#i wish i remember which zine it was i did a few those years

[collegeoflore]

artist vs oc

tagged by @tadpole-apocalypse!!!

i tried so hard but this picrew is honestly not my fav LOL

human-adjacent xarrai bc i couldn’t make them purple. i tried ieriyn instead bc at least he’s human color but he came out way worse so u get xar LOL

i’m a monster so i’m just tagging anyone who sees this and wants to do it. go crazy :3

picrew link here :)

[novantinuum]

Fear of Falling Apart

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: 1.9K~

Summary: Maybe it’s a bit selfish to wish for conflict in a time of relative peace, but right now Connie would give anything to face an opponent she could physically fight. A battle she could win.

Because the fact of the matter is, no matter how stubbornly she might try, there’s no way she can fight off Steven’s inner demons for him.

-

In which Connie receives a panicked midnight phone call, and rushes to Beach City with Lion to try and help.

____

I’ve been given the okay to post a fic I wrote a while back for the @falling-apart-zine! Extra meta notes in the end note on AO3.

Read and support on AO3!

_______

A stiff coastal wind teases at both the hem of her nightshirt and the cotton candy mane she clutches to as the inseparable pair cut across the public beach for Steven’s house. With her path illuminated only by the dim, twinkling constellations overhead and the distant street lamps of Beach City, she can only hope that Lion‘s instinct is strong enough to get her there. She inhales steadily through the rapid drumming of her heart: in for four, out, in for four, out.

If her fears are right, then— for his sake— she’s gotta be quick.

Now fifteen and a half years old, Connie’s no unwitting stranger to the hair-raising rush of adrenaline Gem related dangers promise, nor the crisp, salty chill of a beachside town past sunset. Through her rigorous training and steadfast assistance in times of crisis, she’s solidly earned her place amongst the Crystal Gems. And while her mother isn’t as enthusiastic about this ‘extracurricular hobby’ as she is, as long as she doesn’t have an exam to study for she’s wholeheartedly prepared to drop whatever she’s doing and brandish her sword if it means she can protect her home, her beloved planet, to be Earth’s knight at Steven and the Gems’ side. Lately though, her role as knight has become... confusingly abstract. There’s simply no real, tangible danger anymore in Era 3. Perhaps occasionally a stray Homeworld apologizer will descend from the sky to antagonize Steven or cause a bit of a ruffle with the locals, but these days those incidents are few and far between. Not only that, but they’re such isolated, easily dealt with foes that their threat is almost always neutralized by the time she’s out of class for the afternoon. And yeah— Connie grimaces at the trajectory of her own racing thoughts as Lion and her pass the Big Donut— maybe it’s a bit selfish to wish for conflict in a time of relative peace, but right now she’d give anything to face an opponent she could physically fight. A battle she could win.

Because the fact of the matter is, no matter how stubbornly she might try, there’s no way she can fight off Steven’s inner demons for him.

Lion skids to a halt at the foot of his house, and she effortlessly drops off his back. She wriggles her bare toes in the coarse sand as she skates her glance across the eerily still scene, vying to deduce where on Earth her best friend could be. When he called just minutes ago, his voice was so panicked and garbled she couldn’t understand him at all. It genuinely sounded like he was talking though hunks of cotton jammed into his mouth. Upon remembering the giant tusks he grew during his terrifying transformation a few weeks back, she can only fear the worst.

The beach house is dark and still, however. There’s no broken glass or busted sideboards. No sign of a struggle. No giant, clawed footprints tearing up the shore. Her breath stills, the worst of her nightmares evaporating into a fine mist. Twitchy fingers press against the phone in the pocket of her pajama shorts as she considers calling him again. Thankfully though, the magical feline’s ears perk up before she can decide either way. Following his nose, he bounds across the sands to the far edge of the porch, turning back to beckon Connie over with a low rumble.

She quickly sprints to where he stands, dark hair billowing in the breeze. “What it is? Did you find him, buddy?” she asks, lovingly running her hand across his fur.  

He responds in only action, shifting his head so his snout points straight across the beach towards a pink glowing figure nestled in a crater at the bottom of the cliff, huddled in fetal position with his back facing them.

“Steven,” she breathes, and immediately takes off running, kicking up sand behind her heels.

But the closer she approaches, the further her heart drops in her chest. She bites back a gasp, solidly pressing her hand to her mouth. There’s rips in his pajama shirt. Oh god. Three pairs of slashes run up his back from the bottom of his spine to his shoulder blades where white crystalline spikes— thankfully far shorter than those of his full corrupted form— emerge from soft, delicate flesh. Another pair of spikes jut out from his elbows, their razor sharp edges gleaming in the pink tinted moonlight. His sweatpants look abused and stretched out, as if his body had been swelling again.

Upon hearing her muffled footsteps, the half-Gem jerks around to meet her glance, shame coating his features like an impenetrable mask. Familiar crystalline horns crown his head, their roots extruding from his temples and pushing back thick curls. Patches of scales cover his arms and neck, creeping up the side of his left cheek where one short tusk pokes out from between his lips. His sclera are black, but notably his eyes are still alert, tracking her every movement as he gives an almost animalistic whine and scuttles backwards on hands and knees.

“Steven, wait! I- I just wanna help,” she blurts, holding out her hands, fingers stretched wide. Her best friend stills upon hearing her voice, keeping his face low to the ground as if dreaming that doing so may render him invisible to the world at large. Slowly, she drops to her knees a few feet away from him. “Please. Let me help.”

Steven hesitates, but eventually allows her near. He drops his jaw to try and speak, flashing a mouth full of sharp, oversized teeth. (So that’s why his speech was so disjointed over the phone.) The first few noises he makes are laced with frustration, and Connie gently lays her hand over his as she patiently waits. In time, through some combination of stubbornness and sheer will, he somehow convinces his teeth to return to their usual size and positions by running his tongue over them. He coughs, clears his throat and tries again.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this again,” he mumbles, hugging his knees to his chest. “I’m sure it doesn’t bring back any good memories.”

He gives a long, shaky exhale, staring almost emotionlessly at the waves lapping against the stone hand that rests at the very tip of the peninsula. Connie says nothing, even while millions of worried and traumatic thoughts pour like rapids through her mind, too scared that a single wrong word might cause her friend to clam up again, that she might fall on this emotional battlefield and only make him worse. Listening has always been one of her greatest virtues, but that doesn’t mean she always knows the right thing to say. Sometimes she desperately wishes she was more like Steven in this respect— hyper-empathetic, drawn to encouragement, a constant zeal to help others — but then she remembers the dark place those traits, while usually positive things, eventually led him. Over time, his strong empathy for others pushed him to bury his own feelings in benefit of theirs. The once-admirable desire to encourage and assist turned into the driving purpose of his life, an itch too vast and infinite to ever fully satisfy.

She traces shapes across his palm to let him know she’s still here, still listening.

“I was in my bed, listening to music. Trying to sleep,” he says. “But my thoughts were too loud to drown out. I turned pink. Everything felt like it was crushing down around me, all at once. I... it felt exactly like that day in the living room.”

The sheer weight of this statement bears down upon her shoulders like a barbell as she tries in vain not to dwell upon hazy memories, upon the horrifying sight of spikes outright exploding from his back.

(Upon how powerless she felt, feet cemented to the floor, as she watched a literal nightmare play out before her eyes and did nothing.)  

“And then I, um, started to... to change again?” he continues, shrinking into himself as his speech grows almost manic. “So I grabbed my phone and ran, and, uh- I, um- I called you, and after that the changes, they... they sorta slowed down, but they still haven’t gone away, and now I look like some sort of freak and the whole town’s gonna figure out that monster was ME, and then they’ll never treat me the same way again because everyone who knows just tiptoes around me like I could explode again at any moment, a-and—“

He growls in frustration, firmly grasping at the base of his horns and tugging.

“And I just want things to be better,” he says with tears in his eyes, voice cracking. “Shouldn’t I be better by now? I’ve been in therapy for almost a month, so why am I still doing this?? Why won’t it stop? What if... what if this never stops? I’m just—!” The teen chokes back a sob, clutching his arms to his chest. “I- I’m just really messed up, Connie. I’m so, so sorry for ever dragging you into... well, all this,” he whispers, motioning at himself.

The silence is punctuated by the gentle ebb and flow of the rising tides, and behind them, Lion prancing through the sand. Recalling Garnet’s advice, she inhales deep to ground herself amidst her anxiety while she attempts to order her jumbled thoughts into a gentle response. Steven’s burdens aren’t hers to carry— something she’s constantly having to remind herself for her own mental well-being— but perhaps by offering love and a listening ear when she’s able to, she can at least help lighten the load.

“Two things,” she says eventually. “First, you don’t need to apologize for asking for help. You’ve never dragged me into anything. I came tonight because I wanted to.”

Steven’s breath hitches at these words, the tension draining from his shoulders just like the salty teardrops careening down his cheeks.

“And second...” Delicately, she reaches out and intertwines her fingers in his. “You should try to be more gentle with yourself. Give yourself the sorta kindness and patience you always give everyone else. Healing takes time, y’know?”

“Yeah. I’ll try, I guess.”

“I think... the fact you reached out to anyone tonight shows how far you already are trying.”

Lion plops down on the other side of Steven and pushes up the teen’s arm with his snout so he can nuzzle his head against his chest. As he offers a half-smile to the feline’s affection and gently pets his soft fur, the tusk and scales on his left cheek melts into glittering light. Connie can’t help but gasp at the sight of this reversal, warmth flooding through her veins as she wonders if perhaps— albeit in an abstract, emotional way— she‘s succeeded here as a knight after all.

Heart fluttering, she leans forward and lays a kiss over his temple, right at the base of one of his crystalline horns.  

“You’re not a monster, Steven,” she whispers, and leans back to wipe away his relieved tears. “And you never will be.”

The two of them relax into each other’s embrace after this affirmation, Connie nestling her head in the crook of his neck, and Steven being mindful not to scrape either of his companions with the spines at his elbows. In time— breathing evenly as they watch the tides lap against the shore, promising renewal with each and every stride— the physical manifestation of all her friend’s inner pain fades away, taking the pink glow of his skin with it. It’s definitely not a cure, nor a battle won, but it is a step towards the future.

And with patience, kindness, and support, hopefully one of many more to come.

[phantom-noir]

Hello Noir!

Congrats, you've been visited by your LU Self Care Anon!

I hope you had a great day, and if not, don't worry, you did your best, and tomorrow's full of new possibilities!

Have you drank enough water? It can really help your body and mind feeling well! Also, remember to get enough sleep, did you know underground rooms are often the freshest in the house? I can assure you there's at least a 2F difference between my basement and my ground floor. It really makes a difference in hot days!

What have you been working on lately? Would you like to show me a wip, or describe it? I'm sure it'll turn out amazing, even if you now think it's nowhere near good!

You can do this! Believe in yourself, you're awesome!

You know what's funny? I got this ask on my last day of class, as I was in the airport to fly home for my semester break. Now that I turned in my last exam- my college Summer Semester of over! Woo Woo! To be honest, I've been very busy with college work- I go back for the fall semester in two and a half weeks. XD -I've definitely not been drinking enough water, but I've been trying my best. -Sleep is for the weak! As an Animation student, sleep doesn't exist! -I've been living in a dorm- which does NOT in fact have air conditioning for the past few months... I'm used to the heat. It doesn't even reach 70F there often enough so it's not terrible. Normally stays in the 60s (F). I'm home now, so the warm weather is actually super nice to experience, and what do you know? We have air conditioning! What have I been working on recently? (Insert canceled LU MAP part gif)

Well, other than some class work... I did a bit of ArtFight, as I do every year, it was my fourth year this time around! I couldn't accomplish much because I was so busy though. :( I finished up my animation exam, have I told you how much I hate After Effects? I hate it even more than Photoshop, and that's saying something. Haha. (Here's that film: thanks @snowcapmt , for aiding me with it!)

This was a RUSH work, I only had four days to do it (inbetween classes), and one of those days was spent traveling across the country home! I worked on it in the airport! I really wish I had time to make it more polished. *sobs* (Me in the airport)

I've been trying to catch up on some art requests in my ask box, trust me. I'll get to more of them soon. :D I should have some time to work on some LU related content... Have I mentioned I'm an artist in the upcoming Zelda Zine? Look forward to that! Anyhow, thanks for asking, and with such great timing too. lol. -Noir

[souryogurt64]

hi ms yogurt i was thinking about starting a riotgrrrl zine with a few friends and i was just wondering if you had any tips on how to start one successfully?

Ok i definitely would not call my zine successful by any stretch of the imagination but this is like the story of my zine and some stuff i learned, though it isnt comprehensive. concrete advice is bolded

When I was a teenager a band I really liked posted on their story that they were doing as many interviews as possible on their next tour so I lied and said I was a journalist through my college. 

I actually really enjoyed doing the interview so I talked to my favorite professor and started a zine through my college. At first it was just paper zines I distributed everywhere. My school was really small and didn’t have a lot of extracurricular funding so they did not have the resources and music orgs and radio programs a lot of schools have. 

Those schools have more opportunities but are a lot more cliquey, competitive, and regulated; at my school it was just me doing whatever I wanted. BUT even though I was technically legitimate now, no one ever asked me for credentials… do with that information what you will. 

Admittedly, I was not very consistent with it because I didn’t see it as having a future and just saw it as a way to learn more about bands I liked. I wish I had been way more consistent and done more early on. But it took a lot more time because of the paper zines for each interview. I also didn’t post anything online or have any social media for the first three years except emailing the pdfs to people on here that wanted it. I kind of regret this, but I also kind of don’t, because if I had social media or a website earlier I think the school would’ve been way more controlling instead of not really caring what was in a few little booklets in the library no one read. 

All of the interviews I did the first few years were in-person. Zoom didn’t really exist and managers weren’t very into the phone thing. I also didn’t really ask for it because I was mostly interested in going to shows. 

Also when I did in-person interviews, a lot of the artists were absolutely horrible and were extremely rude and mean. At the time I didn't really have a benchmark for how I was supposed to be treated and was just happy to be there, but in retrospect knowing what I know now, it was awful. There were a handful of people who were really, really nice to me, though, and I'll always remember them. Some of it was probably how young I was and how I didn't really have any credibility or confidence but I genuinely think it was mostly tour and the environment tour creates… as well as something else. 

The last in-person interview I ever did before Covid I learned a really frustrating lesson which is that if you’re a girl you have to dress hot but semi professional and you will go a lot further. When I started I was really involved in this scene that very performatively touted feminism and I wanted to be taken seriously and not be seen as a groupie so I would dress like a guy and not wear makeup. I think this was unfortunately a mistake and held me back and was a big part of why I got treated like shit by artists so often. 

Figuring it out was accidental-- it was July so it was super hot and I was staying with friends and we had gone out beforehand. I wasn’t wearing anything crazy but I had on a cropped tank top+jeans and had straightened my hair and put on more makeup than usual. Everything with the managers was usually a nightmare but they were nice to the point of being a little TOO nice and actually took me to the headliner instead of the first opener. Everyone was really touchy too. Later I ended up getting kind of overstimulated and went back to the bar to get some water and not-stuffy air and multiple crew people I’d interacted with were staring at me way too much or trying to talk to me when I was used to being ignored or treated like an unwelcome nuisance. 

I don’t feel like anybody personally crossed a line or anything but I actually left the show immediately and started crying. I didn’t really understand why I felt that way at first but eventually I realized I was so upset because I was getting treated so differently that day because I was wearing a crop top and eyeliner and the reason I’d been treated so badly in the past was because I dressed like the guys did. 

Anyway, eventually Covid happened, and I didn’t do any interviews for forever because everything was so crazy and I didn’t really know how to adapt. After awhile I kind of felt like the zine was over and I didn’t know where my life was headed and everything in it was falling apart. Then someone told me I should do them on college radio. This was when Zoom really started popping off. 

Zoom was not a thing when I started, and I never would’ve been able to air in-person interviews for quality reasons, but when I started doing college radio I suddenly started getting way more interviews with way bigger artists. Also, the artists were so much nicer and we connected so much more over Zoom. Especially during Covid, I think people were feeling very vulnerable and we bonded really hard with people.

After a bit of this I had a roommate situation fall through and a long-distance old friend who I didn’t really talk to often reach out about joining the zine and starting a website and living together. 

This brings me to a really important piece of advice, which is that you’re going to find cowriters and collaborators in spaces for people who are already very intense. I tried really hard to get people at my school or my friends to get involved but these things take a massive amount of work and patience and time, and you need to find people who are just as passionate as you are already instead of trying to make people become passionate. 

Without going into too much detail, I basically met her in high school at this very small event for an artist on DCD2 that a bunch of very obsessed and crazy FOB fans were at. I would not have met someone with that level of dedication anywhere else or under any other circumstances. We had kept in loose contact ever since and gone to a few shows together and we decided to start a website and move in together in Chicago. 

With two people, we were able to do more, and started the website (we use Wordpress, I would recommend the personal plan if you’re starting out) and the Instagram and started doing more interviews. This is when things really got going, I think. Also, we had worked with bigger artists by that point which in turn helped us get more and better interviews. 

One thing I really regret doing is posting the Zoom calls instead of just the transcripts. I started doing that because for years the people reading the zine had just been me and my friends and like 3 people on Tumblr who cared about whatever band we interviewed, and the 3 people who cared about the band would ask me to post it, and I didn’t really see the zine going beyond what it was at the time, so I would. I think the production standard is so high for online content in this era that that really held us back and made us look unprofessional and I think a lot of artists didn’t share the interview when they otherwise would have. 

Another thing I wish I knew earlier is that original written content goes way further than interviews do. We have a lot going on right now but combo reviews and interviews do much better than just interviews. 

I also didn’t know you were supposed to ask for specific press photos at first.

I still struggle with this because I’m shy but you should also send the interview over when you’re done because there’s a small chance they might put it on their website and it’ll get way, way more hits. 

Also, I didn’t really understand this at first, but there are a lot of people who get paid a lot of money by record labels to scout zines and they are probably going to see whatever you post sooner than you think, probably as soon as you start working with established bands. Beyond this you don’t know who’s involved with whoever you’re interviewing and who they’re connected to. It sounds crazy but I am serious. 

Being organized is really important. Like beyond organized. You have to follow up a lot, especially when it comes to industry people, because even if they say they’re in charge of something or will help you they won’t. 

That being said, keep in mind this is a professional environment. Band people and their managers and anyone else you interact with are not your friends. I don’t mean to sound cynical but keep in mind possible other motives people could have, especially if something sounds too good to be true. And don’t take things personally.

Be prepared for a lot of disappointment—I used to cry for hours if I got stood up or someone canceled and wouldn’t reschedule or they forgot to put me on the list and security yelled at me and called me a liar but it’s happened so many times now it’s just like whatever. Of course accidents happen or people have bad days but don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself and you can always walk away from doing something. Try not to get get excited about anything until at least a week after it's all over.

I am not very good at this at all and in fact am kind of a flop at it but things like SEO optimization and alt text on images and hashtags is important. You also have to keep up with algorithms or whatever (bleh) on social media. I don’t like getting in front of a camera so we’re still figuring that out but right now that means things like reels and TikToks. 

Keeping pitches brief is also important. 

I also think you should be careful what you talk about with other people.

Anyway this was way too long and I spent way too much time on this but yeah.  

[woodelf68]

AO3 tag game

Tagged by @luthienebonyx

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

75

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

272,188

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

For fics that I've published/posted to share with others: Robin of Sherwood, Wizards and Warriors, Zorro (the Family Channel series), Lord of the Rings, Once Upon A Time, Stargate: Universe, The Tournament, Thor -- and like 99% of that is OUAT, SGU, and Thor. Everything pre-OUAT was no more than one or two fics per fandom. (I am not a natural story writer. I find it easy to write missing scenes, or extend existing ones, but a proper fic with a beginning, middle and end? At that age, the only thing that could force me to come up with enough words to count as a proper fic were those magic words "free contributor's copy". I did do a lot of art and poetry/filks for RoS, though.)

For all those journals filled with fannish scribbles that I wrote just for myself? Various soap operas, with the most being from Days of Our Lives probably, since I had a couple of big OTPs there. House. Highlander. Beauty and the Beast (Ron Perlman series). A bit of Hercules the Legendary Journeys? I remember writing something for Aphrodite and Hephaestus and at least one thing based on Tyr from Andromeda. More of all the shows that I listed as having posted online or had published in zines. Maybe some ST:TNG for Picard and Crusher? It's hard to remember, it's so long ago; I'm sure I've missed at least one fandom.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Bearing in mind that most of the Rumbelle and Rushbelle ones were posted on tumblr years before I copied them to AO3 (thus having most of their likes over here), these are all my more recent Thor fandom ones: Measuring Up, Child of Love, Tumblr Prompt Fics, Mornings, and Trust.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

Yes, always. I very much appreciate any and all comments and I want those who leave them to know that.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

*Scrolls through my fics on AO3* Hm, I can't decide, my three fics in which I accept Neal Cassidy as being dead all make me sniffly. It's either 'Rumple and Henry at Neal's grave', 'Rumple names a star after Neal for Henry's birthday present', or 'Years after Neal's death, his sister visits the grave of the brother she never met'. I debated rewriting that last one when the Rumbaby turned out to be a boy, but was too pleased with the way the fic came out to mess with it.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I've done several Rushbelle ones and one Macelle one that springboarded off a Bad Faery fic. Craziest one was a prompt for SGU's Nicholas Rush to turn into a unicorn. It somehow ended up not feeling like crack at all, though.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I got a few critical reviews from someone this past winter, but nothing strong enough that I would call it hate or be bothered by it. Like 'this is too fluffy and OOC' and I was like 'if you're looking for angst, you're in the wrong place, but thanks for reading!' I was having quite a bit of fun responding to this person tbqh, I was kind of sad when they stopped after three fics.

9. Do you write smut?

Yep. My brain keeps providing me with ideas, rudely not caring that it's much easier to play out sex scenes in my head for my own pleasure than to actually write them down.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. (At least that I know of!)

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

No

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh boy. *Drums fingers* I'm going to go with Vincent and Catherine from Beauty and the Beast, because their journey was cut short when Linda Hamilton left the show and I was left feeling unfulfilled and cheated of everything that they could have been. Fic was good, but they were canon, and we did not get enough of them. I wish they had either tried recasting the role or just cancelled it without doing what they did in the third season. Their romance was just so beautiful.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

If little isolated scenes I just wrote for my own pleasure (often extending an aired scene to make it fluffier or smuttier) in a journal counts, then Days of Our Lives, I think. Or maybe General Hospital. That was the first soap I got hooked on at the tender age of 12, thanks to my mom. For a proper fic written to be shared with others...it might have been a very short Robin of Sherwood scene where Robin wasn't killed due to some Herne-sent Magical Mist™ shrouding him from view of the Sheriff's archers and allowing him to escape back into the woods. (My more experienced self is asking what good that would have done, when the dogs could have just tracked him right back down. I DON'T KNOW, OKAY?)

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh man, I've got too many to choose from. The best I can do is say that for Rumbelle it's probably one (or all) of the fics in the Floofy!verse, and for Thor, one (or all) of the completely self-indulgently fluffy kid Thor and Loki fics.

Open tag for anyone who wants to do it!

[tenspontaneite]

Pigment

Callum discovers the wonders of elven pigments.

(The first of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine, which is now having leftover sales!) ('Future' chapter; takes place post-s3, naturally not canon to TTM. Oneshot. 4k. Ao3 link)

---

The first time Callum was introduced to the concept of elvish pigment was, ostensibly, by Rayla’s skin. He’d noted the marks under her eyes in the same hurried, panicked glance that picked out the horns, the ears, the alarming points of the weapons in her hands…

He wondered about them, of course, but in the first frantic two weeks of their acquaintance, there really wasn’t a lot of time to ask about it. Not until the Storm Spire, when he sat mulling over the flight-runes on Ibis’ wings, and how they might have come to be there.

“…So, I’ve been wondering,” he said to Rayla, apropos of nothing, while she was tending to her equipment. She looked up as he began to speak, the armour momentarily forgotten. “Those…markings you have, the ones on your face—and the ones a lot of other elves seem to have—what are they?”

She blinked, and for a moment, her fingers rose to her face, as though only just remembering the marks were there. “They’re pigment?” She offered, squinting at him a little. “…Is that a trick question, or…?”

“No, really, I have no idea what they are.” He assured her. “I was never sure if they were tattoos, or…weird elf birthmarks, or something. But—pigment? Does that mean it’s like…ink? How do you get them on?” Tattoos, as he understood them, involved needles. He hoped elven pigment didn’t involve needles.

For a moment, Rayla stared at him, looking decidedly nonplussed. “You…paint them on?” She offered, still thrown. “With a brush? And then they stay there for a while. Half a year, maybe. Depends on how good your pigment is.”

“Huh.” Callum mused. For a moment, he was tempted to press further, to ask about the intricacies of various pigments and the application thereof…but he’d been asking for a reason, after all, and his attention remained there.

If they were painted on...then that boded well. That meant that it was something that he could do, if only for the presence of the pigment and a brush.

It wasn’t much later that, after a guilty rummage through Ibis’ things, Callum stood at the pinnacle of the Storm Spire and painted flight-runes onto his skin. That was his first true introduction to the pigments of elves. As an artist, he couldn’t help but marvel at it. The pigment was white, yet it entirely obscured the darker colour of his skin with only a single, easy stroke. Only one layer, and it was solidly opaque. It glowed a little—then settled utterly dry, clean, and steadfast upon his arms.

For a moment, he spared a thought to wish that his paints could be like that. He’d dabbled in every form of art medium he could get his hands on over the years, and he’d never worked with any pigment like this one. It would be gorgeous to paint with.

But then he was too distracted trying to fly to think about art any longer, and that was the last mind he paid to pigment for a while.

*

After the battle of the Storm Spire, he prevailed upon the use of a finer, neater brush, and filled in the edges of his flight-runes until the shape of each was perfect and immaculate. Ibis watched him with a critical eye, and nodded.

“The spell will come easier if the runes are tidy.” He said, approvingly. “You’ll need to re-apply the pigment every three months. Any longer than that and it will begin to fade—which isn’t so great an issue when the marks are merely aesthetic, but with runes…”

“I can see how you wouldn’t want these fading, no.” Callum said ruefully, and accepted the little bottle of white pigment with a murmur of gratitude. He tucked it into his things for the next time he and Rayla went travelling, and she smiled at him.

“Packing your pigment for the journey, Callum?” She remarked, a little teasing. “Think we’ll be gone that long, do you?”

He laughed, and shrugged, glancing down at one of his arms. “I guess it’s just in case, really. I shouldn’t need to touch them up again for months, but…you never know. Wouldn’t want to end up flightless for some reason.”

“I suppose you are a tad obsessed with flying, now.” She agreed, as if she wasn’t always finding excuses for him to sweep her up into the sky for another flight. She reached out, absentminded, and trailed a fingertip around the curve of one rune with the trace of a smile on her lips. “Still, if it came down to it, you could always borrow mine.”

He glanced up at her, startled. “Your pigment?” He checked, eyes settling on the marks beneath her eyes. “I didn’t know you had any with you.”

“I don’t. Need to pick some up from Ethari, when we visit.” She said, succinctly, and he supposed that was another reason for their stopping at Silvergrove on the way to Katolis. How long had it been, since she last refreshed her pigment? Did she need to do it again soon, or was she just planning for the future?

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating her, feeling his heart flutter with a familiar warmth. If her markings had faded at all since he met her, it wasn’t immediately obvious to him. They looked as clear and lovely as ever; a natural part of her face. It was strange to think of what she might look like without them.

Rayla eyed him, when he’d stared a little too long and smiled a little too softly, and huffed at him. Her cheeks pinked a little, the colour darkening her markings. “What are you looking at?” She muttered to him, a touch self-conscious. Rather than look away, he smiled at her all the wider, and captured the hand she had on his arm to plant a kiss on its fingers.

“You.” He said, very contentedly, and watched with pleasure as her face coloured and her fingers twitched beneath his touch.

“Dumb prince.” She sighed, a smile spreading unbidden and affectionate across her lips. It was beautiful, so of course he kissed that too. He felt the widening of that smile against his mouth, and lingered there for as long as she’d let him before she prodded him away to finish packing.

She gave his arms a strange look, though, when he next bared them. Appraising, almost, with a narrow-eyed sort of consideration. “…What?” He asked, when she’d been staring long enough to warrant the question.

“Your runes are…neat.” She said, tone as considering as her eyes. “Tidy.” She shook her head then. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with all the art you do. Of course you’d be good at painting skin-pigment.” He eyed her, because there was clearly more to this observation than just surprise that he’d managed some tidy brushwork, but all she said when he asked was “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t believe her, obviously. Not with the way she kept shooting half-considering looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he didn’t press her, and she didn’t mention whatever was on her mind. In time, he forgot about it.

Until they were back in the Silvergrove.

*

Rayla asked Ethari, and within the minute he was pressing a small dark bottle and a fine brush into her hands. “I did wonder if you needed any.” He said, as she turned the glass over and the indigo liquid swirled around within. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” She agreed, pocketing the vial and the brush both. “It’ll start fading soon. So…thanks.”

He nodded at her, all warmth and familial affection. “Not a problem. Did you want me to help with that while you’re here?”

She hesitated, then, and for a moment…for a moment, her eyes slid to Callum, who’d been watching them idly over the top of his sketchbook. “…I’m good.” She settled on, eventually, and if there was anything particularly knowing about Ethari’s smile then, Callum didn’t notice it.

He kept drawing, content in that she was content, and happy to be in her home under happier circumstances than the first.

But then, later: “I wanted to ask you something.” Rayla said, abruptly, when it was just the two of them in what was ostensibly her childhood room. It had been adapted over the years for a growing teenager, but still maintained hints of the past lingering within its walls. He spotted a child’s doodle of a shadowpaw etched into the grain of the dresser, and suppressed a smile.

He turned to her, eyes crinkling a little at the thought of a tiny rambunctious Rayla who scrawled over the walls and furniture. “Yeah?” He responded, a little distracted, as he wondered if there were perhaps any baby or childhood portraits in residence somewhere. He should ask Ethari. If there were any to be found, surely he’d know.

That distraction fled the instant she spoke. “Will you paint my pigment for me?” She asked, directly, and his eyes shot to her at once. At his expression, she added, “You don’t have to. But it needs doing soon, or it’ll start fading faster.” She paused, looking a little more tentative as she said, “If you don’t want to, Ethari can—”

“No,” he blurted, clumsy, then scrambled to say “I mean, yes, I mean—I mean I’d like that. To help. To, er. Paint your pigment on.” He felt his face heat, in part from how he’d stumbled over the words, and in part because…well. He might not know a lot about elven pigment and elven markings, but he was fairly sure that they were…personal. That painting someone’s markings for them was personal.

His reply settled her, and she huffed, lips twitching with familiar fondness. “…Good.” She said, in the end, and surprised him by leaving the room without further word. He blinked after her, uncertain whether he was supposed to follow, but then she returned a bare few moments later with a towel and a wet cloth that she was already wiping her face with.

“Er,” he offered, perplexed, as she dried her face off and set the towel and cloth both down. He didn’t understand until she plucked the bottle of pigment from her dresser and pressed it into his fingers. “Now?” His voice was something of a squeak, and she rolled her eyes.

“When else?” She asked, procuring a brush and giving him that too. “We’re setting off tomorrow. Now’s best.” She paused. “…That okay?”

Her voice had gone tentative again, and his chin jerked up, fingers tightening around brush and bottle as if worried she’d take them away. “No, yeah, it’s okay,” he assured her, and then laughed, a little nervously. “I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He cleared his throat, and took a closer look at the brush. It was like the one he’d filled his own runes in with, fine and delicate and short enough that it didn’t seem liable to flick off in weird directions. “…So I just…paint this onto your face?” He asked, after a moment, feeling his cheeks heat for reasons he couldn’t quite put to words. It felt special, in a way that was hard to describe.

“That is how it works.” Rayla answered, dryly, and then tugged him by the rune-adorned arm until they were both sitting on the floor, towel and cloth at close remove. He supposed those were there in case of spillages, though considering how quickly elvish pigment took hold, he wasn’t sure how much good a towel would do. He wondered if there was some sort of solvent, magical or otherwise, that was up to the task of dissolving pigment like this.

“What happens if I make a mistake when I’m putting your pigment on?” He wondered aloud, only half directing it at her. “Do you just have to walk around with it on your face for months?”

She snorted, and shook her head. “Nah. There’s pigment-remover for that.”

A little tension eased from his shoulders. “Oh, good,” he sighed, relieved. “That’s much less pressure, then.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Just paint my face, Callum.”

He chuckled at her, a little nervously, and uncapped the bottle. The liquid inside was so much darker than the pigment he used, and bizarrely true in its colour. Usually, inks tended to look much darker than their actual colour when they were in the bottle. It was only when you painted them onto a page that you could see how light and bright they were. This, though…it was just solid, liquid indigo, as if someone had distilled the concept of the colour of Rayla’s markings and spilled it into a bottle. “This would be amazing to paint with.” He murmured, somewhat distractedly, watching the pigment shimmer in the low light.

Rayla didn’t answer that, which was unusual enough that his eyes darted to hers, and found her looking strangely thoughtful. She shook her head, though, as if to dispel some thought, and started giving the pigment bottle and the brush some very meaningful looks. He laughed, softly, and obeyed the unspoken command; he dipped the brush in, drained off the excess, and then lifted it. It was dyed the same solid, true indigo—a colour that he was about to put onto her skin.

It hit him then, or at least started to; he looked between the brush and her face and felt his breath catch at—at something. It felt a little like panic, a little like wonder, a little like the breathless infatuation she always managed to inspire in him. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with it, and just…stared at her, heart beating wildly at—at the trust, and the honour, that he couldn’t help but feel she’d given him.

She was looking impatient by the time he finally moved, and likely would have spoken if not for how he shuffled closer, until their knees were touching. Her mouth closed, watching him, eyes settling on his own as he reached towards her. His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, feather-light, as tentative as he always was when he remembered that someone as amazing as her had deigned to be with someone like him. His breath caught in his throat as he lifted his hand, thumb tracing tenderly along a cheek that warmed beneath his touch.

He cupped her face in his hand, then, unable to resist the impulse, and she leaned into it without even thinking. Her eyes fell half-lidded for a moment, the smallest smile twitching at the edges of her lips, and he wanted to kiss her. That wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but—but he wanted to, and she was smiling at him, and her eyes were soft and warm in the quiet and low light of the room—

So, he kissed her, and she huffed an amused breath against his lips, lifting a hand to trail affectionate fingers along the side of his neck. “This doesn’t feel like face-painting to me.” She murmured to him, fond and teasing at once, and he wouldn’t have been surprised for a moment if his heart stopped beating for the strength of how much he loved her. “Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

He laughed, a little breathless, and the warmth of it spilled between them. “Yeah.” He agreed, helplessly, drawing back with her fingers still warm on his neck and his hand still cupped to her cheek, and paused for a moment to treasure the sight of her looking at him like that. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she loved him. He didn’t think he’d ever believe it. “I’ll just…get on that.”

She withdrew her hand, and watched him. Waiting.

His fingers shifted on Rayla’s face, moving to press his thumb gently to the side of the marking under her left eye. Pulling at the skin, ever-so-slightly, to allow for painting it more evenly. Another urge struck him, but this time he suppressed it. He could kiss her cheek-markings later. For now, he was supposed to be painting them. And so…

With an almost reverent care, he lifted the tip of the brush to her face, hovering just above her skin with a heady mixture of breathless wonder and breathless trepidation. He exhaled, softly, and felt her eyes upon him. Watching, warm and fond and expectant.

Finally, with the utmost care, he touched the brush to her skin.

She flinched a little at the touch so close beneath her eye, but he’d expected that. He held the brush steady and traced a slow, perfect line down her cheek, along the edge of the extant marking, like a dark border to the fading colour. And it was fading; he could see that now. It wasn’t noticeable on its own, but with the contrast of the fresh pigment beside it, it was fully obvious that the old colour had begun waning.

With the brush to her skin, Callum’s hushed awe fell in step with the breadth of his skill and practice. He’d never put brush to someone else’s skin before, but that did nothing to diminish his skill. He knew brushwork, and he knew the delicacy needed for fine detail, and…and, in the end, this was easy. Just tracing around an existing marking, and filling it in. There could be nothing easier.

He drew the pigment across her skin in smooth, effortless lines. He traced the borders of her marking and then filled it in, up until when the brush began to run empty, and he had to go for the bottle again. The colour settled fast, immediate, and perfect upon her face, with that gorgeous fidelity he’d never seen in any other pigment or paint or ink in all his life. It was a pleasure to use it, and all the more that he was using it for this.

Callum fell half into an artist’s trance for the remaining minutes it took to finish. He filled the left marking in, stark and perfect, then shifted his fingers tenderly to her other cheek, and repeated the process. When he was done, there was nothing but perfect lines and perfect colour upon a face that he loved.

He smiled, small and satisfied, and set the brush aside. “Done.” He murmured, and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, cradling her face in both hands. It felt strange, to risk touching her skin when he’d only just painted it. But that was the wonder of elvish pigment; it dried the moment it was applied, and permitted no possibility of smearing whatsoever. He stroked his thumbs beneath her eyes and felt more happy, more tender, more loving than he’d ever known. “Perfect.” He murmured, reverential, the words meant for more than the pigment.

Her eyes blinked across from his own, and he loved them. Loved her. She brought her arms up and drew him closer, one hand splayed on the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll have you do me some new markings, someday.” She murmured to him, in the end, a small and secret smile at the edges of her lips. He stared at her, spellbound, for the three beats of his heart that lingered between her smile and her movement. She leaned in and closed the meagre distance between them, the kiss soft and sweet and all the more perfect for how dearly he adored her.

He imagined, for a second, drawing that ink-brush again along her skin. Imagined it between her fingers, along her arms, casting indigo whorls about her shoulders. He thought of new pigment, new markings, and the sheer delight of being the one who got to put them there. His heart fluttered. “I’d like that.” He said, against her lips, and she kissed him again.

“Good.” When she drew back, the markings were still stark and beautiful beneath her eyes, where he’d painted them. The sight of them left him a little breathless, even now, unable to shake the sense that he’d been afforded an enormous privilege, a gift of worth beyond measure.

Someday, he hoped, she’d afford him that gift again.

*

Callum saw the fruits of Rayla’s thoughtful consideration and furtive glances a while later, when July came around and he was startled from thinking about her birthday by the arrival of his own. She cornered him with palpable satisfaction, and gave him a parcel that she very clearly expected him to be delighted with.

She wasn’t wrong.

He unveiled an array of small bottles; thirty-six hues of true and perfect elvish pigment, distilled for the purpose of painting. He beheld them all with a nearly breathless joy, finding the little parcel of pigment-brushes, the bottle of solvent, the masking-fluid….

“You like it?” Rayla asked, with a broad and decidedly smug smile on her face. She clearly already knew the answer.

“I love it.” He pronounced, and set at once to trying them out.

The very first thing he painted was her. She watched him, and huffed as she saw the familiar lines of her own face taking form on the page, pleased and exasperated all at once. She never did seem to understand why he drew her so often, but that was okay. And, with these pigments…

The colours were spectacular, brighter and more intensely pigmented than anything he’d ever seen. He found himself utterly swept away in the delight of using them, and hours later, emerged from his artist’s trance to the completed work: Rayla in the early evening of the Silvergrove, her hair and eyes gleaming softly with the gentle illumination of the lights and moon-moths around her. It was one of the finest works he’d ever produced, and at the sight of it, he concluded the process of falling helplessly in love with Elvish pigment.

Rayla, for all her embarrassment at being painted, seemed to approve of it too. “You picked that up quickly.” She noted, handling the edges of the thick paper with the delicate care it deserved.

“These pigments are my new favourite thing.” He declared, arranging the bottles a little more tidily beside him. His eyes rested, a little consideringly, over another wide sheet of paper. He stared at it for a long while, growing quiet and solemn, and eventually reached out to take it.

He had his birthday traditions to observe, after all.

The second thing he painted with the elven pigments was his family portrait, atrophied and truncated by tragedy. There was no Sarai there, and hadn’t been for years. No Harrow, and that was a new pain. He felt the ghosts of their absence in the lines he didn’t draw, in the colours that never fell upon the page, in the voids of grief that they left in his life.

But there were new faces now, too.

With quiet, exquisite care, he drew himself. He drew Ezran, older now, wearing a mantle that had come for him too soon. He drew Bait in his brother’s arms. He drew Aunt Amaya. And, tenderly: he drew Azymondias and Rayla. The outlines took form, and as the hours passed, elvish pigment filled them in.

In the end, he had his family portrait again. Changed, and echoing with its empty spaces, but…

Quiet, from her place beside him, Rayla slipped her hand into his own.

“Come on,” She said, with the small but tender smile that he loved. “Zym has a present for you too. He’ll be disappointed if he can’t give it to you today.”

Callum exhaled, and let her fingers tighten around his, pulling him up to his feet beside her. His own smile slipped onto his lips. “Then we’d better go find him.” He said, casting a last glance at the portrait on the table. He didn’t resist it when she tugged on his fingers, pulling him away.

With a strange, quiet serenity, he followed her out into the light.

---

end.

This is word-for-word what was published in the Rayllum zine 'Falling For You'; I have made no changes. It’s the shorter and less impressive of my two pieces, but I hope you liked it anyway.

I’ll potentially be making some minor edits to the second piece before posting, given I intend to continue it - in fact, I’ve already got like three extra chapters of it written, though small ones. I’m considerably more excited about that one, so stay tuned!

[gatheringfiki]

GatheringFiKi Interest Survey 2021 - Results

Hi folks,

First of all, huge thank you to those who took the time to fill in our recent survey. We have now reviewed the results and have a couple of points we’d like to share.

1) Existing Events:

12 Days of Christmas - 123 points

FiKi Week - 153 points

Fandom Raffle Exchange - 172 points

Durin's Day Gift Exchange - 174 points

AUpocalypse - 200 points

Kink Bingo - 209 points

Drabble Challenges - 212 points

Trick or Treat - 218 points

H/C Bingo - 220 points

Fanfic Rec Bingo - 222 points

Show Some Love - 225 points

Fic of a Fic - 235 points

Secret Admirers - 243 points

Round Robins - 335 points

No surprises near the top, AUpocalypse did well for itself, as did both Bingos and Trick or Treat - suspect because they're new. Interest in Drabble Challenges seems to be waning (ran too often?), rec-type-events have not been popular for a few years now, Secret Admirers took a dramatic fall from grace (???) and nobody liked Round Robins.

I thiiiiiiiiink that we need to do some sort of a guide for 'I'm an artist - which events can I take part in and how?' because there are very few purely aimed at writers, and yet outside of 12 Days and DDGE (if it runs) we get very few art responses.

2) New Events:

'I miss the twelve days when we churned out twelve chapters of the same story over the time period' - I don't remember us ever running this event. Submitting prompts - see: Raffle and Drabble Challenges.

Physical/Digital FiKi Zine - going by how many people did the survey, there are 20-30 people in this fandom. Even IF each of them wanted to actually buy/read a copy, we're all over the world. And that's before considering how to create actual content for it. The economies of scale say: 'no' :(

Kink/H/C Meme - see: Kink and H/C Bingos. ;)

Round Robins with the whole story known - this event scores SO consistently at the very bottom, that we won't be running it again, in any format.

Tale Teller’s Fright Night - interesting idea, but I think we'd have 2 challenges: a) this assumes that we all have a fairly uniform knowledge of films/songs/whatever of a particular theme and we don't - we come from very diverse backgrounds; b) while we do occasionally incorporate elements of 'first come first served' in our events, it's always a risk: we're in different time zones, folks with anxiety start stressing about it, and if all the things you wanted are gone, you just won't take part. Thank you for the suggestion though ;)

3) Events Frequency:

Not often enough - 7.4%

Just often enough - 85.2%

Too often - 7.4%

We will carry on doing what we're doing :)

4) Attracting New People:

Simple photo collage event / summer reading logs / a game of tag - thems are really new event ideas. I think that we already have such a range of events that if someone new wanted to get involved, there is already plenty of opportunity to find something for your interests. You can bring a horse to the water but you can't make it drink...

How to participate in our events link - every event is slightly different and we don't really have an 'etiquette' that would apply across the board. There is a clear instructions post provided at the start of each event though. Again, horse, water...

Hobbit Re-show - not sure I fully understand this one - please elaborate?

FiKi Discord Channel - @shinigami714 Do you know if it's actually active? If so, could you please do the linking there? Let's discuss on chat.

Putting a GatheringFiKi link in author's notes on AO3 - yes, good idea, only we have no way of enforcing it! Please feel free to do so if you wish, though - we'd be very grateful <3

We wanted to also take this opportunity to thank everyone for the wonderful and humbling words of encouragement we’ve received. We do what we do because of the people in this fandom and we will continue our work for as long as there is interest in it. It’s what being in a fandom means to us and hopefully it inspires some of you too :)

A Calendar Post for 2022 will follow.

One final point: Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey first premiered in December 2012. That makes 2022 its 10th anniversary year (yes, a decade we've been in this glorious dumpster together!!).

To commemorate this momentous occasion, we were thinking (circumstances permitting) of organising a joint re-watch of Hobbit: AUJ, just after Christmas 2022. By which I mean synchronised start of the film + Skype open side by side for live commentary. There may also be other, little nods towards AUJ throughout the year ;)

Happy New Year, peeps!

~gatheringfiki

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

White Night

This is my piece in the @frozines “Summer Lovin” zine...  Rated T, 1258 words. 

It was a warm summer evening, barely cooling down. The sun finally set over the harbor, the last glimmers of red sparkling over the bit of ocean visible from the castle. Even though most of the fjord had been in shadows for hours, the sky was still glowing with a purplish white that would last until dawn. 

As she looked around, Anna could hardly believe this was real.  She wasn’t used to so many people being in the castle to begin with, but this many people here this late at night, when normally Gerda might be bustling her off to bed, this was hard to believe.  

Hans had reappeared, and almost literally whisked her off her feet for a dance, before they snuck off and found quiet places to talk.  After a few of the more acceptable places--the garden, the balcony right outside the ballroom--she began to show him more of the castle, all the secret spots she had learned over the years.  Was this improper?  The guards gave some suspicious glances, but what did she care about that? This was her night.  Their night.

Then, she took him over to the look-out tower.

“It’s not really dark yet,” Hans commented as they looked out over the water, the steep, dark walls of the fjord only visible in silhouette.

“Oh, no, of course it never really gets dark in the summer,” Anna stated as a matter of fact.  She’d never really been anywhere else, so it hadn’t occurred to her that this would seem at all unusual to anyone.  

“I suppose you get used to that, don’t you?” he asked, looking at her with a bit of a smile. “Just like the mountains everywhere.  We don’t really have any mountains, except in some of our colonies.  Some of my brothers have been there, but I haven’t.”

Anna tried to imagine not having mountains around. Even when she couldn’t go out freely all those years, this was what she knew. The mountains might have been outside the walls, but there were still the rocks in the garden, and the trees were the same trees that she saw in the distance.  

After a moment, she took him out of the castle, across the bridge, and into town.  As they got to the bottom of the clock tower, she saw that the door to the stairs was open. She’d never been here before, at least, not since she could remember.  They ran up to the top.

“Look! I’ve never seen that constellation this early in the evening before!” Anna exclaimed as she grabbed Hans’s hand without thinking, stepping outside at the top.  Here in the center of town, they were at just enough of a distance from the castle that the mountain that usually blocked that constellation on summer evenings wasn’t blocking it anymore.

“Really?”  Hans replied. “Which one is that? I never spent as much time as I should on astronomy, I have to admit.”

“That one is…” How was she forgetting the name?  She had stayed up late so many nights, with nothing better to do, and the library had several books on astronomy; she had memorized all the constellations she could spot this far north.  Right now, the only name her mind could remember was Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.  Nothing else mattered, did it?  

She looked over at him as he smiled at her.  

“Have you seen the harbor?  Oh, of course you have, but, oh! I know!” She laughed and ran back inside and down the stairs, realizing she hadn’t told him where she was going, and hoping he would follow.

She lost track of how many places they had been in such a short time that evening, though it felt like forever. They sat on the roof top that she had often climbed onto by herself when nobody was looking, just staring at the stars some more. 

“Is that a shooting star?” Hans asked, pointing up.

“Yes!” she shouted. 

“Make a wish,” he told her.  His face was very close to hers now.  She could almost-

 “Oh! I want to show you something else!”  She pulled at his hand and led him back down the stairs.  They ran toward the castle.  

“Here,” she whispered when they got there.  “This is a side entrance.”

“I thought you said you never left here,” he said with a smirk.  

“Well... “ She giggled nervously. “Not really, but I knew this door was here.”

 “I see.  You like to follow the rules, then?”

“I-” She swallowed. 

Hans smiled at her, stepping closer.  She put her hand up to stop him from coming too near, but somehow ended up just letting her hand rest on his chest.  What was she doing?

“So…” she hemmed, grabbing his hand again and pulling him inside the castle garden, “I bet you don’t have anything like this where you grew up!”

“A waterfall? I can’t say we do. We really don’t have much nature at our palace, not unless you count the horse stables,” he chuckled.  Then he looked at her with an odd smile, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. 

Hans spoke again before Anna could question what was on his mind.  “How did I not notice that this morning?”

“You can’t really see it from town,” Anna told him.  “Do you want to get a closer look?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. 

They ran along the side of the wall, finding their way to the path up the hillside, until they got to the bridge across the waterfall.  They walked along, Anna pointing out things she recognized from town, and parts of the fjord she was familiar with from a distance, since from a distance was the only view she’d had for so many years.

They stood on the rock outcrop in the middle of the waterfall.  It was beautiful, so romantic. 

“Can I ask you something crazy? Will you marry me?” Hans asked, getting down on one knee grasping her hand.

“Can I say something crazier? Yes!” Anna exclaimed, feeling a fluttering in her stomach, hardly able to believe this was really happening.  

They stood holding hands and staring at each other for a moment.

“So…” Anna said, not sure what she was supposed to say now that she had accepted.  

Hans stood up slowly, then stroked her cheek. She looked into his eyes, sparkling in the light reflecting off the water. She realized that they should go tell everyone, but that could wait for a few minutes, couldn’t it?  They walked a little ways back along the hillside, hidden from the view of the town, stopping in a secluded spot.  His lips met hers. Were they kissing? Yes, they were kissing.   She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but all of her girlhood fantasies crowded in her mind all at once. This was what she had been waiting for.  

She eventually had enough wherewithal to put her hands around his neck, and he pulled her in closer.

***

“We need to go tell everyone,” Anna said, adjusting her hair.

“Wait, what?” Hans stopped what he was doing, showing a flash of panic, then after a pause, “Oh, right, of course. We should get your sister’s blessing.”

Anna giggled nervously at the thought.  They’d had a bit of a disagreement earlier that evening, she and her sister, but that awkwardness was in the past.  Surely Elsa would be happy for her now. She pulled Hans along the shortest way back to the castle.  She was going to get married.

[bat-famzine]

Happy Thanksgiving to our followers in the US! We hope you can enjoy some hearty food and fun time with friends and family. 

How does the Batfam celebrate Thanksgiving? What are their favorite foods? Check out the incredible @preciousthingsareprecious‘s take on a Batfam Thanksgiving celebration below the cut! Don’t forget to preorder a copy of the  zine here to read more of her work, as well as amazing art and writing from our other contributors!

Jason’s attention was split. A small speaker rested on the counter behind him, the rising and falling voice of a narrator flowing from it as they read The Andromeda Evolution to the room. Below him on the counter he worked dough, kneading it with growing confidence. His apron, the counter, and the floor were all dusted with flour, spread in a mess he was not looking forward to cleaning up. 

As the narrator moved into a long technical explanation Jason’s mind wandered back to the dough under his palms. It had been a long time since he’d made rolls from scratch, or any bread beyond quick easy ones-- like those that were just a batter thrown in a loaf pan and baked-- so he’d been nervous when he’d decided that if he was going to do this, he’d do it right. Still, his hands and arms remembered the repetitive push and pull of working the dough, even if the last time he’d done it was when he’d been a kid. 

When he’d lived at the manor, it had become somewhat of a tradition for Jason to help with the rolls. He figured Alfred set him to them because kneading took such energy, but he’d loved it all the same. He loved cooking in general. More than that, he’d loved that it seemed to bring everyone together. He and Alfred, and then on holidays where there was much to be done, Bruce would join them for the easier tasks and chatting. 

He smiled at those memories, holidays had been much quieter when he was Robin than what he was expecting today. The family had grown so much since then. 

His smile turned down and he rolled his eyes, they were all still idiots though, nothing would change that. If not, he’d be in the kitchen at the manor helping Alfred cook and not settled into his own apartment with far too little counter space for all his needs. 

The narrator moved from their technical description back to the team in the jungle and Jason let thoughts of family past and present fall away as he listened. He rolled the dough into a loose ball and moved to get his greased bowl, depositing the dough into it, and covering the whole thing with a towel before setting it aside to rise. 

As Jason set it down, the doorbell rang. He tapped pause on the app playing the book and wiped his hands on his apron before moving to the door. When he opened it a burst of chilly air washed over him. 

“Heya, Squirt.” Jason said to a somewhat anxious looking Damian standing at his doorway. 

He scowled at the nickname, anxiety falling away as his obligation to be irritated with any name beyond his given taking precedence over worries. His arms were crossed across his chest against the cold, making him look small and alone in the doorway. 

Jason stepped back, smiling at the kid, “Come on in.” 

Damian hurried inside, and stopped short, looking around the apartment utterly bedecked in pumpkins, leaves, and crackling candles. Jason let his grin grow at Damian’s surprise. 

“What, did you think I’d invite you over for Thanksgiving and not roll out the red carpet?” 

Damian turned on him, “I was under the impression that most people do not decorate for Thanksgiving.” 

Jason shrugged, closing the door, “I’m not most people. Besides, it’s not every day I’m the one having family over for a holiday.” 

“Then you did not only invite me?” It was a question, sharp enough to say he knew the answer. 

He wagged a finger at Damian, and moved back towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, I didn’t have you come early so you could loiter at the door.” 

“Todd.” Damian demanded, stomping after him, “What kind of plan have you cooked up this time?” 

Jason was already busy, pulling an assortment of fruit out of the fridge to set on one of the counters, “I’m going to need to you slice all of this into bite size bits for the fruit salad.” 

“Jason.” 

It was the use of his name, and the worry in Damian’s voice that made Jason turn his full attention onto his youngest brother. The anxious look Damian had on his face when he’d been at the door was back, more obvious this time than last. 

“If you have invited everyone then I will not be able to--” 

“Stop that.” Jason said, interrupting him, “This is why it’s me hosting this year, because you lot all got it in your heads that it would be better if everyone celebrated without you.”

“You lot?” Damian asked, brows knit, “Do you mean to say that I was not the only one to have claimed alternate plans to Father?”

Jason nodded. He’d called Alfred a week ago to confirm Thanksgiving plans and see when he was expected to arrive and learned that everyone had mysterious ‘other engagements’. A few calls later and Jason had learned that each and every one of his siblings had opted out of the holiday festivities in an attempt to make the day better for someone else, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone. The lot of them were self sacrificing to a fault. On Thanksgiving of all days. The idiots. 

“Thanksgiving is about family.” Jason said, tossing an apple at Damian, “Peel those before you slice them,” he added three more to the growing stack of fruit on the counter, “Family and time spent being thankful you’ve got them in your life, and I’m not letting any of you skip out because we’ve all got the conversation skills of rocks.” 

Damian still hadn’t moved, apple cradled in his hands, “If I had known...I did not wish Father and Pennyworth to be alone.” his voice was tight, slightly strained like he was fighting with emotions. 

Jason moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright. It’s sorted and everyone’s coming over.” he grinned at Damian, “Alfred and I will make sure of that. I’ve got the adults bringing stuff, so pull your weight and help me out.” 

They worked in tandem, Damian following Jason’s instructions as he gave them, and showing a lot of promise in the kitchen. Jason made a mental note to have the kid help him more often when the opportunity presented itself. To avoid too much silence Jason switched the book on his speaker to something he knew Damian was interested in. They listened and worked together as a new voice filled the room, spinning tales of fantastic events. 

When another knock at the door resounded above the narrator’s voice, Jason paused it. 

“That’ll be Dick. Get the door for me?” he said, checking on now risen dough. 

He smiled to himself as he heard Dick’s surprised exclamation and rolled his eyes at Damian’s playful complaints of being “worked to the bone”. The two chatted with animated voices while Jason finished rolling individual rolls and setting them aside for their second rise. He turned just in time for Damian to lead Dick into the kitchen, the man carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes. 

“Now I see why you told me to bring enough for ten.” he said, grinning, “What’d you do, team up with Alfred to plot all this?” 

Jason grinned at him and winked, making Dick choke on a laugh, “I should have known. Careful or you’ll be hosting every year.” 

It was a warning Jason wasn’t sure he’d heed. Even with the few of them there, the feeling of the day was warm and comforting. He found himself looking forward to the chaos sure to fill his little apartment in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time. 

Everyone else filtered in slowly after that. Tim, Cass, and Steph came together having bumped into one another on the way bringing drinks and stuffing. Then Duke with a casserole looking much like something Alfred had made. 

People milled around, Tim hijacked Jason’s speaker and started playing music, and Damian (now protective of the kitchen and his place helping) shooed out anyone trying to sneak an early bite of dinner. It was a tight fit in Jason’s apartment, but comfortable. And everyone was smiling, despite all the worries of “If I’m here I’ll fight with them” and “It would be more peaceful if I did not come”. Jason fully expected some kind of spat to happen at some point, but what was a family gathering without a little bit of mess?

Jason left his youngest brother stirring the gravy to greet Bruce and Alfred when they arrived. Each carried one of Alfred’s famous pies. Alfred had a delighted twinkle in his eye and Bruce looked startled but happy. 

“I never doubted you for a moment.” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder before taking Bruce’s pie from him and moving to the kitchen to leave them together. 

When they were alone Bruce cast his eyes around the group, “You got everyone together?” 

“Alfred helped.” Jason said. 

“But you spearheaded it.” 

Jason shrugged, at a loss for words. Which was silly, it wasn’t like he’d done anything huge or dug them out single handedly from rubble or something. He’d just tricked everyone into coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. 

“Thanks.” Bruce said, and tugged him into a hug, “It’s good to have everyone together.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Old Man.” Jason said clearing his throat of the sudden tightness there, “Alfred threatened not to bake at all if the whole family didn’t come.”

This made his dad laugh, “Nothing motivates like Alfred’s pies.” 

“We should try bribing criminals with them.” Jason said. 

“Todd!” Damian’s head poked from the kitchen, his nose was smeared with what could be either mashed potatoes or whipped cream, “Your assistance is required in the kitchen.” his eyes caught onto Bruce, “Oh, hello, Father.”  

“Damian.” Bruce nodded, “You’ve got a bit of uh.” he motioned to his nose. 

Damian’s eyes just about crossed to look at his nose before he wiped a hand across it, “It is Drake’s fault. Both of you come, or the whole meal will be ruined.” 

Jason waved him back in, and turned back to Bruce, “That’s our cue, ready to go save the day?” 

Bruce nodded, “Lead the way.” 

[tetrakys]

Behind the Mask

This is the story I wrote for BV zine. It’s set in Eldarya around episodes 16/17.

---

The moment I stepped outside HQ, I felt like I’d been teleported to a new, magical world. Again. This time no mushrooms had been involved.

What was usually the busy, messy and kinda dirty market square, was now a ballroom out of a fairy tale. Long, scarlet drapes surrounded the area, giving it an air of sumptuous elegance. Small flames floated in the air, looking like sparkling chandeliers. Musicians played strange instruments that reminded me of violins and flutes of my world.

But nothing surprised me as much as the people. Everyone was impeccably dressed in amazing gowns and suits, their faces covered in colourful masks. Alajea and Karenn had told me that faeries took very seriously the festivity of Samhain, the Gaelic precursor of our Halloweeen, but I had no idea how seriously.

They’d explained that, when their people still lived on Earth, it was the one night where they could walk freely among humans without fear of being recognised. Human believed that during this night the walls between different worlds thinned and could easily be crossed. They all wore masks and costumes to blend between the faeries and demons they assumed travelled the Earth during that night. Once Eldarya had been created the faeries kept the celebration as a reminder of the life of hiding and fear they’d left behind.

I looked down at my elegant but simple white gown. At first, I thought I might be overdressed with the soft tulle skirt and the tight corset that Purriri had persuaded me to buy. She’d even offered the mask that currently covered half of my face at a discount. Now I was happy I’d spent a big chunk of my savings on this dress, at least I didn’t stand out like a sore thumb.

I walked slowly around the edges of the dancefloor trying to spot people I might know. At some point I thought I recognised Karuto, those horns kinda gave him away, but he looked too busy handling the food to care about chatting with me.

A dancing couple caught my eye. It couldn’t be… yes! Karenn and Chrome! Despite the mask I could tell he’d turned five different shades of red and was stuttering something I couldn’t hear. She looked cute in a blue dress and was smiling at him cheekily. Also, she was leading. I didn’t know what she had in mind, but poor Chrome.

“Mmm…” a soft, smooth voice whispered at my back, “you look lovely tonight my lady. May I offer you a drink? Or maybe you could offer me one?”

I turned around to find myself face to face with a tall, black haired masked man, dressed in a Victorian style.

“N-Nevra?”

“I’m not Nevra, my lady. Tonight I’m the blood-thirsty Count Dracula,” he replied with a fanged smile.

A moment of silence went by while I tried to grasp the situation.

“Let me get this straight. You, a vampire, dressed up as a… vampire??” I asked incredulous.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? This year I’m definitely going to win best costume.”

“B-but… how? Why?”

“There are so many definitions of vampire in your world. At first, I wanted to go with the sparkling one, but then I decided that you can never do wrong with a classic,” he explained. “You humans are so funny. Why would vampires live in isolated mansions, we like to PAR-TY!”

I genuinely didn’t know how to reply.

“Ah you found the kid!” said a falsely rough, deep voice, which belonged to a man with long blue hair, beard and moustaches. “Here is my dinner! Oh-oh-oh!”

“Ezarel? W-what are you dressed as?”

“Mph… you’re so stupid. Can’t you see the bag full of presents? I’m clearly Bluebeard!”

“I understand the facial hair, but… the presents?”

“How could you not know the fairy tales from your own world,” he replied irritated. “Don’t you know that Bluebeard brings gifts to kids and, once they sleep, eats them?”

“I think you’ve mixed up three of four different characters here. Have you even read the fable?”

“Nah,” he replied with his usual big, devilish smile. “Who has time for these things.”

“Wait…” I said, finally grasping the situation. “You just wanted an excuse to wear your fake beard again, didn’t you?”

“BINGO!” he laughed. Since I’d thought him a few Earthling slangs he kept using them whenever he had a chance just to annoy me.

“It wasn’t funny the first time,” I said remembering how he’d tried to trick me into believing that I’d been in a coma for hundreds of years, “and it’s not funny now. Bluebeard is a horrible character, basically a serial killer, he murdered his own wives!”

“Uhm…” he looked surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t the point to look scary?” Nevra said patting Ezarel on the back, ”even though you look more hilarious than scary. Now, Valkyon got it right.”

“Where is he?” I asked scanning the crowd without recognising him. I wished I could chat with Valkyon for a bit, I loved spending time with him, he always made me feel at ease. “What is he dressed as?”

“I’m only going to give you a hint: It’s furry.” He laughed.

“Uh…?”

“You’ll see.”

I was scanning the area looking for Valkyon, when my eyes stopped on someone else. A man, dressed in a dark suit and black cape. He was wearing a white mask covering half of his face and I recognised him as the Phantom of the Opera. I didn't know the story was also famous in Eldarya, but apparently many of Earth's legends and fables had some sort of connection to faeries folklore.

The man was looking at me from the other side of the improvised ballroom, and even from afar I could see his eyes, which were of an impossible light shade of blue. I could tell his skin was dark from his chin and the strong line of his lips, the only parts of his body not covered by his outfit.

He was imposing, mysterious and his gaze completely unnerving.

"We have to go now." I almost jumped on the spot, suddenly remembering I was talking with the guys.

"Why, is something going on?"

"Well, we shouldn't really tell you this but… do you remember the knowledge-eating monster?" Nevra asked.

"The one who ate all the library's books and whose escape I was unjustly accused of?" I replied drily, "I have a vague recollection, yes."

"Well,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “What you don't know is that those monsters come in couples. There was a second book, and we have found out today that it’s disappeared."

"WHAT?" I cried out alarmed.

"Shhh" Ezarel gestured for me to shut up. "You shouldn’t have said anything, Nevra."

"Don't worry Erika, Miiko asked us to keep our eyes open but the book has probably just been misplaced. Everything is going to be fine." 

I wanted to believe him, but it wasn’t the first time I doubted the Guard’s judgment on important decision. Who would ever hide a monster who ate knowledge… in a book… in a library?

“The library is still mostly empty. If this monster really escaped, he would try to eat people’s memories like the previous one tried to do with me,” I pointed out nervously.

“Nah, this one is different, they are complementary. While one erases the stories it feeds on, the other makes them real. Anyway, we must run, see you later.” Ezarel said while they walked away.

I was left dumbfounded, what did it mean that the monster made the stories real? I kept ruminating on that thought for a while until someone broke me away from my thoughts.

“May I have this dance?”

I smiled at Leiftan, offering him my hand as he led me to the dancefloor. A slow, soft music was playing, and I tentatively put my arms on his shoulders, while he held my waist. It was probably the most intimate we’d ever been with each other, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt right.

“I like the wings,” I said after a moment looking at the white attachments behind his back, “they’re so beautiful, they almost seem real.”

“You look really pretty in your costume.” He said changing the subject, slightly tightening his hold on my waist. “What is it?”

“T-thanks…” I said feeling some heat rise to my cheeks. “Have you ever heard of the white swan? The story is called Swan Lake.”

“No, will you tell me about it?” he asked looking genuinely interested.

“It’s about this princess, Odette, who is cursed by an evil sorcerer to live her life as a woman during the night and a swan during the day, unless she finds someone who swears to truly love her forever.” I explained. “I’ve always loved this story, since the moment my parents took me to the ballet when I was a child. But I… am a little embarrassed to admit that I also cried in the theatre.”

“Oh… is it a sad story? She doesn’t find love?”

“She does. As in many fables, a beautiful prince falls madly in love with her. But there are different versions of the ending. Sometimes love is not enough to save them.”

The music was about to end, but he hugged me closer, almost unwilling to let me go. I felt a little embarrassed and tried to keep the conversation going.

“I’ve always felt bad for Odette. Having to live a half-life, hiding, not being able to be herself completely. It would be so difficult to find true love, someone who could love her real self. What a terrible fate.”

He didn’t reply, as if lost in thought.

“I-I’m sorry, Erika. I… have to go check…” he stuttered after a minute, when the piece we were dancing to ended.

“The library monster,” I helped him, he was probably struggling to find an excuse to keep the secret. “I know. Nevra already spilled the beans. Do you need help…?”

“You’re kind.” He smiled his usual, sweet smile. “There’s no need. Please enjoy the party.”

Bowing down, he took my hand, leaving a small kiss on its back, and walked away.

"That wasn't very aengelic of him," replied a mysterious and somewhat ironic voice at my back. I turned around to find that man, the Phantom. "Running, leaving his dance partner all alone on the dancefloor. But a man’s loss is another man’s gain, may I?"

Without waiting for my reply, he took me in his arms and led us through the next dance. The music was slightly more upbeat, and there was something wild in the rhythm, almost primordial. I was strangely intrigued by this unknown man, there was something familiar in him, but I wasn’t going to drop my guard. His eyes meant danger, and his hold on me felt vaguely predatorial.

"The Light Guard is always busy, even during festivals.” I replied. “Do I know you?"

“Ah yes, the Guard and its mysterious business. I bet they have a lot of important, questionable tasks to attend to.” He commented, ignoring my question.

His answer surprised me. I knew not everyone at the village, and even in the Guard, was a big fan of the way things were handled around here. I knew I hadn’t been most of the time. No one was always vocal about it though.

“Mysterious business? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We all know the Light Guard is not very forthcoming with the rest of the people here.”

“Yes, but…” I tried to play devil’s advocate. “They have their reasons most of the time… Safety and…”

I noticed then that he had led us to the refreshments area. Breaking his hold on me, he turned towards the pitchers of strange liquids.

“So, do you think the Guard cares about everyone’s safety?” He continued, while mixing odd coloured drinks.

“Of course,” I replied carefully, accepting the amber coloured drink he was handing me. It tasted sweet, almost like honey.

“So, let’s say there was a threat in the City of El, they would share the news with everyone?”

“It has happened in the past.” I pointed out.

“Only when the problem was too evident to hide. But what if that wasn’t the case. Let’s say there’s a monster running around right here, right now. Would they stop the festivities to keep people safe or would they keep up appearances until it was too late?”

I felt my blood getting cold in my veins. An awful suspicion started forming in my brain.

“Who the hell are you? What have you done?”

“A friend.” He simply replied, his lips twisting in a cruel smile. “I’ve done nothing really, except borrowing an old book from the library. Just an innocent prank. A little naughtiness should be expected during this night.”

“But…” I started to protest, looking around panicked. That’s when I noticed something strange was going on. A nearby boy dressed as a ghost, went to grab a glass and his hand passed through it without being able to touch it. He’d become incorporeal. A girl I had noticed before who was wearing beautiful, colourful make up that made her look like an Alfeli, turned into the companion right before my eyes.

“People think that when the mask drops you can see the real nature of who’s behind it, but it’s not true. It’s when you wear a mask and you’re not forced to fit in that you are really unmasked. You can be yourself and follow your instincts, go after what you really want.” I felt frozen on the spot, his words made no sense to me. “And you… what is it that you really want?” He whispered almost seductively in my ear. “You’re welcome for the drink, by the way.”

When I finally managed to turn around, he had disappeared. I didn’t have time to look for him though, because that’s when all hell broke loose. Everyone started turning into the very thing they were masked as. Most people had chosen to dress up as companions or characters of famous fables, but other had picked bolder and scarier options. I could see zombies, witches, monsters of different kinds.

OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod….

I had to do something, but I had no idea of what. Was I about to turn too? It didn’t look like it, I was feeling fine. You’re welcome for the drink he had said, had he given me a protective potion? Why?

It wasn’t time to ask myself questions I didn’t know the answer to. It was time to run.

I took off without really knowing where to go, but soon stopped in my tracks.

I should’ve probably gone looking for the guys, but where could I find them? I knew they had been on patrol and I knew the spot each of them was usually assigned to.

The beach, the edge of the forest, the gardens or the cave.

All these places… I didn’t know what to expect. I knew there were things planned for this evening. I’d heard rumours of a haunted house, a maze and other unknown spooky surprises.

And what if the guys had also been turned? Was it safer if I went back inside HQ and tried to solve this problem by myself? But I had no idea how.

That moment an image popped into my mind. His face. No matter what, I had to find him. It was what my heart was telling me to do.

Now I knew exactly where to go. Without wasting another moment, I started running.

---

This story has 5 different epilogues, each corresponding one of the LIs. 

[grouchythefish]

The 2010s, year by year.

I was inspired by @puzzled-dragon on twitter but but would rather do this here. I did not realize this decade sucked so hard. I put this under a read more because it’s long and sad af. I did not INTENTIONALLY make this depressing but thinking to each year these ARE the things I think of first. There’s a happy ending though, I promise. If this is too long, just read the first and last year and you’ll probably get the picture. (tw: depression, self-harm, death, suicidal thoughts, car accidents, sexual assault):

2010: Went on my first plane ride to visit my brother in San Francisco! Went to my first show that summer (warped tour - Sum 41!), then My Chemical Romance in December. Started volunteering with the Teen Advisory Board at the library. This was the year I first started realizing I had some mental health issues. My grandmother, who I was very close to, passed away. I was dealing with depression and self harming and learned I have ADHD. Started questioning my sexuality.

2011: The year of the January mystery evacuation! My strongest memories of this year are the summer. went to Warped Tour again (Motion City Soundtrack and Paramore!), joined Tumblr in July. I took 2 months of summer school by choice that year during which I read the Handmaid’s Tale and had a bit of a feminist awakening. Gwen and I started our band and started doing shows together. Started questioning my gender.

2012: Started IDing as asexual. Got into urbex for a little while. Graduated high school. Went to Warped Tour for the last time. Saw Mindless Self Indulgence and had my first serious panic attack. Started a visual arts degree at York. Lived on campus and lost a lot of weight REAL fast and got VERY sick. Now that I was 18 and no longer living with my parents I finally started getting treatment for my ADHD. Realized I was agender.

2013: Started playing quidditch and getting involved with York’s Harry Potter club (Ministry of Magic) where I met @ominouspotato and @puzzled-dragon​. Realized I was bisexual. Got my first job (tim hortons) then my first apartment (A complete disaster) My depression and anxiety got real bad towards the end of this year. I did go to a lot of shows though. (Fall Out Boy and Motion City Soundtrack come to mind) Started listening to WTNV not knowing that this would absolutely be a gateway podcast for me. 

2014: Moved in with my aunt Bev (not really my aunt) in Scarborough for the first half of the year then my parents for the second half. Bought my first binder. Became a Ministry of Magic exec. Saw WTNV live. Met my (now) ex at a PATD show in Feb, we started dating in Nov. Took the via rail for the first time.  Was sexually assaulted on my first date (I have never told anyone this until right now). Rode the go train a lot. Started trying to change my major to Digital Media.

2015: Moved back in with my aunt Bev and lived there for the whole year. (At the time I hated it but in retrospect she was real cool about a lot of stuff) Saw Motion City Soundtrack for the third and final time :’(. This is the year @ghirahims-left-shoe​ and I met Frank Iero and Gerard Way (who said my drawing were awesome!!!!!) Moved into the Forest Hill apartment (a mistake). Realized university was going nowhere for me. Saw WTNV live again.

2016: Dropped out of York and started at Seneca for Interactive Media Design. My (now) ex moved in with me and my roommates and shit hit the fan which resulted in us packing up and moving back to my home town (Cue the worst 3 years of my life) Got my G2 and started driving regularly, got in my first car accident. I worked 6 different jobs this year. My tax return was hell. I started getting really into podcasts this year.

2017: Started off real fucking depressed over the US election and somehow ended up turning to mbmbam to cope (a mutual on tumblr suggested it and I wish I remembered who so I could thank them for changing my life). Commuted to Toronto 5 days a week this whole year. Got engaged. Bought my first car in August (a beige impala). Had my first car written off in November when someone rear ended me on the 400. Bought my red elantra that I still have now. Joined the MBMBAM Gaming Server when I was at a very low point that fall and it was a god send - met some really really good friends though this. Joined roller derby. First realized I was in an abusive relationship.

2018: Got in another car accident. Quit my job in Toronto because I couldn’t handle the commute anymore after getting in 2 accidents in the same winter. Traveled to Detroit to see mbmbam live. Went through a YMCA employment program, which is how I got the most soulless job ever - but it was a short commute, looked great on my resume, and paid okay so I sucked it up. My depression and anxiety got worse and worse and I kept ignoring it, kept thinking if I just acted like things were fine they eventually would be (fake it til you make it is bullshit btw). Tried to leave my fiance a handful of times but never could. Tried and failed many many times to pass the roller derby minimum skills test. Started isolating myself more and more from my irl friends. My laptop kicked the bucket in August and I couldn’t afford to replace it.

2019 (Jan-Aug): In March I both got my dream job and went on my first big trip (New Orleans to visit my brother)! Got my first tattoo in July. My depression didn’t go away, though. I quit roller derby. A few doctor’s visits and many different ADHD medication trials later I found myself at my lowest point. I wasn’t sleeping but I also struggled to get out of bed. I felt like work was the only thing I could do so it was all I did and my anxiety only fueled this further. I thought that there was no one in the world who cared about me. I saw myself as a problem to the people around me. Something that needed to be removed. I was researching what pills I could overdose on and how many it would take and I started making real plans to kill myself in September. 

Spoiler: I didn’t! 

2019 (Sept-Dec): I saw a new doctor, took a break from work, and started on anti-depressants for the first time ever. Everything changed. I traveled to Buffalo to meet friends from the mbmbam gaming server and had online friends come to Barrie to visit me. I reconnected with my university friends after 2 years of self-isolation and we see each other regularly now. I went on my first solo trip to visit Gwen in BC and we are starting a podcast together (!!!). I found out my friends are also doing podcasts! I started working on having a better relationship with my siblings (we’re not there yet but making progress). I started coming out to people irl as agender for the first time and requesting they use my chosen name and pronouns. I replaced my laptop and started making art again! I applied for a bunch of zines and got into one! I finally worked up the strength to break up with my fiance for real. Just in these last few months I’ve made more new friends and spent more time with them than in the last 3 years put together. (If you are one of those new friends, I’m sorry if I’m weird or awkward, or say too much or too little or just the wrong things, I got used to not having friends and genuinely don’t remember how to be around people. Please be patient with me, I’m trying to get better.)

2020: I just had the first new years eve in a decade where I felt I was ending the year better than I started it. Things aren’t perfect (I still need my ex to move out, I still live in a town that makes me depressed, I’m still not out to my family, I’m still looking for a therapist) but for the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to the future.

[comicteaparty]

January 15th-January 21st, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 15th, 2020 to January 21st, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What sort of merchandise are you most likely to buy for webcomics you read and why?

carcarchu

does a physical copy of the book count as merch? nothing compares to the feel of a real book in your hands and watching my collection grow is so satisfying. i like having a tangible way to show my support. after that is small prints. i rarely see acrylic charms of webcomic characters but those are nice too

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I know I'm particularly weak for enamel pins - which happen to be the first major merch I made for my first time tabling at a con. They're definitely the most common thing for me to consider purchasing from others. I also like small prints and stickers! And if a particularly cute character is somehow made into a plush... I'd be all over that, too.

Cronaj

For me, I love physical comics. So if a webcomic creator made a physical print version of their comic, that would be the best way to entice me to buy something. Comics almost always look better on paper in my opinion, and I'm a weirdo when it comes to book smell I sniff new books like an absolute degenerate. The other thing I would buy is art prints or art books. I have a huuuuge collection of art prints from creators I admire. So keep 'em comin'! I mean, I'll buy any merch that calls to me, but usually if I can't put it on a shelf, hang it on the wall, or wear it, I probably have no use for it.

Capitania do Azar

I'm a big fan of physical copies and charms of all kinds! I also appreciate stickers and small prints (big prints are nice, but take up a lot of space). Zines with side stories or related/concept art are also a good choice

keii4ii

Storage is a big issue for me, so I tend to not buy physical books unless like... it's a comic I would love to read but can't do so online easily (e.g. if the website doesn't function properly on my computer) I really like prints that have qualities/features that can't be replicated digitally -- e.g. foil, holo coating, VERY special paper texture, etc. (I've even seen one artist offer lenticular prints which I thought was awesome -- just wasn't into the characters that were on the art) Small to medium sized prints are fairly easy to store, so that's also a big plus for me! Also, clear plastic folders? I've never bought them admittedly, but those can look SO nice with the right type of art (some artworks look so special when printed on that clear material). I wish more people offered them so I could actually buy these, but I understand they can be costly to print.

Tired Programmer

I would buy physical copies as well. About the storage issue... Well, when I understand, that there are too many of them for my humble bookcase, I just sell or give old ones away. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And also stickers. Stickers rock. (edited)

SAWHAND

I agree! If I really like the comic I like to have a physical copy! It feels special since I think a lot of times they're limited printing. I also really like stickers since they can just get put on something I already have and thus not take up extra space. I generally don't get prints because wall space is at a premium and I feel silly not having them hung up, but that's just a personal preference. Other than that it would have to be something really cool or something with function, like a notebook or...I don't know, an apron, or maaaybe a t-shirt.

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Printed comics are definitely my go to fav especially if it's a webcomic I've been really wanting to read but haven't had the time to do it online. Sitting down with a book is a lot easier for me that sitting with my phone or pulling my laptop out. I do also like stickers a lot. I've really gotten into covering the inside covers of my sketchbooks with them the last few years X)

kayotics

I usually go for printed books, pins, or plushies. If there’s a Kickstarter happening I’ll usually splurge for a pin tier if it exists. I don’t use stickers that much but I know a lot of people love them? But it’s not my thing.(edited)

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Usually printed books and phone charms. I will always buy webcomics that go to print and I collect charms. Other things like stickers and pins are nice, but often too pricey. I will go for them when they're bundled into KS tiers with printed books, though.

varethane

Printed books for me! Sometimes stickers, and sometimes enamel pina

Pins

I dont tend to get prints because I wont really do anything with them

(But my prints tend to sell decently, so there is a market for them out there...)

keii4ii

I just like collecting prints! I don't even put them on my wall, I just stick them in a binder kind of like my own custom-curated artbook

I really like seeing the combination of certain artworks and certain paper textures!

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

omg Kei...why have I not thought of that ?? I will now do that for all the print i've collected gosh!! and I agree with Vare, books are top tier merch I go for (zines included) Prints are a second for me, with charms and pins being the thing i least go for bc of space (though I am seeing pin boards come into fashion and I'm def into doing that as well!)

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I do really love pins too, I'm just really bad at remembering to wear them. I probably should get myself one of those clear back packs con goers wear.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

oh yes ita bags!

varethane

The problem with me wearing pins is that I normally bike everywhere, while wearing a backpack

So if I put them on a jacket, the straps of the bag will rub on most of the good pin locations

And if they fall off while I'm riding my bike they are lost forever

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I tried putting pins on my backpack for a while.... only to come home and realise they fell off at some point during the day.

varethane

Yeah :(

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Ita bag! Yes! Lol I'm always super scared that my pins will just break and I'll loose them X') so when I do remember to wear one I'm constantly checking to make sure it's still on me

varethane

I have one jacket that I've been putting most of my pins on, which I wear to conventions

And it did pretty well except my rice boy pin fell off somewhere in the Seattle airport and is now lost forever :(

Betrayal......

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

i have def...super glued pins to my backpack before and the rubber backings are so bad for pins too bc they never hold

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Oh, patches are another thing, like pins, that I love but usually have to stop myself from getting. I need to find a good patch jacket, because I really love a patch. I've been wanting to make one for my own comic merch for a while too.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

ohhh yes same-- i stll have patches that i havent done anything yet with bc i haven't found The Right Jacket

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Same TuT

Eightfish

I've got the Property of Hate tarot postcards up on my wall right now. Also partial to a good enamel pin. What I'd love to see in merch is a well designed, stylish shirt, but haven't really found that so far. I find webcomic shirts tend to be too detailed and illustration-y to look good as shirts, and would prefer something more graphic.

Q @CecilieQMT making WAYFINDERS

I'd love to design shirts! Just haven't figured out how to get them printed properly... ^^'

RebelVampire

For me, it's digital copies. So PDFs and eBooks. Unlike many people here, I can't stand print copies for a myriad of reasons. XD But digital copies I can get behind cause it supports the artist, has some nice bonus stuff sometimes, and generally collects everything nicely so some website hiccups aren't a problem. While this has never come up because it's rare, I would also buy plushies. Cause one can never have enough plushies. But alas, I don't think the market is there for that XD

kayotics

Plushies are just really hard to produce and store, same with T-shirts

Well, T-shirts aren’t that hard to produce, but they’re hard to store and keep a good amount of sizes

Mei

I tend to buy books/physical copies of webcomics I like! I really enjoy the physical reading experience! I also really like buying enamel or non-enamel pins. I enjoy collecting them, but going off what people have already said, I also have an innate fear of losing them :(

AntiBunny

If it has a cute character, and the price is in my budget, plushies are awesome. Unfortunately that's a difficult one to do, because small batches of plush that are build by hand are going to be expensive, and a comic has to be very popular to warrant more economical large runs. And I'll also say physical books.

Mei

plushies ARE awesome

I got the coyote plushie from Tom, the guy who does Gunnerkrigg Court

I just really love it

and also I couldn't decide which of the MANY volumes of comics to buy

(i didn't and still don't have space to stock up on a lot of books so I must be prudent sometimes)

((but my bed always has space for plushies))

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter fifteen (subterranean pop)

“You got a kiss for me, it hits me hard; you got a fist for me, you love so hard. My hands on my head, your words are like arrows; my hands on my head, there's permanent damage.” -”Head Injury”, Soundgarden

October 15, 1988. Interstate 5 between Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington.

“Hang on, Joe.”

There are no seat belts in Nancy’s car except for the one that goes over my waist there at the base of the seat; in other words, every time she hits the brakes on a patch of traffic or a curve, I have to hold onto the door panel to keep myself from flying forward right into the dashboard. I raise my knees up and slide down into the seat when she goes around a tight corner. It’s only an hour and a half trip up there but it’s going to be quite long from all of the fact I’m holding onto the car for dear life. But on the other hand, the soft rich red interior of her car is pristine and carries with it a faint smell of lilac, and is as silent as a cold, still winter morning following a blizzard.

I’m amazed by the vast stretch of lush greenery on either side of us on the way up to Seattle: upon leaving Portland, I catch glimpses of Mount Hood and then Mount St. Helens off in the distance, both of them surrounded by wispy cold gray clouds: I wish part of those clouds would float over this way and cool things off over here over the highway.

Sometime before reaching the capital city of Olympia, I roll down the window to feel the wind, and it’s still humid and warm outside even if we have moved closer to the ocean. Indian summer, alright.

I push my bangs off of my forehead. I almost inclined to take off my shirt, and in fact, I want to take it off and feel the wind on my chest and on my stomach, but seeing it’s me and Nancy here in the front seat, such a primitive sight can wait.

Mount Rainier rises out from behind a line of tall skinny trees, much to my shock.

“Holy shit,” I blurt out at the very size of the massive cone coated in thick blanket of pure white snow.

“Yeah, Rainier’s big, isn’t she?” Nancy chuckles. In fact, it stays within our view all the way into Olympia and winding our way into Tacoma. The sky is so blue over our heads, and I have never seen it such a way back in New York. I lean forward to check it out better, and then I peek over my shoulder to see Rainier still looming large behind us against the blue sky. I remember the huge eruption down by Mount St. Helens just a few years ago, and I don’t want the big jewel of a city before us to experience the same thing here.

Even from a distance, I can see the Space Needle shooting up from the heart of downtown. So small and nestled down into the earth for a city: it looks smaller than Portland in fact. To our left stands the blue glimmering waters making up the Puget Sound, and past that are two ridges covered in rich green pine trees, and then a row of more snow capped mountains. Nancy and I wind our way through the southern side of Seattle, or Sea-Tac as one sign on the side of the road declares to us. She takes the third exit off of the freeway and we roll down onto the side streets of downtown.

“This kinda reminds me of New York City,” I remark.

“Not as rough, big, and tough, though,” she adds to it as we pull up to the first stoplight.

“Not at all. It feels a lot... homier, I’d say?”

“Definitely homey here. Here and Portland both.”

She hangs a right and pulls up to a low red brick building with big tinted windows peering out to the street.

“Welcome to the heart of Seattle, Joey,” she says, pressing the button on her key chain and killing the hydrogen engine in front of us. I relax for a moment at the feel of us stopping and I breathe out a sigh of relief. My stomach turns a little bit but sitting there feeling the breeze on my face helps out.

“You okay?” she asks me.

“Yeah... yeah, yeah.” I reach down to unbuckle the seat belt, and climb out to the street to better feel the breeze on my head and my neck. Nancy follows suit on the other side of the car with her purse over her shoulder. I run my fingers through my hair before shutting the door behind me. I round the front of the car, and step onto the sidewalk, and she leads me into the front room which smells of fresh paper and clean carpet. There are three guys and a black girl congregated on the right side of the room: one guy seated in a spindly blue chair, and the other two and the girl around him. They all look like they’re reading something.

“Chris?” Nancy calls out to them. The queasy feeling in my stomach keeps the feeling of butterflies at bay as the guy seated glances up at us.

“This is Joey. He’s a music guy and he wanted to meet you guys.”

He stands to his feet and strides over to us. He’s tall, a little bit taller than me, but he’s got wavy black hair like me and that same default grave expression riddled upon his face. He almost looks like me, albeit a little softer than me and his hair doesn’t stick out every which way like mine does, and he’s got larger eyes. He has on a black sweater underneath a dark green flannel shirt, black jeans, and heavy black boots. He reaches out for my hand.

“Joey,” he says in a soft mild voice, “I’m Chris.” His grip is firm but gentle.

“And this is Matt--” The second guy comes up behind him: he’s tall, too, but with long smooth golden blond hair down to his shoulders. He looks strong and fit, much like one of the Grey brothers.

“Music guy, you said, Nan?” he asks her as he takes my hand: he’s firm but gentle himself.

“I’m a singer and a drummer,” I tell them as Matt tucks his hands into his faded denim pocket.

“Oh, that’s bitchin’, man,” Chris compliments me. “You in a band?”

“Used to be. I got fired.” And he winces at that.

“Oh, man,” Matt feels with me. “What for?”

“No idea. No idea at all. I did drink a little bit but I stopped but I guess that wasn’t enough. I dunno what was going through anyone’s minds when the manager called me.”

“We came here because I thought he reminded me of you, Chris,” Nancy fills in, and he nods his head at me.

“It’s funny. You--kinda do. From the hair and the demeanor in particular. Would you like, uh--” He gestures behind him. “--a drink of water or something?”

“Oh, yes please, I got a little carsick coming here.”

“Yep, that’s Nancy’s driving for ya,” he jokes and she rolls her eyes at him. I follow them over to the other two people when Matt turns back to me.

“I like your accent, by the way. You sound like you’re from back East.”

“Upstate New York.”

“Phew, long way from home!” the girl declares at me.

“That’s what I said to him!” Nancy says with a chuckle. “And Joey, this is Matt’s girlfriend and my best friend, Dominique. Dominique, this is Joey. He’s yet another singing drummer.”

She’s a slim lovely girl with a full head of tight black curls and that light black skin with a light sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She tilts her head to the side at the sight of me.

“You look familiar,” she remarks.

“I do?”

“He looks like me,” Chris covers for me, and the other guy bursts out laughing.

“Well, aside from that. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere, like in a music magazine before... I’m studying to be a journalist.”

“She just got back from New York herself,” Matt explains, putting his arm around her.

“Oh, yeah?” I press my hands to my hips.

“Shadowing under a mentor and at the New York Times, no less,” she continues. “I was immersed in a bunch of music culture so I discovered a lot of music--lot of heavy music in particular--and so... I don’t know if I saw you in a magazine as part of it or what, but yeah. You look... very familiar, like I’ve seen your face.”

“You might recognize my voice,” I point out to her. “But we’re in a recording studio right now, so you know--”

“Yeah, there’s another band in there and we’re just waiting for our time slot to open up,” Chris explains. “You know, add... finishing touches to the production and make sure everything’s squared away and whatnot.”

“Oh, right, right--and who’s this guy?” I nod to the fourth member of their party, another blond haired guy but with a large nose like me and beady little eyes.

“I’m their personal mailman,” he says.

“Oh, I see.” And we can’t help but laugh out loud as he sets down a bunch of things on the chair right before he strides out of there.

“Did Nancy tell you that this is our first album, Joey?” Chris asks me.

“I think she did,” I recall, “pretty exciting, ain’t it?”

“Totally,” Matt replies, his face lighting up. “We just got signed, too--we were signed to Sub Pop and then we switched labels for our new record.”

“Sub Pop,” I say aloud.

They all glance at one another with excited expressions on their faces. Dominique gestures me even closer to the chair and the stack of papers in the seat.

“Our little holy Bible of sorts,” she says, picking up the stack, “I see Bruce sent us the last couple of copies, at least that’s what Mark was telling us a bit ago.

“Yeah, here, Joe--check this out.” Nancy gestures to the stack right as Dominique takes out a thin black booklet from near the bottom. It’s a zine, much like After the Watershed.

The thick front cover of the zine reminded me of scratch art with its cavernous black background and pure white silhouettes in the middle. Up in the top left corner, written in thick capitalized letters was “SUB POP 5″. I open the booklet to find several newspaper clippings bookmarking the pages throughout.

“Incredible,” I mutter under my breath as I pick out one near the front. “Oh, he writes about Metallica right here, wow, badass!”

“I think,” she begins again, stooping over to better shuffle through it all, “I think anyways, he might have written about you and your old band, too, if I recall correctly. There was just a lot of shit to learn back East when I was there so it more or less feels like a blur to me.”

“That’s the cool thing about him,” Nancy adds, “about Bruce--Bruce Pavitt--and his team over at Subterranean Pop as they were originally called.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t just write about lesser knowns in places like Seattle and Portland or maybe even people like yourself,” Dominique continues, “but all the punkie type peeps across the nation. It’s because of him that Chris and Matt and their band mates Kim and Hiro are here in this studio right now and they’re putting out our first album on Halloween.”

I slip the clipping back into the booklet before taking out another one from near the back.

“What’s that one?” she asks me as I scan it over.

“From... The Rocket.”

“That’s the last entry he did for the newspaper The Rocket. Like he wrote a column called ‘Sub Pop U.S.A.’ for a while--”

“And then ended it because of the record label,” I finish for her.

“Right, right!” 

“And it’s been a rough road for us, though,” Chris pipes up again, “from all the money lost and whatnot...” I think back to when I was with Anthrax and how we were struggling for money ourselves. I also think about the fact I’m struggling myself.

“This is your first album,” I recall. “For real.”

“Yeah, we already made a couple of EPs, but yeah, this is definitely our first real big thing, though.”

“You guys nervous?”

“A little. I think Kim might be because he’s the one who named it kind of as a joke.”

“As a joke?” I chuckle at that.

“Apparently things are more than mediocre for us. They’re... ultramega OK.”

“Reminds me of a sentiment my old band used to say a couple of years ago, and with kind of the same vibe to it. ‘Nice fucking life.’”

“Nice fucking life!” Matt snaps his eyes shut and imitates an air guitar.

“Now, let’s get you a cup of water,” Chris recalls from before. “I assume you’re not hungry.”

“Nah, I just ate a bunch of pancakes before coming here,” I tell him, patting my stomach.

“I say that ‘cause there’s nothing to eat here. And--pancakes courtesy of Nancy, right?”

“Hell yeah.”

“She makes ‘em--well,” he mouths that last word and flashes me a wink and an okay sign.

“I try my best,” she remarks with another eye roll, but this time with a shy smile to accompany it. “He helps me out a lot when the going gets tough.”

“You’re a lucky girl, Nan,” I tell her with a nod. There’s something about Chris, something that reminds me of myself, and not because we have a similar look to us. I think about this for a minute as he ducks into the next room, and Matt and Nancy start talking about something. Dominique strides up to me with a bright look in her eyes and a smile on her face.

“Joey Belladonna, right?” she asks me.

“Yes.”

“Anthrax, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See, I thought I remember you from somewhere.”

“Was it ‘nice fucking life’ that tipped you off?”

“Yes! Yes, that was it! I heard about you guys all the time when I was back in New York City. Like you guys were the next big metal band to come out of the East Coast next to Overkill and... Nuclear Assault, too. I think--I brought home a copy of you guys’ latest with me to share it with Kim and Matt later on. State of Euphoria.”

“That’s the one.”

Matt and Nancy fall silent right then.

“Hey, who’s this guy?” she notes. I turn around to find Lars striding up to the front door with a flustered look upon his face.

“What’s he doing here?” I wonder aloud, and I meet up with him there on the other side of the room.

“Hey,” I greet him.

“Hey--”

“What’s going on?”

“I have to tell you something,” he states, out of breath.

“Tell me.”

“Apparently... you remember that wormhole I made over in Black Orchid? The one in the top stairwell? The one I opened up to get you and Maya back to your place?”

“Yes.” I pause for a moment. “What about it?”

“I guess every time you make a wormhole, it doesn’t close up all the way.”

“What’re you--”

He chews on his bottom lip. And then I realize what he’s trying to tell me.

“Oh, my God.”

[jujywrites]

Gravitational Pull

Here is the full fic I wrote for @wishgrantedzine! Go here to get the zine for free, and please consider donating to the Asperger/Autism Network (AANE), the charity that that zine chose to highlight.

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading

~~~~

one

It's recess, which means it's time to go to your favorite spot: a tree on the edge of the playground. Sometimes you like to climb it, just to the lowest branch, and observe everyone. But usually you sit underneath it and think, or watch the leaves make waves in the breeze and patterns in the sunlight. That tree is Your Spot, has been since Grade 1, and despite being right out in the open it's still Your Spot, two years later.

You always wonder how something so obvious goes unnoticed by so many people.

"Hey, River. River, hey."

It's those two girls again. The one with pigtails used to be all right but the black-haired girl is mean, and Pigtails just follows her lead now. They had names, and you knew them once, back before the bullying started.

You wish you'd never told them yours. Everyone finds it funny.

"Hello," you say, only because they aren't leaving. There's nowhere to go until they do; no way are you letting them find Your Spot.

"Where'd you get that brown thing?" says Black Hair.

"Yeah, where?" says Pigtails.

You look at Plat-Plat in your arms. She's been with you every day; you're lucky the girls haven't noticed her until now. "A carnival." It's not their business. It's just that sometimes they're meaner if you don't respond, and your gut's telling you today you shouldn't stay quiet.

"Wait, you won something?" Black Hair laughs in a sneering way, too long and too loud. "No wonder it's so ugly."

An itch starts at your tailbone; you hold Plat-Plat more tightly to stave it off.

"Must've been a consolation prize," Pigtails says, giggling.

"She's a pla- a plah-tee-push," you say, not shouting, but still your kind of loud. You've only read the word, looking it up as soon as you had gotten home That Day, but you know you just said it wrong. You shut your eyes and try to piece it together over the girls' laughter.

"A weirdo for a weirdo!"

"Platypus. It's a mammal with a duck bill, and flippers, and it lives in Australia, and it lays eggs, and it can sting you."

"It has stingers?"

"Ew!"

The itch is getting worse. You're starting to feel hot all over. You're going to hit them, you're going to scream, but you can't because both those things are bad--

"Hey! Leave her alone!"

Time stops. The girl with brown hair blazes through it and you can't look anywhere else.

"Or what?" Black Hair's voice squeaks.

"I mean it. I'll tell Miss Birch if you don't get out of here now."

"You wouldn't."

Brown Hair takes a deep breath. "Miss--!"

"Okay, fine!" In your peripheral vision, you see Black Hair grab Pigtails's hand and run.

You're having a bit of trouble breathing, but the itch has gone and the heat has begun to fade. Realizing you're holding Plat-Plat in a death grip helps you relax more.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice is soft now. You nod, staring at Plat-Plat.

"...Are you sure?"

"Yes." You don't really want to look up; if you look up maybe Brown Hair will see what you're really like and turn on you. But you do want to see her eyes, to see if they match her voice. With effort you raise your head.

Her eyes are hard, but not unkind. The strong kind of hard, ready to fight, against those girls or anyone. They are dark, probably also brown.

The itch comes back, a bit stronger. You squeeze Plat-Plat to your chest and say, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The more you stare, the farther the itch creeps up your spine, until it reaches sharp between your shoulder blades-- you flinch and have to look away.

"I'm Isabelle. What's your name?"

Isabelle. You like that name, halfway between plain and unusual. But you've just met her. Maybe Isabelle's only pretending to be nice because she's older.

"Everyone makes fun of it," you say, looking from your peripheral vision; no itch that way.

Isabelle's brows are pinched. A moment later they smooth as she smiles, briefly. "Have you eaten lunch yet?"

You blink. "No."

"How about this?" Isabelle holds up a finger. "I'll guess your name. Three tries, and if I get it wrong, then… I'll have to treat you to whatever dessert you'd like at lunch!"

You blink again, then a few more times. Why does she want to make a game out of-- "You aren't in my grade."

"I don't care about that," Isabelle says with a laugh (a much nicer laugh than Black Hair's). "I like you, and I want to have lunch with my new friend."

"Friend…?" Warmth tingles in your hands.

"But maybe you'd rather eat alone. That's okay, too. Or, or maybe there's another friend you'd rather eat with, or-"

"No. It's okay. You can guess."

"Or we could just go eat, I shouldn't have--"

"Isabelle." The strength in your voice forces you to look at her straight on. She's looking back, eyes wide. They are brown, but they have a little green too.

"It's okay," you say again, slowly. "You can guess."

Isabelle blinks. "Oh. Um, okay." She puts a hand to her chin and cocks her head. "Jasmine."

"No. That's one."

"Hannah?"

A smile surprises you. "Two."

"Shoot," Isabelle exclaims, stamping a foot. "Last chance…" She closes her eyes, nose scrunching.

You watch her while she thinks. She's about the same height as you, even though she's older. Her fingers are long. Close up, her hair looks darker than you thought.

Does she ever get an itch that makes her need to do things, too?

A light appears in her eyes right before she says, "I've got it! Autumn! Because of your hair."

Relief softens your shoulders. "Three."

"Aw." She puffs out her cheeks for a moment before shrugging and saying, "Well, I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

"Okay." Adjusting your grip on Plat-Plat, you step closer.

"You can tell me your name whenever you feel comfortable," she says, as you begin walking. "Or don't. I don't mind."

You consider this. "Okay."

You consider it all the way to the cafeteria, pausing to select your dessert (a brownie). You keep considering as you follow Isabelle in her search for an empty table. You consider while adjusting Plat-Plat next to you on the bench. When you happen to look at her after that, she's watching you.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry." Her face goes a little pink. "I just… Platypuses are so interesting, don't you think?"

She likes them too!!!! "Yes. Her name is Plat-Plat."

You eat in silence. You make a decision in the middle of unwrapping your brownie.

"My name," you say, setting the neatly-balled plastic wrap aside, "is River."

The expression on her face is like the sun rising. "What a pretty name."

two

What was Johnny afraid of when you followed the hacky-sack? You weren't going to jump. (You did, for a tenth of a second, wonder what would happen if you let yourself- this new, other self Johnny thinks you are- fall.)

His confession makes your words tangle up even more than usual. Your mind is going haywire with whys and hows and possible solutions.

With all your willpower, you wait until the weekend before you call Isabelle.

"Can I come see you?"

The forced calm in your walk to her house dissolves into a run part way through. She looks shocked when she lets you in; you're breathless, overheated, tears on your face from running against wind gusts. "Come sit down. What happened?"

"No." You pace in military circles, rubbing your arms fitfully. You left home so fast you forgot Plat-Plat. "He doesn't remember." Those are the only words you can get out. Not he doesn't remember me, not he forgot where to meet me, not I don't know how to tell him. "Johnny."

"Take a deep breath. What doesn't he remember?"

You do, still pacing. It doesn't help. "You told him to tell me the truth but it's wrong. He's wrong, and I don't know how to fix it." Another breath. Another.

In the silence, Isabelle says, "It must have hurt you a lot."

"It.. shocked me. I don't understand how…" You keep pacing, keep breathing. It's not helping yet.

"Do you think that Johnny still loves you?"

The question makes you freeze. A worn spot in the carpet holds your attention. "I… I don't know."

"Well…" Her voice is quiet, but closer. "Do you still love him?"

"Yes." That's so true you can feel it in your bones.

"For whatever it's worth, I can see how much he loves you. Even though he's forgotten something important." She sighs. "I wish I could help."

When the carpet fibers begin to blur, a question comes to you. "What do you think stars are made out of?"

Her reply is close enough to Johnny's that it almost starts to make your spine itch.

You take the longest breath yet. Then you sit in the nearest chair and gesture Isabelle over. "I've only told Johnny this." In another life. Before I was a stranger. "I… I think they're lighthouses."

three

You dial the phone with shaky hands, even though you feel calm. Part of you wonders if you're asking the right person; the rest of you feels too lost to care.

It's been a better day for you physically, a week out from your latest treatment, but not mentally. You're still upset from talking to Johnny yesterday. This is the only chance for Anya to have company, the last chance for you to be unconditionally happy, but he's still obsessed with making you get well. You know he's afraid, that he loves you and doesn't want to live without you so soon. If the situation were reversed, though, you'd at least try to listen to him. If he really loves you, why is he too scared to even try?

She answers on the fifth ring. "Hello, River."

You speak before she can ask how your day has been; you'd have to tell her everything about Anya (you can feel the words weighing down your lungs) and this question is much more important. "Do you believe in heaven?"

There's a pause, about twenty seconds. "Maybe the more pertinent question is, do you believe in it."

You shake your head, then remember you're on the phone. "No. I want to know if you do, Isabelle. Please answer what I asked."

She exhales, slowly. "I'm not sure I believe in heaven as a place, the way so many religions do. I'd like to think a small part of us exists after we die, somewhere. But I don't think there's any way to be sure." She chuckles. "Maybe I'm selfish to want something to hold onto after loved ones pass away, to hope that I'll leave something behind for the people who love me besides memories. But… I think hope and belief have a lot in common.

"That's probably not what you were hoping to hear," she says softly, after you've had time to absorb what she said.

"I don't know."

"Do you want to tell me what you think about heaven?"

You close your eyes. Breathe in and out slowly. The words are lining up, waiting to be spoken. "I read once that maybe people become stars after they die. I like how that sounds. That would mean… I'd be a lighthouse. I'd be among the other lighthouses. And… maybe they'd understand, even though we wouldn't be able to hear each other."

The thought tastes bittersweet.

"But if I become a lighthouse, I still won't be able to talk to them. I w-won't, won't be able to talk to him...!"

Tears roll down your face. Your throat is burning. You want to scream, to sob until you have no voice left, but all that comes out of you are broken gasps and hiccups. Why do you have no voice now, when it feels like you're being torn apart?

If you do start screaming, you might not stop.

Isabelle's voice is shaky at first, but as she goes on that fades away, gaining that same kind hardness you saw in her eyes all those years ago. "If you become a lighthouse... your light is so strong and so unmistakable Johnny will know without a doubt that it's you. So will Anya. Because he'll build that house for you, River. Because he loves you."

"But what if he doesn't know?" you half-wail. "He, he didn't…"

"Then I'll tell him. Hell, Nick will tell him." She sounds almost angry. "I know you're scared of being forgotten. All of us are. And I know it's different for… you and me." Her breathing filters watery through the phone. "Can you do one thing for me?"

"What is it?" you whisper.

"Please, please believe what I'm about to say: I won't let Johnny forget you. I won't let any of us forget you. River," and the pain in her voice sounds exactly like what you feel, "I'll remember you for the rest of my life. And whatever comes after."

Your chest tightens so fast you can't breathe for several seconds. It scares you only because you have to say something desperately important, that you've known for years and been unable to say. Then you're smiling so wide, and more tears are spilling salty and warm, and you speak. "You're my best friend. I love you."

She thanks you in a wobbly voice, says she loves you even though you know. "You're mine."

When you end the call, you stare at the paper rabbits on the nightstand until you fall asleep.

four

You told her you wanted her there, when the time came, so she is. Nicolas is, too, sitting next to her in chairs close to the bed.

Johnny sits on the bed, holding your hand. His eyes are terribly sad, but he isn't crying.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Your voice is soft with weakness. "You know I'm happy, right? What you've done for me, and Anya…"

"Of course." His hand tightens. "And that makes me happy."

You feel so light on the bedspread. "J-Johnny."

He leans down to hear you. He kisses your forehead and you kiss his mouth. Tears fall onto your skin and prickle happysad in your eyes.

"I love you. When you miss me… look up at the sky." You take a breath, call for Isabelle. "The sky, okay?"

She nods, eyes wet.

With the last of your fading strength, you lay a hand on Johnny's cheek.

"Look at the stars."

Then, someday, maybe your light will let him remember the promise you made together.

[cakelanguage]

I had the honor of being able to take part in the @fullbloomzine​ . For my piece I decided on making a headcanon that Gladio's tattoo was done as a rite of passage for Amicitia and from there decided to focus on Clarus' potential tattoos. I wanted to expand on Clarus and Regis' relationship and this is what I came up with from that.

I hope you all enjoy this!

If you wish to buy the zine

You can also read this on AO3

-

Clarus and Regis had met as boys, both of them still on the cusp of childhood, when wild adventures were still make-believe in the castle gardens. But from the very moment they met, they’d been inseparable and that did not wane with age. They shared in the hardships of following in their fathers’ footsteps and the trials and tribulations they faced, they tried to share the burden.

In each Amicitia’s life, on their eighteenth birthday, they were to get a tattoo to commemorate reaching adulthood as a homage to their original galahdian roots. As many or as few as the person desired, just as long as they got one. It didn’t have to be anything big, but it had to hold a special meaning to the person receiving the tattoo. Some went for elaborate tribal markings, others marked their skins with words to live by or an animal to guide them. Clarus’ father inscribed dates along his spine, each one denominating an important date in his life from his first day meeting King Mors to Clarus’ own birth.

Clarus, on the other hand, chose to get flowers inked on his skin.

He thought long and hard about which flower to get first, what he wanted to say with each flower. He’d spent countless hours poring through books on flowers and their meanings whilst Regis looked on in amusement while studying his own material.  

His first flower was a chrysanthemum, for loyalty and love, and placed it over his heart.

“It’s quite elegant,” Regis said, tracing the black lines on his chest. “What made you decide on this one?”

Clarus’ gaze did not waver as he wrapped his hand around Regis’ own. “It’s a promise,” he said, “a promise that I will always be loyal to you.” He gave Regis’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “And a promise to always love you.”

The blush that flourished across Regis’ face made Clarus laugh as his friend shoved him. “Don’t jest with me, Clarus.”

“Do you really think I would joke about this?”

Regis stared at him wide-eyed. “Truly?” His voice was barely a whisper, but the disbelief was clear as day. “You love me?”

Clarus gave him a soft smile and slowly pulled him into his arms. “I always have, from the very first day I met you.” Regis didn’t speak for a few moments, but Clarus was content to just hold the man in his arms. “You don’t have to say anything back, you know. I just wanted to be honest with my feelings about you. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”

Regis pressed his face into the crook of his neck and breathed in a deep breath. “Do you think I don’t love you the same?” He was still quiet, but his voice sounded stronger. “Of course I do, stupid.”

Clarus let out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s not very nice.”

Regis made a noncommittal noise and just hugged him closer. “Deal with it.”

He grinned and pressed a kiss against the top of Regis’ head. “I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

 Clarus’ next tattoo was of a red lotus, which he got on his nineteenth birthday. It started behind the chrysanthemum and branched out toward his shoulder. Regis was just as interested in this one as he had been the first one.

“It’s a lotus,” Regis murmured, looking from the tattoo back to Clarus’ face. “And what’s this one for?”

“It’s a promise of love,” Clarus said, placing a kiss against Regis’ cheek. “A promise of passion,” he emphasized with a slow kiss against Regis’ lips. He languidly kissed along Regis’ jaw before pulling back and pressing their foreheads together. “And promise to always be compassionate to your problems and take time to understand where you’re coming from and help you in any way I can.”

Regis laughed. “You really are too sweet to me, Clarus.”

Clarus shrugged. “You deserve it.”

“When did you become so romantic?”

Clarus felt his cheeks grow hot and shyly averted his gaze from the soft look in Regis’ eyes. “I might have picked up a few books or so.”

Regis’ laughter echoed throughout the room, but Clarus only felt his heart warm at the sound.

 The week before he and Regis set out on their roadtrip with Cid, Weskham, and Cor he added another tattoo to his growing collection: sunflowers that crept from his shoulders down to his shoulder blades.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed from my previous ones, this tattoo also embodies a promise,” Clarus mentioned, slipping off his shirt.

Regis propped his chin on his fist, “Hmm, care to tell the audience?”

Clarus snorted and shook his head. “Don’t get cheeky, that’s not cute.”

“Of course it is,” Regis stood up and moseyed over towards him. “But nevermind that, dear. What do the sunflowers mean?”

“It’s to promise my dedication to weather all the storms we face together not only on this trip but throughout the rest of our lives.” He grinned at his love. “And emerge victorious on the other side.”

Regis face shuttered and his lips thinned. “This scuffle with Niflheim isn’t going to end any time soon, is it?”

Clarus’ shoulders sagged. “No, I don’t think it will.” He didn’t think it was going to end any time soon if the battle plans he’d looked at with his father were anything to go by. He watched Regis nod his head and turn away from him, but he grabbed Regis’ wrist before the man could walk away. “But I will be with you every step of the way.”

Regis gave him a brittle smile. “I expect nothing less.”

Clarus didn’t know if the tears that threatened to fall from Regis’ eyes were for the war they were about to enter or for the future that was looking more grim as time went on. He didn’t want to know.

 His next tattoo was for his son and his son’s namesake: a Gladiolus. It was a delicate looking flower but it’d been inked with thick lines to give it a stronger look. Even at his birth, Clarus knew his son was going to be strong, but he wanted his son to also be soft- to allow his son to love and show compassion along with his strength.

He’d honestly never thought he’d become a father, at least not like this. But he needed an heir just as Regis needed an heir to the throne. It didn’t mean he didn’t love Gladio with his entire being just that it was under unique circumstances.

Gladio was oblivious to Clarus’ thoughts, focused solely on the new mark on his father’s body. Clarus grinned down at the boy in his arms and let the boy gum at his bicep, pressing sticky fingers against the lines of the flower. He heard the amused guffaw and simply turned with a grin as he took in Regis’ appearance.

He looked different now that he wore the Ring of Lucii and had focused his attention on keeping the Wall fortified, but he was the same too. The same smile, the same soft look in his eyes when he looked at Clarus.

Though love had found itself in their respective partners, it would never rival the bond they shared.

“He really is adorable, Clarus,” Regis said. He brushed his hand through the hair on Gladio’s head, mussing up the strands into an unruly fashion. “And his name... was that your decision?”

Clarus laughed. “Only half my choice.”

“But you suggested it.”

“Didn’t say that.”

Regis gave Clarus a sly look. “Didn’t not say it.”

Clarus couldn’t help but laugh. Whether from being found out or the fact that they were still the same after all this time, he wasn’t sure. But he laughed all the same.

 He doesn’t get another flower until Regis’ son Noctis is prophesied as the Chosen King. He gets the tattoo that night, shoulder still wet from Regis’ tears. It’s large and branches up towards his throat, the petals harsh with stamen that stick out from the center like thin towers. For once, the flower isn’t a promise.

It’s a regret.

A regret for Noctis and the life that will be cut short because a mystical rock said it was Noctis’ destiny to drive away the Starscourge. A regret for Regis who was deteriorating before his eyes. A regret for his inability to do anything to prevent this future from coming to pass.

He stared at the asphodel on his skin and gave a bitter chuckle. “’My regrets follow you to the grave,’” he whispered, “perhaps a little too on the nose for this one.”

 His daughter is a surprise, but no less loved. She was delicate and small in comparison to how Gladio had been, but her lungs were strong and he knew that strength would carry throughout her in time. His daughter, his Iris, she gave him hope and courage to keep going despite knowing how his story would come to an end. A promise to hold onto hope and that there was still so much good left to experience.

An iris for an Iris.

Regis made sure he knew that his joke wasn’t funny, but they both laughed all the same.

 A week before the treaty signing with Niflheim, he gets two new flowers. The first is a series of jasmine flowers with petals that contrast with the asphodel that still sits as a heavy weight on his chest each time he sees it. He gets a cluster of them on his left shoulder, one flower for each precious person in his life. It’s the first flower that comes to mind when he thinks of those he holds dear.

The creases on Regis’ face soften when he sees them and Clarus can almost see the young man he fell in love with all those years ago. “Unconditional love,” Regis said with the hint of a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “I remember this one. You gave me a bundle of them some twenty years ago.”

Clarus smiled. “The petals were all damaged by the time I gave it to you.”

“And yet I loved them all the same.”

“That you did,” Clarus agreed nodding his head. They shared a warm look before Regis continued to explore his tattoos. After all this time, Regis still enjoyed examining them and running his hands along the inked lines.

As Regis trailed his fingers across the last jasmine flower he paused and met his eyes again. “You got another flower as well?” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head in the same way Clarus had seen Noctis do on multiple occasions. “You usually only get one at a time.” Clarus didn’t say anything in response so Regis continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one.”

“You wouldn’t, it’s a cyclamen. It usually grows only around Gralea or the colder regions.”

Regis made a curious hum and stared into Clarus’ eyes. “And it’s meaning?”

Clarus felt something clench in his chest and dropped his eyes down to Regis’ hand that still rubbed against the flower. He felt bitterness and resignation in equal measures bubble forth as he stared at the ring that stood out against Regis’ finger.

“Clarus?”

He swallowed and pulled Regis hand into his own. “It means goodbye.”

Regis’ breath hitched and his lips thinned, closing his eyes and nodding his head. “Goodbye,” Regis mumbled, shaking his head. “I will never truly say goodbye to you, not even in death.”

Clarus maneuvered himself so that he could comfortably pull Regis into his arms. If they had cried, neither mentioned it. Neither said anything else, no words were needed. Though they had a week until the day of the treaty signing, they both knew.

This was goodbye.

[pidgezine]

Finalization Of Emerald

EXCEL SHEET

With the end of the Pidge Zine "Emerald", I knew that this apology was coming for a long time and it was time to get it done. This project has been going on for a long time. It had gone along a lot longer than I would have liked it to have. When I first thought of the project idea, I thought I had it under control. A few fellow contributors had confirmed that I perhaps didn't have it all under control. It was a hard pill to swallow, but I swallowed it and worked with them to make sure that I had it all together. We delayed pre-orders for a long time, changing the name, and making sure things were prepared for when we opened them again. This was not a perfect project. It wasn't imperfect because of the contributors who helped make the zine. They did an amazing job and I couldn't have been more proud to have them be a part of this. It wasn't even imperfect because of the moderators who helped me—it was imperfect because of my ignorance. I thought I had things under control and I clearly didn't, before and perhaps even a little after I received help. I did my best to send out orders as they came in as timely as possible, even with a full-time job keeping me in the office from 11AM-7:30PM. Despite all that, the zine did poorly thanks to me. I could have promoted things a lot better but I didn't. A piece was left out of the final project, and that fell on me to remember to have it put in, but I didn't. It was like a subconsciously admitted defeat on this project, which wasn't fair to the contributors and those that worked hard on it or wanted to have a copy. And for that, I am sorry. Emerald could have done so much better if it was in someone's hands. I'm sorry. Since the zine did so poorly, I wanted to at least put more than what it had originally earned into place. I wanted to put in the effort to make it up to the project and those who looked forward to it. Originally, the zine made an amount of $438.54 (please see the expense excel sheet for reference of how much was gained and how much went into production). I went through the process of getting the items and then sending it to the contributors and those who had ordered the zine. As I continued to send it to contributors and some got lost along the way, I happily sent them another bundle because I would rather have them have a copy than not. Since I get paid bi-weekly and I care for my family, the chances I had to do that were slim. The longer it took me to take care of it, the longer it took me to get them out. And for that, I am also sorry that it took me so long. I plan on adding an additional $388 to the contribution to the charity of my own money. This should cover the cost of the other zines and products that were not sold yet and/or lost. Perhaps doing this isn't exactly reasonable and maybe a part of it is to get rid of the bad karma around this zine. Regardless of what some might say about it, I feel that this is the right thing to do. No one but myself was or is holding me to this—it was something that I decided to do one day while I was sitting at work, staring at my computer. The full amount of what is donated should at least cover how much the remaining zines would have cost as a bundle. I am happily going to supply the money for it out of my own pocket. This is going to take a bit of time since I get paid bi-weekly and Christmas has come and gone. I'm aiming to have it done at least by the beginning of the new year. Once I drop those funds into the PayPal account, I'm going to submit it to the charity. Although, if others think I should do what I have now, I will not object. At the time of writing this, I still have two copies to send out and two participants who have opted out of getting a copy that I would at least like to give them something for the hard work they put into this. What does this mean for the remaining zines? Well, I certainly don't need this many copies of it. The zine's twitter and tumblr, will remain open, available for anyone who wants to see a history of the zine and what had happened during it. The shop will still be opened as well in case anyone else would still like a copy of the zine, even after the money is donated. Whatever future sales of the zine that occur, the proceeds will still continue to go to the charity of choice for the zine on a monthly basis. Do I expect more people to buy it? I don't want to think about that. I'll keep hold of the copies until they are either sold or I find something else to do with them. The reason why I wrote all this is simply for transparency. The zine lasted a lot longer than I would have liked and that fault falls on no one but myself. It wasn't the other mods fault but my own. I am very grateful to everyone who had been so kind to me during this time. I understand that there has been a lot of zine drama around different zines. While Emerald was never a part of it, I had no doubt that someone thought of the project at least once or twice. I wanted to be as transparent as possible about the status of the zine and what was going to happen. I had wished I had gotten it done sooner, but I, unfortunately, did not. Thank you so much to everyone for your never-ending patience. Once again, I am sorry for the continued delay of this finalization.