#isbs

Preorders will run until November 15th!  

Digital copies are $10, and physical copies are $17 (plus shipping).  We ship internationally!

The zine is 36 glorious pages long, featuring works from 22 different artists!  Art previews can be found here.  Full artist list is here.

DIGITAL ZINE ($10) PHYSICAL ZINE ($17)

All proceeds will go to the Transgender Law Center!

Please reblog to help spread the word! <3

How about the beginning (there's more written, I swear 😂)? Here you go:

10 years of Clexa kisses: it should be spring

March 5, 2021 — present

“Whatever you think we might have in common, you’re wrong,” she grits out, stepping into Lexa’s personal space. “I am nothing like you.”

To her surprise, Lexa’s smile is rueful and a little bit sad. It wanes into a bemused frown.

“We are more alike than you think. And this world is not meant for us.”

Clarke doesn’t know what Lexa is talking about. She doesn’t, despite the way her chest constricts around her fluttering heart and words curl into a knot at her throat. She can’t, even if her entire body seems to balance towards Lexa, towards warmth, towards questions she wants no answer for.

She can’t.

Thus she draws herself up, holding her ground, not taking a physical step back so much as an emotional one. She needs mental space to breathe.

“You’re so full of shit.”

Lexa’s eyes sparkle at the challenge and she steps even closer, so close they are but a couple of inches apart. Clarke’s breath catches at the proximity; being so close she can almost taste Lexa’s perfume and feel the heat of her body. So close Clarke can hear the subtle intake of breath when Lexa’s lips part and her green, lidded gaze looks like a constellation.

So close she can only close her eyes when she feels long fingers weave into her hair, before the pliable lips are pressing against hers.

The first taste of Lexa is pure exhilaration.

Her lips are the softest Clarke has ever tasted, timid and sweet and oh so gentle. Lexa kisses like theirs is but a stolen moment, a work of art so fragile it can break at just the slightest push. She kisses like she wants more but is afraid to ask for it.

Their lips part for a moment, as Lexa brushes her nose against Clarke’s. It’s a moment too long. High on the feeling of Lexa’s lips, Clarke rushes forward to capture them in a second kiss, this one more forceful, more urgent.

Lexa responds with a hand on her hip, pulling her closer so there is no space left between them, and the slightest graze of teeth over Clarke’s lower lip that punches all the air out of Clarke’s lungs.

Clarke’s revenge comes by way of grabbing two handfuls of Lexa’s blouse and pushing her against a wall. She takes advantage of Lexa’s startled gasp to deepen their kiss, coaxing Lexa’s tongue forth with her own. She doesn’t know who groans, or who groans first ; too wrapped up in Lexa, Lexa, Lexa to care about anything else.

She mumbles half a protest when Lexa’s lips leave hers, only to moan up to the ceiling when they run a scorching path down her neck. She thrusts her fingers into Lexa’s hair, holding her lips to her neck as they kiss their way back up, slow and wanton, and return home to Clarke’s lips.

Clarke barely registers how badly she’s mussed up Lexa’s hair or how her own skirt has hiked up, leaving an unseemly stretch of skin on show. Not until she feels a hand trailing up the inside of her thigh.

She jerks back like she’s been burned, her whole body quaking.

Lexa’s confused frown morphs into wounded understanding in a fraction of a second. Clarke can’t bear to meet her eyes as she pulls down her skirt with trembling hands and takes a wobbly step back.

it should be spring

Chapter 2 - If You Forget Me

READ ON AO3

Clarke opens the book at random and all her bravado vanishes the instant she realizes what’s written before her eyes. She’s sure her eyes are wide as saucers as they fly back to Lexa’s, and her own ears burn.

“Is she– and is she– are they…?”

Lexa’s lips pull up in a slow smirk, a staggering shift from just a few moments ago. She still looks flushed and a bit winded, but her eyes glint with intent. The tables have turned.