Community Zine

They’re crouched in the greenhouse dirt together; King and Duke, like they’re playing
at the schoolboys they once were. Felix’s wrist dips out from under his sleeve, winter
pale, and Dimitri cannot help himself—his fingers find the smooth skin before
Felix can even startle.
(into the dawn)
Writer - cheshire / @paraselen_e
Artist - Bhai / @Bhai_kyun
“What are you doing?” Felix stares at the small flower bulb he has viciously shoved
into the dirt; but he doesn’t shake Dimitri off.
His hands are so accustomed to bloodshed, he and Felix both; but clean, here, but for
the spring dirt—Dimitri wants to believe this befits them, too.
If not him, then at least Felix, his Felix, who was never meant for war.
“I do not think Rodrigue would begrudge my helping you.” Dimitri feels Felix’s
heartbeat thunderous under his thumb, so reassuring and so real, it’s as if it has made
a home under his own skin, too. “In growing this small thing to honour him.”
Felix hmphs; but when he turns his gaze away, he does turn to face the sun.
--
Writer - sumaru / @asterlactuca
Artist - pittoo / @ linhardtlovebot
Since birth, they had been inseparable. House Vestra served House Hresvelg, and thus
Felix was ever at Dimitri’s side, his shadow and his closest friend.
Then years passed with them apart, and when Felix saw Dimitri again, his hair had
turned silver-white, his eyes pale lavender.
“What happened to you?” Felix asks.
“I--” Dimitri tries to answer. Felix can tell that he tries, but his words falter, and he
looks haunted, harrowed.
“Nevermind. It can wait for later.”
Felix thought later meant never, until one day Dimitri tells him everything. This
time, Dimitri speaks calmly, clearly, and then he speaks of revolution.