Nic

+ I thiiiink I'm up to date on my comment replies? My inbox turned into a right mess with all the holiday emails thrown in, sorry if I've skipped over you.

+ Tis the time for End of Year Lists, and I enjoyed Every Sapphic Book I Read This Year by Lesbiature.

+ I actually spotted the Beehive Books illuminated version of Carmilla in a local bookshop! I didn't know their fancy editions were becoming that widespread. I backed their very first kickstarter back in the day, happy to see they've expanded. Their editions are works of art. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for a sale so I can snap it up.

+ Finally installed Vegas Pro 22 I got from Humble Bundle, and there were separate ticky boxes for Vegas Pro and Deep Learning Model. I'm assuming that's their AI bullshit? If so, GOOD. Maybe I'll venture into discord again, most vidders have abandoned ship here and I'll very likely be in need of moral support. These gay vampires won't leave me alone and I may just have to do something about it. (this is 98% likely to never result in a finished vid, my track record is very conclusive)

+ Big shoutout to lgbtrainbow for letting me do one icon at a time. Such a fun but also easy way to go about iconning. Though I now have three colors laying in wait for when they come back around lol. I am ready to pounce. Please join us and icon All The Gays.
(I may actually have an icon post before the year ends whee)

In the meantime I've written up not one but two tutorials based on earlier PSDs, because once again I'm having to re-learn how to make icons 🫠

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️
Rec-cember Day 29
Stranger Things
love is a battle i can win by palmviolet (24,653 words). Christmas 1994. Nancy faces her fears. The sense of found family and friendship in this <3 (also another Christmas fic yay)
She taps the end of her ballpoint on her lip and looks idly around the terminal. The bank of seats she’s sitting on is empty. But as she watches, actually, someone comes down to sit a few seats away from her. It’s a woman, short-haired, in men’s trousers and a collared shirt. She’s got sharp eyes and freckles dusted over her cheeks; the shirt, open at the throat, shows off the hint of warm brown collarbones.

She doesn’t sit for long. Soon enough she spots someone entering the terminal and she jumps to her feet, the sort of raw delight emanating off her that’s hard to look at. She rushes forward and embraces the person. Another woman. And it’s 1994, and the world’s come a long way, but not long enough for them to kiss here in public, but Nancy can tell that they want to. She can just tell. And she doesn’t know where this sense came from, where she learned it or when. How does she know? How does she know that’s what they want to do?

Not because she’s felt that way herself. She remembers the few times she and Jonathan were apart for any length of time, the way she’d feel itchy and unsettled the whole duration and yet still strangely reluctant to see him return. She wouldn’t kiss him in the airport, though she’d kiss back if he kissed her. It was a problem of knowing neither how to live with him nor how to live without him; it was a problem they all experienced with each other, moving away from New Hawkins in dribs and drabs as they did. Joyce calling Jonathan four times a day and forgetting the time difference, waking them just as they went to bed. Nancy doing the same to Mike and Holly, just in the mornings.

She checks her watch. It’s eleven twenty-eight; she puts her notebook away and gets her things together, passing the two women on her way out, and she has to avert her eyes. She can’t look at them. Her cheeks are furiously hot.