#and of course to everyone who helped put this zine together! got me to write my first dcmk fanfic ever--and my first fic in years :')

[marshmallowgoop]

They Only Murdered Him Once

Fandom: Detective Conan

Summary: The antidote doesn't fix everything.

Notes: My contribution to the DCMK Fanfic Server's noir zine, A Study in NOIR. You can find the whole thing here!

This piece is also available on AO3.

-------

The first time that she lays eyes on Shinichi Kudo, it’s nothing more than a passing glance from the backseat of a stuffy, unbearable car that she’d never be allowed to drive.

It could have been a newspaper. He’d tell her so someday, a pout on his thin lips and his face pinkening, only slightly, starting at his nose and threatening to spill over to his cheeks. She could have seen his photograph paired with an unbelievable headline, or glimpsed his likeness on the cover of the kind of magazine you might find stocked near the front of your favorite convenience store. Or perhaps she could have caught the now-familiar tuft of hair that never sits flat on the back of his head, and his too-big smile, and his eye-bleeding sense of fashion, splashed all across the evening news.

But that bland, ordinary October afternoon, she doesn’t see some recreation of him, composed of pixels and ink. She doesn’t see smudges of black and white that somehow combine to resemble him. She sees him in the flesh, walking casually along a pristine sidewalk in the opposite direction of her car.

His hands are hidden, concealed by the pockets of a brown coat too warm for the not-yet-biting chill of the season. He wears a goofy, toothless grin for the girl beside him, a beautiful, wide-eyed thing dressed even more warmly, with a rib-knit turtleneck collar wrapped tightly around her neck and a blush-colored jacket encasing her arms.

He doesn’t notice the car. Not the sound. Not the sight. Not the smell, the reek of the people housed within it. His entire world walks beside him.

So she stares. She peers out the rolled-up window, her face leaning into her closed fist, her eyes narrowed and her expression both utterly meaningless and the most meaningful expression she’d ever allow to come over her.

She thinks him a stupid boy. Someday, she’ll swear that this was the only thought that ever crossed her mind.

-------

The tenth time—eleventh time, twelfth time, she loses track eventually—that the girl at the doc’s place lays eyes on Shinichi Kudo, it’s in a place she least expected, at a time that should be impossible.

But as she drags the body, arms first, across the worn carpet of the home that is not hers, she looks down, and she sees him.

She very nearly drops the wrists to the floor.

-------

The sixth time—maybe—that Haibara lays eyes on Shinichi Kudo, it’s nearly fifteen minutes later than had been arranged.

He half-jogs his way to her table, his mouth opening and his hands coming together as though he means to pray, but she speaks before allowing even the slightest bit of sound to erupt out of him.

“You look like shit,” she says.

It’s true. Kudo has never been one she’d describe as stylish or up to date, but it’s worse than usual. His familiar bright red bow tie has been replaced with a tie of quiet purple, perhaps to stand out against the garish crimson polo shirt that he’s inexplicably paired with a white vest, and the resulting effect is as embarrassing as it is painful.

But his face fares more poorly than his outfit. It’s as though he rummaged through the makeup of the girl from the detective agency, uncapped her favorite mascara, and attempted to coat his bottom lashes in black, but he failed so spectacularly that the color leaked past his waterline and pooled up in the creases beneath his eyes.

He grips the cold edge of a metal chair across from her, sitting down with a scowl that looks as half-hearted as his apology undoubtedly would have been.

“Well, excuse me,” he says.

“You smell like shit, too,” she adds.

He does. There’s no way that his dark circles are the result of a makeup accident. He couldn’t have even walked in a bathroom this morning to brush his teeth.

Or comb his hair, which is covered in a thin layer of frizz and sticks up in places it shouldn’t. For all she knows, he could have rolled out of bed five minutes ago. He probably did.

The chair beneath him shrieks as he slides it back and lifts an arm. He presses his cheek into the brilliantly red fabric, his nose hovering near the pit, and sniffs.

“C’mon,” he says, after a moment of this. His arm comes down, and he directs his attention away from his body odor and back towards her. “It’s not that bad. Give me a break.”

She gives her order. Black coffee. She agrees to creamer without a thought.

He asks for juice. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

It’s only when the server has stepped away that she asks, “So? What did you want to talk to me about?”

Kudo throws her the coldest, hardest glare. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” he says, but his voice isn’t furious. It’s soft, tired. Haibara might even be inclined to call it sad.

“Not all of us are great detectives,” she tells him. She flips her hands so that the palms face the ceiling. Her shoulders sway, and her fingers bob up and then go back down again. “If your dolphin is causing you that much anguish, I’d suggest seeing a starfish over a shark.”

“What?” Kudo stares at her wearily, if one could call it that. His eyes appear to be barely open, nothing more than slits of blue. The table is small enough that the stench of his breath, even after uttering nothing more than a single word, is overpowering. He most definitely woke up five minutes before he came here.

“If you mean Ran,” he eventually tries, “then no. That’s not it.”

“Oh?”

“Well.” He pauses. “It is, but…”

“‘It’s not her, it’s me?’”

Kudo nods. “Yeah.” He brings his voice down to a whisper, leaning in closer and holding his hand in an arc around his mouth as though they are breezy teenage girls sharing worthless gossip at a slumber party.

“She called me last night,” he says. “Or early in the morning. Three o’clock. I was sleeping. She rang and rang and rang.”

Haibara doesn’t ask for elaboration. He continues without prodding, the volume of his voice dropping so low that Haibara very nearly decides to listen to the conversation behind her instead, about an old dog who’d been adopted and only recently started to warm up to its new family. Things certainly would have been better for her if she had.

Kudo says, “She was crying about…” but stops before revealing the answer, as though his life is a TV show and he’s deciding where the conveniently timed commercial breaks sit. But she doesn’t roll her eyes at him, doesn’t say anything. She watches, nothing more, as he swallows and lets the hand that had been brushing against his cheek fall to the table, only to then fall off the table too and rest in his lap.

He leans back in his chair. If he were one for smoking, Haibara could imagine him lighting a cigarette. He’d suck in the smoke and watch it dance through the air. He’d look at it as though it held all the answers that she couldn’t give to him.

But there is no cigarette. There’s only a server who places their drinks down in front of them and asks sweetly if there isn’t anything else she could do. She lacks the effortless charisma of the girl at Poirot, but there’s a warmth in her eyes and smile that tells Haibara all she needs to know.

Haibara shakes her head. She drinks her coffee without the creamer. Kudo eyes his juice, filled with ice cut into tiny cubes and poured in a tall, clear glass. There’s a straw placed inside, as brilliantly white as an old woman’s first dentures, and he gawks at that, too.

“She was crying about Conan,” he finally says, once the server is long past them. He is hardly audible over the barely muted screams from the old-new-dog table. Cute pet photos, shared by passing a smartphone across iced tea and minuscule pitchers of sugar syrup, incite explosions of giggles and laughter.

Kudo pays it no mind. The bubbles of excitement are probably why he continues here in a more normal voice. They’re not children anymore, not tiny and wearing clothes too big as adults stare or even yell but do nothing to help. They’re more invisible than that, situated so close to normalcy. No one would think twice about the words that spill out of their mouths.

So Kudo tells her, in a pointed not-whisper, “She was crying about Conan because he hadn’t come home last night. And he couldn’t have been at Dr. Agasa’s because the doc is out of town right now. So, she called me because she didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sure that was a mistake,” Haibara says. The coffee is bitter, biting. It’s so hot that it scalds her tongue. It’s delicious.

“It was a mistake,” Kudo agrees, without even a hint of sarcasm. “I… yelled at her, Haibara. I told her to stop bothering me about stupid things when I’m trying to sleep.”

Yes, Haibara could picture him doing so. “And?”

“And I went to see her this morning.” Smells like bullshit. But Kudo goes on, “The old man was hardly awake. I probably stopped by too early. But he mumbled something to me about going to her room. He probably wasn’t really thinking.

“But I went over there. I had to make sure that she was okay after last night. And I would have knocked on her door, but it was already open. She was sitting at her desk, holding an old picture and crying.”

He shakes his head. His half-lidded eyes watch the condensation drip down the glass in front of him. Water pools up at the bottom, leaving shiny half-circles on the table.

“I didn’t even know she had it framed,” he admits. Something like a smile comes over him, an expression that Haibara recognizes from the days they had been small. It’s nothing happy, where the corners of his mouth reach his eyes. She might describe it as angry, but even that wouldn’t be proper. It’s the kind of face you make when you couldn’t stop a murderer the first time, but you know who they are and can keep them from killing again. She’s seen that face a lot.

Kudo says, “It’s from back when we…” Here he pauses. “From back when Conan,” he corrects, “got stranded on a day trip with old man Mori, and spent the night in that temple.”

“Of course,” Haibara says.

“They all took a picture together, under this flowering tree. It’s a nice picture.”

“But?”

“But Conan is gone, Haibara.” It’s a different smile now, more relaxed, less tense, as though the pain from it is gone. “I thought Ran would be happy. No brat to wake up for school, no one else to feed, no more worrying about where I am and whether or not I’m okay.”

He sighs. His hands reach up to adjust glasses that are no longer there, and the color drains out of him. His half-lidded eyes become huge blue discs.

He should smoke. Or drink something much stronger than juice. He clearly needs it.

“She told me once that she wished we were the same,” he says, very quietly. Fingers run through his mussed-up, rustled hair. “But she used to stare at that picture of us from Tropical Land. I’ve seen her. More than once. Just clutching that brown frame and staring at this stupid detective’s face.

“It’s still in her room, of course. But it was covered in dust, when I came by this morning. She wasn’t even thinking about it. All she was thinking about was that kid smiling under the cherry tree.”

He’s silent, and so is she. The noise from the table behind them has become just that—noise devoid of any meaning or purpose.

It’s not a funny situation, but a smile, a real one, bursts out of her like laughter at a funeral. “Idiot,” she says. “Of course she’s not happy.”

“Of course she’s not,” he repeats, and then he repeats it a few times over. “Of course not. Of course not.”

No, most certainly not. Haibara can imagine it well, can picture the scenarios in her mind. The girl from the detective agency pushing her lips over her teeth and taking this man by the hand but feeling that the fingers entwined with hers are not big and rough and his but so soft and pink and small that the little fingers become engulfed by the lines crisscrossing her palm. The girl from the detective agency leaning close to him, running her hand up his chest, only to fall back as she finds the gunshot wound. The girl from the detective agency looking into his eyes and seeing the child in the hospital bed, the child whose face she has to wipe clean during dinner, the child whose glasses she removes as he falls asleep with a book in his lap, the child she wants to carry in her arms and protect forever as if he were her own.

“Of course not,” Kudo says again. He laughs like a dead man. “I used to think that I didn’t understand it. I could understand the emotion. I have a heart. I know hatred and jealousy and anger and misery and anguish and everything that drives a man to kill.”

He draws a deep breath. The juice in his glass has grown. What had once been ice cubes the size of thumbnails are now nothing more than insignificant slivers. They sparkle in the light that filters in from the window.

“But I couldn’t understand wanting to do it. I thought I couldn’t. I didn’t want to understand.”

The entire coffee shop, the place where Conan Edogawa had first become real to her, had been uttered by the sister she could never live up to, means nothing as he says, “But I did understand, Haibara. I wanted Conan dead, and I killed him.”

It’s not unexpected, that he adds, “We’re both killers, aren’t we?”

Her scalded tongue goes dry. A pit opens up in her stomach and consumes all the warmth she had stolen from the coffee.

But she only says, “You still call me Haibara.”

He stands. His fingers fumble through his pockets, and he drops money on the table. His eyes are wide, alert, surrounded by white rings. He smirks as though he’s figured something out—solved a complicated, ever-moving puzzle.

“Right,” he says. “Thanks, Haibara.”

And there is nothing more. Not another word. Not another sound. He leaves, and she doesn’t call after him. She watches him go and hears the bell ring as he opens the door and sprints down the pristine sidewalk.

When the server returns with a pleasant smile and puzzled glance at the untouched juice and creamer, Haibara smiles just as pleasantly back. It’s not as if the woman could ever understand.

-------

She refuses to see him, the next time that she can.

It’s the girl from the detective agency who finds the body. He’s collapsed in front of the gate by his house, the one whose handle had only months ago been too high for him to reach.

There’s no sign of a struggle. No dying message on the ground, or conveyed with his position, or in his pockets, which held nothing but loose change and a pair of crushed glasses. There’s only a boy in a green jacket and yellow shirt and blue slacks with his chest pressed against the sidewalk.

His face is so calm that he could be asleep. That’s what they say. That’s what the girl scientist hears.

The story reaches the black-and-white papers struggling to get by and the kinds of magazines stocked in the front of your favorite convenience store. It becomes the juiciest gossip of the evening news. The photo that Kudo had mentioned in the coffee shop, the one in the brown frame and him in his green jacket and yellow shirt and blue slacks smiling next to the girl from the detective agency, becomes synonymous with the case. It’s the thumbnail for every YouTube video, the picture attached to every Tweet, the cover image for every crime podcast.

But the girl scientist never looks. Never sees. Never listens to the claims of the girl from the detective agency being the killer, or his friend from Osaka, who’d left behind hundreds of text messages that ultimately went unread. It’s nothing but noise, the thought that Sleeping Kogoro’s daughter was mad at her boyfriend. That the Detective of the West was jealous. That the girlfriend lost it. That the supposed best friend lost it. That they lost it and used everything they knew about detective work to conjure up the perfect, untraceable murder.

In the end, law enforcement declares it nothing but noise, too. Unknown natural causes, they say. The body is burned and the girl scientist stares out Dr. Agasa’s window and watches the rain hit the glass, one hand in her pocket, her fingers twisting round and round.

It’s the Osaka friend who comes first, unannounced. The door is unlocked, and he lets himself in after a great deal of pounding against the metal.

“I know yer in there!” he says. He slams his fist and screams, threatening to break the whole thing down before he realizes that he can simply turn the knob.

When he enters, he’s sopping wet. His front is more drenched than the back, as though he had run nonstop from the train station, which he probably had. His hair clings to his face, his usual hairstyle reduced to nothing more than strands of deep, dark black that fall into his green, green eyes. His brown jacket sticks to him, and his eggshell-colored top underneath has become transparent, making the mechanisms of his breathing more obvious and real. She watches the rise and fall, listens to the hard gasps, takes note of his hand placed almost defensively on the brim of his hat.

“Welcome,” she says at the sight. She wears a scowl tinged with exhaustion. “Let me get you a change of clothes. But you’re stuck with only what the doctor’s got.”

“I don’t need nothin’ like dat,” he says, through his heaving breaths.

“You’re not spilling water all over my floor.

“Yer floor?”

“My floor,” she repeats. “If the doc’s not here, it’s mine.”

She leaves him there and finds the worst outfit in the doctor’s closet. She should kick him out. Push him out the door he barged into and make him go and never come back. He has nothing to do with her. She means nothing to him.

But she carries the clothes in her arms and somehow cajoles him into the bathroom to change. It’s as difficult as convincing a child to switch out a mismatched top, and it takes her until the light is flipped on and the stupid boy stands straddling two rooms for her to realize why.

“Kudo wore these,” she says.

His face pinkens, more than slightly, starting at his nose and spilling all across his cheeks. He fixes his eyes to the ground, where the tiniest puddles have already formed from the water dripping off his skin.

He says very quietly, “Bastard ripped ‘em, too. Had to sew it back up myself.”

“Why?” It falls out without thought. She stares at him, utterly bewildered.

But he smiles. It’s gentle and soft. The way he used to look at Kudo. “They… still smelled like him,” he says. “Even after washin’.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

He takes the clothes from her hands and goes into the bathroom. He’s in there a long time. When he returns, he looks exactly as ridiculous as she’d imagined, especially because he’d refused to remove his hat. The letters face her. S-A-X.

She brews coffee. They sit on spinning chairs on opposite sides of Dr. Agasa’s half-circle table. The rain continues to pour down in sheets, and the room is shrouded in a gloomy gray.

He calls her Sis. The sound brightens her cheeks and gets a stirring going in her chest, but if he notices the reaction, he certainly doesn’t show it. He leaves the coffee she’d prepared for him untouched. He holds the brim of his hat. She stares at the letters.

“I can’t let it rest,” he says. “It don’t make any sense.”

She looks at him blankly. She says nothing in reply.

“He was healthy,” he continues, and though he is swimming in the extra fabric of Dr. Agasa’s wardrobe, her eyes slide down from his wet hat to really look at him. The boy detective no longer looks so much like a boy. His shoulders have grown broader in the time that’s passed, and his eyes are no longer the wild, limitless eyes of someone who doesn’t understand. They’re tired eyes, worn eyes. Eyes that have seen too much.

“If you’re looking for answers,” she eventually says, placing down her own mug, “I think you’d be better off asking a detective, not a scientist.”

His unspoken words fill the silence. It’s not as though this conversation hasn’t happened before.

She says, “It wasn’t the antidote.”

“I know,” he answers.

“Then why come here?”

He sighs. His fingers stop fiddling with the brim of his hat and instead fall to his lap. He anxiously twists his hands, round and round, staring at them as though they’ll provide him with the answers he’s looking for but won’t find.

“I can’t talk ta anyone else. Yer the only one who gets it.”

“Who gets it,” she repeats.

But then she sighs, long and heavy. This isn’t how she intended to spend the afternoon, and a look at the watch on her wrist tells her that this shouldn’t have been how he spends his afternoon, either.

“You missed school for this.”

“Don’t act like you’ve been ta yer job.”

“School is more important.”

For a moment, he stares into the depths of his black coffee. Maybe he sees his reflection staring back, the reflection of a pitiful man who is both too young and too old for his body. But before long he looks at her, really looks, exactly as she had really looked at him, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. He looks at her like a detective would, as if everything he needs to know could be deciphered from a single glance. She makes no effort to stop him.

He says, “Look. I’ll quit beatin’ ‘round the bush. I think ya know somethin’ that ya ain’t told nobody.”

“Nobody would believe—“

“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout dat. Kudo met ya just days before…” He stops. “…what happened happened. What did he want ta talk ta ya about?”

“Troubles with his dolphin,” she says easily. She ignores his confusion and doesn’t let him respond. “But if you want to talk about withholding information, I think that’s you, Mr. Great Detective. Did the police ever get a reason why you sent all those text messages?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, he doesn’t look merely tickled with embarrassment but absolutely flooded with it. “Jus’ had a bad feelin’,” he says, which she’d already known.

But then the embarrassment morphs into distress. He clenches his teeth. The hands in his lap still. “And I couldn’t get here in time. The little lady had ta find him like that.”

The girl scientist removes herself from the chair. She stands. “I think you should go,” she says. “And turn your hat the other way.”

His eyes widen. A million thoughts must race through his head because that’s as many facial expressions she counts coming over him in the span of a second.

He doesn’t move to go or turn his hat around, though. He stands and slams his hands down on the table. His mug clatters, and flecks of the black liquid mar the surface.

“Don’t ya dare,” he says—screams, more like. His hands reach for her, as though to grab her by the shoulders to try to shake the truth away. “Ya idiot—!”

But she doesn’t let him say a word more. She opens the watch on her wrist and fires the needle straight at his forehead. The life leaves him as quickly as it had exploded out, and she gasps for breath as he crumples to a pile on the ground.

“Sorry, Hattori,” she says.

She drags him, arms first, into the doctor’s room.

-------

It’s here that Ai sees Shinichi Kudo.

It’s nothing more than a moment. A split second. She looks down at the detective’s sleeping face, and it’s Kudo that she sees instead, the Kudo she had refused to see, with eyes that would never open again.

When the bell rings, it takes everything she has to shut the door of the doctor’s room and wipe her face and answer it.

“Ai,” says a voice, between bursts of chimes of alternating lengths. “Ai, please open the door!”

She does. The girl from the detective agency stands there, looking as starved for breath as the detective had, though she at least had the decency to run with an umbrella. It’s been abandoned on the ground beside her, still open and swaying with the wind. Her face is panicked, with huge blue eyes set against a pale backdrop devoid of color. The girl hardly hears when Ai tells her that she should retrieve the umbrella before it blows away. When the girl closes it and brings it inside, it’s as though she’s in a trance.

They stand by the closed door for what feels like a century. If the girl from the detective agency notices Hattori’s abandoned shoes, she certainly acts as though she doesn’t. She swallows and gathers her breath and sobs. “Please, Ai,” she says, unmoving, the handle of the umbrella still locked in her grip. “Shiho. Please don’t do what Shinichi did.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

“You do!” the girl bursts out. She drops the umbrella. It falls to Dr. Agasa’s floor with all the grace and noise of a corpse dumped from the top of a building. Puddles of water form and leak and ooze.

“You do,” the girl repeats, quieter now. Her wet hands find Shiho’s, and her wet eyes find dry ones.

Shiho pushes the hands away. It doesn’t stop the girl from the detective agency from running her mouth.

“I know you kept some,” she says, as though she is not the girl from the detective agency but the detective herself. Her voice is fragile, as if any sudden movement could cause it to break. “You couldn’t take too many. That’d be suspicious. Someone could get hurt. But one could fail. Two would be safer. Three, that would be the safest. ‘Third time’s the charm.’ They say that, don’t they?”

“You have no proof.” It’s the script Shiho’s heard, time and time again.

“Oh, stop it!” the girl detective says. “I have proof enough!”

“And what’s that?”

The other girl hesitates. Her white teeth make a mess of her bottom lip, and her eyes find the fallen umbrella, still leaking with water flecked with dirt from her shoes.

But eventually, she manages, “You knew what I was talking about, Shiho. And…” She bites her lip so hard that Shiho knows she tastes blood. “His pocket. He had Conan’s glasses in his pocket.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything,” the girl insists.

“Tell me what it means, then.”

The girl says, “It means that he didn’t mean to…” She shakes her head. Cries erupt from her throat. It takes a long time to calm, and when she speaks again, her words are scarcely comprehensible. “He didn’t mean for it to end up like that. It means that he wanted to bring Conan back. The pill just… did what it was supposed to do the first time.”

She wipes at her face. “But you already knew that.”

“Do you blame me?” It’s not like the answer matters. What’s done is done. But she supposes a part of her wants to know. “Do you despise me?”

“No,” says the woman. “That’s why I’m here. I know you don’t want to bring Ai back. I know that when you saw that Shinichi had taken it, you put the last one you had in your pocket. I know that you’ve been carrying it with you ever since. Your hands have always been in your pockets, ever since that day. I know you’re holding it right now.”

Shiho smiles. It’s cold. “If what you’re saying is true, then how did Kudo even find it?”

“I don’t know.” The woman smiles, too. It’s warm. Nostalgic. “If he were here, I know he’d say something like, ‘It was quite simple. The only place Haibara would hide anything like that is in something that we’d never touch because she’d kill us if we did.’”

She drops the impersonation. Tears fall freely from her face, but she does not cry. “If I had to guess,” she says, “you hid them in the back of a fashion magazine.”

Her hands find Shiho’s again. “But that doesn’t matter. Please give me that last pill, Shiho. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

The woman means it, so it feels cruel to smile, to drop the pill in Mori’s hand. But that’s exactly what Shiho does.

She laughs. “I’m the big sister who didn’t destroy this. He didn’t have to die. You should want to lose me.”

“But I don’t,” Mori insists.

The worst part is, as Shiho’s fingers turn round and round a final pill still in her pocket, she believes her.

[meeedeee]

The First Post To The First Slash /Shipping Mailing List

The Date: October 19, 1992 ("it was almost 29 years ago") The Poster: sherrold* 

Context: the first pan fandom slash (shipping) mailing list, Virgule-L, was in its infancy. Safe spaces for women to talk about slash online were rare. And most fan fiction was distributed in print fanzines (which is why fanzine reviews like the one Sandy wrote were so important as a single fanzine cost $15-20 or around $30-40 in today's dollars.) Fan run conventions were the only way to meet other groups of fans and mailed letters and phone calls were the tenuous tethers that strung these fan groups together. The mailing list - and the Internet - was about to change...everything. ****************

Well, welcome to my adventure in mailing! I hope to have this set up soon as a 'real' mailing list, with it's own address. Until then, I only know one way for one of you to write to everyone at once. Just reply to a letter from the list, and answer yes, when it asks, 'reply to all'. So far there are 7 of us. I'll let everyone introduce themselves. I am Sandy Hereld,* I write as Alyx (often with a friend who used Alys) the pen name is *not* a secret. I started in "/" fandom in trek, moved to Pros, and now am very crazed about B7. I still love Pros, and like a lot of different fandoms, including Wiseguy, Starsky and Hutch, and Muncle. I helped run a slash con here in town last week, Virgule, and hope to make Escapade** this year (in February, in Santa Barbara--one of the list subscribers co- runs it--memberships still available), but not Revelcon.*** Maybe, if I get a new job, Media West. I've never been there, and I've always wanted to go. I just finished a great Multi-mediazine called Homosapiens Too. It has an interesting variety of fandoms and crossovers; even more important, there wasn't a single story that stunk (though I liked some better than others, of course.) Page count is Pros/Booker 18 pgs (Bodie/Booker) Eroica/Muncle 5 pgs (Eroica/Illya) Batman 4 (Batman/street punk) Nightflyers 6+ (cartoon, from the movie) TNG 5pgs (Beverly/symbiote) B7/TOS trek 5 pgs (Blake/Spock) Dangerous Liaisons 7 pgs (Valmont/Danceny) Damiano 2 pgs (from the R.A. McAvoy books) MUNCLE 2 pgs the usual Star Wars 4 (cartoon, original characters) Pros 4 pgs the usual B7 50 pgs (Blake/Avon) Perhaps I should mention at the there was a contest for most outrageous crossover pairing. My favorites were: The Right Place To Be (Bodie/Booker) by Arcane Annie & Stew--Bodie quits in a huff after an Operation Suzie, and is too embarrassed to go back; Booker has quit somewhat similarly. Seeing how stupid the other's foolish pride looks, they both learn things about playing roles and 'what really matters.' They also have pretty good sex. Do Blond's Really Have More Fun? (Eroica/Illya) by Barbara T. This definitely is set at a time when Solo and Kurykin are having some problems. The crossover is a fascinating one, and it works. (Anyone needing Erioca explained, just e-mail me. It is a pretty new/small fandom, but growing fast.) Brand New Day (Spock/Blake) by Jane Carnell follows immediately after Blake's pod makes planetfall after Star One. A great Blake, and if not a totally convincing Spock, it's close. Worth it for this scene alone. --Blake "What do you like?" "Anal penetration," "Which way round?" Blake inquired. "I am a telepath. It hardly matters. Whichever way pleases you." Valmont (Valmont/Danceny) by Stew -is a romantic, but very plausible retelling of the movie Dangerous Liaisons, all from Danceny's POV. For any that have read the book, you know it is told solely in letters and diary entries, so this collection of Danceny's diaries is very faithful to the original feel. It is also an amazingly concise retelling, squeezing 2 hours into 6 1/2 pgs. Submissive It Ain't (Pros) is basically just a sex story, but one firmly based in the very different personalities of Bodie and Doyle. Nice idea, beautiful sex, slightly weak ending. Puppeteer (Blake/Avon) by Bryn Lantry is a convoluted but beautiful story where: the action is in the emotions, everyone has multiple motives, and no one truly knows their own minds, much less understands their crewmates. A bit alternate, set sometime in the months before Star One but after Blake has already got the idea in mind, this is a wonderful character study of Blake and Avon, with Vila and Cally in strong supporting roles. Not my favorite type of story -- I think I prefer something a bit more straightforward, but undeniably compelling and well written. The other stories weren't dogs either... The Muncle story, Hanging In Time, by Y.J. is a very disturbing portrayal of the hurt-comfort syndrome in Illya, The Batman story will appeal to anyone who liked "The Dark Knight Returns" With All My Symbiotes -Susan Douglas- has some nice female slash. Why Couldn't It Be Me has gotten a certain amount of press as "Biblical slash." It does have two biblical characters in it, but it is just a vigniette, and has no overt slash content. A few caveats: I disliked the art in the first story, and was indifferent to the rest. I had a hard time reading the 2 cartoon sections; I thought the penning needed to be clearer, and the xerox needed to be darker for those sections. With those few quibbles in mind, I recommend the zine highly. It has an interesting collection of stories set in an amazing variety of universes. The editor is joining a growing number of publishers and putting the word count down -- 80,700, with 40,700 of it in Bryn's B7 story. It is available from Manacles Press here in the U.S. at  [address removed]. There is no U.S. price on the zine; it says to SASE Manacles Press, and I can't remember whether I paid $15 or $18 at the con. From Australia, it is available from the publisher...[address removed] $12 within Aust, $20 posted overseas airmail. (I assume that's $Aus)”

*Sandy passed away in July 2011 of cancer. One of our final joint projects was going  through our emails dating back 20+ years to find fandom history we could share

**Escapade is the longest running slash convention and is still held in Southern California (as of 2021)

*Revelcon is a slash friendly multi-fandom convention held in Texas. As of 2021 it is still running

[zekroudon]

Dinner with the in-laws

Adrien's first dinner with Marinette's parents since they officially got together. A lot of puns ensues. As usual, you can read it on Ao3 here.

This was the fic I wrote for my application for the Totographs zine, but I didn't get picked, but I'm proud of myself for applying! Once again, beware, lots of puns ahead. 

P.S. I won't be writing fanfics during November since I'm attempting Nanowrimo for the first time! It might not have been the best idea since I still have my classes, but I'll manage.

Edit: Thanks @komorebirei for beta-ing and their insightful tips.

   As Adrien stands in front of the door to Marinette’s home, the bouquet he got for her feels heavy and useless. He has already given so many roses to her, but they feel meaningless compared to how grateful he is to still have her in his life. Her parents must know how amazing she is — they’ll be disappointed…

   He’s hit by flashbacks to the events that led to Tom being akumatized into Weredad. Coming to the bakery after a lonely breakfast. The grey gloomy sky. The awkward kissing Marinette on the cheeks. The pink rose. Admitting he loved Ladybug, Ladybug and not Marinette, an irony Plagg kept teasing him about now that he was fully aware of her identity. Marinette being too good of an actress at being hurt. The enormous tower of vines with the angry beast on top protecting his princess. Ladybug only appearing at the end when everything was crumbling…

   Even though Nino assured him it was casual enough, yet fancy, and that Marinette would like it—a light green buttoned shirt, with only the top two buttons undone, and dark jeans—Adrien feels like he’s underdressed. Plagg phases through his shirt and looks him in the eyes.

“Just press the doorbell! I’m starving and I can’t wait to see Sugarcube!”

“Plagg, what if I mess up again? What if they hate me?”

   Adrien starts fidgeting with the bouquet in his hands. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

“How could they hate you? I’m pretty sure Pigtails couldn’t hate you.”

“But, what if…”

   The kwami presses the doorbell and returns to his warm pocket while dread fills Adrien. He hears the steps creak lightly as someone comes down to open the door. Is it Tom? No probably not—he’s heavier and the steps would creak more. Maybe Sabine? She can also be very scary when she wants to…

   The door opens and relief floods his body at the sight of his lady, princess, and girlfriend. Marinette is wearing a pink dress with a black jacket. He didn’t fail to notice the small cat paws and the kitty she embroidered on the jacket. The dress is fairly simple to the casual eye, but having been raised in the fashion industry for so long, he recognizes all the hard work she put into the hems and her trademark flower motif. Her black hair, free from the usual pigtails, cascades in waves over her right shoulder.  

“You look… beautiful,” are the only words that escape his lips.

“Thank you, you look great too!”

“So… These are for you!” he says, extending the flowers to her.

“Thank you! They’re pretty...” She leans her head into the bouquet, smelling its perfume. “They smell amazing too! Let’s go upstairs so I can put them in some water.”

   Adrien follows her as they enter the apartment over the bakery. Delicious scents hit him as they step inside. Except for the usual sweets from the bakery, he can smell a plethora of aromas he is not familiar with. An overly excited Tom practically bounces to him, followed by Sabine, who looks more calm and composed. Adrien swears the man is about to burst from how much he is shaking and buzzing with energy. He kisses Sabine’s cheek and extends his hand to shake Tom’s, who gladly accepts.

“Welcome, Adrien, we’re glad you could make it! We could not wait to meet the young man that stole our little daughter’s heart.”

“The pleasure’s all mine! Thank you for having me for dinner.”

   Once Tom let go of his hand, it instinctively went to rub the back of his neck, his usual tic when he’s nervous. Fear fills him as the man’s eyes grow big like saucers when a ray of light hits his ring, making it shine a little. Does he recognize him as Chat Noir? Marinette looks at him, unsure of what to make of her father’s reaction.

   He then turns and picks up Sabine. He whirls her before doing a pirouette himself.

“Our little daughter is engaged! She proposed to Adrien! We need to prepare the wedding cake, it’ll be the best Paris has ever seen!”

“Tom, dear…” Sabine says, trying to bring back her husband to Earth, with no success.

“What?” is the only word that escapes Adrien’s mouth.

   “Is it another case of Oblivio?” Adrien asks himself. ”Last time I checked, we were only dating…” He realizes at the same time as Marinette what gave Tom the idea, but she’s quicker to react. He thought that Adrien’s miraculous was an engagement ring. Though, it’s not on the correct hand…

“We’re not engaged, Papa!!” shouts Marinette, calming her father. “The ring’s, um…”

“It was from my mother, it’s not a wedding ring. Not that I would mind being engaged to Marinette, she’s amazing and any guy or girl would be crazy to turn her down. I mean, I’d gladly propose to her, but I don’t want to go too fast and I’d rather have your blessing before…”

   He is stopped by a hand on his arm. Sabine looks up sweetly at him, just like she did with Chat Noir all those years ago.

“It’s okay, dear, we know you love our daughter very much—it’s obvious in your eyes. Tom just tends to get ahead of things. That poor Chat Noir, I hope he wasn’t too traumatized.”

“I don’t think he is…” Adrien shyly replies.

   Since he arrived a bit early, Adrien offers to help make dinner. Considering his lack of ability in the kitchen, he gets vegetable duty, since it’s pretty straightforward and he won’t risk ruining the meal with a beginner’s mistake by putting in too much spice or causing a fire.

“You know, I can’t believe no one ever taught you to cook—but at the same time, knowing your father, it does make sense.”

“Yeah, I  carrot  believe it either. I guess he expected me to  stew  in the mansion and have a cook for my entire life.”

“Even for you, that was pretty bad,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Finish slicing them, it’s nearly ready...”

“I don’t know about that, young lady—there’s always  thyme  for puns,” replies Tom with a smirk, a fire lit in his eyes. “Once you’re done Adrien, I’ll  knead  some fruits for dessert

“Of course! Would you help me,  gourdgeous  princess? We make the perfect  pear , after all.”

“I think you’ll be  apple  to do it yourself, my prince.”

“Ah, you leave me  floured  ! You know I only have  pies  for you.”

“You’re such a weirdo…”

“Maybe, but I’m your  weirdough  and you  loaf  me.”

“See, Sabine, they were  baked  for each other. I’m sure  muffin  could break them apart.”

   A little bit later, once they are all sitting at the table, plates set and food served.

“This is so delicious! I don’t think my chef has ever made me something this good!”

“I doubt your chef would have cooked this—it’s not really suited for a model’s diet,” Sabine says. “But thank you. I could show you some recipes if you want.”

“I’d love that, Mrs. Cheng! Well, I’m  bacon  track now, I’m no longer following a diet as strict as before: no more drumsticks and crumbs.  Dough , I have to admit that I would have been  toasted  if my father had found me eating a meal like this.”

“You can call us Sabine and Tom, dear, no need to be so formal.”

“I’m glad to hear that! You sure could add more meat to those bones of yours,” Tom adds jokingly.

“The  yeast  he could have done was to let you see your friends more often,” Marinette replies drily.

“It’s okay, it’s all behind us now. The  bread  of akumas, the  pain …” He adds, giving Marinette a slice of bread. She shakes her head, but still takes it.

“Doughnut  worry, son, you’ll always be welcome here. I could show you the ropes of a baker’s job! I  croissant  your talent.”

   The rest of the main meal goes well—more puns, talking about their future and hopes. Adrien loved the fact that Tom and Sabine didn’t expect him to follow in his father’s footsteps and take the reins of Gabriel, unlike almost everyone else in his life. Instead, they encouraged him when he said that he would need some time to figure out what he really wants to do with his life, to forge his own path.

   As Marinette ices the cake, Adrien finishes slicing the fruits and placing them. His fingers are all sticky and stained from the juices, but he’s the happiest he’s ever been. He feels like he’s part of a family, in a house filled with love, warmth, and fun. He dips his finger in some cream that has fallen from Marinette’s pouch. She’s fully focussed on the task at hand, just like when she was figuring out an especially complicated lucky charm in a face-off with a strong akuma. He gets an idea. It’s a bit mischievous, but a good one.

   Smirking, he carefully sneaks behind her, channeling his inner Chat Noir. Once he’s close enough, he pokes her nose with his cream coated finger. She jerks back into his arms and squeezes the icing bag, making it explode. Their faces and clothes are covered with icing.

“Ch-Adrien!”

“See, m’ lady, I always told you that you’re  la crème de la crème  . Getting my miraculous was an  ameowzing  day in my life, but meeting you was the  icing on the cake ,” he whispers in her ear.

“Shh! They’ll hear you!”

   Her scolding expression lingers for a bit longer, but she soon bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe you! All this for puns?”

“I felt like I needed to remind my girlfriend of how amazing she is...”

   Tom and Sabine turn the corner to the kitchen, taking in the mess the two made.

“What are you two  loafing  about… Oh, that’s quite the mess, isn’t it?” Tom asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Go change into your pyjamas, I’ll finish icing the cake in the meantime,”Sabine sweetly adds, opening the fridge to get more icing.

   As they walk past the counter to go change, Marinette picks a cherry and perches it on Adrien’s nose.

“You don’t need to remind me, Adrien, I’ll always  cherrysh  the  koalaty  time I get to spend with you.”

[formulatrash]

Hi! I hope you don't mind me asking, but I was wondering how you got started in the autosport journalism industry? I'm normally graduating (bachelor degree in journalism) in less than a year and I would love to get a job in F1 or FE. My teachers however don't see sports in general as real journalism so I don't get much help from them. So I was wondering how you got started? Thank you!

Heya,

So, it’s a tricky one. There is no formal route into motorsport journalism - or to be honest most forms of journalism - which causes lots of industry problems. It sounds like you’re already doing the most sensible thing, which is to take a journalism course and learn those very relevant skills - but the industry as a whole can remain very opaque if you have no existing connections into it. 

So, what I did was not usual; I was already a BBC producer when I decided to go into motorsport and I basically shoved my way in with full princess mode engaged because it was very hard to stop me. But I appreciate that is not an option available to everyone, so have been thinking about this all day.

One of the problems with there being no formal, regulated routes into motorsport journalism is that it lets people exploit a lot of writers in their early career in order to get the clout of writing for an accredited publication but basically for free, if not straight up for free + paying any travel expenses you have. It’s cool and all getting to go to a race but they rarely provide any form of support or training and ultimately, your work is going to benefit [insertmotorsportblognamehere].wtvr instead of yourself. 

The thing I most recommend is to start creating content yourself - whether that’s writing about races or making videos or a podcast. Get yourself a social media presence, start conducting yourself as though you’re part of the industry (most people who claim to be are... fronting a little and that’s fine, it’s that kind of place) and start looking out for opportunities to get noticed, like the drivers. 

I’ve been thinking all day, because I’ve had a work experience kid in at Esports Verdict (the site I’m the editor for) all week and been training him and actually I’m pretty good at teaching people and have a criminal records check and whatever so am at least not Some Creepy-Ass Dude for trying to skill people up, neither will I scam anyone out of cash for helping them because like: eww.

So if there’s enough people who are interested, I was thinking we could do a mini-course as F1mblr, where I’ll organise some Zoom calls and you guys can ask me about working in motorsport and we’ll do some written pieces where I'll  either assign something and then help you develop it or help you work on something you’re already writing. 

Then the next week we’d look at social media and best practice and how not to lose your mind entirely on it, then like YouTube and podcasting and by the end, we’d have like a miniature zine of F1mblr’s stuff that I could put together a Wordpress to host and call it like, Season 1 or something and a mini podcast series or something and I’ll get some people from the industry for interview practice and photographers to talk about that side of it. Hopefully you guys could come away from it feeling like you could go out and confidently pitch and know more about how to get what you want from the industry. 

If people are interested in that, then I think it'd probably be like four weeks with like 3 hours a week, one evening and then some research/writing time either side of that but nothing mega-arduous. I’d love to see more people from this side of the fandom gain the confidence of a white boy with a podcast 

You’d need to be 18 (and I am serious about that cus there’s a problem with content sign-off otherwise, sorry) but otherwise no upper age limit, no minimum experience etc and it doesn’t matter what you’re aiming for, I’ll try to tailor things and maybe make groups if there’s distinct separate interests.

If people are interested, drop me an email to southwellhazel@gmail.com with F1MBLR in the subject line. Put a couple of sentences about yourself, what skills you’re particularly after and 200-300 words about something in motorsport that makes you laugh every time you think about it. 

[desdemonafictional]

2020 Fanfic Year End Summary

Hey ho let’s go

Nev does these every year and I think they’re interesting, so for the first time I’m gonna give it a go too. I feel like this has been the longest fucking year--the Zine feels like it was two years ago and last January feels like it was ten years ago.

I’m gonna answer some questions and do a little reflection on the year 

This year I technically finished Icarus with 2k words of a 36k story, and after that I went on to produce 197k words not even COUNTING the stuff from GPAU which I do not know how to divide up for 2020. 

That’s 23 fics in one year, 8 of which were cowriting projects. This year has been, objectively, insane. By comparison, in 2019 I produced 17 fics and at the time I thought THAT was doing pretty impressive work. Now it’s not my best year by sheer number of titles--2018 was an oil boom while I was into JTHM and I actually put out 25 fics that year, some of which were short oneshots and some of which were two- or three-shots. But in terms of words? 2020 knocked them all out of the park. Which is absolutely something I owe to my amazing friends who let me ride around in their brains like the parasite I am.

In 2018 I started cowriting with Chokopopo, in 2019 I started cowriting with Neveralarch, and in 2020 I just did a fucking ton more of that with no looking back. It’s so incredibly motivating to have someone to show your progress to! And to have someone to hand the project over to when you’re stuck. If I hadn’t had Nev to bounce off of, most of this fic wouldn’t have been thought up at all, let alone finished. And don’t even get me started on GPAU! Choko and Zephyr and me have done such amazing things with “Welcome! Everything is fine”, and I can’t wait to be able to wrap that up and leave it for posterity.

I switched job positions around July of this year, and it’s changed the way I produce fic. Not sure if it’s good yet or not. I was never actually under a stay at home order this year because I work for a state agency, so to a degree I’ve missed out on the ways that quarantine affected other writers. I think I was fortunate?

Best Title 

Ahhh this is tough, I put a lot of effort into my titles this year--I promised myself in 2019 I was going to stop using song lyrics for fic titles because they make songs loop in my brain and it’s self inflicted torment, which is a promise I... mostly kept. “Dress Your Idol in Gold and Ashes” is the one I put most effort into probably, because I kept toying around with it trying to find something that was evocative of the right pagan imagery, and also the idea that got me started on the fic was a passage in a text book about the daily dressing of an idol statue in ancient Egypt.

“Broke My Last Glass Jaw” gets special mention because I named it after an essay that I wrote in undergrad for my African American Lit course, in which I broke down themes of the spoiled american dream via the lens of 90′s rap.

Worst Title

“Take one for the Team” is definitely my laziest title. It’s just super self indulgent kink fic, no character arc or anything, so I couldn’t find a good image or phrase to bring in for the title. Also I remember I really wanted to post it quickly, since it was a response to some art I was looking at, and I wanted the artist to see. I’m sure I could have done better with the title.

I did end up titling “Fear and Delight” after a song but I forgive myself because I literally only wrote the fic because the song existed first.

Best Summary

Some of these summaries I wrote and a some I did not, but of the ones that I wrote I think.... “ I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is the best one. It launches you directly into the action, while preserving the surprise reveal at the end of chapter 1. I actually wrote chapter one with this summary in mind, so it was baked in there from the start.

Jazz turned in his seat, cube at his lips, just in time to spot the white pursuit vehicle steaming and panting in the doorway. “Jazz of Staniz,” the enforcer shouted, “surrender the matrix and come quietly!”

Jazz knocked back his drink. “Well!” he said to the open-mouthed bartender, “time to split!”

Worst Summary

I mean, summaries are hard for everyone, right? That’s the thing we all universally struggle with, I think? I usually end up liking mine, and this year I was less afraid to just let a section of the story speak for itself. Anyway the worst one is “ Broke My Last Glass Jaw” by virtue of the fact that I had to come back months later and add another line because I wasn’t satisfied with how it was reaching audiences.

After the war, Impactor is at loose ends.

(They were friends once, weren't they? After all this time, Impactor wonders if Megatron hasn't managed to forget.)

I really wanted that one line to say it all, but honestly it requires a lot of trust in me as the author and most of the people who pass by the fic in the archive aren’t gonna know me from adam. The second line clarifies what kind of story it’s going to be in terms of tone and theme.

Best First Line

I’m pretty ambivalent about most of my first lines. Since Nev already pointed out the first line in “ Apotheosis”, I have to admit, it is pretty good. It gets off to a real jaunty start.

“Excuse me,” Starscream said, striding down the steps of the senate chambers with his cape flaring out behind him, “get your cowcatcher out of his face, you tin-plated amateur despot, he’s with me.”

I also like the audacity of a run on sentence that is the opening to “ Desecrate You”

Ratchet clicks the video because it was auto-recommended, and because First Aid is always dropping hopeful hints that he wants her to watch his show when he’s supposed to be grading papers, and because something about the title (“This is Definitely a Hoax! None of this is Real! Short Cut Footage Episode”) makes her wonder why the hell someone who runs a Ghost Hunting youtube channel would bill their own hard work as a hoax right out of the bag.

Worst First Line

Definitely the least interesting is from “Tantric Sex, and Other Mysteries of the Divine”. I guess it’s another fic where I was really eager to get to the meat of the fic, and so I just went back after I was done with the fic and wrote a paragraph of bare bones setting context so we could move on already.

It’s game night at Swerve’s, and Nightbeat is out in the thick of the crew for once, getting the lay of the land.

I have the same problem in a few fics, which probably arises from the fact that when I read a fic, I often skim the first paragraph or so to see if I really want to commit to the read. So I sometimes write like I’m expecting the audience to do that too. I probably need to work on that. Man, I even did it in Sexy Staycation.

Best Last Line

I like endings! I usually have a good gut instinct for where stories should end, and how to pace that, and what image I want to close the fic on. Often times I’ll be writing a story and feeling really lukewarm about it, and then the ending will come to me, and I’ll feel totally won over by it. That happened with my Suicide Squad fic years ago. So this is for the most part me picking the best of the things I already like. “Broke My Last Glass Jaw” has a good pithy one; I like how it isolates this moment as a moment of choice, and how it’s also ambiguous whether he will change because of this or whether he’s doomed to go back to his predetermined pattern.

And despite the unguarded door and the empty inviting streets beyond, where no one wants or expects anything of him but his feterless bitter trog onward into the next waiting prison cell, Impactor lays down, and Impactor does.

Special mention goes to “ The Sky Dark in its Eclipse : Orange Light Remix”, because the ending section is one of the big changes I brought to the remix, and I’m really happy with how it alters the shape of the narrative and also how it changes the focus of Rung’s arc. Most of the actual words in this fic were written by Choko in 2018, so this is like a collab in slow motion--I changed loadstone moments mostly, some of the framing, all of the backstory, and updated the setting for Cybertron. But the ending is all me.

On the morning of Intro to Psych finals, while Hot Rod hums and taps and scrolls back and forth through his test on the front row of the testing hall, Rung will sit behind his desk and brush the dust from the rotors of his fateful archetype, and start the long process of putting the pieces together once and for all.

Worst Last Line

Again, I like my endings, so this is really the worst of the best. The original ending line I wrote for “ All Our Urgent Restless Sighing” was:

Deadlock’s finials twitched. “...I am a reasonable amount of interested,” he said, “in this topic.”

And in the beta process, Nev came back in and added the line about Ratchet and cuddling, which was a big hit with the readers it seems like. So clearly I benefitted from some help there haha!

Looking back, did you write more or less than you thought you would this year?

you know what, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. I didn’t see “Don’t Sing Me No More Blues” coming at all, and that was once a month for most of the year. I was hoping that I would be able to write a few things outside of Transformers, because I always worry that my long spans of hyperfixation are driving away my longtime readers... and I did manage to get one hxh thing written that was good, and one hxh thing started that is mediocre so far. So I guess I’ll call that good enough.

 What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, just your favorite.

hmm I’m really proud of the Pharma chapter me and Choko put together for GPAU--the body horror, the tragedy, the lotus eater machine plot. But even though that felt like a whole ass story of its own, I guess it’s only a chapter at the end of the day. So my favorite story would be “Apotheosis”. It’s just SO much, and we had SO many things we wanted to do, and somehow we managed to do them ALL. Corpses! Children! God! It’s got everything! The only thing it doesn’t have is the idea that literally started us plotting out the fic. And that was “ritual public sex with Starscream and Rung”. Oh well. Maybe someday. Probably not.

Okay, Now your most popular story

Ha! I tend to view the success of a fic more based on its bookmark ratio than its hit count, but by the numbers, unsurprisingly, “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is my most popular fic of the year at a whopping 3k hits and 113 bookmarks. Well, it is jazz/prowl which means it has a built in audience of considerable size, and it also updated seven times this year which increases its net range, so no surprise. But I think people also just really vibed with it--it’s very much a product of the times we are living in, and I don’t think it could have been written in any year except for 2020. 

“Dress Your Idol” has 58 bookmarks, by the way. I’m extremely proud of that fic for having such a high bookmark to view ratio. I guess the people who did read it liked it a lot.

Story most underappreciated in its Time.

Okay nothing is as under-exposed as the stuff I produced in JTHM, so I’m definitely not complaining. It’s hard to think about leaving TF because TF is such an enthusiastic community. That said, “ Neggnog Cozy” did not get eyeballs. I’m not surprised, it’s short and it’s gen, and Thundercracker doesn’t have the built in audience of say Starscream. Still, I thought it was really funny and cute and I would have liked it if more people would have given it a chance.

Story that could have been better

Oh, “ Melusine Among the Tombs” for sure. I went into that with only the first chapter planned and immediately after realized that I had no idea where the fic was going and also I had lost my grip on canon characterization after a couple years going rusty in other fandoms. I plan to finish it eventually, but I need a better plan than “wing it???” first.

Sexiest Story

I wrote SO much weird kink this year. Like. Shout out to past me for writing some pretty spicy JTHM fic, but this year I really leaned into how weird you can plausibly get with an all robot all alien cast. 

“ The Sensual Machine” is the most unabashedly horny because it was written specifically for a weird kink themed zine that I was an editor on. “Desecrate You” is also quite horny but I almost exclusively wrote the frame device for that, so I don’t get sexy credit lmao. “Fear and Delight” was a big hit with all the hxh readers and I think it has an element of sexiness more so than pure horniness--its has a kind of glamour and style to it.

Most fun story

“Starscream's Sexy Staycation” is by far the most unabashedly comic and sexy and silly and low stakes. It has one of my favorite kinks, a beautiful stupid moment of Ratchet suffering, and Rung calling safeword which is something new and fresh and I want a lot more of it in the world.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

“ Lacunae” was given to me as a yule gift prompt with the express intention of explaining who the fuck Carmilla’s mother was, and what the deal is with Carmilla as well. This would have forced me to reevaluate my understanding of the novel except for the TEENSY insignificant fact that I realized I had never finished reading Carmilla, somehow, and ended up reading it for the first time in December in preparation for yule. So uh. Hmm.

I think “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” made me think about Prowl in a different way. I wasn’t really expecting him to be this hard-edged idealist when I started out on the fic. He was originally going to be much more like the autistic coded Prowl of “The Cop and the Cryptid,” one of my favorite fics ever. Also, I started writing the fic about a month before the riots and police protest kicked off in America this year, and it really caused me to zero in on how Prowl being part of a system like that affects his relationship to the world and other characters.

Hardest Story to Write

“ Elegy for Actaeon of the Hounds” took me a total of six months to write from start to finish. I don’t know why. Well, It’s partly because there are three involved sex scenes and sex scenes are actually very difficult and time consuming for me to write. It’s also partly because I kept wanting it to have a character arc, and I kept getting stumped on how to handle that. Beauty and the Beast plot lift? Have Rodimus be a rabbit? Eventually I settled on the version that kept the cast tightly cinched down around Megatron and Rung, and I’m happy with the result.

Easiest Story to Write

When we were writing “Apotheosis” it felt like we were on FIRE, we were so productive and we started three other projects between us while it was in motion. But “Take One For the Team” was absolutely the most fun to write, it basically wrote itself

Most Overdue Story

“Champagne in the Final Days of Rome” was based off a conversation I had with Nev pretty early on in our friendship--Discord says it was June 2019, so that’s uhhh ten months between discussion to actual writing? And it still didn’t turn out to be the fic we were originally outlining, haha.

Oh god you know what was really the most overdue? The last chapter of “Icarus; or, Look Who's Digging His Own Grave”. It was literally a year, January to January, between chapter 12 and 13. For a while I thought maybe I was just going to have to leave it there, without resolving the time loop problem at all.

Did you take writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing for the zine was a big risk. I remember Nev had to reassure me at least twice that what I was writing wasn’t too weird or off-topic or embarrassing to be part of the project. Now, of course, I’m very happy with it. But my god I was nervous to post something that was like.... straight up actually bimboification applied to one of the most popular toy characters of all time.

What I learned from this is that people love horny shit, are READY to take a chance on a weird fic when its in the right wrapping paper, and when in doubt you CAN sell people on a kink they’re not really into by making the kink actually a reflection of a character arc. Are you writing this down?

Do you have any goals for writing in the new year?

Finish GPAU!!!!!!

I’d like to FINALLY sit down and do some hard work on my original fiction. I’ve been kind of waiting for the tf hyperfixation to wane so I could move forward, and I think that process is in motion now. But who knows. If Rung shows up in the new comics I might get nerfed again.

Other than that I’d like to write at least one fanfic that isn’t TF, and I would like to get this really crunchy Rung/Pharma fic off the ground so I can make some people CRY

[memnonofarcadia]

Remembering Joey Bruno

Originally published in the Sacramento Jazz & Blues Quarterly Bedtime is sometime around dawn. Dinner is usually whatever you want it to be. Shall we go to Iceland? Festivals, fliers, wristbands, Sharpies on skin, smoke, grass, hash, molasses, sky, blue, crisp, clear sky. And yet I’m still writing all this within a grey airport terminal, locked into some kind of strange Druid-esque ritual with pen and paper. Deadline is tomorrow, where were you when you were supposed to be working? Don’t have any answers for now, just that I need to write and get it out to my boss within the next day. Or two. It wouldn’t have been the first deadline blown. But think, distract myself with the McDonald’s coffee and keep putting down adjectives and phrases from places I’ve been, things I’d seen, dreams I’d never have again with people I’ve never met and music I had. 40 minutes till boarding starts, I’ll be last, of course. It pays enough to fly but not enough to enjoy it. Been getting harder and harder to deal with the travel, at any rate. Starting to notice the spell everyone is under, the sleepwalking nature of the corporate employee. It had only been noticeable after it had been broken, which I had no problem doing, ever. When your home is a hotel you take your shots however you can get them, besides it wasn’t like you have to live in any particular town past a few days at most. Half-heartedly started keeping a list of rejections and their professions, making sure to note that there was only one waitress on the list, most were from bookstores or places where there was an escape for all parties. Don’t need to make it more awkward than it has to be. Sorry, I didn’t mean, then the words fade off into the ocean. On the edge of nowhere, like a little seaside town. Maybe that’s where I’d like to end up, like a lifeguard in the post-apocalypse, no responsibilities, just looking cool for the seagulls. How many life guards had I asked out? Not many, either way. Concerts didn’t go well with water, not in my experience. Can’t seem to find a way to write about anything other than something on the present times, life and times. I struggle, already flipped through the notebooks to jog the memory with some tit and tat that had to be discarded for the sake of length from another article. Or two. Or four. Or 12. Throwing yourself to the wolves, towards and into the meat grinder that one might just pay the bills with the right amount of ink in the right places on a blank piece of paper. Who cares about music festivals and pop culture when there’s McDonald’s coffee and the cold inside of an airplane to look forward to? Four times I’d attempted to ask about an airline attendant’s relationship status, thrice I’d been rejected. Once she’d pretended not to hear me and instead moved to the opposite end of the plane for the remainder or the flight. Understandable, no harm done. No harm done. By anyone, right? Who said this was ever going to be a love story, you and I?

College had been a breeze, not that I’m bragging. State schools were like that, at least then, and Californ-I-A’s were no different. No doubt now there’s better options available for where I was at when I had to decide where to go to school, but there you are. A degree in journalism is a degree in journalism, and I had little else to go on other than my love of music, substances, travel, female company, and a shocking talent at being able to string together sentences. In a way it’s always given me a bit of a guilty feeling. I never sat down and really worked at learning or improving with regards to writing, I just sort of could do it. That’s the short version of how I found my niche of a career, one I thought I could exploit anyway. Turns out I was right, and in a way it was everything I could (and did!) hope for. Except everybody’s got to grow up sometimes, and I did, regrettably. There’s only so many hungover mornings a human being can take before they’re permanently reduced to a shambling, sickly mess of what used to be a humanoid organism, and I had certainly put myself on that path. Got off of it, thanks to the countless AA meetings I made myself go to, but I digress. That had been the first mark on the wall of things that I could no longer enjoy about the gig, the fact that now I had to do the whole thing sober. The hardest substance I have confidence I can enjoy responsibly now is coffee, and even then the ugly demon of acid reflux put me back in my place before too long. Suddenly all the kids were much more annoying than usual, the travel a hassle, the food revolting, and the music itself just kind of bad, which was the real heartbreaker. Some days before it had been all to keep me going, minus the women, which were always a constant. “Festival sluts” is the term you’ll want to Google (or DuckDuckGo) if you’re curious about what I mean, also colloquially known as upper middle class girls whose parents were too busy working to devote anything past a friendly “hullo” to their children, and thus succeeded in raising a bunch of hedonistic, attention-desperate, and morally naïve young people with excess income and too much time to spend it all in. Nasty ain’t it? But it kept me coming back for more, like the good-natured animal that I am. We all are. That’s the secret that I learned more than anything from the beat, we are all more simple and pleasure driven than we could ever articulate or realize. It’s what keeps the lights on at home, for everything and anything. Probably. Or maybe I’m just bitter. Most of the friends I made during college or were colleagues in my escapades writing about indie rock et al. around the globe are gone now. Burnt out, some burnt up, most just couldn’t hack it anymore and left to go get real jobs at real newspapers. The circus, or pirate ship, as is probably more accurate a nomer, is not for everyone, and rarely does it last forever. Bet you’re wondering where that leaves me. Still bitter, but still coming back for more, just like I was always going to. Always. So why don’t I quit? You tell me. Because I know why.

The finest writer I ever met was a journalist by the name of Joey Bruno, a guy I came across one of the many late nights I spent at the pathetic office of my college’s newspaper. I was editing a freshman’s piece about how the White Album was actually really bad, sighing uncontrollably the whole time, when Mr. Bruno walked in and struck up a conversation with yours truly. I happily engaged, as any activity that didn’t involve that stupid piece of writing was fine by me. He explained that he was friends with the real Editor , who was at his parents’ in Wisconsin for the weekend, and would drop by periodically when he got off work to help out where he could. “Why spend your time working on bad writing by dumb college kids?” I’d asked him. “Free beer, plus it can be fun sometimes. There’s been plenty of stuff come through here that I rewrote beyond all recognition just for fun, and nine times out of ten the original author doesn’t even notice. Good times.” Maybe so, I’d thought. In any case every other Friday or thereabouts I’d get a late night revising buddy to help cull the newspaper’s intimidating stack of submissions. It was in those early morning hours that I came to the conclusion that I wanted to become a music journalist, mostly from talking to Mr. Bruno about his own adventures. But I don’t think I listened, not really. Maybe if I had I’d be off this conveyor belt by now, but then again maybe not. Maybe I’d never have started. One night in particular while we were enjoying our cigarettes, coffee, and beer (all courtesy of the newspaper of course), he retailed me with a story of his long lost love, a girl he’d known briefly in the California punk scene of the late 80s. I was instantly entranced. “It was a magical time,” he’d said to me while stroking his magnificent beard. “But I’m glad it’s over now. It was getting messy there at the end,” I brought up how those little parts of the world, at that time were being romanticized an awful lot in contemporary media then. “And for good reason, too.” He’d responded wistfully. “A lot of great things happened for a lot of good people. It was about as close to the 60s as anyone came since then, I think. That much hope,” And this is where he began to tell his story, the story of “the rebel known as ‘Justine,’” as he’d put it. However it had happened, the two had come into contact through the various zines they’d each produced and sent out to the other punks in town. The closest thing to an internet forum for back then was to just be louder than everyone else, apparently. That was the only real way to get heard, to start a dialogue of some kind. That or take your chances at the shows, which they did anyway, but there wasn’t much talking going on there. Joey had written to Justine complimenting her on “Pop!,” which was her way of pushing her radical politics and militant-feminist views out on to the unsuspecting public behind the thin-façade of a bubblegum periodical. The art had been good, and the writing made everyone Joe showed it to laugh out loud, so he made a point to let the author know, whoever they were. There was an address included in the back for people to write in, so he did just that. He also included a copy of his own creation, the somewhat popular (in those circles anyway) “Buzz ‘n’ Stuff.” “What was it about?” I asked as my friend rolled himself another cigarette. “Nothing really, I just sort of made stuff about interesting things I found at the library then slapped it together in that. It seemed to work. I remember the one I sent her had something about how to get popped bubblegum out of your hair without cutting it all off, so I think that’s what got her interested. There wasn’t anything of value or substance in there, let’s be real,” Joey took another swig of his beer and reached into the cooler below his desk for another, being sure to throw me one too like a sport. “Thanks, boss. But continue, you got me interested now,” So he did. It had started slowly, really, with the trading of zines and letters, the occasional patch or pin by mail too. Eventually after a lengthy correspondence they made a plan to meet up at a concert, The Vandals to be precise. Joey had taken painstaking measures to show up in the most hip clothing of the day, studded leather jacket, combat boots, the whole nine yards. “I looked like a freak,” he told me with a chuckle. “But then I saw her,” Justine had arrived looking like everything and nothing Joey had expected her to. She had the familiar punk gear, Doc Martins and an army jacket covered in patches and safety pins, but the rest of what she had on departed from the norm drastically. It had been some bizarre cross between a punk, hippy, and cult leader all in one, macabre golden jewelry offsetting the “meat is murder” t shirt underneath. “It was great,” said Joey. “People were afraid of her at that show. She looked really scary,” They hit it off and had a jolly old time watching The Vandals play, and later they found themselves alone on a hill overlooking the suburbs, talking about the issues and passing a joint back and forth. It was all music to my ears, as it would be for most any young person, I suspect. “Tell me more,” I’d implored. These were fantasies that I needed fulfilled. Joey paused and rocked back and forth in his chair contently for a few seconds before he complied. My heart sank before he spoke. “We were inseparable after that first time. It really was something. We could go anywhere, do anything, and we would always end up on the same page somehow. It was easily the deepest spiritual, emotional, whatever you want to call it connection I’ve ever had with another human being, let alone girlfriend. But then a year or two later her Mom moved her and her brother up to Connecticut to be closer to the rest of their family. Last I heard she went to school in Maine, but that was it as far as we were concerned. Finito,” He smiled through all this as though recalling some rosy-cheeked memory but I was aghast. “What do you mean that’s it? You didn’t try to follow her or anything?” Joey just laughed. “Yeah, that was really an option at 17 without a car or money. It was just something that happened when we were kids, nothing really. I’m glad it happened at all, now.” Well then. What do you make of that? The conversation drifted pretty heavily after that point, as it always did when Joey and I got to jabbering and drinking, and as usual it was stories of the times he’d been on tour years later with Ozzy Osbourne or The Stooges or someone, then got to interview them endlessly and write about it. The usual vices were there as well in his stories, the drugs, the travel, the women, the glamor, the romance. But it all left pretty quickly once the novelty wore off, hence why Joey had quit after a few years and moved back home to Sacramento. When I knew him at the college newspaper he was a jazz correspondent, if you can wrap your head around that, for several of the snootier publications in the area. “I skipped to the fun part,” he told me. “The shows never get old, now. Plus jazz cats have the best shit,” he said with a wink. I probably just laughed, I don’t know, maybe downed the rest of my beer. I’ll be bound to have another once I get on the plane, off to Finland this time. Apparently it’s festival season in Scandinavia and its surrounding territories. Guess I’ll be writing about that all then though, from a different airport terminal that looks just like this one, with coffee and food and cigarettes and beer that shortens the life as much as the ones that came before. I could go on, but I won’t, for both our sake. There’s no moral to be gleaned from all this just a simple explanation of the reality, and how I’m passing the time in the airport by writing this, because I said I would. I promised. It’s my group now, and I have to go.

[yoimoviezine-blog]

💌Send Your Love to Kyouto Animation

Hello dear Yuri on Ice friends. It’s Mod Dancing.

As you may have heard, Kyouto Animation suffered a horrific arson attack that devastated the studio family and ended the lives of many beautiful, creative and giving people. Here’s a touching piece on a selection of KyoAni’s works.

This is a heartbreaking time for everyone in the Japanese animation industry, and a deep wound for a country where mass murder and terror attacks are fortunately extremely rare. Directors and animators from many other studios are sharing their grief today, and I can’t imagine the pain felt at the home of Yuri on Ice -- our dear Studio MAPPA -- to know what their peers have gone through.

I wanted to share an important signal boost for two meaningful projects. First, there is a fundraiser you can contribute to that’s well on its way to breaking $1 million. Second:

Crunchyroll is collecting messages of support for KyoAni. Please send a message HERE to show your appreciation for the dedicated staff and families who have helped elevate the storytelling form we love.

The image shared above is from @crunchyroll. So grateful they’re doing this.

Like many of you, I grew up on anime. The amazing people who power this art form have had a deep influence on the entire course of my life. Through anime, I fell in love with the Japanese language, leading me to live in Japan, work in the Japanese entertainment industry, and infuse my own personal passions with anime aesthetics.

After a long time where anime had taken a backseat in my life, Free! Iwatobi High School became my gateway drug back to this amazing medium. Haru, Makoto, Rin, Nagisa, and Rei delighted me not just because I adored their saga, but because of the incredible care and thought put into every frame. Getting back into anime led me to Yuri on Ice, which led me to my wonderful partner Queen who I met in the fandom -- and to all of you amazing people who supported our zine project last year.

A little over a year ago, Queen and I got the crazy idea to create a zine for the Yuri On Ice movie -- after it had only just been announced. We’re proud of the work our 70+ creators made together, and so grateful to the original visionaries who gave us Viktor and Yuuri’s story.

It hits especially hard to think of how at KyoAni right before this tragedy, the staff was getting ready for this week’s big announcement on the 2020 Free! movie. Getting ready for that fulfilling moment when they would release the latest of their vision and enjoy all the love and excitement that came their way. Just getting ready for joy.

So please --- even if you have never spent time with the wonderful works of KyoAni and their breathtaking visual talent, please take a moment to write to KyoAni today with love, and share what anime has meant in your life.

May you all be safe and well, and hug your loved ones extra tight.

💙 Dancing

[thicclaurance]

Two Hundred and Twenty Nine Days and Three Quarters.

Yody Yo! This is my piece from the summer Aphmau magazine that was put together by @aphmauzine ! Please check out the zine to see all the lovely work everyone submitted including my friends Char, Al, and Yesani!

This is also my first Aphmau writing piece, and the first of my writing that I’ve shared here on this blog; I hope its well recieved and that I’ll be able to share more work with y’all.

Pairing: Dan-Chan

Series: MCD (original)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2508

Two Hundred and Twenty Nine Days and Three Quarters. 

      Rays of golden sun cascaded through the glass of the window and into the bedroom. It heated the room, but instead of providing a comfortable and cozy warm like snuggling up with the one you love in front of the fire, it was a humid and sticky warm. It felt like being trapped in a pot of water that was quickly reaching boiling point. The heat was excruciating, it was so maddening it caused Dante to stir. He lifted his body only to twist before dropping back against the mattress like a sack of potatoes; but he only receive those lovely golden rays right in his eyes. His eyes opened, only a sliver, only to realise it was only another summer day.

      To Dante, summer only ever felt like it droned on, It was like a meeting discussing how everyone was fine and the village faced no threats, but still lasted hours. Summer was only filled with sweltering days filled with humidity and annoying swarms of insects that buzzed in his ears and bit at his skin. The days felt like they droned on, lasting like weeks instead of hours as he almost roasted alive in his armor. Most people, especially in Phoenix Drop, felt that it was winter that droned on, and sure the season was a full month longer than the rest; but the days go by at the snap of a finger. You wake up and blink once and it’s already time to sit down for dinner with your lover. But for Dante, summer was the worst.

      It took all the willpower he held in him to actually get up; he only got up because he knew he’d never be able to fall back asleep. Dante flipped onto his back and pushed his palms against the aged mattress to gain leverage as he forced himself into a seated position. His hands left the mattress and balled as he brought them to his eyes, a loud yawn escaped his mouth as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He felt the weight of the mattress shift next to him and heard a small and almost inaudible groan. 

      His gaze met the woman next to him as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Long pink hair laid tangled around her head and over her eyes, something Dante envied was the ability to ignore the sun. Her bare shoulder peaked out from the dull colored blanket as she curled herself back up. A smile spread across his face and his gaze softened as he looked at her, she was beyond compare to anyone nor anything. He leaned over and placed a sweet kiss to her shoulder; he twisted back around and let his feet rest on the upsettingly warm wooden floor. He stood and stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. 

      Dante’s next action was to track down his clothing that laid in various places on the floor alongside Kawaii-Chan’s. It was a simple yet tedious task to find specific articles and to dress himself, it only added to the heat. His chainmail, awful. The suit of armor, horrendous. It’d been about nine years since he took over as the head guard, nine and a half years since he began his daily task to watch the gate; nine years and a half since everyone’s disappearance. It was hard for him to think about all the friends he lost; but it was even harder not to seeing as he left his home at the same time every morning just to wait for them, waiting for them at the gate, hoping they’ll all return.

      That’s where he found himself after hours, at the gate. The village walls had begun to crack and crumble as the weather took its toll, and ivy and moss grew against the sides. Birds chirped happily to one another, all enjoying the heat. The ground below his feet had worn down a bit and dipped down into the indent of his feet, it’s what happens when you three thousand four hundred and sixty nine days standing in one specific spot. And Dante stood in the same exact spot again today, he stood there for hours, hours spent almost succumbing to heat stroke. He stood there, until the sun had made it to the tree line and the air had cooled, until it was time to go home. He pivoted on one foot and turned away from the entrance. The trip to the gate and back was always nice. Though the houses had begun to suffer the same fate as the wall, they were still filled with kind villagers, well kind villagers that were still left.

     “Fancy running into you here Dante!” The chipper country accent of a certain chipper brunette run out. She smiled brightly at him and lifted a hand to give a short wave from the end of the path. Instead of being able to walk down the path, she more waddled, one of her hands laid on her swollen stomach. “You headin’ home for the night?” 

      “Good evening Donna! My shift just ended so I’m heading home to Kawaii-Chan.” Dante responded as she approached him, a kind smile weaved it’s way into his face as he spoke to Donna. 

     “I’m sure she whipped up something nice for the two of you! I swear ever since she found out she was pregnant too all she has is baked! I can’t go a day without her springing some muffins or a cake on me!” She laughed. 

     “Don’t I know it! I don’t think I’ve gone a day without fresh baked goods in eight months!” He returned her laughter, it was a nice change of pace to laugh. 

      “Logan’s been enjoying it though, he can’t get enough if those cookies she brings over!” She placed a hand on her chest as she threw her head back and laughed. Dante was sure she hadn’t had a good slug in a while either. As their laughter died down, Donna’s gaze softened as she spoke again, “You gonna do what you talked to me about the other day?” She asked. 

     “I think I am, I plan on finally telling her” He nodded as he talked. “That you for helping me sort it all out!”

     “Of course I would dear! Thank god you came along when you did! Logan won’t let me do anything as long as I have these creatures in me!” She motioned towards her stomach as she let out the complaint. “You better get going if you want things to go as planned.” Dante nodded again and said his goodbyes. The green eyes woman waved him off before returning to her evening stroll. 

      Dante took in the rest of the town’s scenery as he walked. Passing the village square that laid in disarray, the overgrown guard tower, half harvested golden fields, and even the hill the house of old lord, Aphmau, resided on. He passed a few people, Alexis and Kyle looked to be playing in the grass, but they were obviously training to be the next village guards, they swung wooden swords at each other and took turns dodging attacks. Not too far from them stood Molly and Dale, never seen too far from Alexis. They’ve both watched over her like hawks ever since the Zane incident about ten years ago. Dante provided a wave to the long term couple as he passed, they both returned his motions. 

     Finally, he had made it to his home. It was a standard house alongside the rest of the homes in Phoenix Drop. When him and Kawaii-Chan first decided to start living together she was upset at the lack of originality, she wanted a bright colored home, just like the pink one she lived in. It was a miracle Dante had convinced her otherwise, but he compromised with allowing her to plant whatever type of flowers she wanted in front of the house. He walked slowly up the cobble stone path and up the dark wooden door. He filled his lungs with one large breath and allowed his mind to become a blank slate, free of worry and hurt, before letting it out slowly like he releasing air from a balloon, and opened the door.

      “Ah Dante-Kun! Welcome home!” He was greeted with the sweet voice of the woman who loved him. The atmosphere was warm and peaceful, like it always was around her. A few candles had been set out, ready to be lit as soon as it got dark enough, and she stood by the front door, in the kitchen. “How was your day Dante-Kun?” She asked as she waddled towards him and forced herself up to is height before she left a sweet kiss on his cheek. 

      “We don’t have time to talk about that darling, I need to bring you somewhere.” He spit out as soon as her heels came in contact with the wooden floor. 

     “What do you mean Dan-”

     “I’m not joking Kawaii-Chan, I need you to come with me this instant.” Dante made sure his tone was calm as he spoke, careful not to scare the pregnant woman in front of him. He grabbed Kawaii-Chan’s hand, and barley let her slip into her shoes, before he led her out of the house. 

     “Where are you taking Kawaii-Chan, Dante-Kun?!” She asked, confused and slightly panicked. Their feet pounded against the cobblestone streets as they passed Molly and Dale who still stood watching the kids, and past the half golden fields. 

     “You’ll see when we get there!” He continued to remain vague as the two passed the street Dante took to and from the gate every morning and evening. 

     “Good luck Dante!” Donna yelled and waved as she made her way back up the street. 

     “We’re almost there” Dante huffed as he led her up the hill to the old lord’s house. Before stopping for a second to let Kawaii-Chan catch her breath.

     “Why’re we at Aphmau-Senpai’s house?” She asked, before Dante dragged her to the left. They passed the large tree in the front yard and playset meant for the long gone Levin and Malachi, for they had left along with their caretaker Zoey, long ago. They weaved through the oak and birch trees, swerved past berry bushes, and avoided pesky evening insects. 

     “Be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Dante said as he slid down a short sandy slope. They had arrived to the yellow sanded beach of the cove. “Take my hand.” He instructed as he reached a hand out to the amber eyed woman. Even though she was hesitant, afraid to fall and hurt herself let alone her unborn child, but yet she obliged. Her slim hand fit in Dante’s calloused one like puzzle pieces as he helped her down from the grassy area of the woods to the sandy shore of the beach. 

     “Just in time!” Dante mumbled and led Kawaii-Chan to the final destination, the shoreline of the beach. 

     It was a well known spot to the villagers. But it was rarely used since it was a place Aphmau had spent time and after her disappearance, no one picked up the habit of visiting. Dante and Kawaii-Chan were different though. They visited here on their first date, they didn’t care that it had been covered in snow at the time, instead they built snow maids and men together. That was exactly two hundred, twenty nine days and three quarters ago. He’d kept track of every day, every moment they shared together, and this was the perfect place. 

     “Dante-Kun, Kawaii-Chan is still confused.” She said her amber eyes trying to meet his deep sea blue ones, but instead of meeting her gaze he stared out at the horizon. The sun had just become halfway submerged into the sea leaving behind a painting of rose gold skies that blended into vibrant purples and deep blues. 

     “Kawaii-Chan, I need your one hundred percent attention.” Dante said and took both her frail hands into larger ones, finally able to meet her gaze. Unable to know how to respond, Kawaii-Chan simply nodded. “We’re alone so I know you’ll trust me to say this, Nana,” Dante took a deep breath to prepare himself to what he was going to say after this. 

     Dante felt her stiffen at the use of her real name. Something she’d trusted him enough to tell him just before they moved in together. He squeezed Kawaii-Chan’s hands in reassurance and she allowed herself to relax. It was short lived though, because immediately Dante released her hands and crouched down, kneeling on one knee. 

     “Nana, I know I’m not much with words. I never have been. But I’m going to speak from the heart.” He started off with, “I have known you for ten wonderful years, though we’ve only been together for eight months, I’ve never felt more connected to anyone before.”

     As he finished that sentence, tears began to stream down Nana’s face. Tears of happiness, tears of surprise. She didn’t care when the tide had begun to come in and rolled over her feet, ruining her new dress. Dante didn’t care either, he didn’t care if it would leave his armor a sepia colored rust, he could get a new set. 

     “I never expected to fall in love with such an incredible woman, such an exciting woman, such a unique woman, such a gorgeous woman. Let alone did I expect to be expecting a child with her, to have a bundle of joy that would be a product of our love. I’ve had relationships in the past, good and bad, but none of them hold a candle to you Nana. None of them come close to how you make me feel.” Dante began to choke on his words, a tear began to slide down his cheek as he spoke, but it was no match the rivers flowing from Nana’s eyes. 

     He fumbled with his side, fingers mismanaging to grasp the box at his side. As he finally grasped it, his hands shook as he held it up to the beautiful pink haired woman in front of him. He opened it to reveal a small, but gorgeous silver ring encrusted with three small pink diamonds. 

     “I’ve cherished every day you’ve spent with me. All two hundred and twenty nine days and three quarters have been a dream, a blessing. So Nana, will you continue our two hundred and twenty nine days and three quarters streak and spend every day, until the day we die, together with me, and marry me?” He finally asked, a weight lifted from his chest as he finally got the words out, but it was replaced with the anxiety of rejection. 

     “Of course Kawaii-Chan will marry you Dante-Kun! Kawaii-Chan couldn’t think of anyone else she’d spend the rest of her life with!” She sobbed. She grabbed the sides of his face and bent down, as far as she could without crushing her stomach, and pulled Dante into a passionate kiss. 

[long-arm-stapler]

EP 1: Sayuri

[00:14]

Maira: Hi! Um my name is Maira and this is the very first episode of Long Arm Stapler, which is a podcast about zines. And this is my guest, you can introduce yourself.

Sayuri: Hi, my name is Sayuri. I am a zinester who works in Oakland and I’m really glad to be here and talking about zines, and Ara today. Um, so yeah I guess, you know.

Maira: Yeah, um, so today is December 2nd, which is a very somber day in the Bay Area. Um, a year ago we lost 36 artists, creative people, weirdos, um, and one of the people we lost was Ara Jo. Who was basically the patron saint of zines in the Bay Area and probably other places too. Her reach was just super, super everywhere. Um, and we are gonna honor her with this episode.

Sayuri: Yeah

Maira: So, a little bit about how I got into zines. So, back tracking to zines in general. I got into zines through my friend Kristen, we run Queer Anxiety Babiez Distro with our friend Ali. We’re based out of the East Bay, um, we focus on gender, mental health, and queerness. And we publish zines by other people, we publish zines by ourselves, we travel around, we get the word out, and make friends along the way.

Maira: And how did you get into zines?

Sayuri: I formally got into zines when I moved to the Bay. But before that I was always making little books and little magazines without knowing there was an entire like, scene that did that. So when I came to the Bay it was really awesome because I was like “Oh my god, other people are doing this weird thing that I thought only I was doing, publishing little books, or making little fake tabloid magazines, that’s what I always did as a kid-

Maira: Yeah!

Sayuri: And then when I moved up here, my roommate Anjelica, she runs Lemon Drop Press, which is a small risograph printing press out of our garage. So we just, I sort of just got into the zine scene because of her. Yeah.

Maira: That’s awesome. Where are you from?

Sayuri: I’m from LA-

Maira: Okay

Sayuri: So there’s a pretty strong zine scene there too, which is awesome.

Maira: There is, I have witnessed it firsthand.

Sayuri: Yeah.

Maira: Yeah, uh, it’s really cool. I’m from the Bay Area originally, but it’s really cool to talk to people from outside of the Bay who have like moved here about just how different the scenes are, but at the same time they’re both very communal and welcoming and warm. That’s what I like about the Southern California zine scene is, like, I’ve made friends with the organizers of Long Beach Zine Fest, they’re amazing. Shout out to all of them! Um, the LA Zine Fest people are really nice. My friend Alan runs a queer zine fest down there called Zine Queens. There’ just so much going on and everyone is so excited to see you. And that’s why zine fests down there, even if I’m not from down there, it feels like “coming home.” It feels very nice.

Sayuri: Yeah, LA’s pretty interesting because, growing up there, I just felt like there’s so much, it’s so huge. LA’s a huge place, so it does take some work to find like, your people. Or your community. But I feel like the LA zine scene is really strong and you know when I found it, I was like “this is awesome, how come I didn’t know about it?” And it’s because LA is so huge so I’m really glad that there are these pockets of people just making books and it’s really important.

Maira: Yeah, that’s kind of how I felt in the Bay too. Because like, so I’m from the East Bay, I moved to San Francisco for 7 years, and now I’m back in the East Bay, and when I was growing up it was kind of a similar situation where I would just make stuff all the time and I didn’t really know what to do with it, or like know other people who made stuff. Um, so I just had a bunch of like, weird little pocket books, full of stuff. And I would collect like, the Pocket Guide to the Spice Girls, and all those little like, mini zines basically. Um, and I would write all the time, but I didn’t really have a community around it, and then when I moved to San Francisco, I met Kristen, who actually lived in the East Bay, we met through tumblr, and … tea break…

Maira: They got me into zines, and they were like, yeah it’s this really cool thing where you basically have total control over like, what you’re putting out. And I was like “woah, that’s awesome! Um, yeah. And it’s been a wild, amazing ride ever since.

Sayuri: Yeah, zines are really important. I think, like, a lot of modern day like society especially in America is very capitalist, so this is a way for artists and creative people to get around that and make stories and share stories that are really, um, not about, you know, making money or the bottom line. And it’s kind of very far removed from the whole, you know, publishing world, which is-

Maira: I feel like publishing is like, I don’t know, I’m kind of trying to get into publishing. But I feel like independent publishing is what you’re saying, is very removed but it’s got some of the same aspects, but like, I don’t know I find it way more accessible.

Sayuri: Yeah, yeah, I think accessibility is like a huge part, and like never before has everyone’s stories in the world been so accessible. I mean here we are, just chatting zines and sharing with the world, so it’s like we’re living in a really critical time where we can share stories in a powerful way, so it feels really good to be here.

Maira: Yeah! Um, so, how did you meet Ara?

Sayuri: How did I, well, ok-

Maira: That wasn’t a smooth transition at all

[both laugh]

Sayuri: How did I meet Ara? I met Ara, the first time I met Ara was at 2015 EBABZ, so the East Bay zine fest

Maira: If you’re watching, you can see my shirt, but if you’re not watching you can’t see my shirt.

Sayuri: Shout out to EBABZ.

Sayuri: Yeah, so, the first time I met her I was helping my roommate set up her booth, she had the flu that day so I was like “dude I’ll help you,” uh we were setting up our table and I think we were on the second floor and Ara was on the third floor and we just hear this voice like [shouting] HEY EVERYONE!

Sayuri: And I was like “woah, what’s that?” It was Ara just telling everyone like, what to do and how we’re going to have a great time and like, thanking everyone for supporting. And at that moment I was just like “wow, this is a really powerful person.” So that’s how I met Ara, was through a zine event, and it was just really, you know, magical seeing her doing her thing and this project she had been working on for so long come to fruition. Through EBABZ, that’s kind of indirectly how we met?

Maira: Yeah

Sayuri: Because if I didn’t know, so, after the-

Maira: Six degrees of separation

Sayuri: After the Ghost Ship fire, it happened about a week before EBABZ

Maira: Literally a week before, and I’ll get into that later. That was a wild, rough week.

Sayuri: Yeah that was a really crazy week, and the fire happened and I was thinking “oh my god, what’s gonna happen with EBABZ?” And there were a bunch of volunteers that met up at Sgraffito, where Ara lived and was a gallery manager, so I went there, there was a very last minute – of course, because that was the best we could do – and everyone sort of got together “ok well we have a bunch of construction paper, let’s make signs, and do whatever we can,” I met my friend Lani there, who was one the volunteers, and Lani knows Maira, so [laughing] that’s how we got here today.

Maira: Yeah, um, we met at, we had a picnic for EBABZ this year as a lead up event. EBABZ is next week, December 9th, by the way, shout out. Um, and we were like “we both like making buttons, we both like making zines, we both love Ara, let’s do this.” I met Ara in a very similar way, actually, at 2014 EBABZ, which was my very first tabling event ever. I had just started making zines, and my friend Kristen, who I mentioned earlier, invited me to table with them and I said okay, and I saw this, this person, this like force of a person. And it was Ara. And I remember just beaming the entire time I was at the fest because it was so exciting and such a wonderful way to get myself out there and meet people and share ideas. And I went up to buy a t-shirt at the merch table, which is the t-shirt I am wearing right now, and I was like “Hey! This is amazing!” And I was just talking to her and Tricia, one of the other organizers that year, and telling them how included I felt, for someone who was coming in from the outside. Ara was very excited about that, and this was the very last bright orange t-shirt and I felt really special that I got it. And I just kept telling Ara that I felt amazing being there, and she was really stoked on that. I didn’t really interact with her again until 2015 EBABZ, so like, um, initially our friendship was really just in passing at zine stuff, but one memory that I have of meeting her outside of a zine event was I saw her on BART. I was going to Oakland and I was just like “shit, that person looks so cool.” Ara dressed so cool, she had the best clothes, like, and the best style. I just remember being on BART with her and looking over at her and being like “she looks so cool. Oh, that’s one of the EBABZ organizers, okay!” So later I was riding my bike and we like crossed paths way later down the street. And she was like, “Hey! You’re in Queer Anxiety Babiez!” I had an “Oh my god, you know who I am?” moment

[both laughing]

Sayuri: Celebrity crush.

Maira: Celebrity crush, oh yeah. For sure. So I had that moment with her, and I was like, “Yeah, I’m about to go to a reading,” and she was like, “cool!” We chatted for a little bit, and that’s when I was like, “I really want to be friends with Ara Jo.” She had that kind of magnetic personality that really made you feel loved and included and welcome even if you had known each other for 5 seconds.

Sayuri: Yeah, I felt like she really embodied the zine spirit, of you know, how- why zines are there.

Maira: Community. Like, Ara Jo was zine community.

Sayuri: Yeah, yeah yeah. After the fire, I just, because of her, I met so many other people. Even like after she left this world she’s still making connections between people. I feel like she’s still here. So, doing this for you Ara baby.

Maira: Um

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: I just want to talk about Ara! Like, she was just, last night I was on BART and I was getting really sad because of this weekend, and I was coming home and just like, crying, but not necessarily sad, just “I can’t believe I got to exist at the same time as her?” And like I can’t believe, I mean I can believe, because it happened, but it’s just amazing that I got to meet her, and be friends with her, and spend time with her, because she was just such a powerful, booming, bright force of energy.

Sayuri: Yep

Maira: I’m going to cry on this podcast!

[both laugh]

[both]: But in a good way.

Maira: Yeah, like, organizing EBABZ, so last year was my first organizing EBABZ – the East Bay Alternative Book and Zine Fest – because I had been, honestly I signed up to organize so I could hang out with Ara. Like that was my-

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: I love zines, but I also really want to befriend this person. So last year I started organizing, and the week leading up to the fest was one of the most intense weeks of my life. Because you know, we had a group chat on Facebook with all the organizers, and I remember waking up on the 3rd, so last year’s Saturday, today last year.

Sayuri: That was a very confusing time.

Maira: Yeah I remember waking up to a message from Tricia that was just saying “Hey Ara, please just let us know you’re okay.” Um, and I was really confused. And then I looked up what was happening and was like “woah,” the group chat got very somber very fast, with all of us just trying to find Ara. We were calling Ara, um, she had been in the hospital for like a, she had a really bad cold a few weeks before, so we had already lost contact with her for like a week, so we were like “oh, is this the same thing?” So we just couldn’t get ahold of her, um, and then when we found out that she was gone, we scrambled. Um, we found out that the venue we thought we put a deposit on, we hadn’t put a deposit on. We found out we didn’t really have anything aside from like, a hundred tablers, we had no space anymore. And so, that week really brought the community together, to just, make EBABZ happen. And last year was one of my favorites, no, it was my favorite, zine fests of all time. And I’ve been to a lot of zine fests, and I love EBABZ with all my heart, but last year was magical.

[both] Yeah

Sayuri: I remember that whole week, from the fire til EBABZ was just, so confusing. I mean, I just felt so, I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know what I was seeing, I didn’t, I just felt so disconnected. And then I remember at EBABZ, it was the first time everything felt okay, or there was a moment of calm. I just remember everyone there, not just me, it was just the first moment that it felt okay. Things were alright for just a second, was at that zine fest.

Maira: There were like three thousand people there.

Sayuri: Yeah it was crazy packed, too.

Maira: We had to turn people away.

Sayuri: Oh really? That’s pretty awesome.

Maira: Because of the space constraints of the venue, not because we didn’t want people. We, yeah, it was the first time a lot of us had been in the same room together in general, but also a lot of us as friends and community members since the fire, and it felt very… warm. And it was a very cold, rainy day, um, and it felt very safe. I was running around crying the entire fest. Like, I was like, asking people if they needed anything, breaks, and yeah I was just sobbing the entire fest. When I was at my table, [fake crying] “Here you go.” Just hanging people zines and I was running around with my organizer hat crying and people were telling me how great the fest was going and I was just kind of like, collapsing and saying “Thank you.” Like, I think last year we just all really wanted to make Ara proud. Of like, the fest. And I mean this year, obviously, we want to make Ara proud every fest from last year on. That’s my goal with EBABZ, as an organizer.

Sayuri: Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of just like, reflection on Ara’s legacy, I guess I knew her in the context of zines, I guess our relationship was more formal. We were just like, you know, hang out and do zine stuff together. I was just thinking about her legacy, and I think it’s really important that artists just continue making stuff, and just sort of like, plow through the sadness that we get a lot. Our community isn’t supported by mainstream people, governmental institutions, so we really have to be there for each other. You know, for ourselves and I’ve just been thinking a lot about like, self-love and loving your friends and showing up for your friends and um, making projects happen. And not being afraid of a failure. Or thinking that your work is not good enough or that someone is cooler than you. I always thought Ara was super cool, like way cooler than me, and like the first time we hung out she was cutting my hair and she was like “We’re going to make you look like Kristi Yamaguchi!” And I was like damn, you’re so cool. Like ohm y god and you’re cutting my hair?

Maira: That was such a good Ara impression.

[both laugh]

Sayuri: She was like, “We’re going to cut your bangs like this,” you know, and like in that moment, I was like she’s really awesome, and she barely knew me. You know, I think that same warmth is really important, um, and that’s why I love the zine community, there is always that warmth, and it never feels cold or unpopulated, so that’s why I’m in it.

Maira: That’s also why I’m in it! Um, it’s been a really good way to make friends, and meet people, and share ideas. Um, I, and it’s cool because I see the same warmth and welcoming in other zine communities too. Like, for example, I went to Omaha Zine Fest, not the middle of nowhere, but like, Nebraska. And I live in California, so that’s like, quite a ways away. I had never been there before, and I went to the very first one and the organizers were like, “Yeah, come stay at our house! We’ll take you out to breakfast and show you all the sights of Omaha,” which was really just like, every location every mentioned in a Bright Eyes or Desaparecidos song.

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: Um, that’s really what it was. The tour of Saddle Creek. And, I feel that spirit in every single zine community I’ve ever witnessed. You know, I’ve been up and down the West Coast to fests, I’ve been to Chicago Zine Fest, Omaha Zine Fest, and I feel like I’m just name dropping at this point, but, I just want to shout out everyone who has ever put on a zine fest or has like, welcomed strangers into their home for a zine fest, because that’s really cool.

Sayuri: Yeah, yeah. Kudos to you. I mean I could not organize a zine fest, that is insane.

Maira: It’s-

[Sayuri laughs]

Sayuri: I make the zines.

Maira: Yeah, the zines! I was so inspired by EBABZ 2016, last year, that I founded my own zine fest. The Bay Area Queer Zine Fest, which was on June 17th. It was amazing, and it was a labor of love. And it was for Ara, like that’s what it was. You know, it was an idea that we had talked about, just as a very far out “Hey wouldn’t it be cool if we had a queer zine fest?” And then I made it happen with the help of a lot of other people. And it felt really good, and I felt like she would have been proud of that too. Um, as far as your zines go…

Sayuri: Okay-

Maira: We’re going to talk about you a little bit.

Sayuri: Yeah let’s uh, okay, well, I brought a few zines that I’ve made in the past. I don’t know, I think I want to start with the one that is not finished yet. But it will be or EBABZ which is next weekend on-

[both exclaim]: December 9th!

Maira: At the Omni Commons, I don’t have the address, but-

Sayuri: You should put the info up.

Maira: I’ll link it.

Sayuri: Um, so, every year I make an end of the year zine, so it’s pretty much in a comic book format and I look at the year’s, the past year. I wasn’t able to find my 2016 one, but I found my 2015 abridged tale, so this is kind of what I make every year. So even if I make one zine, it will be this.

Maira: If you’re just listening, this zine looks amazing. It looks very detailed and very professional.

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: And I’m a little intimidated.

Sayuri: Don’t be! This year I was kind of crazy, like, I’ve got to make it look so professional. The ones now are like, less manicured than this, but I was pretty proud of this one. So I just like, review my year in a positive way, and it’s just, I feel like it’s really good for me to get out of my head, and be like, “Okay, well what good happened this year?” And I think like a lot of artists, I get depressed, and I get sad, and it’s hard for me to see the positive.

Maira: [sarcastically] What’s that? What’s depression? And artists?

Sayuri: I get sad sometimes, and I forget how amazing my friends and family are. I’ve been making these for the past five years, so I’m making my 2017 one, so hopefully that will be at EBABZ. Um, another project that I’m also trying to get done for EBABZ is this book, it’s not done yet, but I printed out the cover. Yeah, so this is the cover, it’s called “Ritual.”

Maira: That looks amazing.

Sayuri: It’s going to be great. So, this zine has been in the works for about a year. And so, this is just the cover art, and it features nine artists, healers in the Bay who submitted their rituals. There’s a banish the patriarchy ritual, there is a safe space ritual, I contributed, uh, I actually contributed a ritual that I did for Ara. After the fire happened, so this was a ritual that I organized with some friends and um, we, it was pretty much to help Ara’s spirit move, um, to the next wherever she is now. But this was really good for the participants because it helped us cope with our grieving in a communal way, um, but yeah. So my upcoming zine is going to be a magic zine, so it is about magical rituals and how to heal ourselves and our friends in dark times. And I’m really excited to finally have it done because I feel like, I mean I’m sure you get this too, where it’s like, “It’s not done yet! It’s not done yet!” Or like, “I started that how many months ago?”

Maira: Forever ago!

Sayuri: What’s going on with that? So, this is a zine that I’ve been sitting on for a while. But I actually don’t feel too bad about it now.

Maira: Nice! I hope that… I’m kind of doing that, I’m working on a King of the Hill zine right now, a follow up Zine of the Hill 2, this time it’s about feelings is the subtitle. I’ve been working on it for a while, and I don’t think it’s going to be done for EBABZ, but if it is, it will be a miracle and I’ll feel so good.

Sayuri: But if not that’s fine too.

Maira: But if not it’s fine too! I’ll release it first thing next year, and, because I don’t want to, I don’t know, with zines, sometimes I want to just like, get the product out if I’m feeling rushed before a zine fest and that’s usually if it’s a really personal one. And I’ll just have this like, creative flash and I’ll just only work on that for a week straight and I’ll just put it out there. But then, with other zines, you’ve got to sit with them, you’ve just got to let it happen naturally and organically.

Sayuri: Yeah, I like that, that resonates a lot with me. I think a lot of the time, I’m pretty like, I don’t like to categorize people but I’m Type A for sure, and so I’m always like, rushing to finish things, “How am I going to get this done if I’m not moving? I’m not doing anything!” So it’s, I’m actually coming to terms with like, the zine I am making might take a year, but maybe because of that it will be better because I didn’t-

Both: Rush it.

Sayuri: Yeah, so, don’t rush it.

Maira: I like to think of zines as, I reference this a lot but I took a history of rock and roll class in community college, and we had a week on Prince and a week on Michael Jackson.

Sayuri: Wait, what?

Maira: It was history of rock and roll since the 70’s, we went over like every genre of music, but where I’m going with this was, Prince was very “I’m going to make a million things and just put them out there, whether or not they’re polished.” And Michael Jackson was very, “I’m going to release a few things and they’re going to be super, super polished.” And yeah, super polished. And it’s not in a rivalry way, but in a like, production way if that makes sense.

Sayuri: Yeah, yeah. Creative process.

Maira: Yeah, creative process way. So, I think about that a lot when I’m making zines.

Sayuri: Yeah, I like that analogy, I’ve never thought about Prince and Michael Jackson like that. But now I am!

Maira: Shout out to that professor I had!

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: Don’t remember your name, sorry! Your class was great.

Sayuri: I actually brought a Prince button.

Maira: I just got a Prince tattoo, too.

Sayuri: It’s funny because, I was, so Maira has a button maker. I make buttons. So I hung out with you, was it last week?

Maira: A couple days ago.

Sayuri: It was really recent, and they were like, “What’s up with that podcast?”

[Sayuri laughs]

Both: So here we are!

Sayuri: This is great.

Maira: So, I had just gotten my Prince tattoo, and Sayuri came over and was like, “Yeah I’m making Prince buttons!” And I was just like, I lifted up my sleeve, because I got Prince’s eyes.

Sayuri: His beautiful eyes.

Maira: And my hair is purple, and everything felt very… puzzle pieces.

Both: Yeah, yeah.

Maira: And so here we are, in this podcast.

Sayuri: Yeah, I think magic is definitely in the air, and we’ve got to pay attention to the weird things that the universe is telling us, if it’s, you know, a Prince tattoo and a Prince button and your hair is purple, that makes sense!

Maira: Like, we’ve both got orange on today, which we did not talk about.

Sayuri: Yeah, we didn’t plan the orange, orange, and then orange up here.

Maira: No. Oh, yeah, Sayuri made this “What Would Ara Do?” by the way. Do you want to, I know if you’re listening to this you can’t see it, but I’ll probably, I’ll link a photo of it-

Sayuri: Okay.

Maira: When I post the podcast. But do you want to talk about the art?

Sayuri: Yeah, should I grab it? It’s, there’s a lot of symbolism in it. So, this is the poster I made of Ara, it says, “What Would Ara Do?” um, and she is standing between two pillars. So, when I made this illustration, I was working on a tarot project, so I was thinking about the High Priestess a lot, and the High Priestess in the Rider-Wait deck, the classic Rider-Wait deck, has the High Priestess standing between two pillars of light and dark, and I thought a lot about Ara as the High Priestess. And I put her on Lady Guadalupe’s body. Um, I think Ara was from LA, too-

Maira: Yeah.

Sayuri: Yeah, Ara was from LA, because her grave is in San Dimas, which is where I used to work.

Maira: Oh really?

Sayuri: Yeah.

Maira: I’m going down for New Years and I’m going to try to visit it.

Sayuri: Yeah, I mean her metal plaque-

Maira: It’s got a photo of her.

Sayuri: Yeah and my roommate actually made the artwork that is now on her plaque on her grave.

Maira: Oh yeah, because it’s that poster, I have that in my room.

Sayuri: Yeah, so my roommate and I both make Ara posters. Um, but yeah so, she is embodied as the Lady Guadalupe, whom I love, and she’s standing behind a crescent moon. And um, the moon in a lot of cultures has to deal with death, and in a lot of cultures they believe when you die you go, you return to the moon. We’re from the moon, we’re like, weird space creatures. I kind of like that idea. And then, at the bottom, there’s a little baby kewpie, I love kewpie and-

Maira: Ara fucking loved kewpies.

Sayuri: She loved kewpies, kewpie’s here, you know, with its wings, supporting everyone, and then there’s little rainbows and clouds. Ara was a huge supporter of the queer community, and that was, I think, really amazing. Um, and this is my interpretation… And actually, if you look closely, there are 36 stars, for the 36 people who died in that fire. So, there’s lots of little tricks in there. But yeah so, this I will have at EBABZ. So, I’ll have this at EBABZ, and you can get one for free, or you can donate, get one for a donation, and I’ll give all the money, 100% of the proceeds to EBABZ. So that they can get their space for next year. So, you know, if you like art, if you like EBABZ, um, pick up a poster, throw a few bucks my way, and um yeah, get some cool art. And support the zine community.

Maira: Yeah, um.

[36:35, indistinguishable]

Sayuri: I got it, I got it.

Maira: It’s just been moving up and down all day and I’m totally okay with it.

Sayuri: It’s okay.

Maira: I, so we’re currently sitting at my kitchen table, which is a 6 by 3 folding table, commonly used at zine fests, um, because I moved and we didn’t have a lot of money for a new table, but I was like, “Multi-purpose! Let’s get a zine table!” So this is where I do most of my crafting, and I have this poster that I just have above my craft table that um, because I like to think of, “What Would Ara Do?” when I’m making stuff. Um, I made a zine about her, um, Sgraffito opened the Ara Jo Zine Library a few months ago, um, and they were like, “If you have zines about Ara, if you have zines for Ara, bring them to this space.” And it was really cool, and…

Sayuri: Lani is here!

Maira: Lani? Hey, Lani.

Sayuri: Hi Lani!

Maira: Hey, everybody.

Sayuri: Oh, hey everyone, hey Gabby.

Maira: For everybody watching, Meredith and Jackie and Charissa.

Sayuri: Hi everyone, thanks for joining us.

Maira: Um, and we went and I made a zine about Ara, and one of the things I wrote about… So I wrote the zine using this pen that Ara gave me for my birthday. Hey, Poliana! And, it’s one of those pens where you can change the ink color, and when my own house burned down earlier this year, two of the things that I made sure I grabbed when we were allowed back in the house after everything was soaked were my pin, my Ara pin that I made for the memorial, um, right after the fire, and then pen that she gave me. And I do most of my special zine projects with that pen, and I hold it very, very close to my heart. Um, yeah she gave me a pen for my birthday and she made the next EBABZ planning meeting like an unofficial birthday party for me and we had ice cream for breakfast and she was all, “I’ve always wanted to have a party with ice cream for breakfast!” Yeah, she was very stoked.

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: And she just pumped me full of ice cream at like, ten AM. Um, because that’s just who Ara was… amazing, that’s who Ara was, just amazing.

Sayuri: Mhm

[Maira sighs]

Maira: So if you’re not doing anything today, and even if you are, think about your friends, and think about how much you love them, and tell them you love them, and hold them close. And think about all the amazing things that you can create together. Um, yeah.

Sayuri: Yeah, yeah that’s great.

[Sayuri laughs]

Maira: Those are my words of wisdom. Um, yeah, I’m probably, I actually live near Ghost Ship now, where Ghost Ship was, and I’m probably going to go by today. I’ve never been but I’ve looked for it, obviously not very hard because I didn’t find it, but I think I’m ready today to go, and I’m just going to pay my respects. We lost 36 really amazing, amazing creative people in that fire, and while, you know, we focused on one of them today, there’s thirty five other beautiful, beautiful, creative – I keep saying that – but you know it was freaks and weirdos in the best possible way.

Sayuri: It was, yeah, it was.

Maira: Um, do you have anything that you’d like to plug?

Sayuri: Um, no. Well, EBABZ. Everyone should come to EBABZ, I know there’s a lot of stuff going on that weekend, there is Magic Makers happening, which is the queer healing fest, which is happening at the Humanist Hall-

Maira: December 9th and 10th, so Saturday and Sunday.

Sayuri: There’s EBAB happening on the 9th.

Maira: On the 9th.

Sayuri: And there’s also-

Maira: Max’s Garage Print Sale?

Sayuri: Yeah, there’s also… Ok Gabby, I’ll plug my zine too. Um, there’s also Max’s Garage Print Sale happening in Berkeley on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I think it’s the first time they’re doing all three days, so it’s a really great… I’ll have some of my prints there too, but it’s a really great place to pick up really affordable, great art, by artists living in the Bay. So go support your community, get your friends some art this year. One last plug, you should check out Ritual once it’s done at EBABZ. I’m also going to try to do some relatials with my friend Gabby Lala, and she’s giving me a lot of good feedback right now, thanks Gabby. Gabby and I are going to team up, she’s probably going to play some sitar… Gabby? Maybe some sitar? Yes?

Maira: I see some hearts.

Sayuri: So, there’s going to be some sitar music, I might lead a little ritual, and I’ll be selling these zines. So, come support your local artists, and um, the zine community. And I guess, I hope that everyone can be really kind and loving and compassionate today, well every day, but especially today.

Maira: Especially today and the next few days.

Sayuri: Yeah.

Maira: One last memory I have of last year is um, the big memorial at Lake Merritt.

Sayuri: Mhm, yep.

Maira: One thing that really stuck out… I pass Lake Merritt a lot because I live in Oakland. But every time I pass by, I don’t know what that area is called, with the pillars and stuff.

Sayuri: I don’t know what it’s called, but I know what it is, with the pillars.

Maira: Yeah, the pillared area at Lake Merritt, if you’re familiar, they had a bunch of glow sticks in the trees. And every time I see a glow stick now, I think of Ara and I think of that night and everyone just kind of like, coming together and crying together and hoping that this never happens again. And you know, like, I don’t know, people coming together. I’m starting to cry. Community is so important to zines and friendship and art, and I really want to stress that focus on these things, find these things, find your community, find your freaks and weirdos, and stick by them, and tell them you love them, a lot, all the time, because you never know what’s going to happen.

Sayuri: We love you everyone who joined us.

Maira: So we recorded this live on Facebook, and-

Sayuri: Why don’t you tell people where they can find the podcast.

Maira: Yeah, so podcast is going to be up on Libsyn, and I think it’s going to go up on Spotify and iTunes, I’m going to post a bunch of links, Gabby Lala you are totally correct, we should not wait for bad stuff to happen to come together.

Sayuri: Yeah.

Maira: And I think people take that for granted, until bad stuff happens, and then we come together and we’re like, “Ah, never again!” So hopefully this time it sticks. East Bay Alternative Book and Zine Fest, next Saturday, um, I’ll actually be recording the podcast live, probably not broadcasting live, but recording the podcast at the fest, and releasing it a couple days later. So look out for the next episode of Long Arm Stapler.

Sayuri: Yay!

Both: Signing off.

Maira: Bye everybody!

Sayuri: Bye!

[thanksjro]

The Mystery of the Transformer Decoys, Parts 1-3: A Whodunnit Adventure

This isn’t exclusively a Roberts’ publication. There were a lot of folks on this one, actually. Of course the first collaborative effort I cover here has five people on it for the writing alone, not to mention the art credits.

I’ll be going through everything, of course, because it wouldn’t make sense not to, and also because it’ll be interesting to look at how all these young writer’s styles are going to play together.

And you read that right, Pounce and Wingspan are in this. They were in Liars, A-to-D- Pounce was holding the Galvatron puppet- and Eugenesis as minor characters. I’m excited to get a little more of their characterization.

Now, without further ado, let’s get into The Mystery of the Transformer Decoys.

There he is, our main character- Nightbeat! Standing at over 90 feet tall and wearing the largest trenchcoat this side of Alpha Centauri, our boy’s well on his way to the robotic equivalent of lung cancer as he watches Sideswipe breakdance in an attempt to appease this god of detective prowess. Megatron might be looking to kill him, but’s he’s going to have to try a lot harder to bring this big guy down.

We get a little message from our ‘zine organizer and editor, Richard Ahern, on the nature of putting a thing like this together.

Good on you for sticking to it, Ahern.

Part 1 of our story is written by Martin McVay; we open on a scene in the Celestial Spires, where Nightbeat and a co-conspirator are dealing with the spoils of Nightbeat’s most recent case- twenty turbo-fox brains on a rope, glowing with residual Matrix energy. Someone paid Nightbeat to find these things. Right off the bat, we’re getting weird. I dig it.

As the co-conspirator checks the goods for any alarm systems or bombs, Nightbeat stares out the window and muses on the way life is at present, with the war looming in the skies of Cybertron, ever present. He notices a light on in the tower across the way- strange, given that it’s late as shit. Before he can investigate further, Getaway snaps him out of his concentration, having finished with the brain chips.

Yeah, Getaway. Relax, he isn’t a completely morally-bankrupt bastard in this- that’s strictly an IDW thing.

By the time, Nightbeat’s gone back to the window, the light is out.

Part 2, written by Ahern, takes place a few weeks after Part 1, with the high-ranking Autobot who employed Nightbeat breaking out the death threats if he doesn’t get those skulls he paid for. It turns out these skulls have a sort of power to them, the sort that makes one loathe to part with the things once they’re in their possession. Still, Nightbeat is nothing if not a professional, and finally makes his way over to Wingspan’s base of operations.

The exchange is made, and Wingspan invites Nightbeat to take in the view from the roof.  

As Nightbeat leaves, we get the perspective of an onlooker- Pounce- who takes in the scene with glee, having been the one to set up the whole “problem” Nightbeat had been hired to handle, at Wingspan’s behest. He’s less gleeful to find that the guy he hired to tail Nightbeat isn’t terribly good at his job, seeing as he can, well, see him. He may end up having to kill Nightbeat if if he doesn’t get his act together, but that’s life, I guess. He then pulls the skulls from a case and throws them around his neck like a macabre string of Mardi Gras beads.

It was at this point I stopped what I was doing and made a sandwich to make sure my blood sugar hadn’t suddenly dropped, because things got sort of confusing, narrative-wise, and I legitimately couldn’t tell if it was a writing issue or the fact that all I’d eaten in the last 24 hours was a single bowl of shrimp linguini.

Then I came back, tried again, and determined that it was a bit of both.

In the middle of this part, we get some classic magazine advertising action, which helps clear up a bit of the confusion.

There’s a full-page ad for Transformers Junk Files, another ‘zine, this one being a TMUK writing anthology.

On the other page we get a character synopsis for Pounce, Wingspan, and Circuit, who we haven’t met yet in this story. We’ll get to him in a bit.

Turns out Pounce and Wingspan are clone brothers.

Yep. Clone brothers.

(Their robot modes are pretty much identical.)

No, see, here’s the thing: these are actually established characters within the Transformers franchise. The only reason I didn’t catch it on my read-through of Eugenesis is because I was basing my interpretation of the characters on what was presented to me in Liars, A-to-D, where Pounce looks like this:

And there isn’t an ounce of kibble visible to tell me he turns into a friggin’ big cat. I just figured that Liars Pounce and puma Pounce were separate entities. It’s not like these guys are huge players in the cartoons or Marvel comics- they were in a single episode of the original 80’s show.

Regardless, it would seem that Wingspan is not who he presents himself to be to Nightbeat, and that the Decepticons just got their hands on something very mysterious and very powerful.

Part 3, written by Charles Ellis, follows Nightbeat as he muses on Wingspan’s threat.

Well, that’s… ominous.

Things are back to status quo for our good detective, until he’s brought on to solve a murder- excuse me, a cybercide. He arrives on the scene, and the scene is simply doused in mech-fluid.

No, mech-fluid is not at all similar to man-juice. It’s basically blood.

Nightbeat asks just who the hell got offed, and the current consensus seems to be that he was a member of the special branch of Security Forces- robots so deep undercover they practically don’t exist.

Nightbeat takes in the carnage, and quickly formulates a hypothesis based on the damage to the body, the destroyed computer, and the pain chips he’s found on the floor.

In a brief aside, Nightbeat laments on the fact that he has no alt-mode- they’re a distinctly war-centric thing in the Marvel continuity- as he drives down the road in an honest-to-god jalopy. Then he sees Megatron, and that kind of ruins his day.

The plot catches up to Circuit as Nightbeat confronts him, demanding answers, seeing as he’s working with just about every mob in Iacon.

Circuit is an Autobot known for trying to cut a deal with everyone he comes into contact with. Deals that solely benefit him. He doesn’t have an alt, but he does have a pretty sweet ride that turns into an exosuit when needed. If you read IDW’s Robots in Disguise, you’ll remember him as the reporter who shows up repeatedly in the story there.

With a little moolah flashed his way, Circuit lets slip that he heard about someone seeing “Meggy” at a place called Slammer’s. It’s all he’s got, but Nightbeat’s trying to stay optimistic and heads out to investigate.

[houseofvans]

WORKSHOP SHOUT OUT | SKATEISM | VANS US OPEN

It’s the last weekend of the Vans US Open of Surfing, but we’re not ready to go just yet! 

We’ve still got some of our favorite workshops over the week to share –like the fun folks over at SKATEISM who hosted a zine making workshop at Van Doren Village. We caught up with Tobias from SKATEISM to find out what folks created, more about the zine making process, and what special gift they're giving out on this final weekend. 

Introduce yourselves and tell us a little bit about Skateism. My name is Tobias Coughlin-Bogue, and I’m the online editor for SKATEISM. The magazine was founded by Christos “Moch” Simos and Oisin “Osh” Tammas in Athens. It began as just a little local Athens skate blog in 2012, but when Osh signed on they started doing more English-language posts and international coverage. Moch is one of the only out skaters in Greece, and at some point he and Osh realized that the stories they were most interested in telling centered around that… as well as some other areas of skateboarding they felt had been neglected like skate charity, global scenes, and women’s skateboarding. They also realized they wanted to make a magazine, as a place for underrepresented populations in skateboarding to see themselves in a proper print publication. Two years and four issues later, that’s exactly what they’ve done and we’re very proud to present Issue #4 as the Pride issue, focusing on the experiences of LGBTQ+ skaters.

Take us through your workshop and what were you doing with attendees at the Vans US Open? Essentially we facilitated everything to make a zine except shooting photos or binding the final copies. We had prints of images on hand for people to cut and glue onto cardstock, creating what’s called a “master” page. Masters are what zinemakers make photocopies of that they then bind together into their final zine. We started the workshop by talking a little bit about what zines are and why we think they’re so cool. We covered the zinemaking process, and then dived right into it.

What about zinemaking do you think is super fun and accessible? Zinemaking was a fundamental part of the pre-internet skate culture. While it isn’t exactly a necessity anymore, when it comes to communicating our own unique visions of skateboarding it’s still super fun to do. It forces you to take all the things that catch your eye at an event like the US Open, that might be a quick Insta story or something, and put them all down on a page together in a thoughtful way. Plus we like writing about skating, and zines incorporate a lot more text than some of the forms of storytelling we do on social media these days. 

As far as being accessible, well zines were kind of the social media in skateboarding (and punk and queer scenes too) before social media existed. They were cheap to make and there was a broad network of people sharing and exchanging them around the country, all interested in the same kind of subcultural topics. If you had an idea you wanted to share, you could just paste the images and words that capture it best to some backing paper and get to photocopying. Then mail it out to a distro or drop it off at the skate shop and — boom — you’re a publisher. 

Obviously a lot more work goes into what we do with something like SKATEISM, which takes hours and hours of reporting and editing and designing to make, but I at least got into the world of skate media via zines, and I have a huge soft spot for them. For what I do, and what a lot of people getting into media these days do, learning to publish fast and loose is actually really helpful, because that’s the pace digital media operates at.

What type of materials did you have on-hand for folks to work with? We shot a few photos of the first weekend of the event on Kodak Fun Savers (a very accessible and enjoyable way to source art for your zine!), and made photocopies of the best exposures. Plus, we had copies of some pages from past issues of SKATEISM… And of course all the scissors, glue, card stock, staplers, and other stuff folks needed to put together their own master pages. We encouraged attendees to supplement the images we’ve provided with writing and drawing that documents their own experience at the event!

Are there any rules to zinemaking? Have a good time doing it and don’t be hateful. That’s about it.

Any tips you’ve learned over the years for readers who may want to try creating a zine on their own? Just start doing it. To borrow a concept from Ira Glass, you know what you like to see on the page, so keep trying until the stuff you make starts to look like that. Don’t stress out too much if it doesn’t work out at first. Technically speaking, it’s really important to think in terms of spreads (two individual pages facing each other is one spread), and understand that a magazine is essentially a bunch of sheets of paper stacked up, stapled, and folded in half. Making sure that the individual pages in the spreads line up correctly can be tricky, so it might help to take a bunch of blank sheets of paper, bind them, write page numbers on them, then remove the staples and use them as a template for what to paste on each master page as you’re working.

What other zine techniques can people incorporate besides cutting and pasting? Doing it by hand is obviously the classic method, and will get you the most zine scene cred. But I am not ashamed to admit that, after two issues of cutting and pasting my first zine, I started scanning my photos and putting it all in InDesign. There is no shame in using layout software, and it will give you a whole new appreciation for how much thought and effort goes into every single print publication you ever read. It’s not just what they’re writing and which photos they’re publishing, but where on the page that stuff is, where it is in relation to the other stuff, what color and font things are, what angles they’re tilted at, what the background is, and so on... It’s definitely a different look and feel than handmade, but now that design software is so accessible, we think it’s every bit as DIY.

What did participants create and walk away with after the workshop? Well, besides hands on experience making zine master pages, we’re going to take our favorite masters and make a limited run of a compilation zine to give out on the final weekend of the event. 

So we’d like anyone who enjoyed the workshop to come back and grab a copy of that! And failing that, just a better understand of the zinemaking, DIY ethos that skateboarding was built on. Skateboarders have always made their own spots, their own rules, and their own fun. That definitely applies to their media too.

Who are some of your favorite zine makers? In the areas we’re focused on, you can’t not mention Xem Skaters by the Swedish nonbinary skater Marie Dabbadie. They’ve been making a rad, unapologetically genderqueer zine for years, and have done loads to change the conversation around gender in skateboarding. Of course, The Skate Witches are killing it too. In terms of general zines that I like, I grew up volunteering at the Zine Archive and Publishing Project in Seattle, which had copies of really rare ‘90s skate zines like Pool Dust, so I tripped out on those a lot growing up. Not ‘cause I’ve ever actually skated a real pool, just because they had this really scrappy, no bullshit aesthetic and made skateboarding look so cool. 

Recently, I was on a team for Thrasher’s “Zine Thing” Challenge in Seattle, which gave people two weeks to shoot a zine with Fun Savers; two weeks to do writing, editing, and layout; and then gave awards in different categories. Looking through the compilation book of all the entries still blows my mind. It’s a great reminder that skateboarding is full of cool, creative people, and everyone has a wildly different experience of it. I still can’t pick a favorite, although Leo Bañuelos' ’Skaters in Drag’ article is pretty legendary.

Three words that describe what Skateism is all about? The underground and overlooked. Sorry that's four!

Who or what were you most excited to check out at the Vans US Open? Personally, I’m excited to finally skate Cherry Park (nearby). But that’s just because my joints are falling apart and I can only skate low ledges. At the Open, I was excited to see all the pros skate the course, especially the women. Women’s skateboarding has been growing at an insane pace in the last few years, and the level of talent is out of control. When I started skating, I never thought I would see little girls back-smithing huge hubbas and female pros filming back-tail-kickflip-outs for their video parts, but here we are. The rate of progression is so exciting to me, and I feel like people will definitely be throwing down for the event.

FOLLOW SKATEISM | WEBSITE | INSTAGRAM

[zenonaa]

Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987960

Comments: I wrote this as a bday fic for Fukawa! While there is referenced TogaFuka, the focus is on Fukawa’s backstory/development. There’s a zine going on about characters’ growth, but I didn’t apply for it after much consideration. ^^ Still, this idea sat with me, and I decided to write it for today.

Listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H10mhHNW1Rs for the mood and for the song that the fic is named after. This makes it the third fic I’ve written named after a song by The Mountain Goats.

There is a lot of one-sided talk about past abuse, FYI.

***

Her story didn’t begin on a train. It could be traced back to Touko’s childhood, to her birth, to her conception. Further. Far, far back. To when her parents met, to when they were her age, or even younger. Whatever made them the way they were, how she remembered them.

However, at that moment, Touko was on a train, hunched up sitting on a patchy purple seat. Thoughts whirled in her head, stirred rigorously, so thick that she could barely breathe as her knuckles turned white on the stanchion beside her. She sat with an unoccupied seat beside her, duffel bag pulled onto her lap, graciously lent by Aoi Asahina. Ever since she had sat down about three hours ago, she hadn’t really moved. Sometimes, her feet shifted so her toes pointed inward, only to drift and face out again, and sometimes, Touko twitched as she cleared her throat and her gaze would flicker.

Her clearest memory of being on a train was coming back from Shikoku on a pitch black night, teeth chattering, head pounding, the smell of blood hanging in her nose from the scissors in her bag that she planned to bury in her garden when she finally got home. While the woman, most likely a mother, who helped her to the station some time after Touko stumbled out of an alley, didn’t treat Touko as anything but a lost little girl, Touko remembered feeling like everyone stared at her, constantly, as she sat alone on the train, and even now, on this train, she felt like people were secretly watching her.

No, Touko had never liked trains. She breathed in a vinyl odour.

Eventually, the train stopped for a second time. Everyone rose except Touko, but after a delay, she stood up too. Touko trooped out of the train, just one of the crowd, swept up by a rush of people.

Stairs led up, up off the drab station, and after a series of grey corridors, she reached some gates. She inserted her ticket. The machine spat it out on the other side and she passed through. Her heart bumped around in her throat and she finally stepped out into evening’s birth. Overhead, the sky was a gradient between deep blue and rusty red, with yellows and a slither of green nestled between them.

Had it not been for a gust of wind, she might have stared up for longer. Touko jutted her head forward and took off sluggishly. Though a lot of the shops that she had known were long since replaced, boarded up in cases, and the hard pavement underfoot beared cracks that she didn’t know, only their predecessors, long gone, she recalled the layout of the streets. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been here for a long, long time.

When she walked to school, she would have crossed the road here, for example, and then headed right, but Touko wasn’t going to her old elementary school. She veered right instead, and her feet dragged her through several streets until she arrived at a gradual slope of stone steps that led up to a foreboding metal gate.

At the bottom of the steps was a modestly size flower shop with a polished marble storefront and large, gaping windows. Pots of flowers littered the space just outside, trying their best to brighten the scenery. Touko didn’t smile. With hardened features, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

A bell jingled. Inside were even more flowers, but also boxes stacked on top of each other, and on one wall hung a framed painting of a mother and daughter, presumably. There wasn’t much space to maneuver around in, but Touko didn’t have to. Upon her entering, a woman turned away from a hanging pot, and her eyes glinted on her candle lit face.

“You,” the woman blurted. If Touko was to guess, she would place the woman about ten years older than her. The woman had beads in her hair and wore jeans dirty at the bottom. She lowered the watering can in her hold. “I’ve seen you before...”

Touko stayed silent. Let the woman piece the memories together by herself.

“You used to come here,” the woman said, and she approached slowly, staring like Touko was a trick of the light and could so easily disappear and become the shadows in the nooks of the room.

Neither spoke for a bit. She studied Touko some more, then nodded, mostly to herself.

“Yes. I saw you a few times when my mother worked here,” the woman explained. Her mother was the person in the framed painting with her teenage daughter, now the woman in front of Touko. “Wow, it’s been so long...”

A small smile split the woman’s face. Touko didn’t waver.

“I need to borrow a bucket and dipper,” said Touko. Her voice seemed loud in the otherwise still room. “I’d also like to buy some chrysanthemums.”

The woman blinked. “Huh? Oh, right, of course.”

She fetched them for Touko, who unzipped her duffel bag and got out her purse.

“No, no!” The woman lightly clutched Touko’s wrist. “It’s free, for you.”

Touko tensed.

“Do I look poor?” she snarled, and the woman cringed.

“It’s not that,” the woman said. “It’s just nice to see you. I didn’t know if I ever would again...”

“I don’t need your charity,” huffed Touko, but if the woman wanted to lend her the things for free, that was on her paycheck, not on Touko.

Accepting the woman’s offer, she slipped the flowers into her duffel bag carefully and zipped it up again.

“How have you been?” asked the woman.

“I’ve been. I am,” said Touko, and she left. The woman didn’t try going after her and probably didn’t hear the small “thanks” that Touko added under her breath.

With the bucket and dipper in her possession and the duffel bag strap slung over her shoulder, Touko returned to the steps and ascended. Touko trudged up and up, and she came upon the metal gate. She had visited this place in the past, a lot, and she saw it whenever her gaze became vacant and sometimes in her dreams. Before she opened the gate, she puffed out her chest, but the heaviness in her bones wouldn’t budge, her heart stayed lodged in her throat and the fog in her head didn’t disperse.

This, she would have to accept, because she would never be more ready than this, and the gate creaked as she opened it.

All around her were graves. They striped a huge, steep hillside. At this point, the numbness brought on by determination had started to dissolve, and Touko realised how tired she was. Breathing grated the back of her throat and walking forward, she discovered her feet had turned to sludge. The colour of the sky had deepened, and without the occasional lamp post, she would have struggled to differentiate between checkered slabs and grass. She wound through rows of headstones and statues, each marking life and death. To her relief, she didn’t see anyone - she was alone.

Mixed in with the relief, however, was a hard knot in her stomach. Her fingers itched. No one would see her leave if she slipped out before... before she... before. And while her friends knew her destination, she suspected that none of them would broach the subject until she brought it up. Not tactless Komaru, or nosy Yasuhiro, chatty Aoi, tense Kyouko, open Makoto, or enticing Byakuya Togami...

Touko licked her bitten lips and walked some more, stopping at a certain family grave, dirtied by loneliness and time, overgrown with weeds. It consisted of stone blocks closely packed together that reminded her of high rise buildings of different heights, low walls bordering the space allotted to it. Her legs creaked as she crouched down.

Shaking slightly, she set the bucket and dipper down and removed the duffel bag from her shoulder, fumbling a bit. She left the duffel bag on the ground and picked up the bucket and dipper again.

The grave towered over her, and for a moment, she felt like a child again. Or a stink bug, so easy to step on, and then to forget about after being stepped on. Touko steeled herself and stood up, then she began washing the grave. Water ran down stone, streaking it, staining it. Later, it would dry, and later still, it would become dirty again. Regardless, she cleaned it anyway.

She poured water over it several times. Then she put the bucket and dipper down, placed her hands together in prayer, and she said, “Father. Mothers...”

A pause. Touko scraped her teeth against her lips, panting already, and clenched and unclenched her fists. Multiple times. Her mouth had become very, very dry. Many years had passed, but she could still remember them clearly. One mother liked her hair short, always wore makeup and preferred western breakfasts, while the other was younger and had lighter brown streaks in her hair, and she would always make an eastern breakfast. Then, there was the father, with his square jaw, thin lips and bushy eyebrows over beetle eyes. Mostly, she remembered his rotten teeth, and his hands, and his...

“I’m here,” Touko said. Her nails dug into her palms. “I’m still here.”

They didn’t answer. Even if they could, would they have recognised her? She wasn’t a wispy little thing that they could play and have temper tantrums with anymore, who would keep their secrets behind tight lips and wear long skirts and sleeves to hide bruises and handprints, both visible and not. The marks that she couldn’t see, just feel, wouldn’t wash off in the shower, not that she could ever stomach taking those. Being naked, being exposed, like that, her permanently dirtied body on display. No, she was taller now, not just in height but how she stood too.

“I’m helping start up a school with my friends,” she said, voice quivering. A smirk still made its way onto her lips. “And they’re real friends, not... not like the paper dolls that you ripped up, or the one you thought I made up that was really my alter. Or the people in my school who used to lead me on, make fun of me when they thought I couldn’t hear or see them... who would use me and throw me away.”

Like a girl who pretended to be her friend, only to discover who Touko had a crush on and blackmail Touko into giving her money in exchange for her silence. To get the money, Touko sold her lunch, and when the school found out that Touko wasn’t eating and told her parents, they punished her. Touko wasn’t smiling now. She could remember that traitor hanging out with another crowd afterwards. They would ask Touko if they could set her on fire, but if they laughed when they said it, which they did, that made it okay.

Her fists trembled.

“Who I’m with now... they're not just my friends, they’re my family,” said Touko, jaw clenched, and her breathing hitched. She almost let out a sob, but she continued talking, sneering. “They’re the only family I’ve ever had. You... You three... you were terrible guardians. Terrible, vile, despicable people.”

Dead people couldn’t grab her shoulders and shake her. They couldn't slap her, or lock her in a closet without food, or bang her head against a wall or burrow between her legs. To call them monsters would be a compliment. Monsters were imaginary, misunderstood. These were people, and it was dangerous to acknowledge them as anything but.

“No one should go through what you made me go through. I thought... I used to think it was normal. Or that... that I was a bad, difficult child, and that’s why...”

She nearly choked on a sob.

“But... after spending time with people who do care about me, I accept... that I was a child, no more, no less, just a child, and that you didn’t love me.”

Despite what the father said when the lights were out, when her mattress grunted, when they ‘played’ together. He just liked using her. The mothers never pretended to care about her like he did. She didn’t know if that was better or worse. Syo had taken care of Touko a lot more than any of them had, and Syo had been created from unspeakable evil. They all just liked the money she made, that she used to bargain with them so she could move away for high school and live by herself so long as she paid them. None of them cared about her writing, her passion, her escape, of course. Not like Makoto, who read her I-Novel first, and her other friends, who read it later, especially Byakuya, who even went on to read more of her works.

While she could still dream, still breathe, she could never truly be rid of those three. Even now. But better days were more frequent these days than earlier in her life.

“My friends... can get on my nerves at times... It took me a while, but I know they care about me, really. They don’t just tell me, but they show it too, and it took me so long to appreciate it because of you. The abuse you put me through... didn’t make me stronger, like the hollow movie plots society churns out. I was always strong. I had to be, to survive.”

They still didn’t respond. Even if they were alive, Touko didn’t know if they would have. She tried to imagine what they would do. Probably act like she was overreacting, or lying. Perhaps they would slap her. Or, maybe, they wouldn’t be able to say anything like they couldn’t speak now.

“I survived, and I learned what real love is.” Her words tripped over each other as she heaved them out, but she still continued talking. Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t wipe them away. “I learned that everything you did wasn’t right. I thought love and friendship would just cause pain in the end and lashed out at it, but I learned that those things can make me stronger. I opened up, and I went from having no friends, from being hated and hating the world in response, to supporting and appreciating others who deserve it and receiving the same back. I learned about love and friendship from my former classmates, my dear friend, Komaru... and my boyfriend, Byakuya Togami.”

Touko shuddered and gulped. Her lips twisted as she regarded their grave.

“Yes... I have a boyfriend. Does that make you jealous?”

That was directed at all three of them.

“I used to hope that the right person would come along, a prince or a white knight like from some kind of fairytale, or from the sorts of books I’m known to read and write, and then my life would get better. That’s what I believed. But... But I learned to fight for my love, to seek it out, not sit idly, yearning, and submit myself to my demons.”

Indeed, she had rescued Byakuya from his imprisonment in Towa City, and since then, she had given her all to achieve her goals, to be dependable and help the world. Her fantasies about Byakuya saving her from her despair shifted to ones of Touko protecting him. He inspired her to get stronger, for them, for herself, for those she held dear. Not just for her romantic partner, but her friends too, like Komaru. By the end of the mutual killings, Touko had started to consider letting other people in, not just Byakuya, and Komaru, loyal, bubbly Komaru, she had gone and shown Touko that friendship was important as well, and she also meant the world to Touko.

Without realising, Touko had set an example for Byakuya. Proof of the power of love and friendship. When they got together, she had worried that she wouldn’t be able to write anymore, as she had written from her misery, from her fantasies of a better life. However, she had found that she still could write, maybe even better than before, projecting her love for Byakuya into different universes where things played out in varying ways, with all their different nauences, and in the end, the protagonist would reach that love, would embrace it. Despite all her daydreams, being with him in real life had been overwhelming at first, but they walked through it together, hand-in-hand.

“He’s rough around the edges, like me, and though my heart knew we belonged together, the course hasn’t already been smooth. We both... didn’t understand love, properly. Weren’t raised with it. But... But we both get each other. We’re both strong. And he doesn’t touch me after I say no, or hurt me, or want me for my earnings and he doesn’t gaslight me or... or anything like that.”

She covered her mouth and retched. Even now, Touko saw the father in her nightmares, in the shadows of a room, or when she heard that tune he used to whistle. With a painful twinge in her chest, she straightened.

“We’ve been exposed to love, come to feel it ourselves. One day, I will marry him, and we will have children, and I will love him and them, and I will not love you.”

They wouldn’t be stung by that, but her heart gave a skip of pleasure at the thought of the mothers widening their eyes, rendered speechless, and the father’s face contorting in pain. Really, they would just be angry, but she wasn’t scared, because they couldn’t hurt her anymore. She doubted they would apologise, but she didn’t need them to.

“I’m happy now. I’m still here,” she said. “And you’re dead. So... it looks like...”

A humourless grin crept onto her face as she lowered her hand from her mouth.

“... I win.”

Touko didn’t say anything else for a while, standing almost as still as the stone grave. Then her smile crumbled and tremors set in. She took a drag of cold air.

“Anyway, I came here... to see someone else. If not for them being here, I wouldn’t have come at all,” she revealed. Touko drew closer to the grave and skimmed through the names on it, staying on one in particular. One that had been engraved onto it the last time she visited this place.

Born on X. Died on X. The same day. Their birthday.

“My sister,” she said softly. She rested her palm flat on the stone. “Eiko Fukawa.”

When Touko learned of her half-sister many years after she had been and gone, a spark of life, Touko had often wondered what having a sibling would have been like. The closest she had was Komaru, and in a way, Syo. Part of her thought that it would have been a comfort, to have someone going through the same thing, to support her in solidarity, but she couldn’t wish the pain that she went through to be placed upon another.

She bent down and unzipped her duffel bag. From it, she retrieved candles, which she set on the grave and lit. Then she placed the flowers from the shop and a small bottle of milk on the ground in the grave, and she clapped her hands together in prayer, muttering under breath.

What she said was for only herself and sister to know, and as she came to an end, her shoulders shook more, and by the conclusion, her eyes stung. Touko didn’t know how long she stood there for, but it felt like both a long time and no time at all. With a sniffle, she pulled out her phone. Evening had passed its prime, matured into night, but before she saw the exact time, she saw she had texts from her friends. A missed call from Komaru. She called back.

The call connected.

“You called me?” asked Touko, croaking, and she paused, listening, and slowly walked away with the phone held to her ear. “I’m... I’m going to be okay... I’ll phone Byakuya when I’m closer... I’ll let you know too. I’ll see you both soon.”

In the darkness, the candles burned bright, but eventually, they extinguished, but Touko continued shining.

[penumbrazine]

Pre-orders for the zine close tomorrow, so  for everyone reading this at home, you can buy the zine HERE or enter our final giveaway of a charm pack+art prints HERE. Charm packs are almost gone, so if you want one, now is the time to buy!

I learned a lot, certainly, on the wonderful experience that was this zine. I’d never run a zine before, and for that reason alone I’m so thankful to everyone who has put their faith and support into this project, because I really could not have made this a success without everyone who gave me advice, helped spread the word about it, applied as an artist or writer, and bought the zine. I wanted to focus on administration and make sure the zine was the best possible experience for all involved, and I really hope I did that. There have been a few hiccups, but overall this has gone above and beyond what I expected. It’s been such a joy watching everyone’s gorgeous art come together, and as each progress update came through I quite literally cried with excitement at how good they all looked! I can’t wait to do this again with another zine next year and get to really put what I’ve learned through this one into practice.

I first found The Penumbra Podcast through a piece of Jupeter art, which led me after a bit of digging to art of Rita, Sasha, and Mick. Listening to TPP has been the highlight of my year since I found it, as it combines film noir, sci fi, and LGBT representation, three of my favorite things that I’ve never seen combined before. It was the storytelling that really drew me in, and the amount of emotion that the VAs could pack into what they were saying really made it feel real to me. The writing of the characters and how they played off of each other made me want to keep listening and hear as much as I could about them. And of course, between the comedic lines that kept me rolling were moments of intense emotion and feeling that have made me cry more than once. For someone who has trouble sitting still and listening to anything at all, especially podcasts, I was amazed to find that I listened to all of season one in two days. Even now I put on the original Murderous Mask episodes to listen to while I’m cooking or doing dishes so I can relive the joy of listening to it for the first time all over again. I wanted to create this zine so that I could spread the joy and excitement I got from seeing that first piece of art before and again after listening to the podcast, and the joy I get now seeing art of any of the wonderful characters I’ve fallen in love with brought to life.

I wanna end this post with a thank you to the wonderful creators of @thepenumbrapodcast for creating this podcast and letting us create this zine. Every episode is a joy to listen to, and I’m always at the edge of my seat wondering what’s next!

-Rafael

[khellamendra]

GAC Often Cost Too Much

This was my entry for a Side Character Appreciation contest on the Voltron Amino which I actually ended up winning. I had a lot of fun writing this and I love the characters in it. They don’t get enough love. Voltron in general has a lot of great side characters that I would have loved to see more of. I’ve seen zero evidence that Rolo made it to the last season which makes me really sad.

This stands on its own as is but I plan to expand it. I’ll do it after October. I have like six other challenges to get through this month plus a Zine I’m participating in. Story is under the cut, enjoy!

Title: GAC Often Costs Too Much

Characters: Rolo, Nyma, Beezer, Te-osh, Matt

Pairings: None officially. I honestly love Rolo/Matt though.

Word Count: 4,334

“I need a favor.”

Rolo took a deep swig from the bottle, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He had been doing his best to keep his head down and not drag attention to himself. Even his normally flirty companion had yet to leave the table except to score a few free drinks for them. Despite picking a table in the back of this dive hadn’t apparently been enough. He didn’t know how these people did it.

“We’re not joining your little group Te-osh.” he finally said, leaning back in his chair. Putting a hand behind his head, he gestured to their group with the bottle. “Actually takin’ a night off, for what that’s worth.” It wasn’t exactly a great idea to try and pilot a ship when you were trashed. He could do it, had done it in fact, but the repair cost had been enough that he promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. His dismissive attitude apparently wasn’t obvious enough as the feathered woman took over the empty chair, much to Nyma’s annoyance.

“I’m not here about that, not this time but the offer is open if you ever choose to take it.” She said evenly. Nyma rolled her eyes though Te-osh missed it, eyes focused on Rolo who was still just as uninterested. 

“So why are you here then?” Nyma scoffed at his question and crossed her arms. He shouldn’t be encouraging this but if there was one thing he knew about the rebel, it was that Te-osh was very focused. If they didn’t hear her out, she’d hang around or try again at the worst possible time. When she wanted something important then she got it. When she leaned in, he knew it had to be along those lines.

“Very soon, I will need some...cargo moved.”

There it was. “I don’t do live cargo that isn’t a bounty. Not since that Yalmor almost destroyed my cargo hold. The pay was not worth the clean up and the jerk tried to get out of paying. Didn’t appreciate having to wring it out of him.”

“I did.” Nyma said, snickering when he made a rude gesture at her.  

“This one should be much more behaved.” the rebel pushed. From the look on Nyma’s face, she obviously wanted him to say no. Taking another long drink, he sat the bottle heavily on the table.

“Tell ya what. I want to see this ‘cargo’ first and if it doesn’t look like too much trouble, I’ll say yes.” Rolo ignored the obvious and loud sigh from Nyma.

“You’ll say yes.” Te-osh said, standing up. “Stay in the Eluridan System. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.” She continued, dropping several GAC on the table before leaving without another word. Large fingers pulled the coins towards Nyma.

“I don’t like this, something about it feels off.” She said, idly starting to count them.

“I don’t either but after the Empire confiscated all our stuff, we could use the GAC.” He raised a brow as a smile finally came back to her face.

“Looks like the rest of the rounds are on her.”Nyma said, flipping a coin his way. Holding it up, he grinned.

“At least we know she’s good for it. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna say yes.”

“Of course not. Any thing the rebels want is a bad idea and we’re already barely getting by as it is. You know that we got lucky with Prorok right? If those Voltron jerks hadn’t been so trusting, we would have been locked away, or worse.” She said, waving someone down for their next order.

“If they had been a little more trusting we could have gotten away. They were pretty stupid.” Rolo offered with a shrug. “Either way all this business talk is killin’ my buzz.” He picked up the new bottle when it was sat down. “To the rebels, for their contribution to this round.”

Nyma grabbed hers. “And to several more!”

By the time the call actually came, they had forgotten about it. After dropping off a bounty at the closest outpost, they were all ready for some more downtime. Even Beezer looked ready or that could have been the new algorithms Rolo had installed a few quintant ago. As far as they were concerned, Beezer was a much a part of the crew as either of them. Not the best drinking buddy but great for flying their drunk butts around when necessary. Pushing the button, a familiar face popped up. “Yo Te-osh, I almost thought you might be dead. Congrats on another day.”

“Meet me on Varaden. One varga.”

Beezer gave a warning beep and Nyma frowned. “Varaden? That place is a dump and overrun with space pirates.” she said, sharing a look with Rolo.

“One varga.” Te-osh repeated before cutting the communication. Taking his hat off, he ran a hand through his hair.

“Rolo-”

“I know, I know.” He sighed.

“You’re not serious. Varaden doesn’t even have good booze.” She argued, crossing her arms. He laughed wryly. “True. Still, you know how she is and something about this whole thing has my interest piqued. What would she possibly risk bringing to Varaden of all places unless it was super illegal? Job like that’s expensive too.” He said, rubbing two fingers together with a grin.

“I suppose Beezer can keep the ship ready in case we have to make a break for it.” Nyma muttered, still not looking convinced but caving all the same. Rolo slipped the cap back on.

“That’s my girl, let’s go.”

Varaden was a damp and boggy world where it always seemed to be raining. Rolo thought he remembered hearing it use to be a more lush and sunny planet. At least until the Galra had gotten a hold of it and wiped out the natives. Space pirates had decided it was undesirable enough they could have it, which wasn’t a wrong assumption. The Galra had moved onto bigger prizes though some showed up now and then to slum it up. The weather always made his lower leg ache and the ground was unstable, filled with hidden sink holds just waiting to steal unsuspecting boots.

Shaking the water from their hoods, Nyma grumbled at her pants. The cloaks were heavy enough to keep them dry but no matter how careful you were, the mud always found a way to come with you. The bar was an even bigger dive than their last stop, noisy with laughter and at least one fight that was going on. A few glances came their way but everyone seemed more interested in their own companions or egging on the fight.

Nyma tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. There across the room he could see her, looking as calm and put together as she always did. It wasn’t until they got closer that Rolo realized she had something at her side. No on a second look it was actually someone, dressed in a brown cloak though he couldn’t make out any features with the hood up. Joining her, the person at her side was visibly startled and she put a had on their shoulder. “It’s okay, they are going to help.” Rolo was tempted to correct that they might help but bit his tongue. Even Nyma was silent on that front. “I need you to take him to these coordinates.” She said, inputting the information and sending it. They both pulled it up but it was Nyma who looked the most pleased at the GAC amount that came with it.

“I think I’m starting to warm up to this job after all.”

“Good. You’ll need to leave immediately.” Teo-osh stated, glancing around for the first time since the two of them had gotten there.

“Leave? We just got here.” Nyma whined and the other woman shook her head. “It needs to be now.” she repeated firmly. Scowling, Nyma played with the ends of her hair. Rolo knew that signal, one of many they had when discretion was the most important. Glancing to the left, he saw them, almost obscured by the crowd, bounty hunters, empire ones at that. He knew they weren’t here for either of them but that didn’t make him feel any better, not when he had a feeling who they were here for.

“Now you see why you have to leave now. There was only one before.” Te-osh’s voice cut  through his thoughts. Rolo sighed. There were currently four and the more time that passed, the more that would surely show up. “Well no fun for us tonight. I hate exercise too.” he grumbled. “Hey you.” Rolo finally addressed their far to quiet guest. “Hope you can run.”

The figure glanced up briefly, most of their face still hidden by the oversized cloak. “I-I can try.” The voice shook, sounding a lot younger than Rolo expected. This was not going to end well, he could already tell.

“No try, do. Otherwise I’ll owe our friend here a refund and I hate giving back good GAC. Get ready.” Leaning back in the chair suddenly, he bumped right into a short Unlilu who had been painstakingly carrying way more glasses than was safe or practical. Immediately sitting himself back up, the small action had been enough to put the poor fellow off balance and tumbling right into the neighboring table that was already well on their way to being drunk. The rowdy songs died the minute the drinks came down, drenching half the party and leaving only one very obvious culprit who was face first on the floor. The Unilu looked up just as the large hand came down, trying in vain to cover himself. The blow never happened as one of his larger companions came to his defense and just like that the fight was on.

“Now, go!” Rolo didn’t have to tell them twice, all of them jumping up at the same time and making a break for it just before the two large aliens fell on the table, still fighting one another as the rest of their respective crews joined in on the fun. Looking back, he saw their mystery guest lagging behind, the route he wanted to take blocked by the fight.

With no other choice the boy had to go the other way, frantically looking for the woman he had come with. More patrons were starting to crowd into the space, drawn in by the new entertainment. Holding the cloak tightly around himself, he caught a glimpse of purple and gold moving away from everything else. With no other choice he followed them, dodging various creatures and appendages. Never had he been more happy to be out in the humid and wet air, welcoming the sound of heavy rain. He might have enjoyed it more if he wasn’t standing in the middle of the muddy courtyard, still looking for any sign of Te-osh. The sound of someone shouting drew his attention and he looked back to see an unfamiliar alien pointing at him. That was all he needed to start running as fast as he could.  

The consistent rain and mud weighted Rolo and Nyma down but they couldn’t afford to stop. A sharp cry caught his attention and they looked back just in time to watch the small figure fall. Swearing in his own tongue, Rolo stopped. He should have just kept going. This wasn’t worth the GAC, the clean up, or the stress. He was not a good guy and yet here he was running the opposite way of a nice warm and safe ship, free of drama. Long arms easily picked up the bundle that thrashed in his grip. The extra weight caused his leg to sink in the mud and he cursed again. “Stop it, it’s me you idiot.” Pulling with all his strength, he was glad the boy (because surely someone this small was not that old), couldn’t see because he wasn’t sure he was going to get himself free. Reaching for his blaster, a shot came from behind and caught the first guy square in the chest. Nyma put her arm around his waist, helping him pull his foot free in time for him to shoot another one.

“The least this planet could have given me was a drink or five.” She grumbled before they started running and he managed a wry smile.

“I don’t think even that’s enough to be worth this.” He retorted. Shooting another one, it was enough to trip the other two long enough for them to get around the corner and slip into a nearby crumbling archway. Pressed up against the wall, they both held their breath as the sound of shouting and footsteps passed by. It wasn’t until they had faded that either of them thought to breathe again. Nyma cautiously looked around, purple eyes peering through the heavy rain. After several ticks she shook her head.

“A-are they gone?” The kid had hands wrapped around Rolo’s neck, face pressed to a shoulder. Rolo would feel bad for the kid if it wasn’t his fault this was happening.

“For the time being but they’ll circle back around eventually. If we don’t make a move soon, they’ll find our ship and stake it out.” Nyma said, pushing buttons on her communicator.

“Oh. I..um...I can walk now if you want.”

“No offense but you’ll just slow us down. I think I’ll just carry you. Not like you’re heavy or anything.” Rolo stated, peering out as well before readjusting his hood and heading out into the rain with Nyma in tow. A face pressed closer and he could feel a small body shivering against him. Apparently he weren’t built for this kind of weather, what a shock.

They didn’t have any problems until they got to the docks where more of those same people were hanging out. Rolo couldn’t help but think that was way to many for one measly kid. Keeping an eye out, they made their way as casually and stealthily to their ship as possible. They finally breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they stepped on board. “They aren’t going to try and stop us?” Rolo had almost forgotten about the burden he had been carrying, mind more on not getting caught.

“Nah this ship is registered as a cargo ship for the Empire. We can go wherever we want. Now if they had seen us gettin’ in it, that would be a different story.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth the small body tensed against him. “You’re with the Empire?”

Rolo rolled his eyes and practically dropped the boy, earning a startled yelp in the process as the kid got tangled in his own cloak. “If I was, I wouldn’t have carried your water logged butt this whole way. There were plenty of nice people out there just waitin’ to take you off my hands.” He said, pulling off his own cloak and hanging it up before heading for the cockpit, Nyma already ahead of him. “Better take yours off too. I don’t need whatever foreign germs you might have affecting us if you get sick.” Rolo said, flopping down in the chair and taking over for Beezer. They needed to get out of here before even thinking of cleaning up which he knew they were all dying to do. His companion could grumble all she wanted but she wasn’t the one that had to carry a wet and muddy kid around either.

They had just left Varden’s atmosphere when he heard their guest finally decide to join them. “Um do you happen to have something I can use to get cleaned up with? Sort of cold and...gross.” The soft voice asked, earning a chuckle from Rolo.

“That’s what you get for fallin’. I can show you where it is.”

“Hey ladies first!” Nyma protested, shooting Rolo an annoyed look which he ignored.

“Like we have any of those on this ship. Besides next checkpoint ain’t for another several varga. Beezer can handle this.”  Rolo turned around, smile turning into a frown as he got his first good look at their new charge. Something about the look on his face caught Nyma’s attention and she turned as well, swearing under her breath.

He had been right about their guest being a kid but he hadn’t expected a human kid with an all to familiar face staring back at him. If Rolo hadn’t already heard him speak, he might have wondered if they were the same person but no this obviously wasn’t one of the Paladins of Voltron. That wasn’t what had the both of them on edge, no the ragged purple and black outfit that clung to a too skinny and shaking frame was a big red flag.

(He’s an Empire prisoner.) Nyma said, switching her translator off. (She wants us to smuggle an Empire prisoner.)

(Which would explain our new friends.) Rolo stated.

(And not just any prisoner. Look at him, he has to be related to Voltron somehow. There wouldn’t be so many after him if he wasn’t important. We should drop him off on the nearest planet and be done with it. This is trouble that we don’t need.) She continued heatedly.

“Sorry did I do something wrong?” They both looked at the boy who had wrapped arms around himself in a vain attempted at warmth and comfort. Shaking his head, Rolo stood up.

“Nope, it’s cool. I’ll show you where to go so you can stop tracking mud everywhere.” Nyma scoffed and stood as well.

(Eventually our luck is going to run out. He’s not worth it.) She said, practically storming out of the cockpit. The kid had been quick to get out of her way, staring at the door she left through.

“Cool huh?”

“Yup. Now stop asking questions and follow me.”

Leading the boy through the ship, his companion was a little slower than he would have liked. That mostly had to do with the way he kept looking around in wonder at all the stuff they passed. Rolo didn’t think it was that interesting, the same typical stuff most ships had. Any modifications he had made over time were hidden and not completely legal. Then again nothing he did was ever completely legal. Stopping, he pointed at a door on the left. “That’s Nyma’s room. I would suggest you do not go in there for any reason. Fair waring.” Walking again, they went down another hallway before he pointed at a door. “That’s my room. For now you can have...” He thought about it before stopping again. “This one.” Pushing the button, the door slid open with a soft hiss. “Nothin’ fancy but probably better than what you had.” He said as the kid walked in, turning in circles as he looked around. “Get cleaned up, I’ll see if I can find something else for you to wear.”

“Thanks! Um..”

“Rolo. My name’s Rolo.” he said, watching as a smile finally appeared.

“I’m Matt. Thanks Rolo.” Such genuine cheerfulness just seemed so out of place with things the way they were. This kid had no doubt been through a lot and yet something as simple as this could make him smile. He wasn’t going to last long out here, Rolo decided as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah no problem. I’ll leave whatever I find on the bed.” With that he left the kid on his own to figure it out while he went down to the cargo hold to dig through his stash. What did humans even wear? The Paladins had some kind of uniforms on so that didn’t help. Not wanting to think to much on it, he grabbed a bunch of stuff. Matt seemed pretty close to an Unilu in shape, that was was probably good enough right? Dropping it off as promised, he could hear the sound of running water coming from the adjacent room and someone moving around. “Brought you stuff. If you need somethin’ else I’ll be in my room for a bit or the cockpit.”

“Cool thanks!” a voice called out and Rolo bit back a sigh. This kid was too much. Maybe Nyma was right after all. Shaking it off, he went back to his own room to finally get cleaned up. He made a face at the sound boots made as they came off. Moving his leg carefully he could feel the difference in the prosthetic, no doubt clogged with mud from when the foot had sank after he grabbed Matt. Just another thing on a long list of things he was not going to let bother him. Instead he washed himself off, dropped his clothes into the laundry tube and pulled on some new ones before sitting at the desk.

It was messy with various tools and parts on and around it with just enough of an empty space for him to work. Carefully removing the leg, he pulled a light closer, switching it on before assessing the damage. The outside had been cleared of mud but as he started to take it apart, his concerns were proven correct. The slimy mud really did know how to get everywhere. Grumbling to himself he set to work, rolling himself around as needed. When he checked the time, a couple of varga had passed but at least it was finished and he was more aware of how tired he was. Leaving the prosthetic on the table, he rolled himself over to the bed, making a deep noise of appreciation as he laid down, putting hands behind his head. He must have dozed off, woken up by the sound of his door opening. (Finally cool down and get your head on straight?)

“What?” Opening his eyes, the person in the doorway was most certainly not Nyma as he had anticipated. Instead it was the kid again wearing some of the clothing he had picked out. “What are you doing in here? Figured you’d be takin’ a nap after all this.” Matt moved far enough in the room for the door to shut behind him, fingers playing anxiously with the long sleeves of the shirt he had chosen. It took Rolo a moment to realized Matt had tied the second pair back. Matt must have picked up on what he was looking at because he started fidgeting more. “There was an extra pair of sleeves and I didn’t want them to get in the way so this is the solution I came up with. I did try to sleep but I couldn’t. Every time I do I just have nightmares.” After everything that had happened, Rolo should have guessed that would be the case. It wasn’t uncommon for sleep to be elusive. Even for him, though he didn’t need much sleep to begin with. Generally enough booze fixed that problem but sometimes that was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Focusing on the kid again, he realized that eyes were now fixed on his leg or rather where it should have been. “It needed a little maintenance after all that runnin’ around we did. Was too lazy to put it back on.” He had lost it too long ago to be hung up on it though it was amusing the way the kid got all shy again. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.” Rolo shrugged. “Don’t be, doesn’t bother me. Things like this happen.” He wasn’t prepared for the sad look that came across Matt’s face.

“It shouldn’t though.”   

“Maybe but it’s how it’s always been and always will be.” Loss was just a reality of the Galra Empire. Everyone knew that. Those that hadn’t lost anything would soon enough.

“It won’t be. Te-osh said there are people fighting against them and not just the rebels.” Rolo sucked in air through his teeth. Voltron had seemed so certain too but they had been less than impressive. Enough to beat a couple of low level bounty hunters who had gotten to cocky but not the entire Empire. Matt seemed pretty confident that he was right and as easy as it would be to prove him wrong, Rolo let it go. It wasn’t worth the fight or the headache, at least that’s what he told himself. Moving an arm from behind his head, he held it out to Matt. 

“Come ‘er kid. Before you fall asleep standing up.” Matt hesitated, obviously weighing his options before deciding to accept it. Maybe it should have seemed odd at how he curled up so easily against Rolo but considering he was a prisoner not so long ago, the comfort of another person had to have been scarce. It was obvious he didn’t want to be alone. “You seem pretty confident in all that.” Matt nodded. “I am and I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Matt huffed.

“It means I’m practically an adult by human standards.” Rolo hummed thoughtfully.

“Well I can’t prove you wrong so we’ll go with that. Kinda small though.” He grinned at the pout on the boy’s face.

“As if you have anything to compare it to. Besides puberty generally happens between 10 and 16 for guys. I’m just a late bloomer, probably because of all the trauma. I’ll hit a growth spurt soon.” It was a bit of a surprise how easily Matt could say all that so matter-of-fact.     

“You got me there. Now go to sleep.”  The big yawn was more than enough proof Matt needed it, and he curled up a little closer.

“Okay.” The room fell silent again and Rolo was convinced Matt had fallen asleep before his voice filled the room again. “Hey Rolo?”

“What?”

“Thank you.” Rolo fought off a smile at the word.  

“Go to sleep Matt.” A small nod was all he got before breathing slowed and evened out as Matt finally stopped fighting sleep. He sighed softly. The kid was giving him too much credit.

[c-rowlesblogs]

This was originally a reblog, but my internet connection dipped out as this amazing website was processing my post, so it never posted, and now I'm just making my own post.

This is my thoughts about the kids in fandom Discourse.

I really wonder how much of this "fandom should be by/for and prioritize kids" mode of thought is a product of the growing accessibility of the internet.

Like lots of kids throughout the ages, I was a preteen when I first found That show that pulled me towards wanting to make fanfiction and fanart. If it had been 2017, I likely would have started lurking on tumblr. However, it was 2003, and so the only internet community that I had the skills to access and participate in was a single forum on the official Nickelodeon website. A space designed to be exclusively for children.

A year later, I had discovered anime, and that meant no more safe, easily-accessed official forums. It meant leaving a neatly-manicured Kid Zone and venturing out into the Wild West of the wider early 2000's internet. It meant Geocities sites connected by webrings, like stops on an ancient and haphazardly-mainted trade network. To run a website back then, you needed to know how to code at least somewhat, and you needed to know how to deal with web hosting services and build networks with other fansites. The people who knew how to do all of that were, by and large, adults in their mid-20's and up.

Some of the people with the networking skills needed to maintain fansites had developed those skills writing and mailing zines, back in the dark days before public internet access. These people were even older.

Everyone knew that kids were getting into online fandom, too, of course. On websites, people used standardized citrus-themed content warnings for adult themes in their fanwork, and segregated more mature art and writing to separate pages from their all-ages-appropriate stuff. Even as a kid who quickly worked up the chutzpah to click through on a few of those spicy sour links, I appreciated the effort to help kids comfortably navigate fandom spaces primarily built by and for adults.

I really think that the number of younger people in online fandom increased as the skill levels needed to participate in it decreased. I remember discovering LiveJournal in high school, and feeling like I'd entered a bustling city after years of wandering desert paths from one village to another. There was so much of everything, all in one place. Now tumblr is filling that niche, serving as a hub for fandoms of all kinds, for better or worse.

It's no surprise at all that kids are becoming more and more active in fandom communities: fandom is just one click away, on an internet that they've grown up with as a fact of life. But honestly, the age composition of fandom at large is probably the same as it's been forever: adults in their 20's and up. Adults still maintain the scaffolding of fandom communities: they're the ones who organize and staff cons, produce zines, maintain large official fansites, and more. It's even becoming more and more common for the adults who write, act in, and work on shows (and films, comics, etc) to also become active participants in fandom themselves. There are people working on shows right now as storyboard artists and writers who got picked up by studios because of their fanworks.

Fandom can contain designated kid-safe spaces, but fandom at large is far from a kids-only space, and demanding that it should be is short-sighted and unrealistic. And regardless of age, it's up to everyone to guide their own consumption of content, and avoid stuff that they think is inappropriate or don't want to see. We're all in this together. Content creators put up warnings, and people heed those warnings, or don't, at their own discretion. That's my Hot Take.

[themeltedheadaches]

ALL THE ASKS DO IT unless ur too busy #collegelife love u ❤❤❤❤

LOVE U BOO never too busy for u (also using this to procrastinate on my french composition so)

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

i eat my cereal………………….dry…………..

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

YES that’s literally my life now. i love it but also my nose was running today all the way to get coffee in downtown. i was in THREE LAYERS it is not even DECEMBER

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

answered! :)

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

if i’m going to be a bitch and just get plain coffee, i’m gonna get it black bc otherwise i’ll just have a white mocha or a cappuccino or something (the ppl at the campus coffeeshop know who i am. they know my order. “one sin-ful latte coming up!” thank u for fueling my Addition.) i take my tea with milk and sugar if it’s black tea ((earl gray)) or with honey if it’s green tea. if it’s white tea i’ll sometimes have it with sugar, and if it’s something like peppermint or lavender or chamomile i’ll just have it plain. IM A PICKY BITCH

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

i used to be! but now i like it. 

6: do you keep plants?

YES pls pray for them

7: do you name your plants?

answered! :)

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

poetry! i like to watercolor too, actually, though i left them at home :(

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

YES i miss my car bc that’s when i would have Prime Time to sing and hum to myself or along to whatever song i live for at the moment. (i’m into a musical rn and i can’t yell the lyrics out i’m so ANnoyed Always)

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

answered!

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

i have fucking countless at home……. at college there are quite a few too! as in: “hypothetically, vodka?,” “fuckinG,,,WHAT,” “[blow twice] [slurp sound] [tongue click] noice.,” “SHPEAKERSH OHN!,” “over there! like, over there? over there. over there?,” “just going to go kick some nutria,” and of course, the classic, “same, but jewish.” 

12: what’s your favorite planet?

URANUS actually tho it’s uranus. i had to do my planet project on it in the 4th grade and i gave my brother AND mother silent treatment for two days bc they laughed at its name. i’m very protective

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

i saw my favorite puppy on campus again today!! he’s grown so much!! also my poetry professor’s wife had a successful surgery! #GoMeredith 

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

SO MESSY………………….listen. @michelle i’ve seen ur room, and i would just accept that that is how we live now and it’s fine. it would also be aesthetic as fuck tho tbh. full of yarn and animal fur. and books. and junk food #RIFP

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

if saturn’s rings were a meter long, they would be 10000 times thinner than a razorblade! what the fuckkkkkkkkkkk

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

UHHHHH fucking;;;;;;;;what how am i supposed to #represent my italian fmaily with this DISGUSTING question,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, jk i fuckig love risotto, just ur basic bitch peas and cheese risotto and i’ll cry. also?? gnocchi!! holy shiiiiiiiit. 

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

my hair has such good color i’d actually rather shave it all off than dye it :/

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

HHHHHHHH yesterday. LITERALLY yesterday. there was a french club meeting that served cheese and bread! so i took my Good Friend WIliam (who is not in french, unlike me), and we walk into the room, and i say “helLO!” bc that’s good manners, when you’re going to just get food and leave, and it’s dead silent. i get food and leave. william has told everyone in our entire hall twice.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

answered!

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

i’m so biased……….but……..brown………..

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

my brown leather one! it’s actually super fake leather and i got it from target!! but it’s cute and small and somehow fits everything i need to put in it, including 3 beers and my wallet and 2 phones last weekend. i’ve had for 4 years now 

22: are you a morning person?

yes! i like waking up early actually 

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

go on youtube and waste time, or walk around campus/downtown with friends, or shop!

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

yes

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

my cousin’s RV

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

my brown leather boots! wow there’s a trend here lmao. actually i’ve had two pairs of these bc my first was falling apart?? i used them first in a cosplay……in the 7th grade………..(i was matt from death note and to this day i’m STILL not fucking ashamed, i had the wig and goggles and everything.) i love them and wear them all the time, they’re so comfy and warm and stylish and i feel like a hacker badass everytime i wear them. still to this day.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

bubblegum gives me hives i do Not enjoy it :(

28: sunrise or sunset?

sunset!

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

one of my friends down the hall will call things/ppl “cute as pie” completely genuinely!! i love her!!

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

oh yeah

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

i fucking love them thanks end of story. wearing them makes me feel cozy and put together and also atm my dorm floor is Disgusting. i sleep with them when it’s cold and my feet are dry! i have so many fun socks it’s great. i love them. socks are highly underrated.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

my friend and i were driving around evERYWHRE basically, we went from pasadena/san marino to like. hollywood all the way to beverly hills and back and it was wonderful, we stopped 3 times to chase stray cats, take shitty pictures, go to iHop, and almost died several times bc hE SNAPS AND DRIVES at NIGHT on LA FREEWAYS

33: what’s your fave pastry?

croissants, followed by scones, followed by coffeecake 

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

bunny the stuffed bunny! she’s pretty large, like as long as my torso! she’s white fabric with colored fluffy bits and very floppy, loose ears. she has green button eyes that i had my grandma sew on bc otherwise she actually scared me a bit when i was a kid, but i loved her anyway bc my great-grandmother sewed her for me in the first place. bunny still lives on my bed at home! 

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

YES! i ddon’t use them very often though bc i feel like i should save them for something. rip me

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

stromae hands down

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

clean….i’m so lazy tho

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

sudden loud noises, being startled, being touched physically when i don’t expect it, someone making assumptions about me, being dismissed, being told what i want or what i’m going to do, borrowing something of mine w/o telling me, being interrupted 

39: what color do you wear the most?

HONESTLY black bc i’m an emo bitch

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

one i’ve been wearing a lot is the fork ring i got from the portland saturday market! it’s literally the tines of a vintage fork separated from the part you hold, sanded down so it’s round, and looped into a ring shape. i fidget with it a lot and it reminds me of my mom and step-dad, bc i got it when i was with them. i wear it mostly everyday tbh

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

new american best friend by olivia gatwood in general, or thick as thieves by megan whalen turner when i re-read it out loud to my mom on the ride up to college

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

yeeeeeeS i have several! the bistro, which is on campus: it’s so comfortable, it has couches everywhere and board games and so many books and zines and the walls are half chalkboard so there’s always art or snark everywhere. the music is super eclectic (it was lorde yesterday, today when i went in it was old-school 90s rap), plus it’s student run so the coffee and pastries and food are SO GOOD. the archive, which is downtown, is really boujee as fuck but it’s SO COOL. it’s so fucking aesthetic, with brown leather stools and uncomfortable booths and vintage books and stuff everywhere. for half the day, it’s a coffeeshop, and after 7, it becomes a bar. then back home, of course, coffee bean and tea leaf is the classic

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

half my hall when we went star tripping at the start of the year!

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

honestly the last time it was genuine was probably around…….january? i was in so much emotional pain and grief, but i was surrounded by family who loved me and were in that same pain and were so happy i was with them to help and be there with them. i wasn’t serene per say, or at peace, but there was this equilibrium….

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

yes!

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

my RA told me this one this morning: did you hear about the explosion in the cheese factory in france this morning? de-brie everywhere! 

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

tomatoes 

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

spiders, YES

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

i do…………………….. it was the soundtrack to romeo et juliette (2010)

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

everything; stickers, pressed flowers, rocks, receipts 

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

the easiest one is when i think of my roommate, davey the dog’s barking cover of “do the hustle”

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

ew

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

no, yes, no, no, it was okay

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

ME, BITCH

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

chugged an an entire pitcher of water to prove i could, three times

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

genuineness! vulnerability! eye contact! fidgeting!

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

made me feel PUMPED, and of course i did

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

i am both

59: what’s your favorite myth?

uHHHHHHHHHH i love the myth of beowulf actually bc i had to do a project on it once, i have a soft spot for it, i love all myths tho wtf

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

YES,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, recently some of my favorites are the entirety of a montage of a dream deferred by langston hughes, “totem sonnets” by sherman alexie, “on earth we’re briefly gorgeous” by ocean vuong, “one art” by elizabeth bishop

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

stupid gifts are nonexistent :/

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

noooo

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

yes lmao…….i kinda leave them be but i don’t like it if i let someone borrow them and they trash them uGH

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

Pitch Black

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

YES

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

morning glories, lavender, baby’s breath!

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

very good, thankfully, bc i am in oregon

68: what’s winter like where you live?

in LA, it’s cold and sweet and late and breathless and i adore it

69: what are your favorite board games?

jenga, clue, ??

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

NONONONONO

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

peppermint for mornings, earl gray for evenings!

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

yes, sadly

73: what are some of your worst habits?

biting the skin around my fingers, bouncing my knees incessantly, procrastinating on my french compositions……

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

well there’s this amazing person who i met in freshman year german…….;)

75: tell us about your pets!

i WISH

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

yes :(

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

pink of course

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

i am the true hateclub: i don’t react. do not give them power. they Feed off of your Hatred

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

get me flowers, surprise me with chocolate, come up to me and compliment me on my writing, etc!!

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

at home my walls are a soft orangey-peach, which is picked bc i love it. here, my walls are very very white, which i did not pick, but am neutral towards.

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

circuit-board chips busted open

82: are/were you good in school?

ehhhhhhh

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

MELODRAMA

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

yes! a minimalistic double-delight rose for my great-grandmother, “love ya!” in my grandpa’s handwriting, maybe a nutshell with a crown over it (for the “king of infinite space” bit in hamllet), possibly “soyez réaliste, demandez l’impossible!” (be realistic, demand the impossible!) from the french student revolution in the 60s

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

somewhat, def hawkeye or the young avengers bc i’m basic :/

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

the only one i’ve rlly ever listened to is fucking danger days, so i worship them obviously

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

i think ppl should make their own agendas :/ however, i have deeply loved secondhand lions, up, moonlight, the grand budapest hotel, and other basic bitch things

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

impressionism!! aaaaaaa!!! also just shove me in front of abstract art and i’ll fall for it!!! 

89: are you close to your parents?

so so so so close to my mom and step-dad, on okay terms with my dad

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

listen to me. I LOVE SEATTLE. art! fish market! weird side streets! mean street art! bitchy coffee!! neon everywhere!! a big fuckin needle in the sky!

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

ITALY THIS SUMMER IM SO EXCITED i’m gonna meet all my mom’s friends from her semester abroad that she’s kept, i’m gonna see what she saw when she was my age, i’m gonna see where my dad’s family is from maybe if we go south???, i’m gonna see all the places and things she used to tell me about to get me to dream big and want to see the world and experience what’s out there!! aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

depends on the pasta

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

down bc i’m fucking lazy and also inept when it comes to doing things with hair

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

my friend across the hall from me, who is now 19 years of bitchiness!

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

stay in, study, maybe go to a kickback tho

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

lol i put them off until my computer ceases to function altogether 

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

zodiac obviously

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

fucking…….summer?? i did!

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

“feelings” by hayley kiyoko, “vacation town” by the front bottoms, “february” by beach bunny, “hard feelings/loveless” by lorde, “moon river” by henri mancini, “let me in” by flor, “a million miles away” by the plimsoles, “girls like me” by bonnie hayes, “love my way” by the psychedelic furs, the entire legend of zelda soundtrack, “place, je passe” from the mozart l’opera rock soundtrack, etc etc