the more time you spend in active recovery from any given self destructive behavior or addiction the more you understand the common conception of the "relapse" as defined by a broken "streak" to be, like, so bad for one's own well-being that it would be funny if it weren't resulting in just a lot of misery and death
I told my girlfriend to think of quitting vaping as training her endurance by seeing how long she can run before she gets tired, then doing it again and hoping to go further next time. She said it really helped her.
…So once again it’s the time of year when I return to this piece of digital art in its most recent version, tweak it a little in the attempt to get closer to what I see in my head, and repost it for Pride. (ETA, 1 June 2026: this year's version of the image is rerendered with warmer interior colors and some other minor tweaks. In other news, I'm now convinced that I will continue tweaking this art once a year for the rest of my natural life, because I will not fucking rest until it's perfect, and that day... is not today.) 😅
...Meanwhile:
At the moment I’m looking yet again at These Two Idiots (because honestly, in some ways they are...) and considering, once again with the usual bemusement, how long I’ve been working with them. Of all the characters I’ve worked with in print, the only ones I’ve known longer would be the crew of NCC-1701—and (as of a couple of years back in 2024) for the first time in paid writing, a couple of gentlemen named Holmes and Watson.
I first “met” the two characters above in late 1970 in the form of two fellow college students on whom they’d be loosely based: a couple of gents—not gay, as it happens—who were friends to me when I badly needed some. They were a tall dark-haired guy and a short blond one with a mustache that came and went… so that, not even knowing the word “trope” at the time, I'd fallen sideways into at least one.
(Adding a break here, because (shrug) whatever. More story below. CAUTION: contains Star Trek, Tolkien, character backstory, tradpub book history, bedtime stories that were finally forced to become better than the originals, first-book trauma [it got better...], and yet another year of refusing to allow this early(-ish) version of queer representation in fantasy to be erased.)
...So. Less than a year after I met those guys, I changed schools and educational tracks, and we all drifted apart. But something about those two stuck with me. The nature and depth of their friendship was unusual. So was one way it manifested itself: in ruthless snark that had no meanness or cruelty about it whatsoever—just (sometimes slightly rueful and eye-rolling) affection.
In the late sixties I’d pivoted from the Star Trek fanfic I'd been writing practially since the series premiered, to start in on writing some very derivative epic-fantasy fic strongly influenced by Tolkien. Rather to my surprise, though, as I started nursing school in 1971, the nature of that fiction started to change, and began rearranging itself around two characters who had a friendship like that of my college friends. With them at its core, a rather different and subversive kind of medieval-flavored fantasy world started knitting itself together from various scraps of themes and imagery lying around in the back of my brain.
Even so early in the construction phases of this world, something the characters quickly made plain to me in the writing was that their relationships with one another were not what mainstream 1970s culture would consider conventional. They were unquestionably what we'd now think of as queer… but that was a background issue,* and not at all the most important thing in their lives. They had far more important business to deal with—as became clear as their personalities and priorities started filling themselves out in the foreground.
One of them turned out to be the deliberate, analytical, methodical son of a provincial nobleman, all too aware of the expectations of those around him: that he was eventually likely to wind up running that province himself. Yet at the same time he also became aware that he had other more serious problems—chief among them the discovery that he possessed a nascent power that would kill him young if he failed to master it. And in the last thousand years, no one of his gender ever had.
The other presented himself more and more clearly as a difficult case: someone who wanted very much to be good at the family business, but wasn’t… and knew it. Kind of a screw-up, full of romanticized and unrealistic takes on the world and his relationship with it: repeatedly doing the wrong things for what he was sure were the right reasons. Yet no matter how often he screwed up, he was also the kind of person who keeps picking himself up and trying again, because he’s been told over and over that that’s what people like him have to do: otherwise they’re no use to anybody.
Imagine my shock when I realized that these two men—initially canonically enemies in their adolescence, then best friends as they grew, and eventually much more—were the (incomplete) answer to the question I’d once asked my Mom at the end of the bedtime reading of some fairy tale or other: “Why can’t a prince rescue another prince?”§ Because one of them got himself more than once into situations where he really needed one kind or another of rescuing. The other one obliged him, while once or twice getting rescued (in different modes) himself. Those interlocking patterns started to solidify out of concept and into character detail and plot, while their world grew and proliferated into its own detail around them.
Then, without warning, in 1978 both world and characters decided they were ready to get real. I was abruptly dragged gasping and flailing under the surface of a novel that would begin the tale of what those two characters had yet to become. The period it took to produce that first draft was possibly the most interesting six weeks of my life… and that includes the six weeks during which I first scrubbed in on brain surgery. Day and night, for days at a time, I barely even existed except as something for a novel to come out of. When it was done with me, it just as abruptly dumped me back into my life and wandered away, leaving me staring around, blinking and wondering if anybody’d got the number of that truck. Nothing like it has ever happened to me since, which may be just as well. I’m none too sure that these days I could handle the strain.
The book—which sold within a couple of weeks of its manuscript landing on its first publisher’s desk—kicked off my career as novelist and screenwriter, and in its way proved that the world was at least slightly ready for epic fantasy in which the basic culture was pansexual, polyamorous, and inclusive in ways that hadn’t been attempted before.
So I owe them a debt, those two gentlemen up there: the tall dark curly-haired guy with the amateur strategist’s mind, the blacksmith’s shoulders, and the peculiar sword, his background thought always nibbling away at the question of how to heal the world’s wounds: and the short fair gent who if he could would stay at home, live quietly in town, and work in the local library… except for when saving the world (or his found family) requires him to subsume his work-in-progress kingship and his being into that of his ancestral demigod. Due to the success of the book in which they made their debut, these two became, in their way, the fairy† godfathers of the Young Wizards—and additionally enabled all that Star Trek fanfic I’d started writing a decade before to proceed to its logical conclusion.
More to the point, though, a lot of people in the 1980s and ‘90s who’d never seen queer representation in a fantasy novel, found it first (or at last) while following Herewiss and Freelorn down their shared road. It’s been my pleasure to hold that space for new readers, and to keep adding to it… because—if you ask me—it’s needed more now than ever.
So, to the readership of the Middle Kingdoms works (now pushing half a century old) and everybody else who (with me and Dusty and Lorn and [in other universes, Tom and Carl and the rest]) are celebrating the season: happy Pride!
ETA: Just noting here for those who might be interested that, as usual, the LGBTQ Pride Bundle at Ebooks Direct is discounted more deeply than usual for Pride Month. With the usual warning to UK readers: friends, our apologies, but due to Brexit we can no longer sell ebooks to you directly. However, most of these works are currently available to UK readers through Amazon.com.
*Not least because everybody else in their world is (at least potentially) some shade of queer, including God.
§ For certain values of "prince". See here for more detail.
Same shop, different art. These are all hilariously Garashir drawings, but I swear I'll both do more Garashir and more other ink drawings. This does happening to be one of my favorite drawing styles, it just takes a century to draw...
Anyways! Have a look at my shop! :) They're all there and more to come!
there exists exactly one (1) picture of garak from his time on ds9, taken by jake on accident, and mysteriously scrubbed shortly afterwards from every single computer database on the station.
Just finished reading Enigma Tales and while it is an absolutely banging read (the best Star Trek book I’ve read) I was left with a renewed Garashir hunger. I don’t know why the top half of Bashir’s onesie star fleet uniform is wrapped around his waist so that his upper body is exposed. Don’t ask me. (Probably working in a garden for Garak or something whombst to know)
actually if german was more widely spoken die känguru chroniken would have a huge fandom and like one half of the fandom would ship mark-uwe kling and the kangaroo and the other half would be very upset about that and there would be callout posts and block lists and it would be an absolute nightmare but also hilarious
some people don’t deserve fanfics, much less for free.
also even if authors didn’t tag any specific warnings but they used the “creator chose not to use archive warnings” tag, then that is your warning.
“omg you should’ve —” no one forced your entitled ass to read anything. fanfic writers write for themselves and their own enjoyment. if you don’t like what you’re reading, quietly leave. ao3 is not an airport. no one cares about your departure so no need to announce it.
Also what happened to skimming the sex scenes?! If you love the piece of writing, be it fic or a book, and you’re not into reading sex scenes, just… skim. Come back to the story after. A sex scene does not suddenly poison the entire work.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
pixelskylines
stormborns
