper. Then you give the paper to the celebrity’s manager and tell them where exactly the celebrity should sign. Matt’s manager was a little confused by the quote but rolled with it.

When Matt read the quote, he said, “Huh, I don’t remember saying that. 🤔😄” But he was very amused and good-natured, and he had no problem writing it down. I was holding little Caraxes again, and Matt was happy to see Caraxes again (although I think Matt may have forgotten he’d already seen Caraxes 7 hours earlier—tons of other fans he was interacting with in the meantime).

I managed to accomplish all my Matt Smith and TGC interactions today, which were my top priorities for this convention. I consider today a success, even though I spent a lot of it waiting in line. Tomorrow morning there will be a HOTD panel, which I have a reservation for, so I’m excited to see Matt, Tom, and Fabien onstage. I don’t think we’re supposed to stream or record the event, but I will try to take notes.

Bonus: a baby dragon and egg that I got at the con! 🐉🐣

[pressplay-if]

ooooh, having both the top 2 popular fandom ships involve the MC is a recipe for drama 👀 not been into a lot of bands, but been in LOT of fandoms 😂 it always creates this weird tension between the stans... awkward for Zima and Stevie who I imagine as very chill w eachother actually 😅

I can see the ship wars now: MCevie and MCima rising in popularity together, and shippers butting heads immediately. MCima's getting accused of romanticing toxicity, and MCevie's getting called boring prudes. Character attacks on the shippers, turning into attacks of the ships, turning into attacks on Stevie/Zima as people. Stans getting even madder at each other trying to defend their favs. Fanfic stereotypes emerging in both ships where Stevie/Zima get villainized in the respective MCima/MCevie fics... Zima reduced to just a player/slut manipulating and abusing the MC, contrasted to an angelic Stevie. Stevie as an annoying, clingy two-faced bitch only pretending to be nice, getting in the way of the OTP (characterization gets even harsher if Zima/MC is an MLM ship 😒). 'Are u an MCevie or an MCima?' being an actual divisive Thing in the fandom. The tiny contingent of Zima/Stevie shippers that pop-up just as counterculture to it all, that come out with surprisingly compelling stuff.

And in the end it was all just a very vocal minority, but Zima and Stevie stans still get a little anxious around each other after all the drama 😭 the vast majority are not rabid, and are in fact crossing their fingers that the other is gonna be chill about their fav 🥲

LOVE the shippers not even considering Angel for MC tho - he's really got perpetual comic relief/'only exists as a character to help the main pair get together' written all over him. Curveball for everybody when my MC ends with him in the end 🤭

Oh damn this ask is everything. Yeah Stevie and Zima are... surprisingly cool with each other, once the entire thing with Zima and MC is resolved. They can even become really good friends.

Ngl I can totally imagine it going the exact way you described. Fandoms can be so downright horrible, especially when they're about real life people. Like, I've mostly only lurked in fandoms in my earlier years, so I saw some... interesting things. And I'm glad I never got into it deep enough to partake in any controversies. And nowadays I kinda enjoy those videos about toxic fandoms and, like, their rise and fall hehe

I have nothing more to add to the analysis you gave. An essay for the ages. Sadly, it reads entirely plausible

And yes since Angel is rather average in his looks and presentation of himself, whenever someone's talking about him, it's actually about his guitar playing lol. Like its "oh monsanto was really laying it down at that live show" not "omg I wonder who he's shacking up with" and then when MC gets with him, all the stans just go "huh"

[yelenasdiary]

I had a random idea for a fic and just wanted the share! Basically Florence meets R at a meet and greet type thing and notices the cuts on her arm and reaches out after the meet and greet? Just an idea 💕 Sending love and if your not comfortable with this request that’s okay!

A Little Change

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader 

Summary: Meeting Florence at a comic con was a dream come true & being so caught up in the moment, you weren’t aware that Florence saw how much you were struggling. 

Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm & cuts, Depression | 1.4K

AC: Please only read this if you are comfortable! My asks/dms are always open for anybody who needs somebody to talk too, even if you just need to scream! I’m sending everybody love and hugs! I used reference from another message Flo sent to a lucky fan and tweaked it a little! I hope you enjoy x 

Nerves filled your body as you waited patiently in line to be the next person to meet one of your idols. You've been counting down to this moment since your local comic con announced the guest line up. 'Florence Pugh'in black bold letters making your heart skip a beat as you make sure to set a timer on your phone for when the tickets went on sale. It was no doubt one of the most stressful 20 minutes of your life when they went on sale, but luck was on your side, and you were able to buy a meet and greet token as well as an autograph token. 

"Please place your phone in the basket" the security spoke kindly to you. Professional photos were being taken and mobile phones weren't allowed in the room, you didn't care though. You were meeting Florence Pugh in a matter or seconds. You placed your phone in the small basket and smiled softly at the security guard. 

"Don't be nervous" he said, catching you slightly off guard. "She's lovely, you'll love every second of it" he added. 

"Thank you" you replied with another soft smile just as the photographer called for the next person, you. 

The security guard spread open the curtain for you as your eyes saw the first glimpse of Florence who was wearing a pink tank cropped tee with denim jeans finished with a white and light pink striped shirt. She smiled warmly at you as you nervously walked up to her. 

"Hi! What's your name?" she asked in her thick, raspy British accent. 

"Hi!" you smiled, "I'm Y/n" you added. 

"I'm Florence! It's lovely to meet you, Y/n" she smiled before embracing you in a welcoming hug. She smelt of vanilla hint of floral citrus, no doubt it was probably one of the many Valentino perfumes. The hug lasted longer than you thought, going into these events you knew the interactions would be short and sweet, two minutes at the most. 

"I just wanna say how much I love you in Little Women, but I will always love Black Widow!" you said once you were both looking at one another again, Florence's hands on your biceps as she smiled softly. 

"Thank you so much, I'm glad you love them" she replied, "I love your necklace, it's beautiful!" she added while eyeing off the gold necklace that had a heart pendant with the first letter of your name on it. "Oh this? it's just an old necklace I've had since forever" you chuckled, "but thank you!" you quickly added so you didn't sound rude.

"Shall we take a picture?" Florence asked, her smile never leaving her lips. Somehow Florence was able to make you forget that you were meeting somebody you looked up to a lot and more like you were just having out with a friend. Your nervous had disappeared and your smile only grew bigger knowing you'd never forget this event. 

The two of you turned to face the photographer, "Do you mind if I put my arm around you?" you asked out of respect. Florence nodded, "you're so kind for asking" she said before looking back towards the camera. "Do you mind if we pull a silly face?" you asked. Again, Florence nodded before the two of you pulled a goofy face as the photography's camera flashed it's bright light. 

Once the photo was taken, you turned to face Florence once more, accidentally dropping your paper token on the floor. As you reach down to grab it, Florence noticed the red cuts on your wrist. Out of respect she didn't say anything, but she couldn't understand why somebody as sweet as you was hurting so much. 

"Thank you so much for coming today, it was an honour to meet you" Florence smiled soft at you once more. "I should be thanking you! Coming all this way, it means a lot and I will remember this for the rest of my life" you replied.

"Oh, stop it! You're too kind!" Florence chuckled before embracing you in one last hug, "have a wonderful rest of your day!" she added. 

"I will! I'll see you again at the autograph table!" you smiled as you were being rushed out for the next person. 

----

Later that night after checking the comic con's website over and over for the uploads of the meet and greet photos, your photo was finally uploaded. Saving it to your phone and making it your new wallpaper, you decided to post it to Instagram. 

"yourusername: It was a dream meeting you today! Thank you so much!! @florencepugh" 

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the image on your phone before falling asleep. 

The morning sun warmly kissed your face as it crept into your bedroom through the crack in your curtain, waking you softly with its warmth. You groaned softly before stretching and reaching over to see what the time was. 10:45am in bold stare back at you until your eyes dropped to the notification that made your heart skip a beat. 

You read the notification to yourself a million times thinking you were just dreaming before you unlocked your phone and punched in your passcode. Your thumb hovered over the Instagram app for a moment before opening it. Your mind was racing as to why Florence would be messaging you, or how she even found your Instagram. There it was, 1 message notification and over 20 notifications from people liking and commenting on your meet & greet photo with Florence.

The blue tick next to Florence's name only made your heart beat faster knowing it was actually Florence and not just some poser or a fan page with a similar username. You took a moment to calm yourself before opening the message, curious as to why she was reaching out to you, it just felt like a dream.

-Florence Pugh:

Hey lovely! I hope it's okay I reach out like this…it was lovely meeting you yesterday, you're a very sweet and funny person! I hope to meet you again someday soon! 

I don't mean to overstep anything, but I noticed something that worried me when we met yesterday, and I just wanted to make sure you're okay and that you're not alone. 

I can understand how feeling low and broken can feel. It's so hard pulling yourself out of a pit when you feel like you're sat at the bottom of the pit. I just want to say I'm so sorry you feel this way and that you feel the need to self-harm. 

Sometimes I feel the same as you, I feel weak and broken and I don't know how to look up but I have learnt that the moment you sense yourself falling, you HAVE to kick your mind and body into a different gear. Moving your body will automatically release serotonin and will help your mood!

Make a happy playlist, add music from all around the world that makes you happy. Add to it daily, I do this when I am sad. 

You're human and sometimes we feel extremely happy and sometimes we feel extremely low. Learn to acknowledge that this happens and be kind to yourself. You're amazing, you deserve happiness, you deserve to love yourself, you deserve good friends, and you deserve to be a good friend. All these skills take years to learn about yourself, so I'm not expecting you to turn it around tomorrow! Just do a little bit a day. 

A little change here and there and most importantly, don't think of yourself as a screw up or that you're worthless! The world is at your fingertips! 

Can you promise me something? No matter how low and broken and weak you feel, always try and find something that you know will make you get up and move. Whether its doing a stupid dance to a song in your bedroom or walk around a park and see all the colours around you, cook something colourful, fresh and tasty! 

You're amazing, never forget that! 

All my love, 

Florence xx-

Her message brought tears to your eyes, leaving you speechless. You took a mental note on some of the tips that Florence mentioned. You promised not only Florence but yourself to try them when your thoughts got dark again, when you felt low and alone. You wanted the cuts on your arm would fade to scars, you wanted to be happy and overcome the darkness that had a hold over you. You wanted the next time you'd meet Florence you'd be able to tell her how far you've come and just how much you needed her message without even knowing it. 

All these things you mentioned in your reply, promising her that next time you both share a hug that you'll hug her a little tighter and thank her for being the inspiration and role model she is too you.

Taglist:  @marvelfan98 | @boredandneedfanfics | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | 

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[critterbitter]

AAAAAAUGH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE OUTPOOR OF LOVE-

This hyperfixation probably would have burned out if it wasn’t for your kind comments! I really appreciate yall :,)

Individual response and bonus art under cut

Sleepy guys as a treat!

(Now, for the individual asks:

@raisansgrapeon hope the art is watering they crops! Hehe.

@getshorked Oh man thank you so much! I love reading what people leave behind and yeah, the boys and their pokemon make me go :)))))

@madredhattie I WILL MAKE THE TRAINROT EVERYBODY’S PROBLEM (pats the guys) THEY CAN FIT SO MUCH SIBLING SHENANIGANS

@lum1n0s1ty223 TY TY I rrreaaaally wanted to channel the goofy on these guys. Gotta draw them as adults more, cause i feel like the goofy factor magnifies with time. Anyways! UH YES ingo and emmet definitely would love to build gingerbread houses. It’s like legos, but in the end you can eat your creations and pretend to be godzilla (dragonit’illa? Hmm. More pending on that train of thought for later.)

@sapphirecereal My art on Your Dash? More likely then you think! (Its cause people are kind enough to reblog, and I am so so so thankful people are cool to do that. Ah, tumblr.)

@mynamesaplant AYY the banner’s a sketch of the trio I ended up coloring! I wanted to post that artwork immediately after I made it but held off cause I had to finish the “emmet has an imposters syndrome moment” comic. You’ll see it when the time comes tho >:) (AND TY)

@theladydracula pokemon found family, my beloved. Glad you’re having a good time on the ride!

@roxasthatisastick YES JOIN ME IN THE WELL WE CAN FIGHT SUBMAS BRAINWORMS TOGETHER. BUT ALSO YoOOO if you could @ me when the ingo fic drops i’d appreciate it a lot! Submas fandom feed me im begging you-

[wolff-cub]

Last Laugh

a Landoscar stand-up comedy AU

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.” “Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.” Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando. “You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage... watching a set you hate.”

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

As the most successful comedian on the Fringe Rising showcase lineup, Lando believes he should have been given the show's prestigious final billing slot. Over the course of the festival, his resentment for the amateur Australian comedian who's stolen his spot grows... into something else altogether.

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

Special thanks to @jadesaturn for beta-reading and @afriques for the lovely banner!!

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

“Papaya!”

Onstage, the spotlights shine almost directly into his eyes as Lando springs upwards like a demented jack-in-the-box, popping forth on one leg, arms swinging around wildly. A split second later, he stops abruptly in the middle of the stage, directing an unimpressed look into the inky blackness beyond the stage.

“Okay, but really. Have any of you even had a papaya? That’s right. It’s a shit fruit. It has none of the zest, the fun, that its name implies. Who even named it? What the fuck were they thinking?!”

As his tone borders on hysterics, laughter washes over him like a warm blanket, sent his way from the shadowed masses before him. Keeping his energy up like this, even as his set draws to a close, is never easy — but so worth the laughs. The spotlights shining into his eyes are so bright that the crowd is nothing more than a series of imposing, faceless silhouettes. 

But Lando doesn’t need to see his audience to connect with them. If performing a comedy set is like screaming into the void, well… Lando has always been capable of drawing laughter from within the void.

“Yet here I was, sipping from a glass of papaya juice so good that I thought I’d tasted heaven. One sip was all it took… to move me to tears.” Here, his voice grows theatrical, and he begins feigning an almost clownish kind of sadness. His fingers tremble as he mimes a comically small sip from the world’s tiniest teacup. Somewhere in the audience, someone cackles so loudly that their voice cracks.

“Thank you.” Lando can’t help but grin back in the face of such open adulation, which only garners him even more cheers. “Anyway, I’ve changed a lot since then. I discovered therapy, for one. And antidepressants. The lows? No longer as low. The highs? No longer juice-related.”

Cheers. Whistles. Laughter. Oh, how he loves the sound of it.

“That’s right, folks! It’s only going uphill from here! I’m taking my life and making it papaya!”

“Papaya!” someone in the crowd shouts back.

Lando doesn’t miss a beat, turning that tiny bit of reciprocity into a full-on chant, clapping his hands over his head in time with the beat. The crowd roars back at him without needing much encouragement at all. Their silhouettes sway back and forth in time. “Papaya, papaya!”, and the abyss laughs, and laughs, and laughs right back at him.

“Thank you so much, everybody! I have been Lando Norris, and you… oh, you have been such a great crowd!” Lando crows, even as the crowd keeps up its chant for him. Not even his clumsy attempts to affix the mic back to its stand — the customary sign that his comedy set is about to end — discourages them from continuing to bid him farewell. “I’ll be here doing Fringe Rising every Tuesday and Thursday, along with a solo show during the festival, every other day of the week! Hopefully, I’ll see some of you there, but until then, that’s my time! And—you’vebeensuchagreataudiencethankyoubye!”

The grin that spreads across Lando’s face as he rushes offstage is so wide, it makes his cheeks hurt. The crowd’s sustained clapping is so buoyant for his spirits that he might as well be floating down the stage steps, a cartoon character drifting through the air on a cloud of his own high. He’d had no doubts about the success of his set tonight — he is, after all, the biggest name on the lineup. But god, does it feel good to bask in an audience’s adoration. 

Lando almost wishes he could run back onstage again, arms outstretched, and drink it all in. He is, after all, none other than Bristol’s boy king of comedy, whose career went stratospheric after two years of pain, self-doubt, and tireless honing of his craft through it all. He’s worked hard for everything he has to his name — the slot on this prestigious, curated showcase at the Edinburgh Fringe, the sold-out solo shows running all month long, the appearances on primetime comedy television, and even the Netflix comedy special in the works. Every clap, every cheer, has been earned. After so long, Lando is finally — finally! — reaping what he’s sown.

It isn’t exactly going uphill from here. As far as Lando is concerned, he’s already at the top.

Lando’s eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the venue in time to give the MC a customary high-five and backslap, as tradition calls for. Every comedian gets a high-five no matter how their set goes — a congratulations if the set goes well, or a commiseration if it’s bombed. Of course, Lando hasn’t had any of the latter in a while. Failure is something he no longer remembers the taste of. And with how hard he’s been working… surely, that’s just what he deserves.

“Whoa! Wow, wow, wow! You guys!”

Onstage, Alex Albon — part-time comedian, full-time zookeeper, all-around good guy, and tonight’s MC — has to shout into the mic over the rapturous applause, still going after Lando’s set. “Oh my goodness! I would tell you to give it up one more time for Lando Norris, but you guys clearly got the memo already!”

Lando’s smug grin remains even as he weaves past the front-of-stage seating, beelining towards a swarthy, dark-haired man nursing a beer alone at the back of the venue. He parks himself smoothly on an adjacent bar stool and gratefully fist-bumps his old friend, his grin not fading as Alex continues to sing his praises onstage.

“Oy, cabrón! You fucking killed it up there!”

“Aw, thanks, Carlos. It was nothing.”

“Oh no, Lanno. You cannot be doing this false modesty thing all the time. You know you did well, so… take the compliment, eh? Most of these people are probably here because it’s the only way they’ll get to see you. Your solo show sold out so fast!”

Lando smirks at the sound of his longtime comedy compatriot’s signature mispronunciation of his name, courtesy of the strong Spanish accent that makes him so popular with crowds. “No way, mate. You got plenty of cheers before your set even started, and you’ve been doing this comedy thing for much longer than I have. All the Fringe veterans are probably here to see you, all the way over from España.”

“Ah, but I am not the one who has been on Taskmaster in two countries. I don’t even want to do this full-time. If a genie came to me and asked me, ‘Carlos, would you rather have your own Netflix special, or improve your golf handicap by two?’ I would take the handicap.”

“But I still think you should reconsider that way of thinking. If I’ve made it to where I am today, you’d make it farther in half the time. Your comedy is genius, Carlos. You deserve a sold-out solo run and a Netflix special as much as I do!”

Carlos just shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s not about what we deserve, cabrón. It’s about what we want, and what we do to get it.”

Lando is about to argue, but Carlos shushes him so dismissively that he sits back in his seat like a told-off child. Onstage, Alex’s speech is approaching a crescendo, and Carlos has always been the type to show fellow performers as much decorum as possible.

“Anyway, thank you all so much for being here tonight at Fringe Rising! You’ve made it such a great opening night for me and our amazing line-up here, and we all appreciate you taking the time to come out and see our little showcase. Please, put your hands together one more time for our wonderful comedians from far and wide — Charles Leclerc from Monaco! Carlos Sainz from Spain! And Britain’s very own, Lando Norris!”

Lando’s grin reappears as the cheers wash over him, while Carlos puts on a demure smile, ducking his head down behind his beer bottle jokingly.

“Where is Charles, anyway?” asks Lando, suddenly realising that the showcase’s usual opener is absent. “Doesn’t he know you aren’t really supposed to leave before everyone’s done with their sets?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Don’t be so harsh on him, Lanno. He’s new, but he’s not stupid. He had to leave early to do that showcase that George Russell hosts every year.”

Lando has to stifle a snicker. “Charles is doing the comedy Powerpoint showcase?!”

“Ay, don’t look so surprised. He’s actually very funny if you give him a chance.”

Lando would beg to differ, but doesn’t want to argue with Carlos over the sound of Alex’s speech. At the risk of sounding petty and mean, Charles is still a rookie comedian, and all his sets that Lando has seen have been unpolished at best and amateurish at worst. Lando can tell that Charles cruises through his sets; that he doesn’t workshop his material and probably doesn’t even know how to. And Lando would definitely never say this out loud, but deep down he suspects that Charles had only landed this Fringe Rising spot (and plenty of other comedy club slots) only because he might be the hottest man to ever attempt a career in stand-up comedy.

But, that also explains why Charles is a rookie, and why Lando is within grasp of the top rung of the stand-up comedy ladder. Nobody works for this quite as hard as him. Nobody deserves this like he does.

The crowd soon falls into hushed whispers as the cheers for past performers gradually dies down. Onstage, Alex quickly segues into the next bit of his speech before any more stray cheers add even more time onto their already overtime showcase.

“We’ve got one more set for you tonight,” says Alex, “and boy, am I excited to introduce him. Now, this next act is like the ghost of international stand-up comedy. Almost nobody’s seen him perform… and yet everyone’s talking about him! This man is so very difficult to pin down, mark my words — but we’ve managed to wrangle him to the Fringe Rising stage, all the way from Australia, for what might be one of the rarest and most hype-worthy performances at this fest. Let’s get the energy back up in here, guys! Please give it up for… Oscar Piastri!”

Carlos leans in towards Lando. “Oh, I’m interested to see this guy. Some people are saying he’s only done five shows total, and nobody can stop talking about him.”

Five shows total? Is he fucking serious?!

Lando’s fist clenches involuntarily. Just like at concerts and festivals, the last set in a showcase is always awarded to the most prestigious performer on the lineup. When he’d gotten the email that he would be performing second-last in the night, Lando had presumed that Alex had somehow managed to land a real big hitter — one of the rare few comedians who sold out arena tours and ran their own TV shows. 

But this is who they’d given the final billing to instead of him? A complete fucking amateur?!

“You’d think the show closer should be someone more… accomplished,” Lando starts, only to get shushed by Carlos again as Alex ducks offstage and the lights dim once more.

The filler music fades, and a lone figure clad in a hoodie, cargo shorts, and Birkenstocks — no mean feat for Edinburgh weather — walks slowly onstage, lifting a hand in front of his eyes to fend off the harsh spotlights. His short brown hair is accentuated by a long, floppy wave of a fringe that falls into his eyes carelessly, making his boyish face look even younger than he already is.

“Whoa,” says the newcomer, his voice slow and languid with a stereotypical Australian drawl. “Pretty bright up here, hey?”

A few people in the crowd start chuckling. Lando’s brow furrows. What the hell is going on? The man hasn’t even said anything actually funny?!

“Anyway, how’re ya doing tonight, Edinburgh? My name’s Oscar, and… well, apparently I’m here to do some comedy. But I’m not quite sure how this whole comedy thing works in these parts — I’ve come all the way from Australia, and, well, you know. We do everything upside down there. So, uh, you’re gonna have to be pretty patient with me, alright? Cause I’m, uh… not actually supposed to be here.”

He shoots the audience a conspiratorial look, and a rustle of both anticipation and uncertainty travels through the crowds. No laughs yet, though — and Lando secretly hopes that it remains that way for the rest of his set.

“So, I just moved up here from Melbourne,” continues Oscar, “and I don’t really know anyone here — no friends or family. But the other day, I had to go to the hospital, and the nurse… she took down my details, and what I was at the hospital for… and then she asked me for an emergency contact. And I told her, ‘Barbara, I don’t have an emergency contact in this country. I don’t know anyone here except… well, you. So maybe you could be my emergency contact.’ And Barbara just shakes her head and keeps saying, ‘No, I can’t be your emergency contact. You need to give me the name and phone number of someone in the United Kingdom that you trust.’”

Lando slumps over onto his crossed arms and lets out a yawn. Overly long buildup, lacklustre delivery… where is this even going?

“Now, I’m a little offended by this.” Oscar puts his hand over his heart, feigning shock. “I said, ‘Barbara! How could you imply that I don’t trust you?! You’re the only person in this country who knows my deepest, darkest secret, Barbara. You’re the only person in this country who knows I have haemorrhoids!

“I put my trust in you, Barbara, and this is how you treat me? By not wanting to be the emergency contact for someone who has been so vulnerable with you by telling you that he has haemorrhoids?!”

A few isolated laughs rise from the crowd. Oscar raises an eyebrow at the crowd, seemingly dissatisfied by the reception to this joke.

“Uh, hello?” A small smirk flashes across his face. “Did you guys get that? No? Ah, fuck.”

To Lando’s horror, this blatant request for more laughs gets Oscar exactly that. Full-bodied guffaws and a lone whoop rise from the crowd, as Oscar pulls a comically mortified expression. Lando scans the audience, tries to read into their body language from all he can see of their backs. Are they even watching the same set as he is?! Is this really what counts as comedy at the Fringe these days?

“Long story short, guys, Barbara didn’t want to be my emergency contact.” A chorus of ‘aww-s’ prompts Oscar to nod along, gratefully accepting the crowd’s pity. “Thank you, thank you. Anyway, now that I’ve also entrusted all of you with knowledge of my haemorrhoids… would anyone here like to be my emergency contact?”

Something in the room snaps as soon as Oscar’s joke comes full circle. Even though he’d forcibly torn open the floodgates himself, the crowd suddenly seems more than happy to grant him their approval. No sooner than he delivers his first punchline with a self-deprecating smirk, the audience starts shrieking, howling, with pure delight. 

Next to Lando, even Carlos is crowing with laughter; his wheezy chuckles reminiscent of a dying pterodactyl’s cries. Lando regards his friend with utter disbelief — but Carlos is too busy laughing; too enraptured by Oscar’s joke to even notice Lando’s disdain for the set.

“Wow,” Oscar remarks dryly, once the audience’s hysterics have calmed to a volume low enough for him to be heard once more. “You guys really liked that one, huh? Okay, noting that down.” 

He flashes a comically embarrassed look at the crowd, and a new wave of cackles escapes the audience. 

“Like I said, I’m not really supposed to be here. After leaving the hospital, I just Googled ‘things to do in Edinburgh that don’t involve sitting down.’ Aaaand… now I’m here. Doing stand-up.”

Lando rolls his eyes at the pun, feeling embattled as the crowd rewards this lowest form of humour with roars of laughter. He’s almost grateful that there isn’t a real scale for measuring how much a crowd is enjoying any given set. If that existed, he’d certainly want to compare his own metrics to Oscar… and he’s no longer confident that his results would knock the other comedian’s out of the park. 

For some unfathomable reason, the Australian doesn’t need to work for the house’s approval at all. He merely needs to ask them to laugh, and the crowd will acquiesce like clockwork.

Oscar leaves the stage to thunderous applause and cheers so deafening that it feels as if the walls might crumble any second. Carlos turns to Lando as the venue lights come up, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. Even as Lando is slumped over onto folded arms beside him, Carlos remains completely oblivious to his new pensive mood.

“Oi, Lanno, come on.” Carlos hoists himself off his bar stool, boisterously gesturing for Lando to do the same. “Let’s go to the green room and congratulate him. What a set for an almost-newcomer, huh?”

Lando shakes his head slowly. “You know, I actually don’t really feel so good. Might go back to the hotel and get an early night…don’t wanna risk having to cancel my show tomorrow.”

Distracted by his intent to head backstage, Carlos doesn’t see through his lame little lie. “Ah, okay. You push yourself too hard, Lanno! Five shows a week is crazy, even Charles isn’t doing that many. Get some rest, okay, cabrón? I’ll tell the new guy you said hi.”

“Yeah, sure,” replies Lando, even though the last thing he wants is for the new guy to think that he holds him in any kind of esteem.

Part of him wants Carlos — one of the only comedians in this room that he actually respects — to notice his frustration. To ask what’s wrong, and maybe abandon going backstage in favour of buying him a drink. But, just like all the flaws in his set; all the failures of comedy theory that Lando could so easily list if asked, his contempt for Oscar is both as imperceptible and irrelevant as his growing chagrin. 

Nobody notices… and nobody feels the same.

///

Over the next few days, Lando’s disdain for Oscar grows and festers like an untreated wound. His excitement for Fringe Rising before the start of the festival had been virtually unquenchable. Now, he thanks his lucky stars that he only has to do this showcase twice a week. Having to see Oscar any more than that would make him inclined to blow his brains out on stage. 

Every time he sees the floppy-haired Australian and his shit-eating smirk, he is reminded of just how unfair everything has become. Lando is only where he is today after shedding plenty of blood, sweat, and tears. He owes his success to the countless nights spent perfecting his sets, even when it meant pushing through sheer exhaustion accumulated over too many shifts at too many thankless part-time jobs. 

All that, and for what? To be ousted for final billing at a Fringe showcase by a no-name from the world’s most godforsaken continent, with a mere five shows under his belt? 

That just doesn’t seem right. Something’s gotta give.

But night after night, Oscar never bombs — never even comes close to bombing, because the audience always inexplicably becomes putty in his hands the moment he asks them to laugh at him. 

Lando never bombs either, but nobody seems to care that he doesn’t.

So Alex never offers Lando final billing, and Lando’s own opinion that this is a grave oversight never changes either. The Fringe soon becomes a kind of mental purgatory for him, with nights spent stewing in a cocktail of his own envy and rage. Day after day, the festival ticks by… but nothing ever changes. And Lando grows ever more resentful.

In an ideal world, his path would never cross Oscar’s, apart from the times they are forced to watch each other’s sets from the back of the venue in the name of artistic courtesy. But, as this entire experience has already shown him, the world he lives in is very far from ideal. 

In reality, their paths cross more times than he would like. In the dressing room backstage, where Oscar always sends a meek hello his way, and where Lando — without fail — doesn’t even acknowledge him before storming back out. At the venue bar — same thing. Lando even runs into Oscar at the grocery store, once. That pre-show snack run ends with him leaving Tesco empty-handed, after lying that he’s leaving and  in a big hurry, just to avoid any further conversation with him. 

Lando does his show hungry that night. His stomach starts hurting twenty minutes into his fifty-five-minute set — but at least the loud growl of his gastric pangs earns him an unexpected extra round of laughter from the audience.

Wednesday may be hump day, but Tuesday and Thursday are the real bookends to Lando’s shit sandwich of a week. Unlike Charles, Lando has nowhere to be — or even to pretend to be — during Oscar’s sets. So he always has to stay, to watch a set that never gets funnier than the last, delivered by a comedian who never grows more appealing, no matter how many times he’s forced to look at him.

And look at Oscar he does. Because what the fuck else is he supposed to when he’s a captive audience member for a set he can’t walk out of for fear of being cancelled by comedy Twitter? 

Soon enough, the Australian’s visage becomes one he can recall on command, every detail instantaneously available. The short, shiny, yet floppy brown hair. The long, rabbit-like front teeth hiding behind lips almost permanently curled into a lazy smile. The smattering of freckles and tiny moles all across his cheeks and neck. The deep brown eyes.

Sometimes, when he is alone at night, Lando summons all these details in his mind’s eye, painstakingly assembling as detailed a picture of Oscar as he can. Then he tacks it to a dartboard in his mind and fucking obliterates it.

The most infuriating part of all this? Despite how open Lando’s hostility is, Oscar doesn’t seem to notice… or care. Before every show, a hello. After every show, a wave goodbye, even though Lando scrambles out of his seat to leave the moment Oscar descends from the stage. 

Lando soon convinces himself of a secret third possibility — that Oscar has noticed, and does care, and is using their forced proximity as a reason to rub his omnipresence in Lando’s face. To terrorise Lando with his constant hellos and heys and painfully Australian okays. To ensure, simply speaking, that Lando will never know peace as long as the Fringe is running.

What’s worse is that, after barely any time at all, Oscar’s nefarious form of psychological warfare actually works. As Lando’s animosity towards the Australian grows, he begins to search for him wherever he goes, obsessed with fantasies of telling him exactly what he thinks of him. 

He searches for Oscar in the crowds at his solo shows, his eyes straining under the spotlight, desperate to catch sight of that floppy brown fringe somewhere in the seats. He even begins frequenting the Tesco Metro on snack runs more often than not, hoping that Oscar will be there for him to unleash the full power of the contempt in his heart, even if the Australian opens with his naive little hello.

But, as always, this is not an ideal world. Oscar never returns to the Tesco Metro. Lando never goes to the green room. Their paths remain as distant as they can, for two comedians working the same show.

And then, one night, Lando is offered redemption.

He spots Oscar in the crowd for his solo set immediately after he bounces onstage. The Australian’s placid brown eyes are fixed on him in the split second that Lando notices his presence — and, judging by the slow, relaxed smile that crawls onto his face, he knows he’s seen him. Lando’s smile freezes for a beat as he spots his nemesis. He fumbles to remove the mic from its stand, spending extra seconds clambering about as the audience waits for him to begin. 

So, Oscar has really done it. He really had the balls to show his face at the superior comedian’s set. Well, if he wants so desperately to get schooled in the art of real stand-up, who is Lando to deny him?

That night, the show is unequivocally the best solo set he’s ever put on in his entire life. Lando’s brand of comedy has always been fairly slapstick and energetic, but tonight he is something else altogether onstage. He’s a whirling dervish — jumping higher, acting harder — all to get the crowd laughing louder and louder to feed the hungry void of ambition within him. 

Not even halfway through the set, a few people in the front row are actually wheezing with exertion. The air positively sparkles with mirth, along with the glint of teary-eyed audience members, who are doubled over and crying with laughter. 

But Lando barely notices any of this. He’s performing for one audience member alone, eyes fixed on the dead centre of the room, tracking Oscar’s every reaction like a hawk. He sees when Oscar smiles, sees when he laughs, sees when he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied guffaw right when Lando’s repertoire is meant to take the audience by surprise.

Do you see it now, Oscar? he wants to say. This is how comedy is meant to be done.

The crowd is electric when the lights come up. The buzz and rustle of their post-show discussion remains at a constant volume as his audience relives their favourite moments from the set amongst themselves. Only a few figures make their way to the exit almost immediately. The rest remain milling around the bar, or even in their seats — waiting for Lando to come around and mingle with the audience, all wanting a piece of him.

Lando spends the rest of the night working the crowd. Making small talk with new fans. Hugging old fans he recognises from back in the day. Taking pictures with Fringe grannies who have dedicated their twilight years to exploring the arts — and don’t they love a dashing young man who can make them laugh. 

He almost forgets about the unwelcome interloper in the audience altogether. But then the crowd thins out, the bar staff get ready to close the venue for the night, and Oscar appears in front of him once more — a fluffy-haired nightmare emerging from the pub’s gloomy atmosphere.

“Lando!” His name sounds foreign on the other man’s tongue; so unrecognisable that he wishes he would say it again, just so he can better get used to the sound of it. “Congrats, man. That was an amazing set. I’d heard a lot about you, but tonight completely blew me away. I never really knew comedy could be like this before.”

It takes all of Lando’s willpower not to let out an exultant scream directly into the Australian’s smug little face. He barely hears Oscar’s continued babbling over the imaginary crescendo of a million variations of his triumphal speech, all meticulously laid out in his vengeful fantasies. Now is his chance to put Oscarin his place. Now is the time to live out his dreams.

Oscar has stopped talking now, and just looks at him expectantly, as if Lando would care about anything he has to say. He reaches within himself; searches for the words that he’s rehearsed for so long.

And all he can say is a lame, muted, “Thanks.”

Lando can’t tell if it is disappointment or satisfaction that makes Oscar turn away. “Okay,” he says, in that same semi-ironic deadpan cadence he uses incessantly onstage — or is that just his voice? “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to take you away from your other fans. See you on Tuesday, mate.”

And then he turns away, waving over his shoulder as he disappears out the pub doors and into the night. Lando immediately turns to the next fan waiting to speak with him, but something about the night has inexplicably changed for the worse. His smile feels plastic, his enthusiasm more strained than genuine.

After leaving the bar, he finds himself looking around the doors, half-expecting Oscar to emerge from the darkness again and shoot him that infuriating smile of his. But of course, the other man is long gone. 

And Lando walks home alone, burning with shame.

///

The third and final week of the Fringe dawns, and Lando senses that a reckoning is near.

Festival fatigue has set in for most Fringe performers now, taking root so deeply in their bones that most of them barely have the energy to go out for drinks after their sets. 

Lando himself is no exception. He has been curling up beneath the covers of his hotel duvet earlier and earlier each night, unable to keep up with Carlos and Charles’s constant, fervoured partying. Lando’s especially unable to face the possibility of running into Oscar; to see that smile directed at him under the warm fairy lights of some outdoor beer garden. 

All he wants is for the festival to be over, so he can go back home to London, sleep for a week, and forget that he’d ever been upstaged by an amateur comedian from fucking Australia. Who he still can’t stop thinking about.

Performing the same material for two weeks straight grows stale for even the most seasoned comedians. So, in this third and final Fringe week, Lando decides to try something different. 

Ensemble showcases at comedy clubs are more often than not used to test new material on unsuspecting audiences — so what better time to switch up his set than in front of one of the most distinguished festival audiences in the world? 

At worst, he doesn’t get a laugh after one punchline and immediately switches back to his tried and tested material. And at best? He proves himself to be the best improviser in the comedy arena and gives the usurper of his rightfully-deserved final billing slot a run for his money. 

“So, what is it with so many people these days thinking I’m Australian?” he starts one night, in place of his old set closer about papayas. “I was actually down under for a short tour recently, and no matter what I did, all the MCs just kept introducing me as a local comedian. But I’d never been to Australia before that. Don’t have the accent. Have never even tried imitating the accent — I know, right? Aren’t I a saint?

“So, after a couple of nights of letting it slide, I decided to bring it up. I was like, ‘Hey, man, you’ve got to stop telling the crowds I’m Australian. Why do you even think I’m from here, anyway? Is it my hot surfer bod? Is it the fact that I’m kinda sun-kissed and incredibly fuckable? Cause, uh… thank you, but you’re still wrong. About me being Australian, I mean. All the rest of it, you’re toootally right about.”

This gets a fair few laughs from the crowd — Lando’s anecdote is building nicely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar watching his set from the bar, an inexplicable smile forming on his lips. He forces himself to pivot to the opposite end of the crowd, to ignore his urge to storm offstage and grab the other man by the throat, and scream, This is not about you! This is my set!

This is about me!

Every comedian always envisions their jokes being met with at least a modicum of enthusiasm when they’re delivered for the first time. But never in his wildest dreams had Lando expected this strong of a reaction from the audience tonight — certainly not for a joke fresh out of the oven with no feedback in sight. It is a twisty, turny anecdote, one about scandal and mistaken identity with a second punchline that leaves a few audience members braying hysterically. 

By the time he walks off that stage, Lando is convinced that tonight has confirmed which one of them is better, once and for all. He’s done it, now. He’s out-written, out-performed, even out-Australian-ed Oscar. 

The reckoning has come, and Lando has come out on top.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Oscar saunters onstage a few minutes later. He stops. Squints at the crowd. Pulls a sheepish expression and says, “Well, uh… g’day, everyone. It’s me again. Lando Norris.”

And of course, the crowd absolutely. Fucking. Loses it.

So this is what all of Lando’s efforts have come to. Hours spent crafting new jokes, weighing up the risks of debuting untested material in front of a discerning crowd… all for Oscar to ride in on his high horse and deliver his first joke of the night, entirely at Lando’s expense. 

The rest of his set passes in a blur, as Lando seethes and fumes and curses Oscar for taking a comedic opportunity that he knows, deep down, is perfectly fair game. But that taste of victory, the way it felt in his hands before slipping out of his grasp again — Lando’s ego won’t allow him to let go of it just yet.

And so, he launches himself out of his chair before Oscar has even fully left the stage, leaving a bewildered Carlos calling out questions in vain. His footsteps thud angrily on the bare concrete backstage as he makes his way to the green room, shoving its flimsy wooden door open so hard that it bangs against the opposite wall.

Oscar is in there, gratefully chugging down an entire bottle of water only to choke with surprise at Lando’s frenzied entry. When he turns to see who it is, that shit-eating little smile returns — and Lando can’t wait to wipe it off his face once and for all.

“Oh, hey, man!” Oscar caps his bottle, feigning nonchalance — or maybe he really does respect Lando that little; maybe he really just doesn’t give a fuck. “I don’t usually see you back here. What’s up—”

“You little shit!” yells Lando, not caring who can hear him even as he slams the door behind them. “You fucking amateur. You think you can come here with your unfunny little set, and your shitty jokes that say please, please, please laugh at me, and take my fucking top spot on the billing? You think you can do all that and then piggyback off the joke I spent half of this festival writing?!”

Oscar’s eyes widen with genuine shock. Whatever sort of blowback he’d been expecting from Lando had certainly not been this loud or intense in his mind.

The Australian holds up his hands as if to placate him, and Lando can’t tell if the mocking edge to his movements is actually there, or if it’s entirely his imagination. “Dude, hey, no need for that. I would never have built off your joke if I knew you’d object to it. I’m really sorry, okay? If you’re gonna run that bit at the end of your set again, I promise I won’t repeat what I did tonight.”

“It’s not about whether I’m objecting to it now,” Lando replies through gritted teeth. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to make jokes of your fellow comedians like that! What, did you want to fucking rub it in a little harder? An amateur, taking last billing over the guy with the real solo hour and the real Netflix special? Well, fuck you too, dude!”

Oscar flinches slightly at Lando’s grotesque imitation of him. “Lando, I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about, okay? I respect you a lot; I think you’re one of the coolest comedians at the fest. But… isn’t that what we’re all here for? To make jokes out of ourselves?”

Lando chuckles bitterly. “Of course you would say that. You haven’t worked for this for a day in your life, have you?”

He pivots to leave, but is overcome by a fresh wave of self-hatred as Oscar’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Hey, come on. Can’t we talk this out?”

“Oscar! Oscar.” Lando lets out a hysterical laugh. “You don’t need to pretend you want to be my friend any more, alright? There is nothing to talk out! In fact, I would rather not be talking to you at all, because everything you do gets on my last fucking nerve. So let’s just do our last show on Thursday, and not step on each other’s toes, and then we can both go back to never seeing each other again. Okay?”

Oscar blinks. And then, to Lando’s continued frustration, he smiles. Again.

“Nah, hold up. There’s definitely stuff to talk about here. Just… let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.”

“Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.”

Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando; brought to life for once by a wry spark that flickers into being for just a split second. 

“You hate me… and yet you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Lando lets out the most patronising scoff he can muster. “Untalented and delusional. Just when I thought you couldn’t—”

“You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage.” Oscar’s eyes remain locked directly onto his, his tone mirroring the half-dead neutrality of someone reading boring facts off a piece of paper. “You could just go home and call it a night, but you’re always there anyway. Watching a set you hate.”

Lando opens his mouth to speak, and nothing but a shaky, slow exhale hisses out of him. He is spent; a deflated balloon. When he inhales, the air feels stale and used — Oscar is so close now; breaths mingling in the shared air.

“You hate me, so you keep looking for me every night in the audience of your solo hour… and when you do find me, you don’t even look away again, so it’s like you’re delivering your entire set to me alone.”

“You’re insane.” Lando means to spit the line in his face, heroically aggrieved, but it comes out as a plaintive, airy whine instead. He swears he sees the corner of Oscar’s permanently impassive mouth twitch — the ghost of a smug, triumphant smile passing over and through him. 

“You hate me,” Oscar continues, as if Lando hasn’t even said anything. “Which is why you think about me all the time, right? You hate me.”

Lando feels his expression spasm involuntarily. Control over his facial muscles appears to be rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “Yes,” he manages to growl; his voice a ferocious whisper rising from the back of his throat. “I hate you.”

“Okay,” says Oscar — that fucking stupid, guileless, deadpan okay again. Something about the way Oscar says it — the detached sheen that descends over his eyes, the nasal twang of his Australian accent — makes Lando want to punch something. 

But he can’t even feel his fingers; couldn’t clench a fist if he tried. Oscar’s shoulder knocks against his provocatively, daring him to say something. To do something. 

Surely Oscar knows, then, that the proximity of his body to Lando’s is the thing that has neutralised his opponent. He is a cat, toying with the prey he holds immobilised beneath one paw.

He’s enjoying this.

“You hate me,” says Oscar, his face now unfathomably close to Lando’s, “and you definitely don’t want me to kiss you.”

“No.” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a breath on the wind. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

Oscar blinks ever so slowly, those impassive brown eyes like a vortex threatening to swallow Lando whole. His lips part, revealing a flash of teeth — a snarl, a smile; an indecipherable, predatory, in-between thing.

“Then stop me,” he says.

Lando hates the way his voice shakes when he speaks next. “What?”

“Stop me,” Oscar repeats. “You don’t want me to kiss you. So stop me.”

There it is — a real smile now. Tentative. Shy, almost. Oscar may have the upper hand, but he doesn’t know that he’s won.

So Lando does the only thing he knows will catch him off guard. He pushes out with the flats of both palms, shoving Oscar so that he stumbles slightly, balance transferring to his back foot. 

And then, while the surprise is still fresh on his face, Lando grabs the collar of Oscar’s hoodie in both his fists, pulls him back in, and kisses him first.

Time freezes, turning a single moment into eternity. Lando can taste the surprise on Oscar’s lips — and oh, does his little reward taste sweet. 

But neither does it last long. Oscar returns the kiss slowly, tantalisingly… only to shove Lando away just as he eases into the tempo of their shared movements.

“Look at you,” teases Oscar, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever. “All red in the face for the world’s most boring comedian.”

One of Oscar’s hands pushes him back up against the green room wall. The other begins tugging at Lando’s belt buckle slowly, drawing his attention to the fact that he is undeniably, achingly hard. All he can think about still is Oscar’s lips; the burning need he has to shut him up again; to kiss him so long and deep that they both forget how to breathe. 

Yet he can’t move; can’t brandish another witty retort against Oscar’s verbal onslaught. His open palms brace himself against the cool brick walls of the dressing room. The only sound that escapes him, right as Oscar’s hand roughly curls around his cock, is a small, plaintive moan.

“Stop me,” says Oscar, looking him right in the eye; a request for consent disguised as more vicious banter.

Lando sees his opportunity, takes it. “Don’t tell me what to do. Shut the fuck up and finish what you started.”

Oscar’s eyes brighten with a new, mischievous twinkle. His smile grows even more insidious. Contrary to Lando’s expectations, he seems positively delighted that Lando has finally found some bite. 

“Ah.” His brown eyes grow coy. “So you do want this. Maybe I should just go, then. Or maybe I should make you beg for it.”

“Like you beg your audience for laughs?”

Oscar draws closer to Lando once more, his lips hovering just out of reach from where he has Lando pressed against the green room’s walls. Down below, his spit-slicked hand begins working Lando’s dick slowly, to a rhythm that is as delicious as it is infuriating.

“Sure, I may beg,” he says, as Lando’s breath begins to hitch in his throat. “But I also get what I want. Every. Single. Time. And now, you’re going to give me what I want too.”

Lando’s palms, still braced against cold, hard brick, clench inconsequentially into fists as he fights back another moan. “Fat fucking chance.” He barely manages to get the words out from between gritted teeth as Oscar’s thumb tantalisingly circles the head of his cock, right as he begins to speak.

Oscar’s eyes widen with mock surprise. His hand all but stops moving, his grip loosens… and to Lando’s embarrassment, the shock of it is so jarring that he lets out a pathetically loud whimper.

“Okay.” There it is, that hatefully deadpan delivery sending a fresh rush of blood to his erection even as Oscar withdraws. “That’s cool. Let’s call it a night, then.”

For a moment, Lando actually falls for Oscar’s feint. The sudden void left by Oscar’s hands, no longer on Lando’s chest or cock, is wholly unbearable. A wave of embarrassment courses through him, as he struggles to pull his briefs back up with trembling fingers. “Fucking arsehole.”

Oscar lashes out almost faster than Lando can process, both hands snatching up his own and pinning them to the wall. “I’ll ask again,” he says teasingly. “Are you going to give me what I want?”

“What the fuck do you want?!” Lando’s growl is equal parts anger and desperation.

“Tell me I’m not boring.”

“No way.”

Oscar’s right hand loosens on Lando’s left, returning to caress Lando’s cock slowly — too slowly.

“Tell me. I’m not. Boring.”

“No fucking way.”

In response to this, Oscar tightens his grip, moving slightly faster again… and Lando understands the rules of the game now. He has to grudgingly respect Oscar’s ruthlessness when it comes to flipping the rules whenever he wants — especially if this is the effect it’s having on him offstage.

“Say it, Lando. Give me what I want.”

“You’re a hack,” he retorts, as forcefully as he can in between shaking breaths, while Oscar’s hand moves faster with every vitriolic syllable that falls from his lips. “You being in this show was a total fluke. You are painfully. Fucking. Unentertaining.”

“Am I, now?”

Lando presumes the question is rhetorical, but his lack of a response earns him another sudden stop that makes him choke with surprise.

“Am I?” Oscar repeats.

“Yes,” whines Lando, even as he senses a new trap being set. The return of Oscar’s smug grin confirms his instincts barely a second later.

“Aw,” he coos, voice dripping with toxic endearment. “You’re a good comedian… but a veeeery bad liar.”

Lando can barely speak through the pressure building in his chest. Through the frustration of his imminent orgasm being withheld yet again, Oscar diabolically slows his pace. “I’m… not… lying.”

“Are you sure?”

Faster once more, to Lando’s relief.

“Cause if I’m so unentertaining…”

Faster, and faster, and faster—

“…then why was it so easy to make you come?”

And Oscar steps away deftly, just in time, as Lando makes an absolute mess of himself.

A strange, potent cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and elation bubbles through the haze of Lando’s post-orgasm brain fog. A hand on his shoulder brings him out of his reverie — Oscar has brought over a towel from the green room rack.

The Australian’s brown eyes search his again. No trace of mischief or malice remains in them. Now, they are just curious… and, dare he say it, kind.

“You okay?” he asks.

Lando just nods as he wipes himself off, still too buzzed to speak.

“Okay. Good. Phew!” Oscar smiles, and it is a real one this time; a cheek-to-cheek beam with a hundred megawatts of charm. “I don’t usually do that without dinner and drinks first, by the way. But you can buy me a beer tomorrow before the show to make up for it. Sounds good?”

Lando’s head jerks back up to look at Oscar. The earnest expression on his face catches him completely off guard. There are clearly no more games left to play now — all that’s left is to decide where they go from here. And Oscar has clearly already decided for the both of them.

But the change in tone is still as absurd as it is welcome, bringing with it relief… and amusement.

Lando cracks a smile — small, at first, but it grows and grows.

“Sounds great,” he says.

And then for the first time, as Oscar looks on, he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[mirensiart]

Hey ! How are you doing?

I first want to apologize because english isn't my mother tongue so it can be quite messy.

I wanted to say that I love your artstyle. It has something so warm and soft ! And your Pain Sharing comic is so cool and funny i really love it !

I've got a question about that. I saw a lot of people asking about nightmare and wound, but nothing about sickness (or I haven't seen it).

So how does it work with sickness? I mean is everybody feeling a bit dizzy and under the weather or does it share only painful stuff like headach... What can you consider as painful in sickness?

Thank you and continue your amazing work!

Love from Switzerland 🇨���🫶

Aaah your English is great, don't worry about it! It's also my second language so we're in this together hehe

And aah thank you 💖🥹 I'm glad you think so!

Hmm that's actually a good question, nobody has asked that before!

If someone were dizzy, the dizziness wouldn't transfer, but if that link were to say, fall caused by the dizziness, then the others would feel the pain of the fall

So yes to your question that they would only feel stuff like a headache

When it comes to sickness, if one of them gets the flu, then what would transfer would be the muscle/body pain, headache and/or stomachache

And aah thanks to you, you're so sweet!

And greetings from Chile 🇨🇱✌️

[jacarandaaaas]

I notice how (most of) the fandom likes to pin Mirabel as motherly but...Camilo's right there. I can see him getting strict when he needs to be or blurts out the right advice at the right time...which literally shocks everyone when he does but still. In other words, he's the "mom/dad" friend that everybody needs at the right time.

He takes care of kids all day + Is a natural caretaker like Julieta is. We don't know much of his personality other than "mischievous" but taking care of kids from an early age can surely make someone responsible and mature overtime.

Mirabel isn't the town babysitter; she has her own things going on. And I know she loves kids and all, but she strikes more as an older sister/ "aunt who gives you the candy you aren't supposed to have" kind of gal than a motherly type. Don't get me wrong, I honestly think she's good with advice too, but Camilo comes in a close second.

Yet, there's literally a tag on ao3 that's "Mirabel Madrigal acting as Antonio Madrigal's parental figure" that belongs to 94 fics. It's not a lot but still.

I'm okay with it being an au and all, have your fun, but Camilo takes care of kids on a regular basis. Shouldn't he be the one that's seen as parental?

It would be funny to see the slacker get fed up with someone's antics and start scolding like a parent would. I'm sure when it happens it makes the person do a double take because it's not something he does often. Rarely even.

So, when it does happen, it's shocking.

It would be nice to have Camilo be painted as someone who is emotionally mature. Maybe not to the extent of Mirabel, but like I said, he takes care of children. That has to make someone emotionally mature to some extent.

It would be nice to see Camilo not painted as a jerk for once. Sure, he's incredibly blunt but not a jerk! And yes, he's a teen boy, he's going to feel emotions like one, but we SAW him giving tea to his mom when she was freaking out.

Not jerk teenager would do that unless they were forced too. Camilo isn't forced, he wants his mama to be calm so SHE can feel a little better. We can see that by the way he's talking to her.

It would be hilarious to see Camilo using a chancla on someone (maybe a bully who's harassing Mirabel) and ending it with-

"AND DON'T THINK YOUR PARENTS WON'T HEAR ABOUT THIS!"

Sorry for the rant, I didn't intend for it to get that long.

anon you are speaking my language!! I’ve talked about my dislike for parentified mirabel before so it’s nice to see I’m not alone on that!

camilo definitely has a more nurturing side and we see it as early as the opening song! Whilst I wouldn’t go as far to say he acts like a parent he definitely knows how to discipline children and is just naturally good at dealing with them! I would love to see more content that talks about how caring camilo is (I am sick of the jerk camilo thing he’s not heartless guys!) I can definitely see him as more experienced with kids than mirabel as he’s the babysitter she’s more just the fun one who hangs around with them! it’s a very different dynamic as we don’t really see mirabel necessarily looking after kids only entertaining them! As for your point on camilo being emotionally mature I would have to agree! the mothers wouldn’t trust him with their kids if they thought he would be irresponsible! he definitely knows how to scold them even if it’s surprising when it happens! I’m glad you mentioned the tea scene, as I think it shows a different side to camilo! he is caring and he’s good at comforting people! he isn’t gonna try make a situation worse he cares about his mother and wants to assure her! and I hate when people use that scene against pepa too! it is normal to make your mother tea weirdos!!! I love that scene despite how brief it is and we see glimpses of that side of camilo in the comics too!

As for mirabel 100% agree! she definitely strikes me as someone the kids would view as the cool older best friend much more than a parental figure. They don’t want to make her mad because in their eyes she’s cool! she’s fun and entertaining and they don’t want to make her mad! it’s not the case of a parent where it’s they know they’ll get in trouble for it! that’s partly what inspired my camp counselor au lmao! the fact mirabel is so good with kids in a way she makes them feel validated she doesn’t reprimand them she is someone they view as a friend! The mirabel is antonios mother fic genre is one I completely avoid i love their relationship because she is so much more of an older sister figure to him! I’ve said before I don’t like these fics so I tend to avoid them even if I don’t really read fics anymore lmao!

but I agree with most of your points! camilo is always seen as the fun one whilst mirabel is the parental one when in canon it’s the other way around! that’s not to say camilo isn’t fun because he absolutely is but we see him actually babysitting we see mirabel just hanging out with kids for fun! what I really need to see is mirabel and camilo as a babysitting duo that would be so fun!! both of them are 15 and deserve to have fun!! let mirabel have fun!! I would love to see more stuff involving camilos nurturing side for sure though!

[dcafanzine]

Hi everyone! We’re super excited to start introducing our contributors! Let’s let them introduce themselves!

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Hey! I'm Gilly and I'm a spot artist for the Main Zine! I have participated in other zines before, but this is the first one after a break, and I'm exiced to see the final result! I cannot pinpoint exactly when I the DCA wormed into my brain and settled in as my new hyperfixation, but I remember around September scrolling mindlessly through Tumblr and seeing some fanart and thinking "uh, neat", and the next thing I knew is I was drawing fanart. I am so happy to have the opportunity of participating on this zine, everybody is so nice and I am so glad to be part of this fandom ^^

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Helloo! My name's sunny, and I'm a Bonus page artist for the backstage pass in our lovely DCA Fanzine! This is my first time in a fanzine and I'm genuinely so excited to be here!!

Ill be honest I was roped into the DCA Community by a couple of friends of mine, and that turned into a slip and slide of a whole lot of ocs and fun! I may not be as involved in the fandom anymore but I still love seeing the two goobers as they remind me of fun memories!

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Helloooooo new friend!!! I’m Sinnabee - I go by Sinna or Sam! I’m lucky enough to be one of the merch artists for the main Glitches and Glitterglue Zine, as well as a Page Artist for the bonus Zine! I’m SUPER excited - this is my second time participating in a Zine, and I can’t wait for everybody to see what we have planned! I fell in love with the DCA by accident ~~and against my will~~ when I kept seeing cute art and comics on tumblr! Eventually fic sucked me in, and I’ve been happily doodling these funky little jester boys for 3 years since! <3

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[bluejaysandblackbats]

One in the Chamber

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Titans, Justice League

Summary: AU where Jason dies under different circumstances, changing Bruce's life forever.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Barbara Gordon, Grant Emerson, Eddie Bloomberg, Danny Chase

Relationship(s): TBA

Additional Tags: Jason Todd Dies, Bruce Wayne Hallucinates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson Have a Complicated Relationship, Bruce Wayne's POV

Chapter Two: Kids

I remember Jason fresh out of the hospital when I dream of him. He’s lethargic, slumped to one side in his chair. His head is shaved completely because the doctors left it uneven when they performed the surgery. His eyes are sunken in as he stares into space. He doesn’t speak in these dreams. He groans continuously. It’s a lingering noise that haunts me always. I never dream of him as I want to. I always see him like this. There’s an emptiness in his eyes like all the fight’s left his body. I push him along in his chair, and he waves a hand to stop me. Then, I hear a sound that wakes me out of my sleep. A gun pops, and I don’t have enough time to see what happens next before I wake up sweating and shaking. 

I got up and searched for Jason until Dick grabbed me. “Jason’s not here,” Dick whispered, “Jason’s gone. He—.”

I don’t remember what happened afterward. My mind went back to Jason. Fresh out of the hospital and leaning in his chair. I remember our first dinner together. Dick stopped by to join us. “I’d like to make a toast,” Dick announced, “Here’s to home-cooked meals and housebound brothers.”

Jason half-smiled and raised his glass with his left hand. The attack made him weak on his right side, so he started favoring his left. He tried to speak, but we saw in his face that he was lost. A weak, slurred laugh to save face rolled off his tongue and his eyes drooped. We knew he was tired, but he came to dinner anyway. Finally, the words found him. “Glad to be h-hhhome. Thanks,” Jason stammered. 

Dick smiled, but he had tears in his eyes. He cried a lot when Jason was in the hospital. He held back tears every day Jason was lucid enough to notice. It was little hiccups like that that made Dick hold his breath and tear up. I couldn’t blame him. We almost lost Jason completely. “Did you tell Donna I said hi?” 

In my head, I always commended him when he got through a whole sentence. Maybe he could see it in my eyes because he shut down every time he looked at me. I tried to stop, but it was a knee-jerk reaction. Jason closed his eyes and turned away from me. “I did. She’ll stop by once she’s over and done with her mission,” Dick replied. 

“How’s Roy? Is the baby okay?” Jason asked. 

“He’s good. Lian’s good… He loves being a dad,” Dick smiled.

Jason smiled as he scooped up his macaroni. “You—? You ever thought about it?” Jason questioned. 

Dick set his fork down. “About what?” Dick asked in reply. 

“Kids,” Jason whispered, “Do you ever w—?” Jason stalled as he tried to force the word out. “Want kids?”

Dick rubbed his neck and looked down at his plate with wide eyes. “Well, sure. Why are you asking?” Dick replied. Jason chuckled.

“Dunno… Just thought it’d be nice,” Jason replied, “Little people… Learning to walk... Learning to talk... Learning to eat—.”

“Jason—.”

“I’m just saying. It’d be nice. Maybe I’d have some company while you were on missions. Would you still—?” Jason gestured with the roll of a hand. 

“Well, Jason. I don’t know. I’m not having kids anytime soon. Besides, you’d be back on your feet before any kid of mine would be born,” Dick replied. 

“Why’s the question making you so nervous?” Jason asked. “You’d be good… A good dad. Kids love you… I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Dick’s jaw tightened. Jason had no malice in him. He was wiped out by a simple conversation and a meal. He had no energy for arguments. “I know… It’s a weird time for me right now. Transitional time for everybody… It must be one of those years. When everything smooths out I’ll let you know,” Dick replied. 

“Wh—? What about you, Bruce? You ever thought about babies? Having—? Having any? Adopting any?” Jason asked. 

“I’m the last person—.”

“It might be good for—. For you. You don’t laugh anymore. I’d like it if you laughed,” Jason whispered. He looked down as he said it, frowning as if it were his fault. 

“Jason… I laugh,” I replied. Jason nodded. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t argue with me. Jason stopped arguing with me after the attack. I swallowed hard and took a sip of wine with my dinner. 

That’s how I remember Jason. He wasn’t that way the night it happened, but if I remember him upright… Walking. Laughing. Talking like he didn’t have a care in the world. I remember him at his most vulnerable because it makes more sense. I can’t remember him that night because he was so alive. Too alive. I can’t handle him that way.

**

Dick’s sobbing woke me out of my sleep. I walked down the hall, disconnected from my body as I opened the door. Which door? Not sure. Don’t know. I opened the door and looked at Dick on his knees, his face pressed into Jason’s olive green tartan throw blanket. I always liked that blanket. “He needs you,” Jason whispered. I could almost feel his hand on my arm. I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. “You are not a son-less father. Don’t leave Dick as a fatherless son.”

“Dick,” I whispered. Dick wouldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop crying. So, I grabbed him and pulled him into my arms. It wasn’t in my nature to hold. I wasn’t a soft place to fall. I was stern, cold, and Dick was—. He was warm. He threw his arms around my child, shaking and sobbing like a child. I rubbed his back. 

“He should be in his bed,” Dick wept. I couldn’t think about it. I let the words pass through my ears. I didn’t want to hear him. I didn’t want to think about it. A knock at the door. The doorbell chimed. 

Detective O’Halloran. 

I told Dick to stay put before I headed down the stairs. I made my way down with an urgency, passing by Alfred on the way. “Master—.”

“I’ve got it, Alfred,” I interrupted as I answered the door. “Detective…”

“I understand this is a bad time for you, and your family—.” 

“I just woke up… What—?” I paused, looking down at the sweatshirt and then my hands. I hadn’t showered. I still had Jason’s blood on my hands. “Can we talk out here? I don’t want to upset my other son any more than I already have.”

She nodded and sat on the porch with me. “More than you have?” Detective O’Halloran questioned. 

It came to me in flashes. I tried to suppress it. I tried to push it down. Forget it. Erase it. The craving for vengeance that came with the memory. I couldn’t think of the man’s face under the stocking cap. I couldn’t think about how the gun was pointed at me. Meant for me. That bullet was mine. The blood should’ve been mine. Jason should’ve been the witness to the crime. Not the victim. 

“The gun. He pointed the gun at me. The shooter had the gun on me. I didn’t have time to hear what he was saying before Jason—. He jumped in front of me and I heard a bang. Jason turned toward me, and he had his hands—. One hand on his stomach. The blood just sort of—. It gushed out through his fingers,” I swallowed hard and shut my eyes. “He reached for me, and his fingers got caught in my buttons. They popped off and hit the ground on his way down. I caught him like—. I caught him like this.” I pantomimed a hugging motion. “His body was limp and he slipped through as he crumpled to the ground.” Then, my mind drifted. I knew what she wanted to hear, but I told her what happened and how I saw it, how I felt it. “I didn’t let his head hit the ground. I let him lay over my lap as I pressed my hand over his. He said, ‘It’s okay. It’s okay,’ but he couldn’t say it clearly. Blood came out of his mouth. He spit up blood. Threw it up. Choked on it. Someone called the police, and he looked at me with wild eyes. They danced. Back and forth, looking past me at the stars in the sky. And he touched my neck. I think he missed my face. He touched my neck, his thumb grazing my throat as he—.” 

Jason stood behind her, crossing his arms. “That’s not what she wants to know. She needs a description, Bruce. Let her do her job. Let her find him, so you won’t,” Jason replied. 

“Why were you in the alley?” Detective O’Halloran asked. 

“It was his birthday. He wanted to open up a clinic for single mothers. I thought it was a great idea, so we went to scope out the abandoned building near the theater… And he wanted to come down Crime Alley where we met—. Why? Do you think it was my fault?” I asked. “It probably was my fault.” I ran a hand through my hair. 

“Mr. Wayne, it wasn’t your fault. We’re just sifting through the details. Did your assailant say anything or take anything from either of you?” Detective O’Halloran questioned. 

“No. He didn’t—. He didn’t take anything. And I told you I didn’t hear anything. I saw the gun, and I saw Jason jump between us. The gun went off before Jason jumped in front of us. I remember that because I tensed up. My shoulders were up before Jason could step in front of me,” I answered. 

“Old habits die hard. Can’t say I’m sorry for doing it—.” 

I shook my head. “It isn’t how you remember—?”

“It is. I just—. I’m distracted,” I whispered. Jason told me he jumped over Sheila to shield her from the blast. He was too small to cover her completely. She died anyway. I knew he felt guilty about it. He couldn’t protect her in those last few moments. So, he must’ve believed he atoned for that failure by saving me. I didn’t want to be saved. I wanted Jason to live a full life. He lived half a life, and he died holding my hand. His cold little hand going limp in mine will haunt me forever.

[askcometcare]

OOC- OKAY idk if this makes any sense or is contradicted by canon cuz I’m super new here (like I discovered cometcare yesterday and binged the entire thing on the mobile app so I’m not super caught up on everything-) but like, what if Sly is hesitant about sharing her art becuase of how Howie reacted to her confession for him when they were little??

Like- in the one image of Sly talking to Howie when they were super little, we can see that Sly is holding up art that she (presumably) drew- maybe she confessed with a drawing or smth and Howie said something that hurt her feelings and she just stopped showing people her art?? idk if this is making any sense I’m sorry 😭😭

(Also I really love this comic, it means everything to me Tysm for making it <333)

OOC: No, the art thing has nothing to do with Howie actually! That drawing I posted on Toyhouse was long before Howie found out anything. Howie didn't find out how Sly felt until Sly was like, 12. She liked pup for years before then.

She stopped showing people her art when she was like 13-ish when she became isolative and shut everybody out like I mentioned in that post.

Welcome to the AU, glad you're enjoying it!!! 💞