#Dark Reflections Zine

[purpleenma]

Teaser of my three mirror!Spirk illustrations for the Dark Reflections zine.

Coming soon.

[achromant]

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

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

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

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

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

[Long Text Ahead]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until he met Molly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mordremoth came, but with him new allies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After that, the stars themselves. Astralaria.

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

[kotalinejones]

THE HIGH PRIESTESS-

One of two Tarot themed illustrations I did for a Fire Emblem horror zine. I picked The High Priestess for Azura to represent her role as the liaison between the seen and the unseen, darkness and light, and the hidden knowledge she's cursed to bear alone. I chose to represent the moon above her in a reflection of the water, but made the ghostly Vallite hands clinging to her shaped roughly like a crescent. I wanted to show the burden of her responsibility, which I feel is one of the most interesting concepts she plays into. :)

[darkreflections-zine]

Dark Reflections is now accepting submissions!

Dark Reflections is an all-Trek zine focusing on the Mirror Universe and other dark universes. We welcome the dark, the macabre, the unsavoury and the morally dubious.

Please read the FAQ under the cut before submitting anything. Feel free to join our Discord server for quick answers to questions, hanging out with other submitters, beta reader requests, and work reminders.

Submissions close October 10th. Send submissions to ollieaster@gmail.com

FAQ

What counts as a mirror universe?

According to Fanlore, a mirror universe is any alternate universe which is a dark reflection (pun intended) of the original. Whether this is the mirror universe we see in the shows or in beta canon, or a completely new universe that is simply not as kind to our characters as the original is up to you. Keep in mind that this zine focuses on and embraces the more "evil" aspects of those universes.

What can I submit to the zine?

Writing (fic and poetry) and art (traditional or digital, including comics) can all be submitted. We don't accept manips, meta essays (essays written in-universe may be allowed), mood boards, or anything that can't be printed, such as vids and podfics. Fics must not exceed 25,000 words, though depending on quality and number of submissions we may choose more, shorter works over fewer, longer ones. There is no lower limit for writing. Art must be completed, which means no sketches. Traditional art should be scanned, 300p. Written files should be .docx or .pdf, and art files should be .png, .jpg or .tiff. Links to Google Docs are also accepted.

Is there anything I can't write about?

Despite this zine embracing and encouraging potentially controversial subject matters, there are a few things we won't accept. Generally speaking, though, unless you're writing nazi roleplay erotica (for example) we're not likely to reject your fic on subject matter alone.

What show/ship/characters does the zine focus on?

Ideally, all of them. We'd like for this to be an all-Trek zine. However, if we get an overwhelming majority of one series we may end up rejecting a single work from a different one, even if it normally would have gotten in, just to keep everything cohesive. Either way, we will not accept OC-centric works.

Can I submit a work that has been published somewhere else? e.g. AO3, another zine, ect.

No. We only accept new works.

Does my work need to be beta read before submission?

Preferably, yes. We will edit works which have been accepted and which require it. All works in the zine will match in editing style, though we'll try to keep the author's style intact.

If I submit multiple works, how many are likely to get in?

We would prefer to give as many creators an opportunity to participate as possible, but if there is room or your works are particularly fitting, we will include multiple.

Do I need experience to submit works?

No. We will gladly accept works from new creators.

Do I need to join the discord server to participate?

No. The server gives you easier access to the editor, granting quicker answers to any questions you may have, as well as general accountability and greater sense of community, but that is all.

How do you match fic and art?

Ideally, we will have some solid matches from the get-go. If necessary, we will ask submitters who have volunteered to pinch hit for fics with no art. Art with no matches will separate poems or end up on one of the covers.

Will there be merch?

Possibly.

After the zine is published, can I post my work to AO3/social media?

We reserve printing rights for six months after publication (the day printed zines will be shipped). After that, you may do with your work as you wish.

How much will the zine cost?

This depends on a number of factors. However, we will endeavour to keep the zine as cheap as possible. We cannot legally make money off of fanworks, nor do we wish to. A free pdf copy of the zine will be sent to everyone who has purchased a physical copy, and these digital copies will be available to purchase at a much discounted price.

I have another question that isn't listed here.

Shoot us an ask! All asks are tagged #qna to make finding them easier. Please check if we have answered your question there before sending a new one.

[decademia]

Dark academia letter inserts ideas

(medieval literature and religion edition)

A bookmark or postcard with an image of a medieval artwork or manuscript page;

A mini-print or sticker of an icon or painting of a female saint or mystic, such as Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich;

A small packet of incense or a tea bag with a note that refers to the use of incense or herbal teas in medieval religious practices. I'd go for vanilla, cinnamon, or lavender.

A handwritten quote from the book that you recently read and found particularly interesting or inspiring, and/or a personal reflection on how this book has affected your own thinking.

A small charm or talisman, such as a crucifix or a feather.

A mini-zine or booklet that you made, featuring artwork, poetry, or your own reflections.

A small piece of fabric or ribbon that you've hand-dyed using natural dyes, such as madder or indigo, as a nod to the medieval practice of dyeing textiles with natural materials.

A handwritten letter or note on parchment-style paper, sealed with a wax stamp or a piece of washi tape, as a nod to medieval correspondence.

[flowers-of-io]

the first knife

My piece for the Final Shapes Zine (@finalityzine) , which you can see in full here <3 // Read on Ao3

It was |supposed to be| a garden world.

All mythologies begin with a utopia. It is a universal condition, perhaps, the wanting to believe the world was, in its unblemished natural state, good—and an indication of the foolish hope it may yet in the end circle back to goodness. A dream of small minds, some would say. But you had never shared their sentiment.

Morality, of course, is subjective, and you’d known as much long before you stopped believing in your own self-created cosmology. No one outcome of a game is more noble or more wicked than any other unless you are one of the players. The propelling force of the universe is the desire to keep on existing—so perhaps, from a certain point of view, it is the drive to live which is the only moral good. Everything wants to exist, and the cessation of one life allows another to exist and thrive; life and death and life and death and life and death, locked in a dance than never ends. But for you it had never been a matter of morality; not in any critical manner, anyway. It was simple and entirely neutral, majestic in its plainness, a sharp needle-point of a compass piercing a way through the mayhem and cruelty you witnessed around you. A universal explanation for a chaotic universe. If there had ever been a tenet you could say you truly admired, it would have been this.

It was supposed to be a garden world, and a garden is no less good or evil whether it is wilted or thriving. Growth without withering is cancerous, festering and crawling out like rats to infect the outside, until it stops being a garden, until it does not resemble anything more than a putrid mass of not-even-life trapped in perpetual limbo.

It was with this thought that you set out on your celestial crusade, back when you still believed the universe had been destined for goodness. You wouldn’t have admitted it—and you certainly wouldn’t admit it now, if you still cared to self-reflect on this—but the fearful anger that would go on to guide your hand had been there already, by then; deep down, eating at your core.

You harboured no ill will toward her. That was what you told yourself.

In truth, the anger was already burning within you, and the fear festered just underneath. Words bubbling on your lips which she offered no response to, accusations you’d hurl at her silent face staring down at you with infinite patience. Her gaze, full of nothing but unalloyed hope, jeering at your questions that would bump off of her surface with a mocking echo, only stoking the fire at your core.

You had grown resentful of her silence. For once, just once, you wanted to make her talk.

You only strived to make things better. You had your great ideals and your beliefs and tenets, your centuries of reasoning and volumes of scientific proof. You wanted to bring back the harmony: to preserve the natural goodness of the world, to tend to the garden. You were noble, and right, and the fate of the universe rested on your shoulders. And you thought you were prepared.

You found it at the edges of the cosmos—a sisterly shape, a vault of answers you had been crying out through the dark after, a perfectly-balanced weight. You brought it home (because you still had a home back then, that deplorable bolthole of spears and walls, do you remember?) and all that time it sang to you, in its strange, resonant voice so unlike the hum of Light you had known. You aligned it, and it snapped into place as if pulled by the magnetism of an opposite charge—and nothing stayed your hand, not a single whisper of doubt slipping past your carefully constructed rationale. You created the link.

The scream that she let out, it threatened to turn your brains into liquid.

In the years to come, you’d rarely concern yourself with that moment. It was what came after that mattered. But at that point of contact, in those few fickle seconds, you had her laid bare like an exposed nerve, screaming blinding-white, cutting through to your core. The closest she had ever been.

In that moment, you met her there.

She was all fear and pain, sharp with a bitter undercurrent of sorrow|betrayal. For once, there was genuine emotion, something you could relate to, something mirroring your own fear. She had not expected that. It felt like victory, then, like pushing a knife into the soft underbelly of a thick-shelled creature, and you told yourself it was necessary.

You saw her eyes, sad and scared. They seemed to be saying, I loved—

The link snapped like an old mooring rope, sending you reeling. Before you could gather your bearings, she ran, a white shape disappearing among nebulas.

The Veil was still there, singing softly just under the lid of your many consciousnesses. You stood, many faces upturned to the sky and many hands flexing in shocked horror, a roar that held no meaning pushing its way past many lips. The weight of absence slowly settled, and with it your rage, stoked by the change of pressure.

In the ages to come, you would go on to learn the inherent power of emotions, these strings of the soul, and the finesse art of playing them. You would go on to learn many things, and the foundations of your philosophy would suffer many a change as you slithered across the universe on your righteous crusade. You would commit acts beautiful and monstrous, and they would each fall at your feet like pruned weeds all the same, because a garden is no less good or evil whether it is wilted or thriving. For now, this was only your first metamorphosis—the first trimming of branches.

The Veil hummed. The sky yawned empty.

You reached for a knife, and discovered you were already holding one.

[astralarias]

The Hope of the World - COYH Zine

Hi!! Here is my completed fic I wrote for the GW2 Commander of your Heart Zine! It was so much fun to take part and I hope you enjoyed seeing all the gorgeous art and wonderful writing from all involved.

My piece was a reflection on Jioxa and how she feels she fits into the world, her place in it as Commander. It is set in an ambiguous dream-vision, but no matter how real, a visit from an old dear friend gives her the encouragement she needs to stay strong.

1.5k words | Implied Trahearne/Commander | No content warnings

She dreams of him, sometimes.

Nights when the buzz of thoughts in her head give rise to great thunderstorms, when all her doubts and fears crash down upon her. Torrential, unending.

She dreams of him, and he becomes her safe haven from the storm. His presence is like the serenity of the full moon on a clear night; quiet, soft, watchful. It’s in these fleeting moments that Jioxa finds peace, or something close to it.

It never lasts. She wakes to a world rocked by Dragons and Gods, the chaos she wrought upon the world heavy in her veins like lead. It was the only choice, and she knows this, but knowledge isn’t feeling, and oh, how she feels. She laments, for Soo-won especially, source of all, who Jioxa only knew in her pain and torment.

But she dreams of him, and often she wishes in dreams she could stay.

Tonight is one such night. The day had been long and arduous, leaving her body aching and her mind clouded. Sleep found her easier than usual, and the waking world gave way to a more pleasant illusion.

She sits on a precipice, overlooking a soft darkness dotted with a million stars. The spiral arm of the galaxy stretches out from beneath her feet to far above her head, purple and blue and gold. Eternal Alchemy in its most beautiful form. She’s wearing a simple, comfortable outfit, and her long black hair is loose, settled around her shoulders.

He’s beside her.

Trahearne. As he was - as she remembers - before Maguuma. Back when the world was - not easier, but simpler. He turns to her, and the smile he gives warms her heart. She meets his eyes, her bright orange to his yellow, and he blurs in her vision as tears well up.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, taking his hand in her own, running her thumbs over the bumps and imperfections. The physicality of him, even in a dream - she’s missed it dearly.

“As have I, dearheart,” Trahearne replies, and her heart flutters, his love for her almost flowing between them. As if she was like him. As if she could feel what he felt, as he could do with his own kind. It’s a bitter thought, that whatever they had was not as deep as it could have been, were she - sylvari. She chokes down the word her brain had initially supplied, better.

It isn’t that she hates who she is, but she can’t discount the nights she’s spent laying awake, wishing she was more. More ‘asura’, more intelligent, more lovable. He makes her feel like she’s enough, but she wishes she could be more than enough for him. To connect with him, through thought and feeling alone; who wouldn’t yearn for that?

She sighs. As her parents had always said, thinking was like kneading dough. Helpful and necessary, but go on for too long and your bread would become chewy and tough. Think too much, and you’ll spin yourself into despair. Ugh. She wrinkles her nose. She’s using her parent’s metaphors, now? She’s getting old.

She shakes her head to clear the unwanted worries, and looks back up to the serene sylvari beside her.

“Trahearne,” she says, “can I ask you something?”

His gaze softens, warms like the spring sun. “You know you need not ask. What troubles you?”

She knows this is all an elaborate play orchestrated by her tired mind, but his presence is as comforting as it had been in life. She leans against him, and he moves his arm around her shoulder to hold her.

“Why me?” Jioxa begins. “Throughout everything, I was your first choice. You could have chosen someone better, after we killed Zhaitan. Someone - a soldier, a tactician, someone braver and stronger. Why did you stick with me? What did I bring to - to everything?”

For a moment the world hangs in silence, as heavy as a brick. When he speaks, gentle, she lets out a breath of relief. She’d almost wondered if she’d done something wrong, made some transgression by asking. The last dregs of her fear melt away as he tugs her closer.

“My heart, you underestimate yourself,” he says. “I didn’t need a soldier; indeed, I had plenty. I didn’t need bravery or strength, although you displayed both in troves, more than I had any right to ask of you. I needed you, yourself. A pure, kind heart, and a voice to inspire courage, to light the way through the dark and keep that light ablaze when I could not. Had you not been by my side, I - and the Pact - would have faltered in our first steps.”

He pauses, looking down at her with eyes full of warm sincerity. “You brought to me something more valuable than all the armies of Tyria combined. Hope. Something that had evaded my grasp for the longest time, after all those years in Orr.”

She feels heavy tears stream down her cheeks, although she doesn’t recall starting to cry. She’s silent, words slipping between her fingers despite how she scrambles to hold onto them. His own words are everything to her, a lifeline - but she can’t quite bring herself to believe him.

Trahearne turns to her, a slight furrow to his leafy brow. She sniffles, trying to wipe away her tears - unsuccessfully, as they don’t seem in any mood to stop.

“Jioxa,” he says, near a whisper. “May I show you something?”

Curiosity flickers in her chest, stirring her heart. The tears stop, and she fixes him with a quizzical look, her ears pricking up a little. Words are still beyond her, but she manages an eager nod. Whatever Trahearne has to show her, she knows it will be worthwhile.

He smiles, reaches out, and presses his hand to her forehead.

The cosmic environment fades out into a dizzying rush of color for a brief few moments. As the world stabilizes again, she finds herself in a familiar environment. Unearthly birdsong echoes in the distance, and great, towering coral colors the otherwise bleak landscape.

Orr.

And….a Pact camp. She and Trahearne stand behind a stack of crates, hidden from view of the soldiers, who lounge around a blazing campfire. Of the faces she can see, she notes a human, a charr, and a norn. There are two other figures, their backs turned. An asura, and a sylvari.

The asura is small, lithe, lively. They stand on a small box, gesturing wildly with their hands as they recall a story. It’s clearly exaggerated beyond all belief, but the others around the fire seem enraptured. Their eyes shine, their expressions ones of joy despite the war-torn environs.

The asura comes to the conclusion of their story, and the others clap and cheer. Jioxa smiles to herself. She’s not sure what Trahearne is showing her, here, but it warms her to see these people’s happiness.

The asura takes an over-dramatic bow and turns to clamber down from the box. Jioxa swears her heart stops, for a few moments.

It’s her.

Much younger, scrawnier, but undeniably her. Her face - her eyes shining with pride, her little ears, and that ponytail she used to wear day-in, day-out. She swallows the lump in her throat, turning to look up at Trahearne, who stands silent beside her.

“Why-”

“Look,” he says, softly, kneeling down to her level. “Look around, dearheart. Look at those soldiers; they’ve all lost friends this day. This was one of the hardest battles of the war against Zhaitan, and yet - you were there, always. To bring even the slightest joy to a place like Orr is no small feat, yet you did it as if nothing was more natural. You never stopped bringing hope and joy to these people, even when you, too, were scared and reeling. You were their guiding light. As you were mine.”

Raw emotion writhes in Jioxa’s chest, and she blinks back yet more tears. She glances back out at the soldiers gathered around the campfire. Trahearne is right; they look at the other-her with nothing short of adoration, reverence. She is not just their Commander; she is their reason to keep going, through all the death and despair of the Dragon.

With everything that had been going on at the time - when this scene was real - she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been doing nothing more than being herself, fearful and flawed but her, no mask, no shield.

Her gaze wanders back to Trahearne. She meets his eyes. He’s smiling, and she takes a moment to bask in his pride, lets it wash over her like sunlight. Then, she nods. Wordless, but that is all he needs; she understands. He hugs her close to him, and in his arms she closes her eyes as the scene fades away once again. She clings to his warmth and safety for as long as she can, until her consciousness fades into a soothing void, the dream - or was it more than that? - giving way to sleep.

When she wakes, it is back in her bed, and the reality of Trahearne’s absence squeezes at her heart. A familiar ache, now. But for the first time in longer than she can recall, a sense of peace permeates her mind. She opens her eyes, taking a deep breath. A brighter future is waiting for her to light the way.

[zarvasace]

you said "original" so i'm saying "original" but also you know i'm always interesting in seeing more vio and shadow >:)

Always >:)

This first bit is from a WIP I forgot existed! It's a little original fantasy story, and the goal was to keep it at around 5-10k for a zine that never came out, so the latest complete draft is about 8k. I came up with five characters and sent them on a quest to defeat an evil sorceress!

Niklas shrugged and repeated the introductions, continuing his gestures the whole time. “That’s Rhys, an alchemist. Oh, and he’s deaf, if you wondered. That’s Ditani, some kind of soldier or fighter, I assume. And I’m Niklas, thief extraordinaire and devoted follower of the Goddess of Mischief.” “The Sun God,” the priest corrected crossly from across the room. “Not anymore!” 

I'll also share a bit of a longer snippet from the ever-elusive Vidow Beauty and the Beast AU, because at this point I'm not sure if it's ever getting hammered out. But here's probably one of the best Vidow moments in the thing so far:

The golden frame, ornate gilded wood, was easily as tall as Shadow was, perhaps a bit more. It contained a painting of… of the room?  Vio turned and looked back at the room, then the painting. Oh.  It wasn't a painting. It was a mirror.  Like almost every other mirror in the castle, Vio only saw himself as a smear of darkness, much like Shadow appeared to be in the real world. He frowned and glanced at Shadow, who still stood out of the frame. "What am I looking at?"  Shadow held the silver rose in his hand, and he stepped next to Vio, staring ahead.  The mirror changed. It still reflected the sun-soaked room and the shadow of Vio, but instead of reflecting Shadow the same way, the mirror showed a boy standing in his place. The boy's deep tan skin reflected the sunlight like honey, and his dark hair hadn't been cut in some time.  "That's you," Vio realized quietly, glancing between the Shadow next to him and the Shadow in the mirror. Their eyes had the same shape, a shape Vio had grown very familiar with. They stood the same way. There could be no question. "It's me," Shadow confirmed. He poked his cheek, which squished his nose and lips to the side. He looked thoughtful, and Vio just couldn't help but notice…  Din damn it all. Shadow was very cute.  Not the time, Vio!  Unfortunately, Shadow had noticed. He turned to glance at Vio, a very faint smile on his face. "You're blushing." "What?" Vio glanced at the mirror, but of course couldn't see. He covered his cheeks. "No, I'm not. My face is red from the cold." "Oh, is it?" Shadow's smile appeared.  "It's… reflecting off of my scarf." "Your scarf is blue." That smile split fully in a laugh, and Vio watched Shadow's real face in the mirror, fully aware he could not stop the blush.

[worldbeyondzine]

Your zine is a horror zine, but in your concept you also talk a lot about monsters having a variety in morality and goals, and not always being the bad guys. Will you aim for a more horror-heavy content, or also aim for happier stories/ideas with some monsters, some creepiness, but not quite just about the horror?

thanks for this question! our last zine focused heavily on stories of joy and triumph, which we believe is one important part of the trans experience. however, we now want to give contributors a chance to reflect all of their grizzlier feelings and perspectives on the world, especially with the climate as it is now.

horror is a wide genre, and we will be avoiding 'extreme' content like hardcore gore to keep the zine accessible to the highest number of people, but we don't want to turn away work with dark themes. that said, the endings don't all need to be unhappy, so long as the piece feels like it fits squarely within the horror genre.

pieces that just feature monster characters without any horror elements might not be the best fit, but don't feel like you need to shun anything positive in your work to be featured--or that you need to go completely grim with it. there are a lot of stories to be told.

[twothpaste]

Giegue/giygas for the ask game, maybe?

First impression: I learned about Giygas through internet osmosis long before I even thought to play EarthBound. All the usual "ooooh this game is secretly sooo dark" and "he's ack-chewally an aborted fetus, see, oooo" kinda shit. I remember it giving me the impression Mother was way scarier and edgier than it turned out to be. (I played games like OFF and Yume Nikki first though. So by the time I got around to Mother, it was very refreshing to play somethin bright & uplifting at its core, lmao.) (In retrospect, I kinda wish Giygas wasn't among the first things every prospective player is told about the EarthBound. Going into the Giygas battle blind seems like it would've rearranged my brain molecules, and I wish I'd gotten to experience it like that.) I forget when exactly I learned about Giegue (I didn't get to play M1 blind either), but I'm pretty sure my first impression was honestly pretty neutral? The imposing presence of a huge alien spaceship, 8-bit sci-fi machinery, and a barely legible creature in a capsule was pretty wicked to see for myself the first time though!

Impression now: Giygas is a big triple decker chocolate layer cake worth of metaphor & symbolism. The existential horror of growing up, the fear of losing who you fundamentally are in the process, the horrific inhumanity adults are capable of, the hopelessness of coming to terms with the world as it is, and so on. Not really a character per se, but the quintessential globular slurry of adolescent angst Ness & pals've gotta contend with. Giegue is a bittersweet little story about a broken family. An internal conflict between vengeance, familial love, and maybe where one's obligations lie? Cool antagonist for sure. I wanna like him more than I do (M1's cryptic hands-off approach to storytelling is hard for me to sink my teeth into 😔). I've speculatively written (and drawn a comic for the upcoming zine 😉) about how Giegue became Giygas, and read some good fics on the topic. In the canon we're given, though? There's really so little binding them together narratively or thematically… I have a difficult time reconciling the two, in the context of the games themselves. Mother 2 in general feels more like a reboot than a sequel - and there's hardly if any "lore" weaving Giegue & Giygas together - so Itoi's choice to declare they're one and the same just seems kinda odd to me. C'est la vie. Fan creators make do.

Favorite moment: The Giygas battle, but like, before he goes sicko mode. When he's bound to a chamber of wires and innards, reflecting Ness' face back at him, and it turns out our fervently raving buddy Porky is actually the one in "control". The atmosphere is so intense and unnerving, such a bizarre yet captivating way to ramp things up. There's like, this sense of stomach-churning dread, as you begin - if only scarcely - to realize the alien overlord you were expecting is an entity far more powerful and personal and helpless and incomprehensible than you ever could've imagined. I mean. You know, because the internet spoiled you when you were 11. But in the bigness of the moment it still makes my mitochondria itch on a primal and cellular level. /pos. Love it.

Idea for a story: My favorite Giegue thing is the vague implication (??) of whatever the hell George did to to him. Y'know, whatever made him hate humanity so much. Whenever I see fan content speculating on how George might've experimented on him or mistreated him I do in fact Feel Somethin' There. (I have been a sucker for angsty-creature-in-a-lab stories from the time I saw Mewtwo Strikes Back in kindergarten all the way to Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 3 a couple months ago, and I don't suppose I'll ever be sick of 'em.) The conflict it introduces between George and Maria is intriguing too. Like, her husband's treating her dearly beloved child like a science project? Trying to extract the secrets of PSI from his oversized alien brain?? You know if this kinda shit went down, those two were on a caliber of divorce drama the world has rarely seen.

Unpopular opinion: I really like Giegue design interpretations that're freaky and grotesque and biologically unfamiliar. When the beast isn't just mammalian in nature. Truly out of this world.

Favorite relationship: A mean-spirited but otherwise ordinary 13-year-old willingly aligned himself with the alien emodiment of all things evil. And the alien embodiment of all things evil willingly let the kid be his right-hand man. And I'm normal about it. EarthBound tells us basically nothing about how Porky n' Giygas' partnership in crime came to be, but speculating about it sends me into a shark frenzy. Porky seeking power over the world that wronged him, at literally any cost. Giygas weaponizing a child's worst, most vengeful impulses. Porky ultimately usurping Giygas, at least in terms of agency. Witnessing the absolute horror his "master" becomes, and simply sidestepping out of the universe itself to dodge the mess he brought about. I like to imagine there was a period where Giygas was still cognizant enough to maintain a rapport with Porky - and that the two of them fucking hated each other. Both of 'em using the other as a means to an end, assured in the conviction they're the one with the upper hand. And they're kind of both wrong. Bloaw up da worl.

Favorite headcanon: Giegue/Giygas speaks (telepathically?) with a rural midwestern accent. Courtesy of the fine folks who raised him. Other aliens probably think it's weird and mondo cringe, but are too intimidated to say so.

[foggyglow]

The Outer Wilds Traveler Zine @travelers-encore-zine has come out! I loved being able to work as a contributor to this zine, it was so much fun, and everyone was wonderful to meet! Check it out for free here [X]!

[Image Description 1: A reflection piece, where the top two thirds shows The Hatchling exploring a lush overgrown area, placed in the center of the image and facing toward the left. There's a crumbling Nomai writing wall on the right, many boulders all throughout, and a large tree is growing on the left.There are vines cascading down a large cliff face, which the Hatchling is walking toward while by the bank of a lake. It is colored with warm hues. The bottom third shows a reflection of Coelus and Cycad, two Nomai (wearing their masks), when they discovered the Hearthians. They are in the same location, though notably far from the past, as seen as upside-down from the viewer. The grass is short, the writing wall is intact, and the large tree is but a sapling. One of the Nomai crouches down, looking into the water below. The other works on writing on their staff. It is colored with cool hues. End Description] [Image Description 2: A drawing, using the basic Nomai design for the Hourglass Twins, in a light cream color. Behind it is the the sun, glowing red. The background is a deep purple, showing stars going supernova in the distance. In the top left, superimposed over the sun is in a dark color, is handwriting that reads "Welcome to the Hourglass Twins" the bottom right continues, in the same cream color as the planets and superimposed over the distant space, is more handwriting that reads: "Where the scenery is always changing" End Description]

[chromatic-lamina]

Any number you haven't yet answered but want to for the writer ask meme!

Heh-heh! Great ask ❤️

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue? One with no dialogue, because I can always throw in reported speech and thought processes. Takes a particular skill to make a fic that is all dialogue authentic and interesting.

28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who? Sometimes. I won't name 'em cos' I don't want to clutter up their notifications, but especially for exchanges, or if I've used someone's art (with permission) as inspiration, or for zines, etc.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it? Okay, I guess the most recent is valuta from the Corazine (aftersales almost finished, but that's just an aside). I thought I did a pretty good job on portraying what the Donquixote brothers went through, also Cora's relationship with Sengoku and Law, and then Law with Sengoku, but maybe it was too much for the word count. It got very little interaction in the way of comments, at least. I like the KidLaw fics I did for the 2022 exchange and for the OP secret santa that year, but they remain two of my least popular fics (in terms of hits).

I like valuta for story parallels (Cora and Doffy, Law and Lami, etc.). I like the KidLaw fics because they make me laugh.

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful? Yeah. I think I've answered this before, and it's not massively popular compared to some fandom behemoths, but the Usopp vs the Heart Pirates fic: Dark like the North Blue Sea (aka The Sea-Hill you Die On) . I think it grew in popularity because it's canon compliant (also, maybe funny). Once a fic gets a certain number of kudos or hits too, it feeds its popularity growth, because people sort by kudos and hits, so all those hidden gems remain hidden! I'm happy that people enjoy it though!

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written? Probably the one that @afterdeck-ace gave me of: Chopper and Law talking about courage or Jolly Rogers. They're talking about both in softening the fall of snow. That's followed or on par with screen / shiki-e, which was inspired by a tsute doodle. You can see the doodle and links to tsute's art on the AO3 page.

47. If [taxi] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

Her jeans cost more than his weekly pay, hell — monthly— and her sneakers were scuffed and used in a way that hid or emphasised their one-of-a-kind design. Pretty cool. A red tonbo — dragonfly — from what he could see, stretched from the toe, its thorax and segmented body running along one side of the shoe, a blue chrysanthemum and pond reeds rising from the heel and undulating in the air below the insect.

I used a ref for that, but can't remember where I sourced it from.

I changed a few things, and the maker's name is on the jpg, fortunately!

48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

Yes! I recommend it: Ours lives like sand in the gears of the world by @afterdeck-ace (Lily_Amazon). A platonic Law & Robin ficlet that explores the parallels and differences between them so well.

Also, a quick but satisfying read (sounds like Borsalino's possible reflection on Akainu) with this fic, In The Dappled Sun. Lemon mentioned (tumblr's being silly with throwing out community settings left, right and centre, so sorry for the return to FFN vocab). Fic author @kookoofufu

Am continuing to read saltyrock's It Takes a Lot to Know a Man but haven't read the latest chapter yet. LawBin and CrocoBin. Endgame LawBin.

There's a lot of good stuff out there, and so little time!

[houseofsnarry]

Interactive Games/Fiction & CYOA

Inspired by a convo in the HoS server, we complied a list of Interactive Games/Fiction and CYOA (Choose Your Own Adventures). Fandom is more than fanfics and fanart. There are fests, communities, podfics, cosplays, poetry, comics, zines, conventions, interactive games & CYOA and then some! There are no limits to our imagination! Like they say in the 'Field of Dreams' - 'If you build it, they will come.'

Here are some interactive games/fictions and CYOA. Some are Snarry. Some are slash/femslash. But all are definitely HP. Have fun! And if you know any others, reply to the post so we can all celebrate them! <3

@ac1d6urn's Mirror - Tumblr Post , Link to Mirror

Hogwarts, Eighth Year. Harry Potter must choose: talk about a secret or keep it. Place trust in one teacher or keep silent. Speak up in support of a war hero or let the weight of public opinion take its toll. Will Harry's reflection in the Mirror of Erised offer guidance? Mirror is a choice and consequence game with ~12,000 words of dialogue. What's next, treacle tart or flying? Was it really Snape that Harry saw in the Mirror of Erised? Will Harriet tell the Headmistress all about her crush on Ginny Weasley? Will Harry ever feel as free on the ground as he does in the sky with Ron? Will Severus Snape keep his job? It's up to you.

----

Rushlight's Interactive Fiction - Website

CYOA Stories

What Dreams May Come

Rated: PG to NC-17 Fandom: Harry Potter Category: Angst, Romance Harry is haunted by a recurring dream that may be more than what it seems.

Interactive Fiction Games

A Hogwarts Night's Tale

Rated: G Fandom: Harry Potter Category: Drama, Puzzle Voldemort has been defeated, but there are rumors circulating that there are still Death Eaters about who are planning to continue his legacy of murder and mayhem. There might even be a spy somewhere inside Hogwarts…. Can Harry solve the mystery before it's too late?

Detention

Rated: NC-17 Fandom: Harry Potter Category: PWP, First-Time Harry Potter is given detention with Snape on a Friday night yet again. After years of war and hardship and fighting side-by-side against Voldemort, they should really be closer than this… shouldn't they?

Flight From the Dark

Rated: PG Fandom: Harry Potter Category: Drama, Puzzle Draco has reached his sixteenth birthday, and it is expected that he will now officially join the ranks of Voldemort's followers. But Draco isn't so sure that's the path he wants to follow…. Can you help him escape from Voldemort before it's too late?

The Man Behind the Mask

Rated: G Fandom: Harry Potter Category: Romance A year after the end of the war with Voldemort, Harry is finding it difficult to move on with his life. Then he receives an invitation to a Masquerade Ball….

----

@lizzy0305's Choices Rated E

You’re Harry Potter, currently doing your 8th year in Hogwarts. One night, you see something on the Marauder’s Map that catches your attention. The decision is up to you. Should you investigate the mystery or simply go to sleep? An interactive story with 17 completely different endings.

----

@likelightinglass's What Comes Next (And How to Like It) Rated E

A choose your own adventure fic! You are Severus Snape. You survived against all odds, and now it's time to take life into your own hands. What will you do with this gift of a second chance, and how will you find your happy ending? Your happy ending is pretty much always Harry Potter, but there's so many fun ways to get there.

[bardspeak]

This is my piece for the zine celebrating 10 years of dishonored: Dunwall Days and Karnaca Nights! There are leftover sales going on here: (link) that have much much more than my little character study going on. (I recommend the notebook). @10yearsofdishonoredzine

Things Beyond Forgiveness | (ao3 link)

Billie was made by knife, and now there’s nothing she sees in her body anymore but the jagged shape carved. 

He was made by knife too, she thinks, watching the Outsider in their tiny, one-room apartment. A god once, held on high - now washing the dishes of all things. They had to buy metalware so when his shaking, unpracticed hands dropped them from the sink they wouldn’t shatter across the hardwood floor. Only irritate the neighbors. 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” The Outsider tells her, lips thin with displeasure at himself. He said the same thing about sweeping up porcelain shards with a broom or writing in the blocky hand of an illiterate dockworker. She can’t prove or deny these claims, so she takes them at face value, nods, and lets him continue in his failure. Sometimes she finds herself getting irritated, having to reteach an adult man how to do up his tie, but then she remembers Sokolov and his shaky, fading memory - a parallel that would have the Outsider steaming and ranting at her. 

The Outsider is neither physically old nor dependent, but something in the comparison softens her demeanor. There are people she’s taken care of before, and people she’s let take care of her. She reminds herself of this every time the Outsider goes to pick up the dishes after dinner with his quivering hands. She sits and watches this vestige of a life long past curse when his hand slips. Hum absently and splash water onto their floor. 

He struggles and doesn’t have the forbearance to hide it from her, but still, sometimes she uncharitably thinks he’s doing this much better than she is. That it’s unfair. There’s a capacity to hurt in her, one she faces every day when she sees the posters bearing her name, or looks carefully at the knife in her hand and in her heart. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop facing it. 

They’re in a dark, cold alley a few blocks away from the apartment when the Outsider speaks up, voice quiet but weighted: “You’re not what you think you are.” 

“How so?” Billie takes a sharp drag of the cigarette in her hand before offering it over, the Outsider considering it like he’s never seen one before. They’ve smoked together a few times before, hazy trails of smoke drifting through the afternoon light peeking in through the window in their apartment. Never like this though, in the early hours of the morning when Billie gets back from one of her odd jobs, knife and crossbow slung low on her belt. She’s been a killer for decades, even before Daud - there’s nothing that will ever change that. But she can’t help listening, can’t even pretend to ignore him like she would have in the beginning. 

“You can’t change what you’ve done in the past,” The Outsider says, never having lost the uncanny ability to seem like he’s reading her mind. He pauses to take a puff of the cigarette and gives a little cough with weak lungs. Before, he would have been sent into a full-on fit. “But you can’t say you would have been here, would have survived, if not for your skills. You did what you had to.” He pauses, perhaps correctly guessing that she doesn’t want to hear it. He forges on anyhow. “Maybe you can thank yourself and move on. Find a new use for your skills.” 

A bitter little laugh bursts its way out of her, unwilling. “There’s no other use for skills like mine.” 

He touches her hand, not a slip of the fingers when passing a cigarette back and forth - still holding it in his other hand - or to pull her away from watching eyes. She never realizes how little the Outsider reaches out to touch until he has. It startles her from her bitter reflection. “Skills like yours,” he starts, unsettling pale green eyes catching her own and holding them. “Are what freed me.” 

He doesn’t go on like she expects him to - like she’s used to. The lack of words to hide in leaves her flayed open. The cigarette is pressed into her hand like an afterthought as he pulls away, heels clicking against the stones of the street towards their apartment, not even sparing a glance behind to see if she’s following him. 

Eventually, she does. 

The Outsider has a pile of things laid out over their creaky wardrobe in the corner of the room. Bottles, stones, shells, pieces of bone, and books that are more scraps of paper than bound tomes are strewn over the place. So many things she can hardly categorize them all. Billie had thrown some of them out when he first started, not knowing it was a collection rather than garbage laying about. He never said anything, but the same bottle - labeled with colorful, crackling packaging - was back on top of the wardrobe when she came in the next morning. 

One day, a flask slips through his traitorous fingers and crashes to the floor, glass pieces skittering to the far corners of the room. She watches as he crouches down and picks up one of the thicker pieces, twisting it in the light in a slender hand. There’s a spot of blood beading up on his bare foot. He stands, drops the piece of glass onto the wardrobe with the rest of his collection, and steps carefully over the rest to get to their broom. 

He’s used to things slipping through his fingers, she realizes, going through her days watching him. This isn’t a collection of prized possessions, he barely gives any of them but the books a glance on any given day and never upsets if they break or tear. They’re proof of life. That if he holds something in his hands it won’t turn to dust and fall away. When she looks, there’s a shard of a porcelain plate he must have squirreled away weeks before she first saw the bottle on the wardrobe.

Never claiming to be good with words - especially not when faced with a man who spent the better part of four thousand years with nothing but - she doesn’t broach the subject. 

She does, however, hand him a small painted cameo she found one day on a job. Despite it being her reason for doing so, she still startles when she sees it placed at the forefront of his collection. He places a book - newer, the covers wearing through on the corners but little other damage - on the windowsill she likes to sit in to smoke tobacco, something the Outsider still wrinkles his nose at. She finds a piece of glass placed just so, refracting color on the wall over her bed. 

After weeks, months, a turn of the season, whatever’s holding them together in this place hardly big enough to fit them still hasn’t worn through. It’s the longest she’s spent in the same space as someone since Sokolov - since Daud - and it surprises her how few times she has to get out because she feels stifled. 

She watches him pore over a waterlogged book of his. The binding is frayed around missing chunks, and he’s read it enough times to make his own narrative out of the empty spaces. Time has loosened his muscles, barefoot feet tucked up under his legs, sitting at their meager table and muttering under his breath. She picks at a loose thread of the binding with thin, voidrite fingertips and he lets her. 

“What should I do then?” She says, continuing the conversation like it hasn’t been months of them settling into whatever this is. If he doesn’t understand, then maybe she won’t have to say it. These jagged pieces she doesn’t let anybody touch can stay sharp along with the fear. The Outsider can keep filling in the gaps to stories he’ll never have the whole picture of, despite holding pieces in his trembling hands. Despite spilling the water that smears the ink.

He raises his head to look at her, eyebrows still pinched from reading with a slight myopia, and he understands. “I believe felling a god may be the peak of your achievements,” he tells her, closing his book with more of a crunch than a snap. Only the glint in his eyes reveals his teasing. “Have you ever considered settling down?”

She huffs out a laugh, not even trying to find it in herself to be offended at the notion. That she could put the knife down and never pick it back up. Not flinching away from the edges that have already been worn down. “I’ve never considered living long enough.”

“Well,” he sniffs, taking up the mantle of the offended. He opens his book again. “Start considering it.” 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” he says for the millionth time later that afternoon. Billie thinks what he actually means is live. She’s sure she has too, once. She thinks she might be doing it again. 

[theblackvomit666]

Worm interview (Taken from Arcane Archivist Zine #1) Hails Fantomslaughter! Thank you again for doing this interview. Worm are exactly the type of band we need in the US right now, to usher back in the old spirit that metal was founded on. Driven, focused and inspired, unlike the hoards of recent death/black metal converts from the urban outfitters and zumiez of the world. There have always been trend hoppers and posers in metal, but bands like yours and a handful others keep the underground flame ablaze.

AA: To start off, what was your introduction to metal and dark music?

FS: Hails! I appreciate the positive words; glad I could keep the underground metal flame alive. That is all I set out to do with Worm. Also I would like to thank you for archiving and documenting the gems you excavate and sharing them to a new school of underground heads so this rich history can never be forgotten. This is a bit cliche but around the age of 6 my first real experience with metal would have to be Black Sabbath, the song "Black Sabbath". The moment I heard this song I was transported to another realm and it evoked imagery that I never thought music could. Had never heard a guitar with distortion like that up to that point as well and I was instantly hooked. However, I truly became possessed the first time I heard Bathory - The Return. That would be my entryway to all things occult/obscure metal.

AA: Worm is said to be from the darkest and nethermost parts of the Florida swamps. How has your location affected and inspired your music?

FS: Worm is just trying to conjure the damp and humid settings of the ancient marshlands in my hometown. I can sit for hours in heavily forested swamp trails and take in my surroundings to later use for Worm material. Being from Florida there is obviously a rich history when it comes to extreme metal. Although Worm is not directly inspired by the "Golden Era" bands of death metal from Tampa and and the whole Morrisound Studios clique, I feel it is necessary to wave the flag and be proud of where we are from like those before.

AA: Your new album "Gloomlord" is available now from Iron Bonehead Productions. How did the band change from your debut album to this new album? The sound is quite different.

FS: To me it is a deeper plunge into the Doomy sounds I was just getting started with on "Evocation". I had accidentally stumbled upon Death Doom through Autopsy's Mental Funeral and Goatlord's Reflection of the Solstice. As well as the early Finnish scene (Unholy, Abhorrence). Since then I feel I have researched more bands that add Doom to their blasphemies and have a broader scope of it all. Naturally, when delving into Death Doom territory you come across Funeral Doom and to me there are more ties to that and obscure BM. There is almost an ancient and somber feel to it that I would get from something like Wintermoon(Fin)/Wanderer(Fin) or Apollyon - Troldeskovens Aander. Also can't forget the witchy shrieks that would appear on Disembowelment's Transcendence into the Peripheral.

AA: Starting out as a somewhat strictly black metal band on your first demos, your sound is constantly evolving. Is this a premeditated decision on your part or just a natural progression?

FS: As my taste has evolved and as I have found new obscure gems to collect over the years, the band's sound has just naturally been influenced with whatever it is that's blasting in my swamp crypt. I am shocked at the never ending amount of hidden demos I can find on the net that constantly inspire me as well as inspire me to throw all my funds at physical copies of them (Can thank Ken and his death metal crypt for that!). I will say it would be very boring for me to make the same album over and over again and I don't think I really could even if I tried. My goal is to have longevity with Worm and I feel I need to keep making things interesting for myself to release something new every couple of years.

AA: When listening to Gloomlord, it's apparent that you have some broad and underground influences. Who are your three main influences from the past? Which contemporary bands do you respect?

FS: Strictly speaking for Gloomlord, I would say the three main influences would be Disembowelment, Thergothon, Abhorrence (Fin). There are so many more it was quite hard to narrow it down to three. (Gorement, Rippikoulu, Unholy, Rottrevore, Infester, Worship, Winter, Decomposed, Mournful Congregation, Skepticism, Deteriorot, Morpheus Descends, Demigod, Eternal Darkness, Symphony of Grief, Cianide, Ceremonium). As for contemporary bands there are a few, I'd say Swallowed, Malignant Altar for sure.

AA: Florida has one of the richest histories in metal, with the 90s death metal scene in Tampa, as well as Morrisound Studios. Do you draw inspiration from this scene?

FS: I think the only band musically I can draw inspiration from is Morbid Angel, Abominations of Desolation was a game changer for me. As well as Chuck from Death as an artist; someone that was striving to make every Death album an unique and different experience. Although I do not want to sound like Death, that is definitely an inspiring way to view the creative process.

AA: Since your last album "Evocation of the Black Marsh", you have added a second member, Equimanthorn. How did you two come together and what are your respective positions in band?

FS: I was blasting Sadistic Intent - Impending Doom in my car at the parking lot of my job one day waiting for my time to clock in and this long haired figure came up to me and asked me what I was listening to. We shot the shit for a moment and he told me he played drums. Thus Evocation was born and we were hellbent on making an Autopsy/Goatlord inspired record, sprinkled with nods to early Finnish Death metal like Abhorrence. I write all the songs and contribute vocals/guitars/synth and Equimanthorn takes care of the drums and bass.

AA: If the world ever returns to a state of normality, is there any chance of Worm performing live?

FS: That is definitely a possibility, we have been getting a lot of positive feedback from people that would like to see Worm in the flesh. The only thing getting in the way of this is finding session members since we are a two-piece at the moment.

AA: Do you consider yourself a satanist? Where do you stand religiously?

FS: I definitely am not a religious person and view all organized religion as a waste of time. To me it is limiting to ones growth as an individual. The most spiritual moments I have ever had were when I was alone in nature surrounded by what is true reality, not man made creations that fuel human egos. If any, I draw close ties to paganism and true satanism not that Lavey bs. If a belief doesn't serve you and empower you then it is merely draining you of your essence and not allowing you to achieve your full potential. Be your own god and work your own mysterious ways.

AA: Do you believe that politics have a place in metal? What are your views on "hate speech" vs. censorship?

FS: Although I believe everyone should have the freedom to say what they want, to me metal has always been an escape from the mundane normality of everyday life so I hate when people try to force a personal agenda/propaganda and humanize things with their music. Metal is so much bigger than that. I am trying to leave behind human garbage when I hear metal, not drown in it. Politics in metal is just a funny concept to me. I prefer to hear about gore and the occult not men in suits and army camo telling me who to dislike bahahaha

AA: What are some of the topics brought forth in the lyrics on Gloomlord?

FS: I was strictly on a H.P. Lovecraft diet for Gloomlord. I wanted to experiment with dreamscapes and gates beyond the realms of perception. Here are a few titles that were around when I was writing. "The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath", "The Colour Out of Space", "The Haunter of the Dark", and "The Doom That Came to Samath". I can thank Thergothon for this as well.

AA: What's on the horizon for Worm?

FS: At this moment we are writing a new album that continues where Gloomlord left off naturally. Hoping to release it by the end of the year. Also just had a new repress of Gloomlord on Iron Bonehead as well as new color variants on tape through Headsplit Records that should both be out late June.

AA: Lastly, a couple quick ones. Blasphemy or Beherit?

FS: Beherit all day but it is pretty close. Drawing Down the Moon was a transformative experience to me.

AA: Demilich or Demigod?

FS: Once again close call but Demilich. There will never be another no matter how hard anyone tries.

AA: Necromantia or Varathron?

FS: Necromantia, getting constant plays in the crypt on a weekly basis but His Majesty at the Swamp is legendary and I can't look that over.

AA: Any final words?

FS: Worm would like to thank you for including us in what I think will be one of the best zines of modern times. We would also like to thank those of you who have supported us Swamp Ghouls along the way and the correspondence we've had with many bands and individuals who share a common bond in keeping this underground scene alive. We will keep pumping out our ancient marsh hymns 'til the swamp is drained! Cheers - Phantom Slaughter

[beefleafbigbang]

Beefleaf Big Bang 2023 Writer Preview: SADIE

oh god I have to write one of these too.

I'm Sadie (she/her or he/him) and Beefleaf lives rent free in my mind because they're squatting and won't leave. I majored in Literary Arts and Teaching in college, and I have spent my days since then writing for fan zines and making my favorite fictional characters kiss. You can find me on tumblr @queen-beefcake-sqx, which is a username you'll have to pry out of my cold dead hands, and on Ao3 as sadisticbutsweet. (And I swear I'm going to finish that Calamity!SQX fic after this bang is over, swear on Xie Lian).

Shi Qingxuan is gifted with many talents. A tactful mouth is not one of them. Ming Yi steps further into her space, forcing her back until her back hits the railing of the bridge. Her hands fly back to brace herself from falling over. She turns and looks behind her, into the dark waters below. Stars shimmer around her reflection. She knows the waters aren’t that deep, not in a garden, but she doesn’t feel like testing the limits of her curse. Slowly, Shi Qingxuan turns back, eyes darting anywhere that isn’t Ming Yi’s face. It’s amusing to watch how hard she tries to look anywhere else, but it’s hard with Ming Yi boxing her in. She settles for staring at a spot right in the middle of Ming Yi’s chest. A nice, safe spot to look, that rumbles when Ming Yi asks, “Was it?” Shi Qingxuan squeaks. “Was it what?” “Fun?” Ming Yi moves a little closer, somehow. Their clothes are brushing each other. “Was it fun?” “Ming-jiejie, please, I’m going to fall —” “I think it was fun for you. Why else would you keep doing it?” “Doing what?” The hand on her face hasn’t left. It curls around her chin, forcing Shi Qingxuan to look up at her. Ming Yi bares her teeth when she speaks, spitting the word out as if it’s poison. “Flirting.”