(nb: This started as a “lol multiple alternate shepards” thing. Then talking about a_facility made me think about the Consortium’s original goals, and… this may make no sense to anyone who didn’t play in a_fac. And no sense to anyone who isn’t half asleep and writing crazy bursts of fanfic first thing in the morning.)
All Shepard could think, as she stared through the one-way glass like someone looking at a live explosive, was that it would be Cerberus.
nonasuch asked: Hey! I'm working on a Discworld fanzine, and looking for contributors. Would you possibly be interested? More details at my tumblr. (This is not the only zine in the works, and I suspect at least one other may be a good fit for you.)
Hmm… I’ll get back to you on this one. I don’t have any fic I could contribute at the moment, but I could do you some art. (For my followers: here is nonasuch’s info post regarding their fanzine project, if y’all have a moment.)
Also I notice one of your zines is focused on people who are/feel othered by their fandom — I suggest checking out tokusatsu (Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, etc). It has a pretty strong female fanbase, yet is predominantly marketed to and consumed by a male audience.
Anonymous asked: Top favorite Terry Pratchett novels, go!
Spoilers: They’re all from the Disc. I have read some of his other work like Nation, and I’ve gotta re-read The Carpet People one of these days, but y’know. Discworld.
Night Watch - every couple of months I have to reread this and Guards! Guards! next to each other. It’s odd and sad, seeing fresh-faced teenaged Vimes and knowing that in a handful of years he’s going to be a fatalistic drunken wreck, and yet in Guards! Guards! you see him waking up to the Vimes he’s going to become in Night Watch.
Monstrous Regiment - This book. It was made for me.
Wee Free Men -Actually the first Discworld book I read — really, I like it much better than the other Tiffany books. I rather feel like in the latter two books, particularly I Shall Wear Midnight, he decided he wanted to include a bunch of characters and themes he didn’t quite nail down in the first two, and it doesn’t quite feel like the same story anymore. Letitia and Amber should really have been introduced circa Wintersmith.
(The problem of continuing the last post is that most of my ideas for it are pretty firmly rooted in London Below (where they meet Richard, champion and consort of the Lady Door, and get roped into the search for Door’s sister who’s still missing these last twelve years, and then something something about Islington and Aziraphale something something something), and I don’t know anything about modern-day London. There’s an eight-year old part of me who still has this Enid-Blytonesque view of pre-war lashings-of-ginger-beer England, and… that’s a thing.)
(I could just throw them all in the Dreaming and have done with it.)
“This is exactly the kind of place Dad warns me about,” Coraline said.
Bod thought about it. Most of the storefronts they’d passed on the way here had been bright and cheery-looking, and he rather wished they’d had time to stop at the street market, and he quite liked the music coming from a nearby club even if it was far too loud and seemed to rattle his back teeth when they walked past.
On the other hand, he’d looked some of the billboards and certain other storefronts, and he could hear his mother sniffing and saying now you just stay away from that nonsense if you know what’s good for you, Nobody Owens.
Bod decided that this would have been a very nice place to walk around in daylight. Instead, it was three in the morning and they were in a dark alleyway that smelled like a toilet.
The graffiti on the wall read BEWARE OF WOLVES. Underneath it, in a different script, someone else had written I’D LIKE TO MEET HIS TAILOR.
“I’m sorry about your boots,” he offered.
Coraline looked down and shrugged. In another life, they had been bright yellow and resembled rubber duckies. They were probably still duckie-shaped.
(They’d been running from a cloud of… not bats, not bats at all, Bod was very familiar with bats and he could definitely say they were Not Bats, Not One Bit, but they were black and flappy and had enormous teeth and spewed gobs of black filth at them. They’d ducked around a corner and bolted into the first shop that still had its lights on and didn’t have a seminaked mannequin in front, and the middle-aged shopkeeper had given them a scandalized look and nearly threw them back out before he peered out the window and said, “Blast. Very well, you can… stay until they’re gone. I’ll find you two some towels, shall I? Don’t touch anything.”)
She said, “They won’t melt. Tape?”
Bod handed her a roll of sticky tape. She unrolled the thin sheet of paper the circus-girl had given them, spreading it out and sticking it to the alley wall.
It was a narrow, life-size ink drawing of a door. It had a doorknocker shaped like a unsmiling face, wearing a horned mask.
“There,” Coraline said. “Okay. Where did they say the Floating Market was?”
(nb: no, there isn’t more of this, I just have to get this out of my head)