Hi Ninerose Nation :3

I love the trope that Damian is always dropping Jason lore on accident to an unsuspecting bat family, but I raise you this: Damian starts dropping little facts bc he's pissed that the rest of the bats are so clueless when it comes to his brother

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Jason: idk why Alfred started making more italian lately but this is the best week of my life

Damian, who recently informed the family of some of Jason's favorite recipies: maybe he's having a phase

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Jason, off-handedly to Damian exactly one (1) time: yeah, i just run cold these days, side effect of being dead I guess

*several weeks later*

Damian: hello

Jason, staring at the frankly appalling amount to soft and cozy blankets piled in the living room: hi????

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

I feel like Danielle is really hitting her stride with Sam this season. Like, it must be difficult to feel the same level of comfort as Aabria, Lou, Erika, and Brennan because those 4 play together all the time. But it seems like she's really letting herself/Sam be vulnerable (b/c let's be real, in an actual play it's both yours & your character's) and saying some of the most beautiful things.

I've always loved Sam & Danielle and it's really wonderful seeing them both shine this season.

*also shoutout for the Black women in wigs rep 🫶🏾 You love to see it!

masterlist of places to submit creative writing

it's intimidating thinking about submitting your precious work to judgement, but all the rejections are worth it when you finally get that one glowing acceptance email that puts your anxieties and impostor syndrome to bed. but where do you submit? it can be incredibly overwhelming trying to find the right sites/journals/zines to submit to so i thought i'd create a little collection of places i have found to submit to and i will update it whenever i find new discoveries.

PROSE ONLY

The Fiction Desk

They consider stories between 1k words and 10k words, paying 25 GBP per thousand words for stories they publish and contributors receive two complimentary paperback copies of the anthology. (A submission fee of 5 GBP for stories which sucks)

Extra Teeth

Works of fiction and creative nonfiction between 800 and 4,000 words receive a 140 GBP payment upon publication in the magazine as well as two copies that feature your work. If your work is selected to published online, you get 100 GBP instead. A Scottish based publication that also offers mentorships to budding writers. (Free)

Clarkesworld

Fantasy and sci-fi magazine accepting submissions of fiction from 1k to 22k words, paying 14 cent per word. Make sure you read their submissions page carefully, it gives you a good idea of what they're looking for and what will get you one of those disheartening rejection emails. (Free)

Granta

Open to unsolicited submissions of fiction and non-fiction. Unfortunately they do charge a 3.50 GBP fee for prose submissions, but they do offer 200 free submissions during every opening period (1 March - 31 March, 1 June - 30 June, 1 September - 30 September, 1 December - 31 December) to low income authors. No set minimum or maximum length, but most accepted works fall within 3,000 and 6,000 words.

Indie Bites

A fantasy short fiction publisher looking for clever hooks, strong characters and interesting takes on their issues' themes. Submissions should be no longer than 7,500 words. You get an honorarium of 5 GBP for each piece of yours that they publish - it's not much, but yay money! (Free)

Big Fiction

Novella publishers (7,500-20,000 words) looking for self-contained works of fiction that play with things like the linearity of narratives, perspective, structure and language. (Free)

Strange Horizons

Employing a broad definition of speculative fiction, they offer 10 cents a word for spec fiction up to 10,000 words but preferably around 5,000. (Free)

Fantasy and Science Fiction

They publish fiction up to 25,000 words in length, offering 8-12 cents per word upon publishing. (Free)

Fictive Dream

Short stories from 500 words to 2,500. They want writing with a contemporary feel that explores the human condition. (Free)

POETRY AND PROSE

eunoia review

Up to 10 poems in a single attachment, up to 15,000 words of fiction and creative non-fiction (can be multiple submissions amounting to that or a single piece). It's free to submit to, and they respond in 24 hours (I can vouch for that).

Confingo Magazine

Stories up to 5,000 words of any genre and poems (a max of three) up to 50 lines. Free to submit to and offer a 30 GBP payment to authors whose work is accepted.

Grain Magazine

Another Canadian based publication also supportive of marginalised identities. They accept poems (max. of six pages), fiction (max. of 3,500 words) or three flash fiction works that total 3.5k, literary nonfiction (3,500 words) and queries for works of other forms. All contributors are paid 50 CAD per page to a max of 250. Authors outside of Canada will need to pay a 5 CAD reading fee but they do offer a limited number of fee waivers if this impacts your ability to submit.

BTWN

An up-and-coming lit mag looking for diverse works that play with genres, breaks the rules and is a little weird. They want what typical lit mags reject. Stories up to 7,000 words, non-fiction up to 7,000 words and up to 4 poems totalling no more than 10 pages, hybrid work, comics/graphics up to 5 pages, original periodicals up to 14,000 words of prose or 20 pages of poetry. (Free)

Gutter

Accepting submission in spring and autumn work that challenges, re-imagines or undermines the status quo and pushes at the boundaries of form and function. If your contribution is chosen, you get 30 GBP for your work as well as a complimentary copy of the issue. Up to three poems (no more than 100 lines), fiction and essays (up to 2,500 words)

Whisk(e)y Tit

This one's worth checking out just for their logo. They're looking for fiction whether it's short stories, flash fiction or novel excerpts up to 7,000 words, up to 5 poems, up to 7,000 word essays, screenplays and stage plays (can be full works or excerpts up to 20 pages). (Free)

FOR QUEER AND MARGINALISED WRITERS

Plenitude magazine

A queer-focused Canadian literary magazine accepting poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction. They define queer literature as create by queer people. (Free)

Lavender Review

Poetry written by and for lesbians. An annual Sappho's Prize in Poetry takes place every October. (Free)

AC|DC

"A journal for the bent", always open for submissions from queer writers of all experience levels. They lean towards dark and raw writing but are open to everything as long as it's not over 3,000 words. (Free)

Sinister Wisdom

A literary and art journal for lesbians of every background. They accept poetry (up to 5), two short stories or essays OR one longer piece (not exceeding 5,000 words), as well as book reviews (these must be pitched before they are submitted, (Free)

Queerlings

Open annually from Jan 1st to March 31st they publish short stories of any genre (up to 2,000 words), flash fiction/hybrid work (500 words), poetry (up to 3 poems per submission with a 20 line maximum on each) and creative non-fiction (2,000 words) written by queer writers. (Free)

underdog lit mag

Based in the UK, they focus on amplifying emerging and underrepresented writers. If you're female, POC, LGBTQ+, working-class or all of the above with a story of 100-3,500 words that fits their flavour of the month (the last flavour was Magical Realism) send it their way! (Free)

fourteen poems

London-based poetry publishers looking for the most exciting queer poets. You can send up to five emails to them within their deadlines and you get 25 GBP for every poem published.

Froglifter Journal

A press publishing the most dynamic and urgent queer writing. Poets send in 3 to 5 poems (max. 5 pages), writers send in up to 7,500 words of fiction or non-fiction or three flash fiction pieces, and cross-genre creators send in up to 20 pages within the submission windows March 1 to May 1 and September 1 to November 1. (Free)

OTHER SOURCES

Short Stories: X | X | X

Poetry: X

The birthday gift Robin gets from her parents is that they’re gonna help her fund a three month solo trip to Paris. Steve thinks she should be delivering this news with much more excitement than she currently is.

“Okay, but you’re going, right?” he says, as she bites her nails for the third time. When she doesn’t reply, he lifts his eyes to the heavens, despairing. “Oh my god, are you kidding? Robin, you’ve wanted this for—”

“Years,” she confirms, so quietly. “I want—” She swallows. “I want it so badly, Steve.”

He pauses, drops their usual teasing schtick. “Okay,” he says, a little softer. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just…” She moves her hand away from her mouth, tugs on a hangnail. “What if—what if something… happens. And I’m not…” She gestures vaguely. “Not here.”

Steve slings an arm over her shoulder. “Rob,” he says, “nothing’s gonna happen.”

Robin nods. “I know, I know.”

But then she sighs, and Steve understands: it’s one thing to know something objectively, another thing to feel the certainty in your bones.

He has a wave of gratitude for Robin’s parents, for them knowing that she needs this, for letting her have a year out, maybe even two, without judgement. It’s something they all need, really, in different ways: some time to let the weight of everything settle, to catch their breath.

Steve’s honestly been relishing the mundanity of it all, the comfort of routine—easy days where the biggest ‘disaster’ is him being late for their opening shift at Family Video.

“Keith’s keeping your job open for you, right?” Steve asks, just in case that’s a sticking point.

Robin nods again, laughing. “Yeah, mom arranged that all before she even booked the flights. Well, I think she just basically told him that—”

“So it’s gonna be a super long vacation.” Steve gives her knee a reassuring little shake, before tickling the back of it. “Jesus, Robin, if you don’t go, I’ll go for you.”

Robin snorts and wiggles out of his grip. “Shut up.”

“And I’ll speak French so badly that I’ll just get banned for life, like, right outta the gate, it’ll be tragic—”

“I’ve got the picture, dingus,” she says, and she’s smiling—finally, finally there’s a spark of excitement in her eyes.

And that excitement only grows as her flight date gets closer, as she calls Steve the week before, begging him to be the one to take her to the airport, because, “My dad took one look at my suitcase and burst into tears, please Steve, the man can’t do this.”

And then Steve’s pulling up to her driveway, and she’s already waiting for him, perched on her suitcase. She’s wearing a cobalt blue beret, and Steve loves her so much he thinks his heart might burst with it.

For a while, it’s all grins and laughter, Steve giggling every time he edges out of the driveway, and Robin’s mom stops him, frantically waving, asking if Robin’s got everything, did you pack that other coat, honey?

Then it feels like time rushes forward—they’re at the airport, and Steve gets out of the car to fetch Robin’s case from the trunk, but she’s already got it, is already standing in the parking lot, eyes wide.

“What’s gonna happen now?” she whispers.

Steve’s heart clenches; the last time she’d asked that had been as they sped to the hospital, Robin gripping his hand so tightly as Eddie lay unconscious.

Steve puts both hands on her shoulders. “You’re gonna have the best time,” he says, deadly serious, “and then you’re gonna come back and tell me all about it.”

She laughs, right on the edge of becoming tearful. “O-okay.” She blinks several times.

“Don’t,” Steve says, faux-warningly, “or you’ll set me off, too.”

And it’s only partly a joke.

“Okay,” Robin says again, and then she’s hugging Steve tight, pressing a damp kiss to his cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

“God, me too. Every day.” Steve rocks her back and forth, makes sure her beret doesn’t get dislodged with the force of the hug.

When they break apart, Robin picks up her case—she pauses, then grins.

“Now, if you’ll just point me in the right direction…”

Steve chuckles. He spins her around so she’s facing the airport, then pats her on the back.

She starts walking.

Steve stays right where he is; he knows she’ll look back right at the last second—ah, there she goes. He shakes his head, laughs. Waves.

He drives back alone.

When he gets home, he barely has time to even think about it, because the kids have biked over after school, clamouring for him to order pizza from the moment he opens the front door, and Eddie’s shrugging apologetically with a grin, and it’s only later that Steve realises that the whole thing was probably coordinated beforehand.

And he’s fine, really, he’s absolutely fine until he steps into the hall to use the phone, and he unthinkingly orders the pizza him and Robin usually share: one half with pepperoni, the other half with mushrooms.

And then he has to finish the rest of the phone call with a lump in his throat, and when he hangs up, Eddie is watching him with a sad kind of smile.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Don’t. Don’t be nice to me, goddamn it.” Steve shuts his eyes. “I was fine, I was fine.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Eddie knocks their foreheads together gently. “I’ll miss her, too.”

And God, missing Robin does hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the joy Steve feels whenever he receives a letter from her. He laughs himself stupid the first time, because instead of just using sheets of paper, she’s sent multiple postcards wrapped in an elastic band, her handwriting all squished so she can fit everything in.

She writes like she talks, all rambling enthusiasm, and Steve cherishes every word.

He can tell she’s having so much fun. She enthuses about little cafés she’s found, a bookstore near Notre Dame; she spends multiple pages on art galleries, how she has the time to wander, to look at a painting again and again until the meaning reveals itself, it was like when I solved that ‘crossword’ in the mall, it suddenly just clicked, you know? I need you here next time, you’ll look at it from another angle, I wanna know what you think.

She sends Polaroids, too. There’s one of her in a white shirt with a trilby hat at a jaunty angle—Steve can tell she’s been in the sun, because there’s freckles all over the bridge of her nose. On the back of the photograph, she’s written Had a carefree kiss!

And Steve cries when he reads it, because he knows what it means: that Robin’s often spoken wistfully about how she’s never got to have that fleeting summer kind of love, where nothing is all that serious.

But she’s still so young, and life is finally light, and she gets to have it now.

Other photographs are sent to Eddie, with instructions that he should translate the French Robin’s written on them, à force de pratique, on y arrive, mon cher Édouard!

“I said literally once that French at school wasn’t, like, the worst,” Eddie says, pouting. “Didn’t realise that meant she was gonna torture me from across the world.” He frowns at a picture of Robin petting a grey cat, a bowl of food at its little paws. “And I tried translating whatever the fuck she’s written here, but I can’t work it out.”

“Not even a guess?” Steve says.

“I mean, yeah, but it sounds so stilted, man, I know it’s wrong. Like, who actually says where the silver cat feeds—you dick, stop laughing! What’s so funny?”

Two months pass, and Robin’s back soon, but not soon enough to catch Steve’s birthday. It’s not like he wants to have a huge party, anyway—he goes to Wayne and Eddie’s for dinner, and discovers Dustin leading a not-so successful ‘secretly bake a birthday cake,’ meeting at Max’s.

Everyone’s on their second slice of cake when the phone rings, and Steve knows instantly who it is from the way Eddie shouts, “Huh? What?”, like there’s a delay on the line. Then he beams and shouts, “Steve! Got a long distance call for you.”

Steve’s over in a flash.

“I promise I’ve got you something,” Robin says, slightly muffled—every so often a word will cut out, but Steve gets the gist. “I swear, I’m not awful, I was gonna post it, but then I had no idea how many stamps I’d need, and I didn’t wanna risk losing it forever to, like, the nightmare limbo of customs, so I thought when I come back, I can—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Steve laughs, “you didn’t need to get me anything. This is the best present ever.”

“Oh, gross,” Robin says cheerfully. “You’re all sentimental in your old age. Happy Birthday, Steve.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and the lump in his throat is back, but it’s not so bad; he can breathe through it. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And then there’s a sound that Steve at first thinks is just from the bad quality of the line, but then he realises it’s Robin trying to stifle a yawn; “Wait, Jesus, isn’t it, like, two in the morning over there? Go to bed!”

She doesn’t listen, of course—they keep chatting, everyone in the room wants a turn on the phone, Robin teasing Eddie relentlessly for his French pronunciation.

And as Steve ends the call, he finds that the hurt of missing her has faded away into something else—knowing that there’ll be comings and goings in their lives all the time, adventures they’ll share and adventures they won’t. But they’ll always, always find their way back to one another.

Steve sets the phone into its cradle, pictures Robin doing the very same so many miles away.

Yeah, we’re gonna be just fine, you and me, Steve thinks, and feels the certainty of it right in his bones.

Soren didn't give up on Claudia. But he saw she wasn't going to change and he decided to stop pouring water into a bucket with a big hole in the bottom. He doesn't need to chase after her and Viren's love anymore because well he has love....."I've got you." - "I know."

"Sometimes giving up is the strong thing, sometimes to run is the brave thing, sometimes walking out is the one thing, that will find you the right thing" - its time to go

If we wanted to engage in nuance (lol, lmao) on the "are audiobooks reading" debate, we really do need to bring literacy, and especially blind literacy, into the conversation.

Because, yes, listening to a story and reading a story use mostly the same parts of the brain. Yes, listening to the audiobook counts as "having read" a book. Yes, oral storytelling has a long, glorious tradition and many cultures maintained their histories through oral history or oral + art history, having never developed a true written language, and their oral stories and histories are just as valid and rich as written literature.

We still can't call listening in the absence of reading "literacy."

The term literacy needs to stay restricted to the written word, to the ability to access and engage with written texts, because we need to be able to talk about illiteracy. We need to be able to identify when a society is failing to teach children to read, and if we start saying that listening to stories is literacy, we lose the ability to describe those systemic failures.

Blind folks have been knee-deep in this debate for a long time. Schools struggle to provide resources to teach students Braille and enforcing the teaching of Braille to low-vision and blind children is a constant uphill battle. A school tried to argue that one girl didn't need to learn Braille because she could read 96-point font. Go check what that is. The new prevalence of audiobooks and TTS is a huge threat to Braille literacy because it provides institutions with another excuse to not provide Braille education or Braille texts.

That matters. Braille-literate blind and low-vision people have a 90% employment rate. For those who don't know Braille, it's 30%. Braille literacy is linked to higher academic success in all fields.

Moving outside the world of Braille, literacy of any kind matters. Being able to read text has a massive impact on a person's ability to access information, education, and employment. Being able to talk about the inability to read text matters, because that's how we're able to hold systems accountable.

So, yes, audiobooks should count as reading. But, no, they should not count as literacy.

I've been kind of obsessed with them since I watched the last season. I think Soren needed to be comforted by Corvus... They never really talked about what happened and it didn't sit well with me, so I drew this.

Rewatching “The Boiler Room Job” and they really did just give Eliot a machete and set him loose in the jungle with an asshole conman ceo huh

I don’t think I can stress enough how many people on here need a hobby like 95% of what people refer to as jobless behavior is actually just hobbyless behavior. Take up watercolors or tabletop or join a hiking group or something you probably won’t feel as much of an incessant need to freak out on the internet every day