#another turn fanzine

[ruiiplume]

Tethys ✨

From the 2019 Another Turn Fanzine, a redraw from the old version here:

thank you @schereas for finding the original file for me!

[what-we-do-in-santa-carla]

The Lost Boys Incorrect Quotes - Community Inspired

Sam, holding up a camcorder: Edgar, I think you should play my father.

Edgar: I don't want to be your father.

Sam: Perfect, you already know your lines.

-

Star: Michael, your entire identity has been consumed by your relationship with a another man.

Michael, closing his eyes: You found my Billy Idol fanzine subscription.

-

Lucy: Well, what about you and David?

Star: David? The other day I thought he was trying to hold my hand.

Star: But he had just mistaken me for Michael

-

Star: Michael and I did our best to keep the language on the cake casual.

Birthday Cake: Hello during a random dessert, the month and day of which coincide numerically with the day Max turned you.

David, in tears: You guys, I never cry but-

-

Grandpa, standing at the mouth of cave holding root beer and Oreos: Boys night!

Dwayne, turning back to the rest of the boys: I need help reacting to something.

-

Sam: You can do whatever you want, you just have to know what that is. For me, it's Lucky Charms and TV.

-

Star: You don't see me saying anything about Marko and Paul's weird little relationship.

Marko and Paul, in unison: They're just jealous.

-

Paul: I was born in '59.

David: Then you were born twenty-eight years ago.

Paul: Which would make me twenty-seven, because everyone is ten for two years.

*David, staring in silence*

Paul: Because fifth grade is really hard for everyone...

Paul: Mom, how many lies have I been living?

-

Marko: Paul and I have an agreement.

Marko: If one of us dies, we stage it as a suicide caused by the unjust cancellation of Diff'rent Strokes.

Marko: We're gonna get that show back on the air, buddy.

-

Michael: Guys, are we just gonna avoid making eye contact forever? Who are we, David during sex?

[chocomony]

My contribution to the Holy Shuggazine! FanZine organized by @netbug009.

Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go is a show that unfortunately ended in a cliffhanger, it literately ended when the team was ready for the final battle! So, for my art piece I thought a TV movie would be good to end the series and I imagined what the movie poster would look like.

I am really happy for how my piece turned out BUT even happier to have been part of this amazing collaboration and meet a lot of talented fans of this show.

Indeed, this show always comes back into my life one way or another.

Check out the Holy Shuggazine! Zine and the rest of the people who contributed in it, even if you don’t know / like the show, the art that is in there is amazing.

Thanks, and have a nice day!

Also: Of you are curious about the show, i reccomend following Bowletta's Watch List :D

[child0feden]

LOVE, THROUGH PEN AND PAPER

okay so i really wrote this as kind of a test piece to test the waters on if you guys like this and maybe i will make more about how the reader met others hehe! also i very much wrote this with the idea that the reader is not originally from norway, hopefully that is not an annoyance to anyone!

can you guys tell that bård is my absolute favourite metal man to write for? <3

♡ you and bård met through being pen pals in the early 90s!

୨୧ most likely, you had ordered a copy of his little black metal fanzine after hearing about it through another pen pal you were speaking to and he had almost immediately taken note of the country that was definitely not norway in your address…

♡ now that he looks back on it, it was probably a pretty major breach of privacy and possibly even incriminating but his interest was far too peaked after he saw your name, which he thought was an absolutely beautiful name, and a country he had never been to so he wrote a little letter to go along with the magazine when he posted it off to reach you

୨୧ but the letter only made you as interested in him as he was in you despite the two of you basically being complete strangers! his letter to you was downright adorable, it was filled with cute broken english and misspellings that made a small smile paint your face as you read through it, it was full of general questions about your home county and how exactly you heard about his little fanzine! not to mention the mixed in questions about you too, questions about what bands you like and what your life is like! his letter was obviously filled with curiosity about you and who would you be to not write a letter back to him after he ended his own with the most adorable little thank you for buying his fanzine?

♡ when bård received your very first letter back to him, he was so strangely ecstatic about it! he already had quite a few pen pals but you… you and your letter felt so different to him, it felt so much more special and he could never quite put his finger on why until he began to send more letters to you and receive more letters from you! after just about three short months of talking to each other through pen and paper, after talking to each other about music and so many deeper topics about yourselves, after eventually beginning to send pictures of yourselves to each other, bård finally realised just what about you and your letters felt so special to him…

୨୧ he was totally into you! oh gosh, of course he was! everything made sense when it clicked in his head that he had a more intimate liking towards you, all those times that he would sit around feeling so impatient and almost lost whilst waiting for your next letter to arrive, all of those times he would check his post every single morning for your next letter, all of those times he felt so free and open when writing to you about himself, all of those times he would feel his face heat up whenever he read your compliments towards him and his band! there were just so many things that suddenly made so much sense when it all pieced together in his head that he really liked you, he liked everything about you!

♡ of course this new and sudden realisation scared bård a whole lot because did he really even want to confess his feelings towards you? did he really want to risk losing you as a wonderful friend because you do not feel the same and the waters are made murky after his confession of wanting to be something more? but he does it, he sends you a long letter confessing everything after almost an hour of walking in circles around his small bedroom with his hands grasping at his long brown hair and his mind lost in paranoia before he just decides to sit down and write a letter confessing everything he feels towards you! with shaky hands and a worried mind, the letter turns out slightly messy with chicken scrawl handwriting but he knows you will still understand it all, you always seem to understand him! he actually gets his mother to post this letter to you for him, he knows damn well that he would probably pull out just before posting it and he knows his worry would probably get the best of him so he asks her to post it for him

୨୧ the waiting days after sending the letter to you are downright horrible for bård, he can barely focus on anything as he awaits your letter back to him and not even playing his drums take his mind away from you… he can barely get to sleep at night as he fears the possibility that he will never receive a letter back from you because of his confession! the restless nights and fearful days become evident in his face as his eyes grow tired and his pale face becomes exhausted! but then, after a excruciatingly slow week of waiting and hoping, he receives a letter through the door and immediately runs to snatch it up from the carpet before rushing upstairs to his bedroom to read it in private…

♡ bård almost yells in excitement and pure happiness when he reads through your letter with shaky hands and sees the words about how you feel the exact same towards him, he can just barely even attempt to hold in a relieved scream as his worried mind is finally put to rest by your loving words on the paper! his body is completely overrun with energy and an almost childlike glee as he fully realised that this is it, he has you now! he has all he ever wanted now! you felt so perfect for him, from the first time he ever read your name on that delivery address and felt a strange tingle in his heart to now as he reads through your letter about feeling that very same love for him! he feels so at peace and so content as he reads your confession letter over and over again, savouring your sweet words in his head before putting it aside to excitedly begin writing his next one to you

୨୧ you can hardly believe your eyes when you read his next letter back to you about how fearful he was to admit his feelings for you, your eyes widening in confusion as you read his written words about how terrified he was… how on earth would it have ever been possible for you to have not felt the same for him? he was so sweet, so passionate and so handsome… i would have been impossible for you to have not felt the very same love for him that he felt for you…

♡ eventually, in early january of the next year after the two of you had even began talking for the first time through letters, you decided to fly out to norway as a kind of late christmas gift for him! you did not even ask him to meet you at the airport as the closest one to his home was still quite a bit away but he did anyways, of course he did! how could he not? he wanted, needed to be there the second you stepped foot in the very same country he was in, he needed to be with you the second it was possible and he sure was! literally the minute you were in his sight after exiting the terminal, he was rushing to take you into his arms for the very first time! excitement mixed with nervousness taking over his body as he held you in a tight hug while you laughed quietly into his shoulder about how constricting his skinny arms were around you before settling your hands on his blushing cheeks and leaning up to place a deep kiss to his lips, the first of many! he was so nervous, he had never kissed anyone like you before, none of his prior kisses were real like this one, you felt so real! after that day, it was hard for him to ever let you go at all, every minute of your days in norway were spent being in his arms as the two of you talked about anything and everything you could think of! this first time actually meeting only proved to bård just how perfect you truly were for him and he never wanted you to leave his arms <3

[pinenutposts]

I am old enough to have watched Twin Peaks on tv in its original run (I was a child, mind you, but I did catch a few episodes of season 2 while my mom and stepdad were watching it.) I didn't see the entire series until it was re-aired on Bravo when I was in high school. I also read the Secret Diary of Laura Palmer by Jennifer Lynch (very eye opening for a relatively sheltered girl like me, and also crucial to understanding the show from Laura's perspective, before FWWM existed). I subscribed to the legendary fanzine Wrapped in Plastic by Craig Miller and John Thorne, through my local comic book store. I read alt.tv.twinpeaks. I read theories and news on websites like Glastonberry Grove and Mike Dunn's Lynchnet. I asked my dad to buy me the book of essays "Critical Approaches to Twin Peaks" from Wayne State University Press, and was introduced to things like Foucault, Critical Theory, and Feminist Theory, while my little teenage brain was just entering college and starting to work out what "critical thinking" even was. I obsessed over David Lynch and his art.

Why I mention all this, is that I think having been this type of fan for my entire adult life, and my formative teenage years, I'm able to hold several different and sometimes contradictory opinions about Twin Peaks and its creators, and more importantly, I'm able to enjoy wildly varied aspects of the show and fandom, all at the same time!

When I first saw The Return in 2017, it absolutely repulsed me. I hated it. Then last year I picked up "Ominous Woosh - A Wandering Mind Returns to Twin Peaks," by John Thorne, the only currently living editor of Wrapped in Plastic, and it opened my mind to understanding The Return in a way that I wasn't able to before. I'm not saying it's the definitive explanation (and he certainly does not claim that), but it helped me see it in a way that I just couldn't before, and even begin to enjoy it. There are still parts of it I deeply dislike, but that's okay. Twin Peaks is not a one size fits all. It can be approached from many different viewpoints and readings, and as David Lynch has said about all of his work, everyone will have a different experience of it based on their own experience and perspective. My views of Twin Peaks, including who I ship and don't ship, have certainly changed over the course of three decades!

I would like to encourage people who become frustrated and disappointed at the turns the show takes, and how the third season feels vastly different from what came before, to consider the history of the show. What happened with the network, the actors, Lynch's movie career, when it was made, why it ended when it did. And of course The Return doesn't look or feel like a show made in 1990! It's 25 years later! Lynch and Frost are old men now! Half the cast is dead! It would be absurd if it seamlessly picked up where season 2 (which was a jumbled, but still lovable mess, itself) left off. There's no way it could.

If season 3 had been allowed to be made as originally planned in the '90s, it would look vastly different than The Return. I will forever mourn what could have been, but that's the stuff of fanfiction now. Also, we may not have gotten the masterpiece that is Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, which I consider to be the creative and emotional pinnacle of the series, and absolutely critical to having a full picture of what Twin Peaks is about, if the show had continued. Just food for thought.

I'm also an advocate of simply ignoring things if you really don't like them. There's no reason one has to accept The Return as part of your own personal headcanon. As the creators will say, there really is no definitive "canon" in the Twin Peaks universe!

I don't really know what the purpose of this ramble was, but I felt like going on about it because Twin Peaks has been my "favorite song" for years, and I'm always thinking about it in one way or another ^_^

- Pine Nut

[mimisempai]

Witness of a Growing Love

Summary

She may be nothing but metal on four wheels, but she’s listened to enough love songs to know how to recognize it... 

So when an angel and a demon can’t figure out their feelings for each other, the Bentley decides to take matters into her own hands... or wheels?

Notes

Fanfic written for @theineffablecon 4 fanzine. 

And what if this time it was the Bentley that saved the day? 

Another sort of fix-it from episode 6

On Ao3

Rating G -  2182 words

Crowley leaned back against the Bentley and waited.

He still wondered how the situation could have deteriorated so much in such a short time.

After so many years, prompted by his conversation with Maggie and Nina, he'd finally poured his heart out and... nothing.

Apparently he and Aziraphale didn't want the same thing, or didn't want it anymore.

One proposal from Metatron and it would have been over.

Yet he still waited, hoping that maybe Aziraphale would open his eyes.

But deep inside he felt that all was lost.

His gaze was drawn to the door of the bookshop as it opened and he saw Metatron and Aziraphale come out.

They seemed to be chatting naturally as they made their way to the elevator.

Metatron looked as if he said something that surprised Aziraphale, who immediately lost his smile.

The angel then regained his smile before standing in front of the elevator and time stopped for a few seconds as he slowly turned his head toward Crowley.

The demon couldn't help but feel one last surge of hope.

But no, Aziraphale straightened his shoulders, smiled, and moved toward the elevator.

All was lost.

Crowley glanced toward the coffee shop, where Nina gave him a little wave that he didn't return, then toward the record store, where Maggie slept on the counter.

He climbed into the car and immediately the radio began playing.

“A nightingale sang in Berkeley square...”

Crowley instantly turned off the radio and the Bentley took off.

The car began to drive ahead, but suddenly, instead of turning left, she lurched forward.

Crowley shouted, "Hey, what are you doing?!"

She braked in front of the elevator, whose doors were still open, and the passenger door opened wide as the radio began to play loudly.

“So hold on now just hold on a minute

This car's not leaving if you're not in it

You've no idea how lucky we are

A wound that deep would normally scar”

Crowley and Aziraphale's eyes met and time stood still.

***********************

She drove through the burning streets of London, fearing for her bodywork as an angel and a demon chatted quietly in her cabin.

She had grown accustomed to Crowley's eccentricities over the years, but today he had brought a new individual with him.

For the first time, she had a passenger.

Strange.

"You know... that was a very nice thing you did for me."

The stranger seemed nice, not the kind of company she'd expected to see here.

"Shut up."

Idiot, he says thank you. Just answer "You're welcome" and you're done!

The stranger insisted.

As far as she could tell - she was just a car, after all - he seemed to like her demonic driver.

"There must be something I can do for you in return."

"Forget it, will you?"

Oh, there was something else in Crowley's tone. 

A new kind of sound.

A bit like that soft jazz music he liked to listen to sometimes.

Interesting.

More interestingly, when she took them from the theater to a bookshop much later in the evening, there was something new in the air.

And when they left the bookshop much later, the demon was not his usual self.

He said really softly, "You know, Aziraphale is someone special, you'll have to get used to him, because we'll probably see each other again."

The demon sighed, "Even if I don't know when, as always."

***********************

The angel had just gotten into the car. 

Crowley soon arrived, just as surprised as she was.

"What are you doing here?"

The angel looked a little uncertain and replied, "I needed a word with you."

"What?"

Aziraphale replied reproachfully, "I work in Soho. I hear things. I hear that you're setting up a... caper to rob a church. Crowley, it's too dangerous."

Finally, someone with some common sense.

The angel continued in a pleading tone, "Holy water won't just kill your body. It will destroy you completely."

Crowley retorted, "You told me what you think years ago. And I haven't changed my mind."

Stubborn idiot. I don't want a new driver. I'm used to you by now.

Aziraphale replied, "But I can't have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So... you can call off the robbery."

The angel handed him a thermos and continued, "Don't go unscrewing the cap."

Hey, what's wrong with this one? Both as crazy as the other!

Crowley asked, "It's the real thing?" 

"The holiest."

Crowley's voice had inflections she'd never heard before as he replied, "After everything you said. Should I thank you?"

Of course you should.

"Better not."

Ah, well, no.

Crowley asked, "Well, can I drop you anywhere?" 

Good boy, well educated.

"No, thank you." 

She didn't need to see to feel the demon's disappointment, she could feel it permeating the cabin. 

The angel had seen it too, apparently: "Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."

She'd heard enough love songs to know when it was in the air, and as much as she felt the disappointment in the demon's voice, she could feel the love flowing from the angel's.

But the demon felt nothing. 

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."

The angel shook his head and replied softly, "You go too fast for me, Crowley."

And there it was. 

Idiot, I always told you. Or thought.

You overdid it with the gas pedal and now you've hit a wall.

**********************

"You're so clever. How can someone as smart as you be so stupid?"

You're one to talk.

The way these two were made for each other and unable to say it to each other.

She was a heartless piece of metal and she could see it.

"I forgive you."

Oops, apparently that didn't go over well with the demon, who replied, "Oh...I'm going home, Angel. I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even think about you."

Idiot and liar.

For years she'd heard Aziraphale - this, Aziraphale - that over and over again, angry, amused, affectionate.

But she had no choice, so she drove him away from the angel.

***********************

She had never driven so fast.

Fear and panic filled the cabin.

Her tires squealed as she pulled up to the burning bookshop.

Crowley ran inside.

He returned moments later.

She had never "felt" him like this.

He got in, dropped his head on the wheel, and whispered, "Bastards. They killed him. My angel."

Then he straightened up and grabbed a new pair of glasses from the glove compartment as she drove off.

***********************

They had come through the flames and reached their destination, burning. 

Actually, she was the only one burning. 

Crowley hadn't done too badly.

The important thing was that he and the angel were reunited. 

She had fulfilled her mission.

It was up to them to do the rest.

She could let the flames consume her now.

She left in an explosion.

***********************

She was now parked in front of the bookshop.

And the silence in the cabin was really uncomfortable.

She'd been around both of them long enough to decipher their behavior.

Especially since it had been the same for years.

Aziraphale not daring to ask Crowley to stay.

Crowley not daring to ask Aziraphale if he could have a nightcap.

"See you soon."

And there it was again, ending the same way.

Crowley replied, "See you soon, Angel."

They were tiresome.

Hey, idiots, I died in the flames to bring you together, and when I'm resurrected, you can't even admit how you feel!

Makes me want to drive into a wall.

Crowley stared at the angel for a few seconds, then left.

She hadn't said her last word.

She turned on the radio.

“Tell him 

Tell him that the sun and moon 

Rise in his eyes 

Reach out to him

And whisper 

Tender words so soft and sweet”

"Change the music now!" the demon admonished.

As you wish!

“I wanna be your lover

I wanna be the only one that makes you come running

I wanna be your lover

I wanna turn you on, turn you out”

"Are you fucking kidding me? Stop it! You know nothing! You're just a car! I can't tell him. There's no way my feelings are mutual."

There... we are finally making progress. 

Monsieur at least admitted that he felt something.

Now she had to deal with the other one. ***********************

It had taken him four years to finally get the second one alone.

She had to admit that the angel had pulled off a masterstroke.

He'd managed to get the keys. 

For that alone, she was willing to indulge Aziraphale's every whim.

Even if she felt Crowley's presence all the time because he wanted to interfere.

And he had succeeded.

She'd only agreed to change back to her original color because Crowley had threatened Aziraphale's books, and she'd known all along how much the angel cared about them. 

"He's really not funny," the angel said sulkily. "Yellow is pretty, because that's the color of his eyes. But of course I couldn't tell him. He can't know."

Of course he must know, you idiot!

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Let's have some music!

“I fell in love with the Devil

And now I'm in trouble

I fell in love with the Devil

I'm underneath his spell “

"No. Not this one, thank you!"

Why not? Too scared to admit the truth?

Wait, I'll bring it up again!

“I know something about love

You've gotta want it bad

If that guy's got into your blood

Go out and get him

If you want him to be

The very heart of you

Makes you want to breathe

Here's the thing to do

Tell him-”

"I prefer silence now."

If anyone was never silent, it was the angel.

He wouldn't hold it for more than 1 minute.

5,4,3,2, -

"I can't tell him anyway. He's a... and I'm a... .... No, it's not that. He's one of the nicest people I know. But you see, I have a plan. The ball. It's about trying to tell him that..."

Another one that made her want to drive herself into a wall.

Wait, she had the music.

“That certain night, the night we met

There was magic abroad in the air

There were angels dancing at the Ritz

And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”

This time the angel didn't ask her to stop, so the Bentley told herself that all was not lost and that maybe these two idiots would have a happy ending.

***********************

So what had gone wrong?

Why wasn't she driving them to the Ritz as planned?

What was the angel waiting for in the elevator, the message was clear, wasn't it?

Get in the car!

We're not leaving without you!

And you idiot, call him! 

Shall I do the job again? All right, then!

Turn it up! Let's do it!

“I may be right, I may be wrong

But I'm perfectly willing to swear

That when you turned and smiled at me

A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”

Aziraphale seemed to snap out of his trance and took a step forward. The old man beside him tried to hold him back, "Azi-"

But the angel broke free, shoved him back and closed the elevator doors with a gesture.

He walked forward, entered the car and closed the door.

And now?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Are you guys kidding? 

You're finally together and you're looking at each other in silence!

Don't tell me...

Okay, but this is the last time.

And this time, no subtlety.

Let's have some music.

“If you want to kiss the boy then you better kiss the boy right now

You ain't got to be afraid of the words you want to say right now

'Cause love is a game we deserve to play out loud

So you want to play then you better kiss the boy

Oh, you better kiss the boy right now”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other in silence, and when they realized the lyrics of the song, they couldn't help but laugh.

Nice start.

"I'm sor-"

"I shouldn't have-"

One of them said, "There'll be time to explain later."

And finally, as in the song, they did.

Clumsily, they embraced and lost themselves in an endless kiss.

They were so lost in the kiss that they didn't notice that the Bentley had just pulled away.

Nor did they notice the new song on the radio.

“I was born to love you

With every single beat of my heart

Yes, I was born to take care of you

Every single day of my life

I want to love you, I love every little thing about you

I want to love you, love you, love you”

Even much later, as they whispered forgiveness and vows to each other, interspersed with kisses and tender touches, they didn't notice the Bentley turning onto the freeway. 

Nor did they notice the sign that read: South Downs 59 miles.

***********************

Songs used for the story : 

Cars Not Leaving - Gabriel Bruce 

Tell him - Barbra Streisand/Celine Dion

I wanna be your lover - Prince

I Fell In Love With The Devil - Avril Lavigne

Tell Him - The Exciters

I Was Born To Love You - Queen

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[autumnslance]

We can finally share our works for The Thancred Anthology, the free pdf fanzine.

Here's my short story, of Thancred checking on the specter of Pandaemonium in the Aitiascope, and having an unexpected but perhaps due conversation with Fourchenault.

On Ao3 and under the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.

--

Being one of the saviors of the star had its perks in certain places. No one questioned Thancred’s presence in Thaumazein, nor his use of the Aitiascope’s elevator to reach the research platforms built in the shallows of the Aetherial Sea.

Researchers measured and recorded the current unusual phenomenon: the presence of the ancient research facility and prison called Pandaemonium. The creation and responsibility of the Convocation’s Speaker.

Lahabrea.

Thancred could mostly touch on the topic when it rarely came up. So long as he did not linger, anyroad. There were still rare moments, however, when the thought of that red mask made him break out in a sudden sweat.

Much had happened since that day he had walked out of Raubahn’s office, dejected and self-remonstrating, and on his way to the Sapphire Exchange had been distracted by strangeness in an alley…

And then a looming blank period; only a few terrible, hazy scenes flashing through that darkness, until waking in an Adder tent with the Elder Seedseer leaning over him. Sometimes it seemed he was still waking from the nightmare, that he would blink and find Kan-E’s sad green eyes and calm voice explaining all he had done.

It was difficult to take that first step from the elevator.

On the Ragnarok, when they reached Ultima Thule’s crushing non-weight of uninhabitable despair, he had managed to trudge forward to protect the others. There was no avatar of despair holding him back now, but also no one to protect, no reason to force his feet closer to that inimical ancient visage.

Yet he kept moving, until he ran out of platform.

Thancred stood at the edge and watched the swinging cages and flickering torches. The reports—and a late-into-the-night discussion—of Lahabrea’s involvement had given him insights into his recurring nightmare that he had not expected.

A stubborn man dedicated to the burdens of his great responsibilities. Who loved his child but held him at arms’ length, keeping important secrets, telling himself it was for the child’s own good, unable to see the hurt he caused because he was so wrapped up in his own situation.

From his pocket, Thancred drew out a pink ribbon wrapped around a letter, Ryne’s handwriting covering the folded pages.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” A familiar deep voice said from behind him.

Thancred nodded. “It doesn’t match other Ancient architecture, as if purposefully twisted to match the terrors it kept inside.”

“If the reports are accurate,” Fourchenault said as he joined Thancred at the rail.

“Given who wrote them,” Thancred replied, tucking the letter back into a pocket. “They are.”

They stood in silence for a long while. They had always been awkward; Fourchenault had graduated from the Studium and was entering politics when his father brought home a Limsan orphan. Between the constant trips to and from the Motherland, and Thancred’s intense training, he and his foster brother had seen little of one another before Emporium was abandoned and Thancred sent to Ul’dah. Their differences in political opinions had not helped their bonds.

Now here they were a lifetime later, knowing only slightly better what had led each of them upon their respective paths.

“I’ve a question—unrelated to the current view,” Thancred said. Unrelated so far as Fourchenault was concerned. Thancred continued before losing his nerve. “Did parenting that pair of rapscallions highlight…well…the ways in which Louisoix…”

“Failed?” Fourchenault finished quietly. His blue eyes turned to the researchers engrossed in their duties.

“I wouldn’t put it quite so harshly, but…Yes, about the mistakes he made, I suppose. As a parent, specifically.”

“This is about the girl on the first reflection of Etheirys?”

“Naught gets left out of Alphinaud’s letters,” Thancred said dryly. “Yes; I found myself unexpectedly guardian to an adolescent. It was…” He suddenly floundered on how to explain.

“Enlightening,” Fourchenault said. “Terrifying, horrible…and wonderful.”

Thancred nodded.

Fourchenault sighed. “Yes, raising my children did highlight the matters I wished my father had handled…better. That I tried to handle better. At the same time, it showed me goals hopelessly out of my reach, my own shortcomings as a parent. You’re rather familiar with some of my failings already.”

“At one point, while in the First, Alisaie bluntly said I reminded her of you; in that instance, she did not mean it as a compliment.”

Fourchenault laughed, brief and a tad bitter. “Was she wrong?”

Thancred had to laugh sheepishly as well. “Not at all.”

“We did have a singular model,” Fourchenault said. “Much as we perhaps tried to fight against that image.”

“Or did not, at the time, understand what we had,” Thancred replied quietly.

“You were a stubborn little wharf rat,” Fourchenault said, with little of the sting of their youth. “That stubbornness at least has not changed, thank the Twelve.” Fourchenault smiled genuinely, reminiscent of Alphinaud—or perhaps the other way around. “But I do recall thinking you ungrateful for the opportunity Father had inexplicably granted you.”

“I had more than a few unkind thoughts of you myself. ‘Tis only recently that they have…adjusted. In some ways.”

“I find myself in a similar frame of mind,” Fourchenault said, a ghost of that smile still visible. He studied Pandaemonium. “Did you come to see what new trouble your colleague dredged onto our doorstep—or to face your specters?” he asked, voice soft and almost kind.

“I suppose the letters included that as well.” Thancred had the terrible urge to drink until just before that darkness swallowed him again. He bit it down.

“Not explicitly. In stories since, however, quite a few of the Scions’ adventures have been detailed.” Fourchenault paused. “The twins enjoy my discomfort almost as much as their mother does.”

Thancred couldn’t help huffing out another laugh. “Well, you do make quite the graceful picture when tripping out of a room lest you faint,” he noted. Some things blessedly never changed.

“Bah,” Fourchenault waved a dismissive hand. “Though the tales of your time under the Ascians’ thrall sounded particularly horrifying.”

“It was.” Thancred rubbed his eyes; he would have to speak to Alphinaud about what he shared, even with family. “Though from the reports now I wonder if Lahabrea influenced me more than I’d first thought. Or perhaps…sought a familiar resonance.” Hand in his pocket, he threaded the ribbon through his fingers.

“From what little I’ve heard, there seem to be some superficial similarities,” Fourchenault said. “But the same might be said for my own tale as a parent. Or even Father’s choices. We do what we think is best for our children, and don’t always realize when we’re truly making it easier on ourselves. One doesn’t need an Ascian’s influence to fall into that trap.”

“Hrmph. I know the twins told you what a hash I made of things.” Even now, recalling how close his girl had come to tragedy due to his own actions ran around his mind in darker hours, though she would hate to hear that; it was past.

“They also told me how you admitted your errors and strove to do better by the girl, your comrades, and yourself,” Fourchenault said. “Lessons I myself yet struggle with, after a lifetime of assurance that I knew best.” He smiled wryly. “Not the first time that you’ve outpaced me; nor I suspect the last.”

Thancred stared at Fourchenault. Louisoix’s actual son, born to privilege, beloved of the amazing Ameliance, national leader, brilliant sage…

“If you try to deny it, I shall tell your fellow Scions,” Fourchenault continued blithely.

“We’re disbanded,” Thancred reminded him.

Fourchenault did not quite roll his eyes. “I once asked Father why he was more…available for the twins than myself,” he continued. “Or even for you, off with your master for much of your time under our roof. I remember the…regret, I think, in Father’s smile, when he said he had learned better since our youths. He urged me not to make the same mistakes, and I swore I would not. Yet here we are.” He turned to Thancred. “I think Father would be proud of you. Not just for all you’ve done as a Scion, but for your girl, and the man you’ve become. I am, for as little as it counts from me.”

Thancred couldn’t manage to say that it meant more than he had imagined, so he settled for “Thank you. Though I feel there’s still much to learn about parenting.”

“There always is. Especially when they’re far away. But we’ve now the time. And if that ancient sorcerer could learn better, we certainly can,” Fourchenault gestured at the ghost facility.

Thancred laughed, squeezing Ryne’s letter. “We do have that singular example.”

Fourchenault nodded, then took a breath. “You should—I was thinking—Would you join us for dinner?” As Thancred raised a brow he hastily continued, “Ameliance would love to see you.”

“Of course,” Thancred replied. Learning how to be better fathers wasn’t the only thing he and Fourchenault needed to figure out. But as he had said, there was now time to make even a belated start.

[rosewaterconley]

I solved a mystery that only I care about lol

ok so I have no clue what I'm doing and social media terrifies me. I will probably never touch this account again. why did I have to follow 3 algorithm-selected accounts to get into this website? I can actually name 3 people I'd want to follow on here and it's none of the people your fucking robot told me to follow. but hey, I feel like I have to post it here rather than my blogspot since nobody in the world actually uses blogspot and I want people to see this!

so anyway, there's this band out of the city of Milwaukee called Hero of a Hundred Fights. they dropped a couple CDs in the early 2000s and seem to have broken up, though all their members have been in bands since. that'll be important a little later. for now, Hero of a Hundred Fights are important to me on 2 levels:

I'm a Wisconsinite who has a tiny bit of an obsession with local history and art and really fuck with their weird mathy little corner of the 2000s hardcore scene

I'm a Faction Paradox fan and their 2001 EP The Remote, The Cold contains numerous references to the series! if you've heard of this EP before, it was probably in the context of some "music that references Faction Paradox" list or another

about #2... see, everyone already knows that track 2 is called Faction Paradox and track 3 is called The Celestis. we've all long since put together that the title is a reference to Lawrence Miles' Interference. but what about the lyrics? unfortunately, we don't know. they're not online, and the vocals are good, mind, but rather incoherent.

well, we didn't know. until I ordered a CD copy for like $8 lol. that's all it took! so here you go, the lyrics booklet plus some of the other artwork featured on the CD. artist Nick Slough did a great job on this art and it's a shame only the cover is widely available online (though that's hardly a problem unique to the physical version of this one album). turns out, this is some kinda concept album based on the Miles novel Interference. cool! really love the lyrics on Rope especially. "I need your blood to get this vessel running" and "my life was in your hands, I cut them off and now they're mine" are both raw as hell.

the cover art is pretty interesting. this album was recorded in 2000, released in 2001. the entire creative process occurred before the first standalone Faction Paradox release, The Book of the War. this means the album is entirely Doctor Who-based, not based on the FP series itself. it also means, if we assume the humanoid characters on the art are supposed to be the Remote, that this is the first-ever professional art depicting them!

disclaimer: the booklet lyrics don't 100% match up with what's said in the songs! it's mostly accurate but unfortunately there are some sections missing, some repeated bits that are only written once et al. that's all par for the course but I figured I'd mention it - especially in the case anybody wants to use this to transcribe the lyrics on Genius or some other site like that.

and while we're here, Hero 100 member William Zientara has been in a billion different bands, and I think he's probably the most responsible for the Doctor Who theme on this album. See, he was also in a short-lived band called Managara - named after a Doctor Who tie-in novel so obscure even I, owner of a complete set of Virgin New Adventures who spends my work breaks combing through digital copies of old fanzines, have only ever heard it discussed a handful of times. one of their songs is called Happiness Patrol. more recently, in 2021, he was in the band Fuiguirnet, who have a song called What Grows From the Seeds of Doom! which means Zientara has been randomly tossing Doctor Who references into songs from at least three different bands for twenty years!

so uhh without any further rambling here's the lyrics and art:

[chickenmetenders]

💝💕💘 [ FALL(ING)DOWN FOR YOU ] 💖💌💞

Happy White Day! To celebrate, here's a Valentine's/White Day-themed collaborative MAMIYA fanzine!!

Featuring lovey-dovey art & fic from 12 creators!

Read it digitally or print it out yourself!

⚠️ DDD spoilers

Get it here! ➡️ Google Drive (pdf)

Directions for printing/binding + contributor credits below!

PRINTING

This zine was designed for letter paper, but I think it should print fine on A4 (I haven't tested it, sorry). If it helps, each individual page is 5.5 in x 8.5 in (140 mm x 216 mm).

We're going to print using the Booklet setting, which requires Adobe Acrobat or Foxit to use. Both programs can be downloaded for free. (I'm using Acrobat for this tutorial, but Foxit works the same way)

To print:

Download the zine file to your computer and open it in Acrobat/Foxit.

Open up the print menu using ctrl+P or by finding the printer icon near the top of the window. The print menu looks like this:

3. Select your printer from the "Printer" menu, then select the "Booklet" option under Page Sizing and Handling, as shown in the image above. You can also check the box near the top of the window to "Print in grayscale (black and white)" like I'm doing, or leave it unchecked to print in color.

4. Select the "Print" button to print.

BINDING

Honestly, you can bind however you want! I chose something fancy this time (because I'm trying to show off for photos), but normally I go for something simpler. Here are some methods I've used to bind zines/booklets before:

Three-hole ribbon binding (this is the method I used here)

Stapling

Pamphlet binding/saddle stitching

Methods I haven't tried but would probably work fine:

Another three-hole ribbon binding method + ring binding

Perfect binding

Machine sewing

Regardless of which method you use, I always recommend pre-folding all the pages before doing any binding. I usually try to fold like 1-3 sheets at a time--enough pages that it doesn't take forever to fold all of them, but not too many pages because I want to ensure each sheet gets creased really well.

Watch out for page order, by the way, because these pages aren't numbered!!

Depending on how you've bound it, it should come out looking something like this. Isn't it so cute??

Feel free to contact me if you need help!

CONTRIBUTORS

Thank you to everyone who participated in this zine!

Gizzia (twitter @ GizziaAobara) Nana (instagram @ honeyqtea) Nikki Bane (twitter @ Ghosty_Bane) Kiwi (@kiwifie) WovenSnow Easter Cha (me) madhu (@bunycube) Rionne (twitter @ dawnspring45) Mio (twitter @ nifocide) Alle (@tindoiimu)

It was my first time organizing something like this, so I'm really glad it turned out so great!! You guys are all so talented and awesome and I love what we've made!!!!!!

[swwsdjfanzine]

About That’s a Wrap!: Something's wrong with Sunny Day Jack FanZine

Hello everyone, SWWSDJ Fanzine Team here!

We’re planning to open the application for this project, but first, we have to introduce what this project is about!

All of this info will be updated; so don’t hesitate to shoot the question for us to satisfy your curiosity!

● Who is organising the zine?

There are 7 of us who are crazy I mean, passionate about Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack. So we figured it would be fun to start another project after the Phantom of the Sunny Day Jack project.

@thisisEClmao, @enthused_ubi, @theyukidragon, @luckyclover_NB, @Alonsy_Nah, @primarvelous, and @kristella_lav going to be on the boat for this project as mods. 

(Sauce is still on the team, but they are on our Guest Artist list!)

This is our first time organising a zine so we’ll try our best to bring out everyone’s sunny-fantastic work!

● What is this zine about?

This Sunny Time Jack Zine is a SFW zine centred around the prompt that Sunny Day Jack, Ian Duff, Shaun Durand-Cofer and Nick “Nicholas” Herraras are actors for Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack. We encourage writers and artists submitting to the zine to imagine what the actors are like when working on an 18+ erotic yandere horror game.

Examples:

Moonpie is not actually blind ._.

Shaun prefers dogs to cats.

Barry is allergic to yoghurt.

We want to let the artist and writers work on what the character(s) are like when the camera is not rolling. Since it's behind the scenes, we can have 2 directions for this zine (so everyone won’t be drawing or writing the same scene):

Get into work mode: The camera is ready, and everyone gets into the working mood: costume changing, script practising, makeup etc.

After the work mode: When the camera is turned off, everyone can be more relaxed after a long day of work, they can hang out together, grab lunch, play games together etc! Things to do to let off some steam.

How one writer/artist interprets the actor's version of a character doesn’t have to affect how another writer/artist interprets the same actor. There’s no set continuity, and we encourage creativity, but let’s not make the actor versions of our favourite characters too different from their game counterparts, shall we?

We want to have at least one piece for every single one of them, which also means the creators will have to fairly decide which one they want to work on.

We are accepting only platonic relationships between characters. No sexual or violent depictions will be permitted at this time. OCs can be included in the art/writing but should not be the main focus of any given work.

● Who are “they” (the characters)?

These characters are from a game called “Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack” which is an R18 psychological horror erotic visual novel game. I highly encourage anyone who is not familiar with it to give the game a try. The demo is out on Itch.io and Steam. This game is only for adults who are above the age of 18. 

It also goes without saying that anyone who is under the age of 18 is not allowed to play the game or join this project.

“Sunny Day” Jack - Your best friend! :D He may be a ghost and a clown but he will never leave your side, especially during hard times.

Shaun Durant-Cofer - Your best bud from college! He is very involved in the film industry and is a well-known cat daddy.

Ian Duff - Your childhood friend and ex. He is an actor and was there with you during the most important moments of your life and is willing to do anything to get you back.

Nick “Nicholas” Herraras - He is an influencer and a dom and has some dark secrets he wants to hide.  

More information on Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack:

Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack’s Official Twitter account

Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack’s Official Tumblr account

Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack: A Horror Eroge VN Kickstarter

● Where will the funds go?

After printing and shipping costs are covered, all proceeds will go to contributors of the zine.

Contributors will be split into two types:

Contributors

The artists and writers who have applied to join the project The contributors will be compensated for their work with a free copy of the zine - both physical and digital copies - and also the entire selection of merch we have available. 2. Major contributors The project organizers; ones who are responsible for making sure everyone's progress goes smoothly, monitoring the project's official social media platforms, putting together the zine into a booklet for printing and appropriate arrangements for any printing and QA if merch were to be made. Major contributors will be getting the same bundle and splitting the extra funds among ourselves as compensation. 3. Guest Artists and Writers The guest artists and writers will be compensated for their work with a free copy of the zine - both physical and digital copies - and also the entire selection of merch we have available.

● Who can participate in the zine?

We are planning to have around 20 Artists and 10 Writers in total. Depending on how many applications and how much interest we receive, we may increase the amount.

We are preparing an application form for artists and writers. Everyone is welcome to apply!

Each artist will create an illustration complete with character(s) and background. Digital and traditional illustrations are both welcome, but traditional illustrations must be scanned at high resolution!

Writers have a minimum word count of 500 with 2000 maximum. (Still deciding on the word limit) The focus should primarily be on the main cast of characters, but secondary characters - including OCs - are allowed to interact with them.

Artists are welcome to collab with writers to draw some scenes out!

● Will there be merchandise too?

Absolutely yes, we would like to offer different bundles with prints, stickers, or a combination of all of these. We’ll keep you updated about this. Artists are also welcome to apply as merch artists!

● What will I get if I contribute to this zine?

A physical copy of the zine will be offered to all contributors (hopefully). Shipping will be covered if funds permit; otherwise, contributors will be responsible for their own costs.

This is why your support and help in spreading the word about this zine are so important!

● What’s your schedule?

We have a very tentative schedule as follows: (Hopefully)

Opening the applications in early June (1st of June to 23rd of June) Closing the applications close by a week before the end of June (23rd of June) List of contributors up by the end of June or early July if we need a bit more time (1st of July) Creation period for both artists and writers from August - September (2 months period) Pre-Orders open in October Zines shipped out by November-December

We are still deciding the exact dates based on a number of factors. By the Closing Date of the Applications, we will share a definitive date!

● How and where can I get in touch with you?

Feel free to contact us on this blog, @SWWSDJfanzine, or through our other accounts: Twitter: @SWWSDJ_fanzine Email: swwsdjfanzine@gmail.com

[sunshinecatie]

My Time with Rogues! The Podcast

My little journey with Rogues! the Podcast started back on July 27th. I got a DM from friend of mine talking about this podcast on Spotify (and that I would LOVE this version of The Riddler). I distinctly remember laying in a hammock falling asleep to Edward Nygma berate listeners over their stupid riddles and questions. (I later almost fell out of the hammock when I heard a southern Jonathan Crane). Rogues! was my little safe space for a long time. I kept it close to my chest. I was dealing with a lot of very emotional things that summer and Rogues! made me happy. It made me feel better. I could turn on an episode and I knew I would feel at least a bit better. November 11th is another very special day in my heart and journey with Rogues! (and the greater Codotverse) That was the day I uploaded my very first tiktok about the podcast and it was just supposed to be a silly little joke. Nothing was supposed to come of it. I even made a joke about how niche it was. I tagged the creator himself, Codot aka TheVoiceBoss, not expecting anything of it but it changed everything. I became a prominent tiktok creator who made Codotverse content. I started making friends through the podcast.

@sh4pes-4nd-colors and I became campaign managers for a season. We're managing a zine dedicated to Rogues! called Rogues! the Fanzine. We're making our own story driven podcast.

My best friend in the entire world @lunar-scapes and I got internships across the country together and we're going to be living together.

All of this sprouted from the love of a singular creative project from two people that truly do love what they do regardless of the popularity or monetary compensation.

Alls this to say. Thank you @voiceboss for everything you've done knowingly or unknowingly for me. Rogues! provides me a comfort not many pieces of media can. It means the absolute world to me. Rogues! reignited my love in DC comics (and comics in general) and I cannot thank you enough for everything you and Dee have done. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I look forward to next year of fun and dastardly schemes.

[xantchaslegacy]

Rise and Fall

(Below is the unabridged version of a fanfic I did for the very cool MtG Lore *Adrift* fanzine. You can also read the unabridged version on my AO3 if ya like ;) )

Vaash Vroga walked the beach on a nameless world, following in the wake of its creator.

It was not the first artificial plane she'd ever tread. Her journeys through the multiverse had taken her through the meditation realm of Nicol Bolas more than once (an oddly high number of times, truth be told, for a place closed off to so many). She had even spent several painful minutes staggering through the ruins of old Phyrexia, failing to locate some ancient artifact or another at the behest of her now-discarded mantle, before the vile fumes of the place had overcome her and forced her to flee. She still bore scars along her legs from the whip-like blades that passed for grass on the sixth sphere.

This current plane had a more convincing veneer of naturality to it, but the hallmarks of a planeswalker's vanity were still there, if one looked close enough: The sand was just a bit too clean and golden, and the air not quite as fishy as it ought to be, this close to the sea. 

An unsettling creation to tread, pleasant though it was on the senses.

The creator, for his part, moved at an infuriatingly leisurely pace, slowing often to stare out over the water at storm clouds which had been gathering for the past half-hour. His eyes were bright, and uniformly amber, set deep into chiseled features lined with age.

“How much further?”

“Hm?” The creator turned his head, slackening his pace further by half a step. He was dressed in a simple sleeveless tunic of gold-trimmed white, with a cloak of the same pristine fabric that left his legs bare from mid-thigh down. Both garments glowed with an almost imperceptible light.

“How far is our destination?” Vaash gestured ahead, jabbing all five fingers at the stretch of beach and grassy hills before them.

“Ah.” The creator nodded and resumed his previous pace. “No destination. I thought a walk would be a nice change for you." He veered a degree to the right, and started up a low rise overlooking the shore. Tall, dark-green grasses grew in patches that quickly thickened as the beach rolled inland into a meadowed field. "'Tis nicer by far to walk in the open air, under the sun, than remain cooped up in some Izzet lab or tolarian dormitory."

Vaash squinted up at the sky. It was decidedly overcast by now. There were rays of light still peeking through the seams in the clouds, but those seams were closing rapidly.

"Did you make that?” She asked. “It feels just like natural sunlight."

"It's a rescue," the creator replied, his grin full of teeth. "A treefolk 'walker pulled that sun into the eternities about five hundred years ago to deny it as a power source to a rival. I plucked it from there."

"The Battlemage Ravidel is as resourceful as he is formidable," Vaash remarked.

The creator paused, mid-stride, and Vaash halted two paces away. When he turned to look at her, his smile was tight.

““Ravidel,’ if you please. We will have a frank, straightforward conversation, unmuddied by titles or deference. We are peers of the multiverse, you and I.”

“No deference here.” Vaash held out her hands and gave a mock bow. “If the mighty Ravidel wishes to call me 'peer', I won’t deny him.”

Ravidel snorted. “Very good. You can lose ‘the mighty,’ but good.”

“Surprisingly humble for a centuries-old tyrant.”

“Hm.” Ravidel nodded, not turning back. “I find myself discovering and re-learning humility every century or so.”

The two planeswalkers hiked a ways longer in silence. They passed two fishermen, and a group of children combing for shells in the surf, but weather had driven the other inhabitants of this pocket plane further inland. The fields Vaash could see were mostly empty, save for fireflies and a far-off shepherd herding a flock of woolly, blue-furred creatures. The grassy portion of the beach started to slope upward, and soon they were walking along the ledge of a low ridge, with the meadow to their right, and a straight drop of several yards down to the sands on their left.

"Well." Ravidel paused at a small boulder set at a high rise, and perched upon it. "What do you think? Not bad for my first plane."

Vaash regarded the sea and sky.

"Not bad for an old man's retirement home, I suppose."

Ravidel chuckled. "Hard to impress a planeswalker. Even one of you young bloods."

Vaash shrugged. “I’ve seen plenty impressive bits of this vast multiverse; Jodah could have told you as much. My adventures on all the planes that Ral and that little mind-mage friend of theirs chased me through could fill a book.”

“Mind mage?” Ravidel shot her quizzical look. “Jodah told me it was a necromancer that helped them subdue you and strip you of the mantle.”

“So he thinks,” Vaash grimaced. “Ral insists their ally is a geomancer. And the first time we fought, I was certain their traveler friend was a beast mage. The only explanation I have for the discrepancy is that they’re actually an illusionist, hiding whatever other powers they have with mind-tricks. Of the three, they are the one I trust the least.”

"Hm." Ravidel shrugged. “Sounds like an unusual fellow."

“What planeswalker isn’t?” Vaash shook her head. "Ral and Jodah think I'm a bit mad. They don't even realize that they can't agree what their nameless friend is."

Ravidel didn't offer a response to that. His attention had turned to the figures on the beach below: a clutch of older children, human and goblin. A few were tending to a small fire, while the others stood in the shallows, ankle-deep in the slightly-too-sapphire-colored water, fishing with sharpened sticks. The ones by the fire caught sight of Ravidel and called out excited greetings. Ravidel acknowledged them with a wave and a nod.

"You're wondering why you're here," he said.

"You didn't give Jodah much time to explain...or make introductions."

"I thought he'd have filled you in on who I am ahead of this meeting."

Vaash grimaced. "The archmage can be a bit absent-minded in that regard."

"Old, old habits," Ravidel sighed. "My name, at least, speaks for itself?"

"I have had a rudimentary schooling in history, but even that poor education found time for you.” Vaash lifted her hands and made a line in the air. “Apprentice to the long-vanished planeswalker Faralyn, Destroyer of Arathoxia, ‘The Plague Upon Corondor,’ scourge of your fellow planeswalkers, and bitter enemy to the line of Carthalion."

"All apt monikers." Ravidel patted his knee thoughtfully. "History has judged me fairly, if harshly."

"The old Cabal head claimed some of those names for his own, a while back." Vaash lowered a hand to the ground, dropping spores of green and black to the grass. "Your monikers, and others, too. Though he's dead now. Pasty-skinned demon bastard." She spat in the grass, and a saproling shimmered into being where the spores hovered: thigh-high, and made of thick tendrils supporting a cushion of tan toadstool caps.

She sat down upon the saproling, and sighed as the pressure eased off her tired soles. Ravidel regarded her, elbows on his knees.

"You slew him?"

Vaash shook her head. "Other ‘walkers took care of him. The same ones who thrashed old Bolas on Ravnica."

"You'd rather have done the deed yourself." It wasn't a question.

"Sure." Vaash shrugged. It was an easier gesture to do nowadays, without that heavy garment draped around her shoulders. "But it's a positive outcome no matter who killed Belzenlok. The Cabal is weakened and Urborg is safer for it."

"And that is important to you."

Again, not a question. So Vaash did not answer.

They sat in silence a long while, faces cooled by the pre-storm winds whistling in from the sea, and backs warmed by the inland breeze, smelling now of bittersweet milkweed and ozone. Ravidel's breaths were short and loud enough to be heard over both winds. Awkwardly so. The few oldwalkers Vaash had encountered in her time were all like that in some regard. Still uneasy in the trappings of newly mortal bodies, even decades after the mending had lessened the nature of the spark.

Maybe they just breathe loud because they miss being the center of attention.

"What is it you want out of life, ultimately?"

Vaash looked up at Ravidel. He'd lifted up a hand, where five rings gleamed, one on each finger. Each was inset with a gem.

Vaash could have sworn they were not there a minute ago.

“What?”

"What does Vaash want for Vaash?” Ravidel continued. “Surely you do not begin and end at Urborg." As he spoke, points of colored light peeled off from the rings and swirled in his open palm.

“‘Vaash’ has not had much time alone for Vaash. But I am content in the freedom I enjoy as a mage and ‘walker to do as I please.”

Ravidel raised an eyebrow. “Or as others please that you do?”

Vaash regarded Ravidel. He held her gaze, lights spinning faster and faster in his palm.

"This talk is going to be about Leshrac, isn't it?"

"..Yes." The lights in Ravidel’s palm did not falter, but as soon as Vaash said ‘Leshrac,’ their rapid orbits expanded to circle around the back of Ravidel's hand.

"Why?" Vaash rested a hand on her hip, close to the hilt of her sword. Ravidel had requested she not bring her blades with her. This was her compromise. "Why bring me here to lecture me on my tormentor?"

“I am uniquely qualified to do so: I know what it is to be twisted to the ends of another planeswalker. I know what it is to twist others to my ends. And, of course, I knew the planeswalker who has most recently twisted you to his ends."

The colored lights slowed and hovered, one over each of Ravidel's fingers. The pearly light elongated into the figure of an old man with golden robes and a shining crown. The sapphire unspooled into a burly, many-tendriled beast with scales the color of dull steel. The black twisted into what appeared to be an old crone, with flame around their brow, and a large tunic the color of night.

"Leshrac,” Ravidel said as this last figure spun into being. “A peer of my first master, Faralyn. Along with Tevesh Szat, they conspired to slay one of their fellow 'walkers during a Summit on the Null Moon, and then to use the life force to escape their joint imprisonment on Dominaria. Instead, their plotting led to my own death and sparking, and the death of my dearest friend.”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Vaash whispered, eyeing the dark-cloaked image. “Supposed to have died decades ago in the mending, shoved face-first into a rift by the god-emperor-dragon of Madara.”

“We died with surprising regularity, we walkers of old,’” Ravidel sighed. “an astounding regularity, for beings so close to gods.”

“Well he didn’t die...or at least, old Bolas didn’t do his job thoroughly enough.” Vaash crossed her arms. “Left enough of that wretch alive in the mantle to use and torment me.” She shrugged her shoulders again, to reassure herself they were still bare.

“Yes,” Ravidel said, not soft, but softer than he had spoken previously. “But that can all be behind you, if you would re-think your schemes for the future.”

Vaash scowled "I have not spoken of schemes for the future. Or for Leshrac. To you or Jodah or Ral."

"But you have spoken about him to Jodah, and for all his peculiarities, a planebound mage as old as Jodah doesn't survive as long as he has without a sense for reading intentions between the lines."

"Go on then." Vaash rose from the saproling seat and placed her hands on her hips. "What are my intentions?"

Ravidel’s eyes tracked hers as she rose. He pursed his lips, watching her and breathing sharply through his nostrils.

"Your intentions are ones I know well," he said at last. "Vengeance. Plain and simple."

"Yes, plain and simple." Vaash walked past Ravidel, moving slightly past him along the slope. Her saproling scurried to follow. "Intentions so plain and simple, in fact, that we don’t need to discuss them further."

"Jodah wishes you to reconsider. I wish you to reconsider."

Vaash turned and frowned. Ravidel had risen from the stone, and the colored lights were circling his entire arm now, tracing a rainbow of lines through the air.

"By threat?" She snarled.

Ravidel shook his head. "By reason. By example and demonstration."

“The great Ravidel has become a teacher?’

“Ravidel is more than a magical tyrant,” he replied, with a dry smile. “Ravidel has had centuries to hone subtler arts than spell-craft. You’d be amazed what you have time for when you step away and let all the world think you’re dead.”

“I have too many responsibilities for something like that. Urborg’s enemies are many and industrious; I cannot tear my attention away from their activities for long.”

“Urborg is important to you.”

"Urborg is my responsibility. A land in need of Freedom. All the world dismisses us as a sulfurous swamp, yet all the world cannot help but interfere with our people. The black primeval, Nevinyrral, the Cabal...tyrants all, and I would see an Urborg free of tyrants. I would see a multiverse free of tyrants, if possible, but Urborg is where I have started."

"Noble and high-minded." Ravidel nodded. "Were you brought up among freedom fighters, or do you come by these ideals yourself?"

"Hah!" Vaash spat upon the grass. "My ideals are my own. 'Freedom' couldn't have been further from the aims of those who raised me."

"No love lost between you and your parents, then?" Ravidel turned a wry look out toward the beach. He was watching the children in the surf tramp back to the fire, with nets and sticks full of fish and shellfish. The fishing group had taken notice of the planeswalkers as well, and a few were waving to Ravidel. He returned a broad wave, and motioned for them to return to their play. "I sympathize."

"I lost my parents to the breathstealers when I was six." Vaash hissed. "Urborg’s infamous death cult. They are the ones who brought me up, raising me and children like me to feed into the meat grinder of their mercenary service.” Vaash paused. her chest was filling and falling rapidly. She closed her eyes. And slowed her lungs, letting the rise and fall become deeper, slower, and then regular again.

"And yet the breathstealers taught you many lessons," Ravidel observed, as she opened her eyes again. "Your prowess with death magic demonstrates as much."

Vaash shrugged. “A good lesson can come from anywhere. It does not make the teacher good. Always there was an ulterior motive with the breathstealers. They taught power for no purpose but to farm us out as child soldiers to any unscrupulous mage willing to pay the right price. Breathing exercises to make us silent killers. Lessons in eating mana and casting spells to make us deadly in magicks. Artifacts of power gifted to us not out of pride or for our protection, but always in service of the Nightstalker Spirit in its many manifestations. Can you guess how many times I was taught growing up that the greatest thing I could aspire to was to die and merge with the great nightstalker? To die and spread death in the names of Avarre and Necros and Bethanelle? To serve-" Vaash cut off, and folded her arms, looking out toward the water. "No, Ravidel. My inclinations to freedom are separate from and antithetical to the breathstealers. They are another ill upon Urborg and upon Dominaria, and I will see their cult erased from the world."

This time she did not need to correct her breathing, though Ravidel still waited a long moment before responding.

"That's where the mantle came from." This time there was the hint of a question in his voice. But just a hint.

"Jodah told you of the mantle?"

"A power-storing and consuming garment that bears the mark of Leshrac? Of course he did. I am, as I said, one of the few living authorities on the Walker of the Night."

"I thought you didn't care for titles."

"This particular title might be salient, given the mantle's origins." Ravidel looked her up and down. "‘Spirit of the Night’… ‘The Nightstalker’… ‘Walker of the Night’ … I am curious why they would bestow such a tool upon you. Are you a descendant of Leshrac? Was he a breathstealer himself?"

"I do not know or care if Leshrac was a breathstealer. A handful of my elders among the breathstealers thought he might be some legend from their past...perhaps even the Nightstalker itself, taken the form of a man. As for me...I was an orphan," Vaash turned away from Ravidel. Her voice became a harsh whisper on the breeze. "My parents were nothing and nobody, but they were mine, and the breathstealers killed them to make me into a tool. This is their practice all across Urborg. I was nothing special to them, and the mantle was just a means. A pretty basting on another sacrifice intended to raise another iteration of their night-stalking god." She let her arms fall to her side. "Well, I guess they succeeded in the end, didn't they?"

Ravidel nodded. “I must ask...do you have any inkling of how Leshrac survived? How he came to be in the mantle? Anything you didn’t tell Jodah?”

“I have answered every question Jodah has asked of me fully and honestly. Do you have any inklings? You claim to be the authority.”

Ravidel shook his head. "I have theories, but that is all. Perhaps the mantle was made from the same artifact Nicol Bolas stuffed Leshrac's spark into. Perhaps it was an unrelated contingency Leshrac cooked up after seeing so many of his fellow walkers of old perish so suddenly and unexpectedly over the centuries.”

"In any case," he sighed, "you are better off quit of the mantle. And of Leshrac.”

"We are all better off quit of Leshrac," Vaash replied through her teeth. "So it will be quite the favor I do the multiverse when I track him down and erase whatever sliver of him still lingers among the living."

Ravidel pursed his lips, eyes on the clouds in the distance. The colors circling his arm shuddered, leapt up into the air, and spiraled in a wide ring overhead, twisting around one another into a broad, tangled, rainbow-hued circle.

"Your life magic is self-taught, I gather, given your upbringing, so likely you never had a mentor to teach you of the cycles of life."

"I taught myself quite adequately," Vaash said, eyes narrowing. “And even self-taught lessons can be educational.”

"Humor me." Ravidel's eyes flashed, and the space within the ring overhead filled with a blaze of imagery. Dragons, forests, fire-red skies, armored giants, and dozens of scenes lasting but a fraction of a second that Vaash could not identify.

The images began to slow and blur. Color melted into color, and for a moment the disk was pure, unbroken white. A second later, two figures resolved from the blankness. A tall woman with a warrior’s build and cascading blonde hair. Beside her, a hunched but burly old man with a walking stick and a thin cap upon his head.

“Tev Loneglade was a planeswalker,” Ravidel began. His voice had a slight echo to it. More vanity. “Old and powerful. Not the friendliest of ‘walkers, but content to keep to himself.”

"Tev Loneglade had a sister, Tymolin. One precious to him, for whom he expended his magical prowess to protect and keep alive. She was taken from him-"

A flurry of figures swirled around the two Lonelades – saprolings and elves, merfolk and lobster-people. Goblins, orcs, and dwarves, a man speaking to a cluster of hunched homunculi, and figures in white. These last surrounded the tall woman, and she fell out of the disk, limp.

“-and slain. So Tev fell to rage and despair, and became Tevesh. Tevesh Szat.”

The hunched and burly man turned reptilian and blue-scaled. Tentacles blossomed around the ring. The reptile-man reached down.

“Szat swore a vengeance against his sister's killers, and then against Dominaria, and eventually, once free of the shard, against everything and everyone, so fully did he lose himself to his hatred of the few that stole away his sister. He sowed discord and ruin across all Dominaria and every plane he could in the Shard of Twelve Worlds.”

Steaming tears streamed from the burly thing’s red-hot eyes as it tore through figures – black and white at first, then green, blue, and red.

"Many years later, Tevesh Szat slew my dearest friend at the Summit of the Null Moon, to escape the Shard. Tore away the most precious one in my life in the same way the Farrelites took his sister from him. He did not do this to spite me. Nor did he act with any intent to inflict a wound on my soul the same as he had suffered, but he did so nonetheless, and in doing so spurred me to become a beast not entirely unlike he was."

The scene twisted again and fractured – the golden-robed man in the crown spoke to a blue dragon, and was vaporized by mist. A long-antlered man screamed from a pyramid as the dead rushed around him through knee-deep snows.

“I became a scourge to many, mortal and walker alike, all in the name of revenge-”

Ravidel himself stood on a rise before a collection of figures, brandishing a chained bowl. A red-haired man was struck dead by Ravidel’s magics. A freckled woman trudged through a dark forest. A man in a turban assaulted a minotaur with magics, and was in turn cut down by a golden-haired figure wearing dark glasses. Szat screamed in a dome of glass as electricity cooked his flesh.

“-and all for naught. Did my campaign of vengeance bring my friend back from the dead? It did not. I accomplished nothing against the ‘walkers I saw as having manipulated me, other than to hurt the ones who once wished to help me. Faralyn got himself killed like a buffoon the moment he made it out of the Shard. Tevesh Szat evaded me for centuries, only to die at the hands of some greasy-fingered tinkerer. Taysir and I sealed Leshrac away for a time, but by then my hatred...my bitterness had a mind all its own. It had become so core to my being that I could not put it aside, and I embraced means that made me indistinguishable from the walkers I had sworn vengeance upon at my sparking.”

Ravidel closed his eyes. “So it was that the cycles of vengeance claimed me, and used me to perpetuate further misery.”

Vaash snorted. "And let me guess - it all starts with one bad decision. A decision to chase vengeance."

Ravidel nodded. “It starts with a compromise. A bending of your principals, justified with the belief in the good of your ends. Then another compromise, allowed because two compromises cannot possibly be that worse than one. Then, eventually, comes a complete break from your principals, once you are well and invested in your ends. Before you know it, a snowdrift of compromises have buried the ruins of whoever you once were.”

“So what’s the solution?” Vaash spread her hands. “Never risk compromise? Never retaliate against the wicked?”

“Not at all. A better way is to be honest, and to not fool yourself when a compromise comes. When you break with your ideals, acknowledge the break, and reassess yourself. Otherwise you’ll have no idea what you’ve become. You won’t understand that you are fundamentally a different person, and in trying to reconcile the self with the lost ideal, you will lose yourself further.”

“Easy enough. I promise to assess whether I am at peace with killing Leshrac.” Vaash stared at Ravidel for two and a fraction of a second. “Done. I have decided to proceed.”

Ravidel shook his head. “Whether or not you make that honest assessment of yourself, you’ll still have changed. You’ll still have become the you who makes the compromises vengeance demands, and even if you make peace with that person, the rest of the world must now contend with them. The person you are now, or the person who compromises. You can’t be two people at once.”

“What if I want it both ways?” Vaash drew her hand in a line through the space between Ravidel and herself. Five spears of mossy light bloomed around her. A moment later, a second Vaash stood on the rise beside her, skin glowing with green veins. “Who says I must choose between the Vaash I am and the Vaash who takes vengeance? Why must it be an inherently corrupting process?” She cut another line, and a third Vaash appeared, this one trailing wisps of black smoke.

The green Vaash nodded. “Who says it is even vengeance? That is your word, and Jodah’s. Can I not simply be a responsible mage who cleans up after her own messes?”

“Everything we do changes us, Vaash Vroga.” Ravidel clenched his fist, and the ring above pulsed with fresh power. Overhead, the red-haired man knelt before a black horse with a flaming mane. The turban-clad man spied on the freckled woman from before, as Ravidel whispered into his ear. A young man with long black hair raised a sword above a fallen archer, screaming in rage. A bronze-skinned woman poured fiery magic into a burly elf, who spasmed in pain. “One does not pursue a creature like Leshrac, or even the shadow of Leshrac, without risk to oneself and others. Inherently self-altering risk. Did you not compromise yourself significantly in your pursuits for artifacts to feed to Leshrac’s mantle?”

The black Vaash crossed her arms. “It seemed a better path than nourishing the mantle with the breath of orphans.”

“And yet look at what you did do. Destabilizing Zendikar. Attacking your fellow ‘walkers.”

“Walkers who did not care to understand-”

“And Shiv? Were your actions there the work of the ambitious, high-minded mage who wishes to free the planes of tyranny?”

The black Vaash’s eyes fell to the ground. “That...was a compromise. A bad one.”

“A man like Deniz-”

“I know!” Vaash herself interrupted. “I know and I regret it! I told myself he was Benalish. That his people also fight against the Cabal. I saw them as allies, and I thought his intervention on Shiv would be beneficial for their...”

She tapered off as Ravidel raised an eyebrow.

“...it was a compromise.” She turned to face the beach and the sea. A trail of smoke was blowing off the children’s fire, swept inland and up the slope below them, where the warm breeze from inland carried it back over the sands and the waves. “One of many. There was power to be gained in having an ally who controls the mana rig. Enough perhaps to power the mantle without hunting artifacts on other planes.”

“It must have been quite the burden, keeping the mantle fed.” Ravidel lowered his ringed hand. “What was that like? The hunger of the mantle? Of Leshrac?”

“At first? Not much at all. I fed his mantle because sustenance for it meant power for me. A pool of energy. Easier spellcasting. A sort of intuition that helped me develop my own casting. But after a while...” Vaash grimaced. “...it became worse than hunger. Worse than any thirst, or the need to breathe, even. I would have cut the throat out of my own mother if it meant staving off the pain the mantle’s cravings caused me.”

She looked over at Ravidel. “Still, I told myself it was better than feeding on others. Better than sucking the breath out of children to keep the mantle...to keep Leshrac sated.”

“When did he take control?”

“He didn’t...” Vaash paused. “That is, there was no one moment. It’s not like I became a puppet or anything like that, it’s just that feeding the mantle became its own end. That’s how bad the ‘hunger’ was. One day on Zendikar I woke up, and instead of feeling an intuitive guidance from the mantle, it was whispering directions into my ear.” She clenched both her fists. “I could have not listened, maybe. But I’d lived so long feeding the mantle at that point that, well...” She trailed off. “Let’s just say it’s good Ral and his mystery friend stopped me when they did.”

“It’s the cycle.” Ravidel said. He said it like that was all there was to say. “The Breathstealers wronged you. The Cabal wrongs your homeland. And in your efforts to right those wrongs, you have spread the cursed cycle of wrongs wider still. The only solution can be this: Remove yourself from the cycle, and feed it no longer.”

Vaash and both her copies were silent. Green looked down at her feet, scowling. Black gazed off into the sky, arms folded and face blank. Vaash herself regarded Ravidel. He had his clenched fist raised, and one foot resting on a rock. His breath was slow and steady, his belly swelling and contracting with each breath. He might have looked grand, posed as he was, if she weren’t completely certain it was all just a display. The emerald ring on his finger was glowing a conspicuous degree brighter than the others.

“Do you like the person you are, Ravidel?”

Ravidel blinked. “I...what?”

“Would you say that you like yourself? As you are now?”

“I am proud of what I am,” Ravidel said. “Of what I have made of myself, considering my past. He gestured toward the children, who were cooking their catch over the fire, surprisingly uninterested in the magics happening above their heads. “Where once I ruined lives, broke homes, now I provide preservation of both. A whole plane, safe and peaceful, for the orphans I left in my wake, and for their descendants.

“And for myself, I have found that, removed from the cycle of vengeance, I have had time to find out who ‘Ravidel’ is. I am a powerful mage, yes but also a cultivator. A builder. A provider for many. I have found peace, humility, and an appreciation for my place as a walker of the planes.”

“You found humility?” Green Vaash raised an eyebrow, eyes on the battlemage’s impossibly gleaming garments.

He shrugged, spreading his arms. "I found out Ravidel is someone who enjoys a bit of theatricality, and grandeur. I like that about myself as well."

“And would you be who you are now, if you hadn’t done all those things? If you had not fallen into the cycle of vengeance? If you had not learned all you know now from the mistakes you made?”

Ravidel’s arms faltered, falling a few inches. He pursed his lips. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t be. Still, I would excise those years of my life from existence, if I could. All those lives lost, people killed...were they worth it for one mage to become a better man?”

Vaash stared at him, and shrugged.

“Yes,” Ravidel said, smiling sadly. “Fair enough.” He looked at Vaash and each of her simalcra in turn. “I suppose we live with all versions of ourselves at all times, don’t we?”

Vaash shrugged again.

Ravidel took his foot from the stone, and sighed. “Taysir told me once, back when he deigned to be my mentor, that the people of old Yotia believed we have many souls. Many selves throughout the many stages our lives. They believed the good would be judged separately from the bad. Redemption and ascension for part of the self, punishment for the rest.”

Green Vaash laughed. A rough, harsh sound. “Sounds like a fiction to comfort the repentant wicked.”

“Perhaps,” Ravidel sighed, “but Taysir took comfort in it, I think, when he abandoned his interplanar questing and settled down to live apart and in peace. His own nature was such that a belief system built around a multiplicity of souls must have felt natural. I find myself taking comfort in it in my twilight years...and who's to say? Gods, immortals, afterlives; I’ve seen a dozen different belief systems play out before my eyes on a dozen different planes. It’s hard to fully be a skeptic.”

“Being a planeswalker is a great cure for skepticism,” black Vaash muttered.

Ravidel laughed. “Agreed.”

Vaash’s response faltered on her lips as a fork of lightning speared the sea, far out at the horizon line. The sky had grown quite a bit darker since they’d left the sand for the grasses, but the bolt illuminated the landscape like a flicker of sunlight.

Another spear of lightning flashed across the sky seconds later. Then another and another.

Another.

Another, far too rapid in succession to be natural. Vaash looked over at Ravidel. He nodded, and put up a hand, but his eyes were fixed on the crackling horizon. She bit her lip, but turned to face the sea, and inhaled. The green and black Vaashes flowed back into her.

The children were likewise transfixed, but weren’t retreating. A few of them had actually walked closer to the shore, skewers of roasted seafood in hand, though they stayed well clear of the waterline.

All the while the lightning riddled the distance with lines of power.

Just when Vaash thought the noise and the light could not grow any more overwhelming, the horizon fell dark and silent.

But just for a moment.

A dragon flashed into being over the sea. Then again. And again. It took three strobes for Vaash to realize the dragon was not real, but a sculpture of electricity, soaring toward the shore, roaring with the blast of thunder. By a trick of light, its scales appeared to be solid chrome, reflecting the sea and the clouds.

It rushed the shore, blinking in and out of being with millisecond rapidity, wings wide.

Closer it came. Closer still, until Vaash thought it would tear through the sky overhead. Just as it reached three hundred yards from the waterline, the dragon reared up, wings and limbs spread in a triumphant display. There was another, booming roar-

-and then silence.

The sky was empty once again, save for the undulating blanket of stormclouds.

The children lost no time in cheering and jumping about the sand. It was odd, Vaash thought as she watched them. The bolts never actually touched the water.

“A tribute to a friend,” Ravidel whispered, hoarse. “A little vanity built into the structure of the plane back when I had the power for such things.”

“Was he fond of dragons, this friend of yours?”

Ravidel tilted his head as if considering the question, then let out a soft laugh.

“You know, one could make a convincing argument that he was not. His name was ‘Rhuell.’ As in, ‘to rule.’ An ironic name for one who spent so much of his life in servitude.” Ravidel closed his hand. The ring of mana above them collapsed into his fist and was extinguished. Raindrops, minute pinpricks of coolness in the still-warm air, dotted Vaash’s face and arms.

The wind slowed from bellow to whistle, a warm whip across the skin.

“I’d welcome you to stay here a while,” Ravidel said. “To think over vengeance before you take it. The planes will carry along fine in your absence. All our schemes and plots spilling out from world to world? It isn’t natural, and it isn’t beneficial.”

“Natural?” Vaash laughed, swinging her hand out over the ocean and the children. “None of this is natural. A world with engineered weather? A world peopled by transplanted citizens? Only a planeswalker could do such a thing, and you cannot tell me it is not an especially slick patch on the slippery slope of abusing godhood.”

Ravidel grimaced. Not quite a flinch, but the closest thing to it Vaash had seen from him. “It would be impossible for me to do more than this now, with the nature of the multiverse so changed by the Mending-”

“You’ve made a dollhouse that will fall apart as soon as you are gone from the multiverse. An irresponsible decision even when you were a true immortal, and downright ruinous now that the Mending has come and done its ravaging work upon the nature of the spark.”

“I’m trying!” Ravidel snapped back. His brow furrowed. Just a fraction, but it was the most agitation he’d shown so far. “Do you think I haven’t considered the fragility of this place? It weighs on my every moment. Not a day goes by that I do not plumb my prowess and knowledge for a way to preserve it past my passing. I do not mean to be Ravidel the careless, any more than I wish to again be Ravidel the cruel. Ravidel the callous and hateful.”

“That’s my point. A walker does not have to be cruel or hateful or vengeful to be a danger to the multiverse.”

“I am more at peace with the multiverse than-”

“Peace!” Vaash laughed. “Don’t kid yourself, Ravidel. We ‘walkers can never be at peace with the multiverse. We are an aberration. Intruders by nature. Every trip we take through the eternities is an affront to the nature of existence. A man might tread cautiously through the swamp, but still he will trouble the fish with his movement and crush the snails underfoot.”

She cut off, breathing measured, but deep. Ravidel grimaced, and said nothing.

“But,” Vaash said, after a moment, “it is not a terrible thing. What you have done here. I think it admirable in its aims, overall. I would commend you for it on another day, when my temper does not run so hot. But what I will not do is nod along with you and pretend that your sort of meddling is less a danger to the planes than mine.”

“I keep myself to this plane now. I have left the rest of it to be as it will.”

“As it will?” Vaash’s nostrils flared. “And how exactly do you think it will be, left all alone? Sunshine and freedom for all, now that big, bad Ravidel has graciously decided to rampage no longer?”

Ravidel, clenched his jaw. “I acknowledge I am not the only danger out in the multiverse, but by leaving my own vengeance behind-”

“It is not better to leave the cycle behind than to remain.” Vaash snapped. Her saproling, which had gone to huddle in the taller grasses when the lightning began, scurried over for her to sit upon. “Power not used for good out in the multiverse is power that might as well have been snuffed out. Was it not a great tragedy when your actions removed more benevolent planeswalkers from the world? Or when Lord Windgrace gave his life to preserve the nature of reality itself? Tell me, how did it help the multiverse at large when Taysir went into seclusion and hermitage? Doesn’t the inability of such powerful beings to do good throughout the multiverse tear at your heart? And would the outcome not be the same if they had just disappeared to a pocket plane, never to be seen again except to lecture at-”

“Lord Windgrace was just as much an isolationist as I when he lived-”

“-And now he can never be anything else!” Vaash snapped. “Your question before, if your growth was worth the cost of your sins – it’s the wrong way of looking at things altogether. Nature does not care about moral equity. What is done has been done. Maybe you’ve become a better person, but it’s of no benefit to the multiverse if you stay here, closed off from it.”

“Be careful how much you presume the multiverse needs people like us.” Ravidel extended a hand toward the storm. “Despite the many ills that ravage it…” He gestured toward the fields, where fireflies drifted through the grass “...the denizens of the planes will endure.”

“Yes,” Vaash replied, “But I would rather they endure without tyrants than with. With fewer storms and calamities.”

“An answer for everything.” Ravidel let his hand fall.

“Yes. This is a conversation, isn’t it?”

Ravidel opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to think better of it. He exhaled instead, still loud and abrupt, and sat back down upon the stone.

“It is that. I forget myself.” He inclined his head, and gestured at Vaash. “Please.”

“All belief and magic comes from nature, and all nature is about the cycle. The cycle of wrongs and responses is as natural to human intercourse as the predator-prey system. There’s no escaping the cycles, at least not for the planebound. Even the gods must live within them the best they can.” Vaash clenched her fist. “You’ve made me realize something. As walkers, don’t we have a privileged position? A rare perspective on the cycles? Of life and death, vengeance and kindness? How can you tell me it is good to remove ourselves from the cycles when our privilege makes us among the few who can ease the suffering of those within?”

Ravidel stared at her, though by the way he worked his jaw, he did appear to be considering her words.

At last he smiled.

“The green mage wishes for harmony, and black mage will do anything to achieve their ends...together...peace at any cost.”

Vaash frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Ravidel chuckled “Just thinking about some blowhard old friends. Antiquated theories on the colors of magic. I’m not sure how much stock I put in them anymore. We used to be very old-fashioned about spellcasting.”

“Old indeed,” Vaash shrugged. “The magic of the forest and fen are closer than most mages imagine. On most planes it’s just the ratio of mulch and moisture.”

Ravidel nodded, slow. “The same tree that drinks sunlight above casts darkness below its leaves.”

Vaash grimaced. “Yes.” She flexed her fingers, and a five-pointed fork of moss and mud-colored light jabbed up into the space in front of her face. The spikes of light twisted into a spiral, and collapsed again into a single point over her palm. “Many cycles at work. And these… ‘colors,’ as you put it, are not always what they seem.”

He nodded, first at Vaash, and then toward the fields, glowing the fireflies. “Do you know, they call them ‘lightning bugs’ in some places? Fire...lighting...the very soul of the red mage, yet I’ve yet to find the pyromancer or lightning mage who have ever called such creatures to their aid. I suppose lightning bugs make for poor combatants.” He raised an eyebrow at Vaash.

“We summon for reasons other than combat,” Vaash returned.

“We do that,” Ravidel acknowledged with a smile. “I have considered your rebuttal, and I think us perhaps both wrong.”

Vaash raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So an old dog can still ponder new tricks?”

“To stay in the cycle and let it buffet us about is beneath a walker. Even if we see the cycles for what they are.” Ravidel opened his hand. His rings glowed, faintly, but there was no display of light this time. “But to abandon it is, as you suggest, a waste of our potential. We can be proactive in our good as much as in our wickedness. More so, if we are willing to be selfless.”

“I say we must still be careful about assuming a direct outcome between good intentions and good outcomes,” Vaash offered. “My vengeance against Leshrac has much to offer the multiverse. My vengeance might do more good and save more lives than the high intentions of most other powerful ‘walkers.”

“So what do we do then, young blood?”

“You seem to have all the answers, old man.”

Ravidel stood, and clapped his hands together. “We cannot leave the cycle, and it make no difference to simply remain.” He began to pace the grasses.

Vaash pivoted in her seat to follow his pacing. “So we guide the cycle.”

“We influence it the best we can.” Ravidel pounded a fist into his hand. “Use our knowledge having been tossed about by the cycle to determine how to best spin to the ends of peace. Perhaps find an equilibrium where those within the cycles do not just survive, but thrive.”

Vaash nodded. “Remove the worst elements to keep the cycle from spinning out of control. Elements like Leshrac.”

“Yes, like Leshrac.”

“Agreed on all points.” Vaash tapped the hilt of her sword. “Not a conclusion I would think it’d take centuries to arrive at, but agreed.”

“I don’t talk much with other travelers these days. The mind stagnates when left alone.” Ravidel stopped in place. The winds were picking up again. The fireflies were going to ground once more. “It will be dangerous, chasing Leshrac. There will be risk and a great danger of collateral damage if not handled carefully. It would be completely understandable if you preferred to leave this task to me.”

“Fuck off, old man. I am the one allowing you to accompany me in this endeavor.”

“...very well. I’d hoped I could be an instructor to you, but perhaps you’ve got a thing or two to teach me as well.” Ravidel waved his hands, and his garments transformed. His tunic turned to leather armour, and his cloak to a cape of crimson.

Vash grinned. “There we go. I won’t call you ‘Battlemage’ if you truly loath the title, but I’m happy to see you looking the part again.”

“You have quite formidable allies already, Vaash Vroga.” Ravidel clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the edge of the rise. The children had returned to the fire to eat their catch. A few had finished and were playing some sort of dancing game on the sand “I ask again, are you quite certain you want one like me in your life. Not just to offer my advice, but to strive alongside?”

“Ral has been an agreeable companion, and Jodah a useful contact. Now, I need an ally with fangs, and a willingness to draw blood with those fangs.”

“This has been a serendipitous meeting then.”

“Serendipitous, sure. If we will be working together, you should know I make my own luck.”

Ravidel blinked. He hadn’t done much of that, even with the storm winds battering them.

“How do you mean?”

“You said it yourself: you are one of a very few people alive who know Leshrac. Who can speak to his person and power from personal experience. Who would have a reason to go after him, as I would like to. Jodah in turn is one of the few people alive with the longevity to have known a person like you. It stands that, if I indicated an interest in pursuing Leshrac, he might draw you in as a resource.”

Ravidel stared at Vaash. His mouth was agape by a sliver of an inch; somewhere between amused and aghast. The two warred a moment, before he smiled.

“I appreciate the honesty, though I grow warier of you with every surprise you throw my way.”

“Good. If I am to learn from you, I would rather you be on your guard.” Vaash returned Ravidel’s smile. “If you are still willing.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Ravidel smirked at Vaash. “I’ve years of practice at manipulating mentors to my own ends. I’m on the lookout for your tricks.”

“Don’t you worry about me; I’m not an aspiring megalomaniac.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I hope you will not take too much offense when I say you have the perfect cadence and bearing to become one.” He raised his brow. “I have some expertise in this area, you understand, having studied a few up close over the centuries.”

Vaash raised an eyebrow. “Thank Windgrace you didn’t pick up any of their bad habits.”

Ravidel laughed at that. Really laughed, a cackle that cut through the growing bluster of the storm. A madman’s laugh, no mistaking it, but Vaash found it oddly comforting.

“I try to limit myself to their good habits these days. For example: I would be following Taysir’s path to the letter if I took on a protege.”

“Taysir is dead, if I recall my history correctly. He and his protege.”

Ravidel shook his head. “He is my model, not my destiny. I have my own path to walk.”

“Nothing is foreconcluded,” Vaash ventured. 

“Very green of you,” Ravidel said with a smirk. He stepped back from the ledge. "I would ask one thing of you, at the outset of our partnership here."

"What would that be?"

"If we do this...once its over...while it's underway...I want you to think long and hard about who Vaash Vroga is, and what she wants for herself, should she ever allow herself to rest." He held out a hand. "Agreeable?"

"Tolerable," Vaash clapped hands with him, and they shook. "I look forward to getting to know both of us."

"Indeed."

“And when we find what remains of Leshrac, will you be kind to him, as you have been to me? Is rehabilitation on the menu for the walker of the night?”

Ravidel laughed. “There is more difference between his wickedness and yours than there is difference from a drop of water and the core of the sun.”

Vaash paused. “...and what is the difference between your past evils and his?”

"Hm..." Ravidel tilted his head one way, then another. “My rehabilitation was a rare bolt of lightning shot through the eternities.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

“I just might. Regardless, I would not count on such a turnaround happening lightly.”

Vaash snorted. “Sounds solipsistic.”

Ravidel grinned. “It is.” He spread his arms at the sea and hills around them. “But much of my life has been similarly self-centered.” He laughed again, and Vaash found herself chuckling as well. The air was still warm, but now thicker droplets of cool water were beginning to pepper them, wetting her face and bare forearms.

“Arcades’ Scales, that’s a nice feeling,” Ravidel remarked as the laughter faded to a chuckle. He had his face upturned to the sky.

“You’re breathing wrong.”

“Hm?” Ravidel turned to look at Vaash sidelong.

Vaash drew in a long breath, letting her chest swell slowly. She gestured at her breast. “Expand as you inhale-”

She let it out, whistling into the wind. “Draw in as you let your breath go. Let your chest rise and your lungs fill. Your lungs, not your belly.”

Ravidel copied her for several repetitions. “Hm. The benefit being?”

“Oxygen gets into the blood; you’ll live longer, old man.” She smirked at him. “And waste less time on spells of vigor.” She nodded her chin at his emerald ring, which still glinted brighter than the others.

Ravidel snorted. “Impudent. You’ll make a fine protege.” He breathed in and out again, with a thoughtful grimace. “And is this a technique of…?”

“Just good practice in many cultures, on many planes.” Vaash turned back to the sea, and nodded. "But yes, learned in Urborg.” She let the weight put on ‘Urborg’ say what her words did not.

“A lesson learned can be put to good use no matter the source,” Ravidel said. “I heard that once, but in my old age, I can’t quite remember where from.”

Vaash snorted. The rain water had soaked her hair by now, and warm trickles of water were pouring down her neck and face.

It did feel tremendous. She allowed herself a smile.

A laugh.

Ravidel howled in turn. Their laughter melded with the rumble of thunder. The whistle of the storm wind. The laughter of the children on the beach.

They both sounded quite manic.

But it takes a bit of mania to change the world.

[ikeromantic]

You already know I can't resist making just one celebration request so Could I pretty please with a cherry on top get Sasuke, Beauty 🥰? Thank you in advance, and congratulations on 1k followers (lol I said subscribers on my other ask, like your blog is a literary otome magazine 😆) Cheers to another 1k followers!

Hehehe you know I didn't even catch that. An otome literary fanzine would be pretty cool though. There probably already is one and I just don't know about it xD Well, anyway, here's some adorable Sasuke being too sweet for approx. 800 words.

Sasuke pushed aside another branch and waved away the cloud of gnats that flew into the gap. This trip was turning into quite the hike unexpectedly. But the road he intended to take was washed out and now he and Mai were forging their own path through the valley. On a map, it looked like a shortcut but in reality, it was kilometers of thick undergrowth that took a lot of time to navigate.

“Are we there yet,” Mai called from behind him. She was breathing hard but still smiling, her cheeks red with effort and the heat of a summer afternoon.

“It depends on what you mean by there,” the ninja countered. 

She laughed and stopped for a moment, leaning against a tree. “That wasn’t philosophical.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Oh? Well if we’re being literal . . . I guestimate another hour of this before we’re around the blockage and back on the road. Maybe two.”

“Ugh. Well, it’s not like we can call an Uber. I just hope there’s a bath and a really soft bed at the other end of this.”

“The odds of both are high.” Sasuke let her pass under the branch he held and then let it go. He hoped he was right about the town they were headed to. It was technically a work trip, so amenities were not a guarantee. If the facilities were lacking, he would make it up to her, he thought. 

Spoiling Mai was one of his favorite hobbies. Right up there with hanging out with his BFF and fanboy-ing the warlords. He knew all of her favorite foods, the bands she liked (but couldn’t listen to anymore), tv shows (same), colors, fabrics and . . . other things.

“Hey. Why are you smiling like that?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, catching him in the middle of a naughty grin. 

“No reason.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and sped up to walk in front again. The smile stayed put as he navigated past thorn bushes and found paths around clusters of brush. 

They found the road again just as the sun began to set. It looked like they would arrive in town just after dark. Hopefully early enough to get a good meal and that bath he knew Mai would want. 

As they stepped out onto the smooth, packed dirt, she went a little ahead of him. Mai stretched up on her toes, reaching toward the blushing sky. Her hair hung in a braid, with the loose bits sweat-stuck to her forehead and the nape of her neck. A few leaves and twigs stuck out from her hair and clothes, and mud stained her hem. Sasuke was certain he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. 

“You are giving me a look again.” She dropped her hands to her hips. 

“Can’t help it.” The golden light set off the tint of her skin and made her eyes glow. He still couldn’t understand how a woman like her fell for a man like him. But he was so glad she had. Sasuke closed the distance between them in a few steps. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Mai blushed, staining her cheeks an even darker hue. “You’ve been spending too much time with Shingen. Are you going to ask me if I’m a thief next?”

“A thief?”

“Yeah, because I stole your heart.” 

Sasuke laughed. “No. You can’t steal something when I gave it to you already.” Which was also probably something Shingen could say. Well, you couldn't top the flirt-master. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I love getting to look at you every day.”

“Even when I’m filthy and sweaty and probably covered in bugs and dirt?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Especially then. You’re like a wild forest fairy today. Though, I don’t believe in fairies. But the fairy is an accurate comparison, as a literary device to denote -”

Mai kissed him, silencing the lecture with her sweet, salty lips. When she pulled back, she tapped him on the nose. “Sometimes you explain too much. You can stop at ‘fairy’.”

Sasuke felt his heart skip a beat at the love in her eyes right then. He chuckled and nodded. “Noted.” His thumb stroked her knuckles on the hand he still held. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Let’s weigh the pros and cons.” She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “Pros, you are a really good kisser. And I like being kissed. That about covers it. Then cons. The cons are -” Mai paused. “Well, actually, I can’t think of any cons.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” When he kissed her again, he felt as if he were flying. All of his tiredness disappeared in the softness of her lips and the feel of her in his arms.

[purinsesukinny]

more than the sunshine in my eyes

(real this time, i promise 💞💞)

kyle and kenny strike up a casual relationship over the summer, and it’s all fun and games until kyle asks kenny to go steady with him

Pairings: k2

Word count: 548

Warnings for: none!!

[AO3 Link]

“Will you go out with me?” asks Kyle, one day in July, and the only thing Kenny can do is stare at him. 

He blames it on the heat, mostly. Summer means that the snow has melted and left the ground bare, so there’s nothing left to offset the way that afternoon sunlight sets Kyle’s auburn hair aglow. He really can’t take his eyes off of him. 

And the thing is that Kyle’s so earnest about it too. It’s the kind of thing that Kenny’s always found endearing about him, the way he puts his heart in his throat and believes every little thing he says with an intensity that burns. You could get hurt by doing that, get attacked at the jugular, but Kyle’s never been the type to be scared of the consequences. 

So when he says things like i dunno i thought you might like this (carnival lights highlighting the blush on his ears) or (in a whisper, so as to not wake the others around them) hey let’s do this again sometime or (sighing, people milling around them as they hug in the middle of the airport) fuck dude it’s so good to see you or, god forbid, something else like will you go out with me—  

well, shit. Kenny might just be inclined to believe him. 

“We—” Kenny’s tongue trips over the words. He gestures at their shared yogurt from the bougie froyo place downtown. “We’re already out?” 

Kyle ponders this. “Well— yeah. I guess. But I kinda meant like” his ears turn red, and Kenny bites down hard on the smile forming on his lips “going steady,” finishes Kyle, trailing off weakly. 

Kenny hums, eating another spoonful of froyo so that he doesn’t have to answer right away. “Like boyfriends?” he says, finally. 

“Yep.”

Kenny blinks, hums again. “Even though we’ll be long-distance?”

(The circumstances were hardly in their favor, after all. This was fun —he likes being with Kyle; he’s always liked being with Kyle— but the sweet, casual summer fling they’d been having could never withstand the weight of Kenny’s anything. Not his 7-years-old infatuation with the other boy, nor his 21-year immortality streak, nor the 1280-miles that lay between them for 9 months out of the year. It was simple maths — numbers never lied.)

(And besides, even love like his parents’ fell apart at the seams eventually. Right person, wrong lifetime. Kenny knows better than to fall in love in a place like this with a boy made from sunlight.)

(But)

“We talk all the time anyways, dude. And besides, I have this little voice in the back of my head that sounds a lot like you,” says Kyle, linking their hands together. “So it’s already kinda like you own a piece of my soul or something.” He leans in, green eyes blazing. “I don’t think distance will change anything.” And with that, what else is there left to do but trust him?

(Kenny’s always loved bad ideas, anyways.)

Kenny finally lets himself smile, sunflowers blooming in his chest. He holds on a bit tighter to Kyle’s hand in his. “Okay.”

Kyle breathes a little sigh, sits himself fully back down in his seat. “Okay.” 

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Cool. They finish off their yogurt, each still holding the other’s hand. 

———

a/n: again here’s the song for this fic. wait no, that’s a rickroll, here’s the real song. wait no, that’s another rickroll, here’s the real song AKDJSKSK

anyways i’ve been struggling to write this since i made the original post, but then the k2 fanzine was announced and i went a little feral 😌 i hope you guys enjoyed!! thanks for reading!!

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Sunday, July 7th

Spike: “No pain! (He hits the demon again) I can hurt a demon!” He vamps out and starts to make up for all the violence he’s missed out on, having a great old time. Spike as the demon finally drops: “That’s right. I’m back. And I’m a BLOODY ANIMAL! Yeah!”

~~Doomed~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Turn the Car Around by veronyxk84 (Spike, PG-13)

Mutual Playtime by Skyson (Buffy/Giles, Explicit)

Sweet (Enough to Eat) by zombiesam (Buffy/Giles, Explicit)

Good Boy by Geliot99 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Thou, sun, art half as happy as we... by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Turn the Car Around by VeroNyxK84 (Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy, Ch. 33 by slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, R)

Stagnant Silence. . . - Chapter 1 by KingsAndCrowns (Giles/Ethan, T)

Truth and Consequences, Ch. 19 by JamesMFan (Buffy/Spike, R)

The Watcher, Ch. 18 by In Mortal (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Enemies to Ghost Hunters, Ch. 6-10 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

The Balance, Ch. 6-10 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Maclay Down, Ch. 12 by Soulburnt (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Fixer Uppers, Ch. 9 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Devil's Trill, Chapter 22 by Murray (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Degradation of Duality [Series Part 2] Ch. 20-21 by Ragini (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Spiked, Ch. 6 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Arrive Before the Birds, Ch. 3 by EverythingElse (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Beer Bad, Spike Good, Chapter 2 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

I'll Get You, My Pretty! Chapter 2 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, R)

No You Don't, Ch. 2 by Maldorana (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Not A Secret to Keep, Ch. 1 by DeamonQueen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Shenanigans, Ch. 1 by flootzavut (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Never Bet Against the Slayer, Ch. 1 by JayeMaru (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Another Truce? Ch. 1 by To Be Hers (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Some lovely glorious nothing I did see... Ch. 1 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Mysterious Influences, Ch. 1 by EnchantedWillow (Buffy/Spike, R)

About Last Night, Ch. 1 by ashcrashed (Buffy/Spike, R)

Magical Medieval Mystery Tour, Ch. 1 by bewildered (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Double Vision, Ch. 1 by Saranac (Buffy/Spike, R)

Marriage, Mischief, and Miss Summers, Ch. 1 by Lady Emma (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

When Hecate Met Xander, Ch. 4 by Balder (Fimbulwinter crossover, Xander, FR18)

Adventures in TV Land, Ch. 1 by Cdog (multiple crossovers, Xander, FR21)

Rebirth: A Stargate Tale, Ch. 1 by Buffyworldbuilder (Stargate crossover, Buffy, FR13)

Forgiveness Doesn't Come Easy, Ch. 33 by Slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, R)

Love Lives Here, Ch. 83 by Passion4Spike (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

I Do! Ch. 31 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

portrait practice of my favourite monster hunter by mistyintherivers (Buffy, worksafe)

Buffy tattoo designs by gothamstreetcat (worksafe)

Buffy Summers, Faith Lehane, and Spike miis with QR Codes by jar-of-jomodachi (worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

I wish School Hard’s Sheila Martini had come back by coraniaid

Re: strongest and weakest writers on the Buffy staff? by coraniaid

[Recs & In Search Of]

The Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fanzine by Micaela Wilkinson recced by applesquire

[Community Announcements]

Anyone 18+ is welcome to join alexsrousseau's Discord server centered around the ship of Buffy/Giles

[Fandom Discussions]

what’s my line is... the damsel in distress angel foundational text - by all-seeing-ifer

found an article about Victorian slang and Spike should have kept using this stuff by aphony-cree

faith coma-dreaming of buffy as the snake in the garden by lesbianmarrow

faith being homophobic to tara by lesbianmarrow

...willow's role in the friend group is committing low-stakes cybercrimes by mistyheartrbs

the scoobies do not actually spend the summer after buffy has died believing she is in a hell dimension by moistvonlipwig

They should have brought up how Willow tried to end the world, instead of her killing Warren by there-are-many-ways-to-smile

Cordelia Chase from Buffy The Vampire Slayer: could lesbianism save her? by anon via couldlesbiansavethem

Who [in AtS] is made to be hated? hosted by Gothamstreetcat

Did anyone else hate Angel's true demon form? by foreseethefuture

Questions about Joyce's procedures by Tuxedo_Mark

Why do you think Drusilla nor Spike ever seem to use super-speed when fighting? by beeemkcl

Where is this [what is this set or sound stage]? by starving-my-neopets

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Happy birthday to Adam Busch! (July 6) via jamie_marsters

Happy Birthday Robia Scott! via jamie_marsters

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[stillunusual]

Attack On Bzag (issue #6) YEAR: 1984 CREATED BY: James Brown LOCATION: Leeds SIZE: A4 WHAT’S INSIDE…. Journalist and lifelong Leeds United fan James Brown is best known for founding Loaded magazine in the mid-1990s, but a decade earlier, when he was still a spotty teenager, he started a fanzine called Attack On Bzag, while also contributing to alternative magazine Leeds Other Paper (which gets a mention in this issue of his zine).

Issue #6 of Attack On Bzag has a deliberately shambolic layout and is packed to the gills with irreverent and entertaining content that covers much more than the mid-1980s indie music scene. It was one of the first fanzines to feature extracts from Viz comic, which was still a comiczine with limited distribution at the time (and who could have predicted that after becoming rich and famous in the 90s Brown would end up buying Viz in 2001?)….

Brown's musical guide to mid-1980s Leeds correctly states that the "best and most credible shop to hang out in is by far Jumbo Records" (where I personally bought a lot of vinyl back in the day).

Bands featured include The Membranes, Five Go Down To The Sea, The Three Johns, Hagar The Womb, The Nightingales and the wonderful Folk Devils, whose "Beautiful Monster" ep includes one of my most played tracks of 1984 - "Brian Jones' Bastard Son".

Brown promotes a plethora of fanzines while also bragging about having been recently featured in the NME (who gave him a job a couple of years later). There are two pages dedicated to hyping fellow fanzine writer The Legend! (who also went on to work for the NME) and one of his favourite bands, The Monochrome Set.

Ranting poet Steven Wells (AKA Swells/Seething Wells/Susan Williams), who created a fanzine called Molotov Comics and was another soon-to-be NME writer, also gets a page to himself, while fellow ranters Swift Nick (head honcho of New Youth fanzine) and Richard "Kool Knotes" Edwards (co-editor of Cool Notes fanzine) get half a page each.

There's an amusing interview with rising star Rik Mayall, conducted while the second season of "The Young Ones" was showing on British tv. Each episode of the sitcom featured a different "musical guest" and the bands were selected by Mayall, who reveals that he turned down The Clash. Liverpool soap opera "Brookside", which was actually quite good in its early days (and had a character called Alan Partridge, who had nothing to do with Radio Norwich), also gets a two page spread.

There's even a very tasteful cartoon called "Zelda's Stomach".

Click on the title above to see scans of all the zine's pages….

my box of 1980s fanzines flickr