#cause i will continue working on it after the zine. it's my baby now

[tekatonic]

@silverfanzine guess who forgot to post their zine preview page after making it lol

Anyhow, the Silver fanzine releases tomorrow ( for free ), on May 9th !!! Look forward to it !

[olderthannetfic]

I'm in a fandom with a lot of virulent antis (surprise surprise, it's heavily dark source material and I don't know why they're here at all) and a lot of the pairings that aren't the main badwrong ship on ao3 now have DNI tags on them for shippers of the badwrong ship. I guess not enough to break the TOS (no direct threats?), but still full of stuff like "x shippers DNI", "get help you freaks", "You're disgusting" etc etc.

Its just... so frustrating. Like that's a pretty red flag for me that a fic probably is going to be in an immature writing style so I probably won't read it anyway, but every time I see it I just.... heave a big sigh. Why these people are in this fandom or on Ao3 at all I'll never know. Its not even helpful - the tags are there to help describe the fic, if I didn't want to see that kind of content I could just... avoid content that's tagged that way. Why even add that to a fic that's not even about those characters at all?

Honestly, my real question is.... Olderthannetfic, how do you do it?

I feel like I do it "right", in fandom, or at least I try. I always just block and move on. I don't follow the discourse where I can help it and block a lot of the relevant tags. I keep to a small circle of folks that have the same fun brainrot I do and have fun, generally. But this kind of stuff still slips through the cracks in a way that's unavoidable if you're ever online at all. To be honest, it still hurts a lot to see each time, and be reminded that some people seem to literally want me dead over reading a story. And I can't help the doubt and the self-flagellation that creeps in. Despite my best efforts, and all my research, and living to the ripe rip van winkle tumblr fandom spinster age of 27... I sometimes have a moment where I think, maybe I really am a freak or a degenerate, or an evil predator waiting to bloom.

Do you ever experience this? Does this feeling ever go away, or at least dull to a more bearable exasperated eye roll? Do you ever see these anti idiots grow up or grow out of this mindset? Is it just a matter of time, age or experience? Is there a point at which you felt like it affected you less, or perhaps it didn't affect you like that at all? Is there a secret to navigating it calmly and with confidence? Do you have any advice to give in the, er, art of not giving a fuck?

--

Why would I quail at a stupid child on the internet after coming out as queer when I was 14 in the 90s?

I grew up with very open-minded, supportive family aside from my mother's conviction that BDSM was something people were into because they'd been abused. Even then, I remember privately snickering because I was super kinky, and wouldn't that upset her given this silly world view?

I had it easy compared to most in the 90s, but I still saw a lot of nonsense, like good old Mom on the topic of kink or murders in the media. But I also spent a lot of time reading educational sexuality books that debunked myths about fantasies and kinkiness.

Maybe a firmer grounding in sexuality stuff would help you? Nancy Friday's work on women's fantasies is a common starting point. I'm partial to The Topping Book, which is full of "it's great to be a top, actually" and not "you only do it for the sub".

Getting older does usually help though. Most 20-somethings are insecure in their sense of self. Middle age is when people's fucks generally run out, and that only continues to grow. Watch a stupid child go after some 60-something zine writer lady. She's going to laugh in their faces. Some people remain insecure forever, I suppose, but not anybody who had to woman up to be in fandom in the first place.

It's not just that these little idiots are wrong about us being predators: it's that they are the morally degenerate ones for spreading the psychological equivalent of "vaccines cause autism" or "Jews want to steal your Christian babies".

This idea that The Bad People are infiltrating our minds with their propaganda overlaps heavily with anti-semitic conspiracy theory right wing fundie nutjob ideas, and yet these young fools claim to be pro-queer and pro-civil rights. They're an embarrassment to any progressive movement and it disgusts me.

When someone goes "You're not a Christian, so you're going to hell", do you have a moment when you wonder?

Because that's the level of absurdity here.

Even if they don't bully, even if they don't include threats in their DNIs, the fact that they're spreading myths about sexuality that have been thoroughly debunked many times means they're doing something unethical, anti-intellectual, and anti-science.

I'm not afraid or guilty. I'm embarrassed for them.

--

Do antis grow out of it? Yes, frequently.

They are—either literally or functionally—victims of right wing Christian cults. They have the same trajectory of realizing they've been had and slowly trying to work through the raging guilt and religious trauma.

I have limited patience but some sympathy. Like other victims who were indoctrinated to hurt people, escaping the cult is hard. It means not only giving up your false sense of safety and all of your friends but facing what you've done.

[houseofsannae]

A Fistful of Munny - Extended End Notes

Notes for A Fistful of Munny that don’t fit within the character limit under the cut!

Please, read the fic before reading this post

           All right! Welcome to the extended notes, in which I go into excruciating detail over a bunch of stuff that doesn’t matter, because I like the sound of my own voice!

           Let’s start with some more broad stuff that didn’t make the exclusive end notes space. To do the Fistful of Dollars homage, I needed a place where I could have two villainous factions intersecting for Strelitzia to play against one another. After some brainstorming and asking for help from other people working on the Entwined in Trine Sorikai zine (and ultimately ignoring all their very good suggestions (Sorry, guys!)), I eventually realized that the Wasteland from Epic Mickey was a perfect place for this story, both in the sense of having mooks to destroy without Strels committing actual murder, and in the thematic sense of forgotten characters. There was just one issue.

           I hadn’t played Epic Mickey.

           And that is how I spent my summer, playing both Epic Mickey games. Both, because I was looking for a good location to set the story in in-world. Since the Wasteland is based on the Disney theme parks, I was hoping to find one based on Frontierland, their Western section. Such a location did exist – Disney Gulch – but only in the second game. Which meant I had to play Epic Mickey 2, as well. (The first one is a better game, but that’s not really the fault of the developers; they were not given the time they needed to make it as good as the first one. Here’s a video with trivia about the series that goes a little into the development.) I also needed to learn the Mad Doctor’s ultimate fate, since I wanted his Beetleworx/Blotworx to be one of the two villainous factions. In the game, depending on whether you chose the Paint (Paragon) or Thinner (Renegade) path, the Doc is either redeemed… or dead. Neither of which was helpful, so I had to invent.

           But let’s talk about characters and why I picked them in order. The short version for why these choices, at least on the Final Fantasy side, is set-up for later. Obviously I can’t go into detail why. Before that, let’s talk about the Beanie Baby.

           Chi is, as I hope you were able to guess, Strelitzia’s Chirithy. I’ve brought it up several times, but I personally do not like mascot characters. There are a few exceptions, but Chirithies are not one of them. Like I said, KHUx isn’t what happened in this AU, so you’ll have to wait for in-universe answers on why it’s a cat now. Out-of-universe reason is this was the only way I could make it palatable for myself. I arbitrarily decided on a gender for it because as a real cat, it would have a sex. Canonically Chirithies appear to be genderless, and in Japanese refer to themselves with the gender-neutral (but masculine-leaning) boku. I would’ve left Chi that way, save for the fact that he’s a completely normal cat now. (And before you ask, no, not every real cat that appears in KHΨ from this point on is a Chirithy.)

           As for Strelitzia herself, it’s hard for me to pick up a character’s voice when they’re… not voiced. Intonation and cadence do a lot for me mimicking the way a character talks, so it’s a bit more difficult when they don’t technically speak. I tried for a mix between Sora and Kairi, while still keeping her defining character traits of being shy, but also impulsive.

           You may notice that while she’s started remembering faces, if not names, the Player’s name and face still eludes her, despite her (canonical. Deal with it.) crush on them. There is a story reason for this, and will become clear once Luxu takes centre stage.

           The name “Jane” was chosen with more consideration than just “Jane Doe” being the standard name in (at least my corner of) the English-speaking world for a woman of unknown identity. See, the Man With No Name actually has three names. In A Fistful of Dollars, he is referred to (by one character in one scene, once) as “Joe”. “Joan” might have been a more clear homage, but I figure Jane makes sense. And as you might guess, in the next fic, Strels will be going by a different name, still not her own. She’ll remember her name… eventually.

           One might think I could’ve picked any old Cid, and one would be wrong for reasons I can’t explain yet. In fact, I can’t explain much of anything surrounding him yet. What I can say is no, Cidney Aurum is not dead, she’s just not related to Cid Sophiar in this fic verse. An unfortunate consequence of where I wanted to put each of them in the narrative; making them not be related was the only way it made any sense, geographically speaking.

           Hyperion on the other hand, I can talk about. He’s one of the Gremlins in Epic Mickey, and… wait, first things first. Gremlins are from an abandoned Disney film based on a Roald Dahl book, itself based on the cryptids that supposedly haunted airplanes and caused them to malfunction, the earliest known written-down mention of the concept being from the 1920s. The film never got made, but the designs Disney would have used were adapted into a second printing of Dahl’s book, and they were later used in Epic Mickey. Hyperion is, like the publishing imprint that Disney owns, named after a street that Walt Disney used to live on. In-game, Hyperion is in Bog Easy (based on the Haunted Mansion), not Disney Gulch, but his name stuck out to me as being particularly fun, so I picked him instead of trying to figure out what Gremlins actually are in the Gulch (they have names in the files of Epic Mickey 2, but not in the actual game, so it would have been a hunt).

           Regardless of where the setting ended up, for the second villainous faction, I was always going to plop down the good old Don. More things I can’t talk about. For everything FF7, know that I’m always going to be pulling from a mix of the original game, Remake, and Machinabridged. Hence, Corneo’s outfit is a mix of his original and Remake designs (which basically just means he’s wearing blue jeans instead of brown). I didn’t think bringing in his three lieutenants from Remake was necessary, especially since this was supposed to be a kind-of small operation.

           Leslie is picked up and dropped from Remake pretty much unchanged. I needed someone to do the murders Strels couldn’t, and even if he’s not a complete asshole, he’s still mostly an asshole. Have we ever seen small, Materia-like balls used to cast magic before…?

           Onto the fun bits, which is the Disney characters. We’ll start with Percy, who is from a Goofy short called “How to Ride a Horse”, from 1950. And that’s about it. The conceit in Wasteland is that all of the Toons there were basically actors, and they wound up in Wasteland if they were forgotten (that’s not exactly correct, but I’m generalizing). This is interesting, since two of the Toons in Epic Mickey are Horace Horsecollar and Clarabelle Cow, both of whom… are residents of Disney Town in Kingdom Hearts, having shown up in Birth by Sleep. So that’s an interesting continuity snarl that I’m going to just ignore.

           Persephone and Pluto, on the other hand, are from an earlier short called “The Goddess of Spring”, from 1934. It was one of the projects Disney tried as practice for Snow White. If you’re about to protest that his name should be Hades, not Pluto, then you’re going to need a time machine so you can tell them back in the 30s. The Goddess of Spring is a musical, in the sense that every single line is sung. Watch it for yourself. There’s a video with better quality floating around YouTube, but for some reason it’s the French dub. And that’s why both of them sing most of their lines. I tried matching the meter of their actual parts, but Persephone’s doesn’t actually follow a syllabic pattern that I could make out. I eventually gave up and just gave her the meter from the start of the short. Pluto’s was easier to manage (and more consistent).

           The skeletons are Disney veterans, presumably the same ones from “The Skeleton Dance” (1929), but more specifically they’re mimicking what they did in “The Mad Doctor” (1933), the first appearance of our other villain. They’re fun.

           The original Mad Doctor was supposedly named “Dr. XXX”, according to the name on his door. This was before the modern film rating system was put in place; it was a different time. In the original short, the Mad Doctor kidnaps Pluto (the dog) with the intent of cutting him in half and putting his front half on a chicken For Science!, and Mickey follows him to his castle to rescue the purloined pooch. The short wasn’t a musical in the same vein as “The Goddess of Spring”, but… the Mad Doctor’s only spoken lines were a song (aside from evil cackling). While I had already decided to do the “Toons that sang in their short can only communicate through song” with Persephone and Pluto before starting on Epic Mickey 2, I hilariously discovered that the game developers had done the exact same gag with the Mad Doctor, most of his lines in the game being sung. (In Epic Mickey there were no fully voiced lines, so he speaks as normally as anyone else does). Which made it easier to write his songs here, since I could just rewrite his songs from the game. I used to write alternate lyrics for songs back in high school, so this was an interesting trip back in time for me. They were stuck in my head for weeks afterwards, but it was worth it.

           I believe that’s everything for the characters. Let’s talk about Keyblades.

           It irks me that three people in KHUx have the same Keyblade. Ephemer, Skuld, and Strelitzia all have variations of Starlight. Now, in KHΨ, there is only one Starlight, and it belongs to Luxu, so I’m going to have to decide on different Keyblades for each of them. (Ephemer’s has already been decided, and I haven’t started brainstorming for Skuld yet. No I do not need suggestions, thank you). Pixie Petal bears a noted (by KHWiki) resemblance to one of Marluxia’s alternate scythes, so that tangential connection was enough for me. Both siblings have flower-themed Keyblades – it makes sense to me.

           You might notice a few disparities in the magic. These are on purpose, and will eventually make sense. And that’s all I can say on that at the moment. ;)

           Oh, yes, one important thing I probably should have said on the main notes: I’m not going for a realistic depiction of amnesia here. Anything I got right was entirely accidental, and I’m fairly certain there’s not much. There might be a story reason for why it works the way it does… and it might be the same reason why other people from KHUx have or had amnesia in the present day…

           You know what’s funny? Although Orcuses look more impressive than Invisibles, their stats in Days are actually worse. I’m fairly sure that this is because the only time we see an Orcus, it’s actually an illusion cast over Xion so that Roxas will fight her to the death. There are no other stats for them (according to KHWiki), since they’ve never been used elsewhere.

           A friendly reminder that Apprentice Xehanort invented the term “Heartless”, which was why Aqua didn’t know what to call them until Mickey told her. Thus, nobody from the era of the Keyblade War should know the term “Heartless” without being told by someone in present day. “Darkling” was the term they used instead. I’m fairly certain KHUx ignores the continuity on this (so why should we trust its continuity for anything else, hmm?)

           I think that covers everything! Or at least everything I’m willing to share at this point. If you’ve read this far, thank you! I appreciate your dedication! ^_^

[goodbysunball]

Ten weeks away, six beats off

Been a whirlwind year so far but I'm back in the saddle. I'm busting at the seams with drivel on records and the best way to unleash it is in these grouped posts. Small plates, quick bites - bon apétit.

Bobby Would, World Wide World (Low Company)

Can Low Company just come back as a label and a record store already? These releases trickling out after its demise are cruel reminders of how essential those self-effacing tastemakers were. The Anti-Clock LP is a doozy, and this second Bobby Would record sounds like a classic right off the bat. Mr. Would sticks to the same stuff that made Baby so damn good: dusty loops, barely discernible vocals with a catchy melody, bright spindly guitar lines for days. Songs like "Natural Killer" and "Walk Away" are the immediate favorites, upbeat on the exterior but bleary-eyed upon close inspection. Repeated listens have revealed that the hungover haze of "Maybe You Should" and the last call sway of "Raft," which might be my favorite, are where he really shines, tempos slowed to a crawl to make room for the rich warmth of his reverb'd mumble and his sparkling guitar. Yeah, I'm crushin' on Bobby Would, but so's everyone I've forced this record upon. Sharp but unassuming, and endlessly listenable, World Wide World is the balm until better days arrive. Top notch, highest recommendation, all the fixin's.

The Begotten, Temidden Laaghangende Wolken (Aguirre)

I'm a new dad and that means I'm searching for music that I can listen to with my daughter without disturbing her, and music that isn't Raffi. Typically that means a lot of drone, and a lot more quiet, introspective music, like the reissue of Lol Coxhill & Morgan Fisher's Slow Music that Aguirre did. Because the reissue job on that record is so good, I decided to roll the dice on a contemporary offering from Aguirre that also sounded like it fit my needs. My initial reaction to hearing the Begotten's music online was that this trio was approaching zones tread upon by Fabulous Diamonds circa Commercial Music, but subsequent listens have decidedly not taken me that far out. While it's clear the band is made up of exceptionally talented musicians, the music tends to be pretty safe and stays close to the shore. The B-side's a bit better: "Eiland Zonder Oceaan" and "60 Manen" are as close as this record gets to the "dub with tears" descriptor from the label, and the gossamer drone of closer "Klauwzeer" is cool, but nothing really sticks once it's over. Seems like these guys could probably freak out the crowd at a traditional jazz club, but Temidden Laaghangende Wolken keeps the listener at arms' length, simmering but ultimately tepid once you're beneath the surface.

Cube, Drug of Choice (Alter)

Fave record of the year so far! I caught Cube (aka Adam Keith) burning down the Pilot Light what seems like an eternity ago, touring on his last LP, Decoy Street. Nothing on that LP approached the fiery performance I saw, but he's definitely harnessed that energy on Drug of Choice. The record flows seamlessly, corroded breakcore flooding into all corners, causing machines to gasp and whirr and burst, and Keith's intermittent vocalizations are as sinister and biting as they are introspective and philosophical. "Natural Selector" has all of the above, but for my money it's the closing duo - the frenzy of "Moderator" and the terrifying strobelight beatdown of "Cusp" - that really show the piledriving exterior/groaning interior dichotomy that makes the record so magnetic. The label said it best: Drug of Choice "deliver[s] something that feels as much focused on artful constructions of private experiences as it does the cathartic qualities of noise." Alter's quietly releasing some of the best contemporary records, but Cube's Drug of Choice has all the right stuff to justifiably blow up their profile. Wildly intense and devious record; grip a copy and lose your mind with me. While you're at it, check out Adam Keith's amazing Baited Area zine - some of the most engaging arts 'n culture writing/interviews this side of Demystification.

The Gagmen, s/t (iDEAL)

Aaron Dilloway, Nate Young, Joachim Nordwall and apparently Andrew W.K. teamed up as the Gagmen for a performance a few years ago, captured here and put to wax by Nordwall himself for his iDEAL label. I was expecting a pretty blistering assault given the clientele, but what you get is the opposite: slow loops, spare instrumentation, Young's sleepy vocals, all stark and creepy and forcing you to lean into it. The end of the second track gets a little intense, with some wailing loop and white noise combining to tickle your ear hairs, but aside from those couple of minutes, the bulk of The Gagmen is like a black breezy night forcing things to move that usually don't. Puts a knot in your stomach, it does. Hey, it's not for everyone, but if you loved the Komare LP from last year like me, you're gonna find a lot to enjoy here.

Monokultur, Ormens Väg (ever/never)

Glad to see Monokultur continuing their relationship with ever/never, not least of all because those overseas shipping costs hurt. Ormens Väg is the Swedish duo's second LP, and right from the jump they're seemingly headed in a more accessible pop direction. It's a good look for them: opener "Decennium" features big warm keyboards and probably the most exposed vocals from the band yet, kinda coming across like the Knife covering Berlin. It's followed by my favorite track, "För sent," which has a bass line that melts and soothes your ears, topped by JJ Ulius' forlorn (I'm assuming) spoke-sung vocals. The band nods at an earlier incantation of themselves on the buzzed descent of "Kanske blir det sämre", but for the most part the rest of Ormens Väg continues in this gorgeous, warm and spare mode. Take the beautiful instrumental "Vårdagjämning," which almost sounds like it was lifted from the xx's cutting floor until the tape loops emerge like swirling smoke to cloud the proceedings. By the track's end the band somehow ends up on Robert Turman's turf but everything feels cohesive, all of it delicately presented. Shit, even the snippet of "Silent Night" emerging at the end of the title track doesn't take the record off course. Pretty much perfect little record, and yet another early favorite from this year.

Nina Harker, s/t (Animal Biscuit/La République des Granges/Le Syndicat des Scorpions)

This record came out in the middle of 2020, but I missed it then and it's a current obsession now. Shoutout to @dustedandsocial, Yellow Green Red, Fuckin' Record Reviews and everyone else who pointed me in its direction, late as I may be. I don't have a whole lot of info on Nina Harker but it appears that it's the work of one Valentin Noiret, some mad multilingual genius working between the lines connecting Dome, La Grande Triple Alliance and Enhet För Fri Musik. "L'affreuse" is pretty illustrative of how Nina Harker condenses genres into bite-size packets: the woozy, seasick synth topped by Xasthur-like vocals, which are then joined by what sounds like despairing Japanese, the shuffling song slowly building up to this terribly simple guitar part that just levels you when it hits. Not everything is so busy: "Müssen Wir Noch Aufblühen⁇" is a fantastic slice of minimal synth, and the two late night strummers "το κορίτσι γαβγίζει" and "Muto" are disarming in their stripped-down simplicity. The hum that overwhelms "Muto" razes the field to make way for the robotic waltz and maniacal ravings on "Du Schaffst es Nicht," one of many catchy, totally bizarre moments on the record. Nina Harker is riddled with anxiety, moving from frenzied to haunting without batting an eye, but it's also an absolutely singular approach to the dread and restlessness lurking in the corners. Perhaps more prescient than they would've guessed when they made this record. Stunning, hits the spot every time, track down a copy posthaste.

[bugaboowritings]

Manon And Her Babysitter (A Masc!Marinette Fic)

Manon being a Mood for 2393 words straight.

I have like 30 wip’s (not all Masc! Mari fics, I’m working on a new au and maybe even in a zine-fingers crossed) and school is starting for me so heads up if I don’t post much. Or post less than I did before. Writing is a stress reliever for me so you may notice a pattern when I post. 

This Masc! Mari (aka Marin Dupain Cheng) AU based off the lovely @daloochsdoodles and their art. Please check them out. 

Marin didn’t think that a girl with eyes the size of dinner plates would take such a liking to him. Asking him about his day or take her to parks when she visited.

Manon didn’t think that a headstrong teen would have so much patience with her. Even at her worst and crankiest moments in the day.  ——

Alya once told Marin that he intimated her when she first entered the school gates on her first day. His height and dark clothes just added to the anxiousness of the new school, new town, new people growing in her stomach. Alya felt smaller than the head on the tiniest pin needle or a mouse in a garden of starving foxes. Of course, Alya would never let anyone push her around but ideas like that just bubbled over in her mind. Yet the growing worry disappeared the moment Marin looked at her -and flashed a sunny smile.

However, to be fair, Alya later confessed that Marin could never be scary even if he tried. His warm aura, his soft pastel Jagged Stone sweatshirt, with his charming features was the total package of a fluffy boyfriend that anybody, whether their sexuality, would want to wrap their arms around. He’s a soft man. Even with his tall and strong build.

So at this instant, in his family’s living room, he didn’t know if his face looked like the soft friend Alya knew and loved or the intimating teenager that could cut diamond with a stare. His question was answered when the girl that hid behind her mother’s legs gave him a toothy smile. As toothy as she could make it with two of her front teeth missing.

Marin gave a gentle smile back, waving to her before he went back to his tablet. Annotating an article about the American Revolution for history class. Saving the key details in his head to use in the upcoming class debate while relating it back to the French Revolution. Clicking the screen with his stylus some more before his mom called him over.

“Honey, I want you to meet my friend, Nadja.” Sabine introduced, motioning him to show his good manners. Marin reluctantly slips out of his comfy position on the couch. Shaking Nadja’s hand while his mother continued.

“She used to come to the house all the time when you were little! It’s been years since I could remember you guys standing in the same room.”

“Your mother talks a lot about you-”

“Marin, but some people call me Mari.”

“AND I’M MANON CHAMACK!” The little girl yelled excitedly. Sniggering to herself when she got Marin’s attention. Proudly standing in front of her mother while her body rocked back and forth on the balls of her heels. Marin couldn’t help but share her infectious smile. Reminiscing when he was around Manon’s age. How he would try to get noticed by the older kids at school or in family reunions. Making himself seem like the coolest kid ever or just hovering over big kids before they bothered to include him in their games.

Nadja and Sabine smiled at each other, fighting the urge to laugh at Manon’s sudden introduction. Sabine quickly invited them in and out of the doorway. Nadja instinctively followed Sabine when her eyes lingered on her daughter. Praying that she wouldn’t cause too much of a ruckus for Marin.

Marin squatted down to meet Manon’s height.

“So what brings you here, Manon? Have any plans for the day?” He asked. Letting this kid be a healthy distraction from his report.

Manon swang her body side to side, taking in a breath before rambling. “Mom says that she plans to take me to the park if I’m SUPER good when she’s here with your mommy! Maybe even get a cookie from the bakery too!” Skipping her way in and passing Marin. Jumping a little higher as the thought of having a baked good made Manon’s mouth water.

“MAYBE I should even get a brownie! With sprinkles! Or maybe just a WHOLE cake with blue frosting!” Giggling to herself some more before her loud voice went over the list of treats she likes.

“Aren’t you rambunctious,” Marin sighed. Following Manon into the house (while she asked what rambunctious meant) before shutting the front door closed.

—-

“I have a friend with your name. At least it sounds like it.” Manon explained between her bites on her brownie. Still warm from his mother’s kitchen with hints of pinks and blues from the sprinkles Manon added. Crunching them under her tongue. Unintentionally making her mouth a light shade of purple.

“Yeah,” Marin answered. Holding Manon’s hand as he held the other with the animal balloon that he bought (*cough* with no influence from the baby doll eyes *cough*). “What’s their name?” He asked. Looking back and forth for any cars as they crossed the street.

“Maribelle. She’s pretty cool and foreign. Gave me half of her cookie so we’re friends now.” Manon nonchalantly said. Unaware that her friendship was bought, but from the looks of it, she didn’t mind too much about it. “Now that I think about it, Mari sounds like a girl name. Right?” The little girl said innocently.

“Yeah, it was in a way,” Marin replied easily, checking for incoming traffic until they reached the sidewalk. “But things change.” Giving Manon a smile which she returned after wiping the chocolate off the edges of her lips.

“You wanna go on the swings?”

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Manon snickered. Running as fast as her legs could take her to the empty swing set. Leaving Marin in her dust.

——–

“PLEASSSEEE MARI!” Manon cried. Collapsing onto the ground and kicking her feet in the air. All as Marin stood firm on his promise with Nadja.

Don’t let her eat sweets after 7 pm.

“No.”

Earning him another anger huff from the little girl.

Nadja was off handling another story that needed to be scripted and filmed on the same day. Extremely unrealistic for someone to do, but Nadja was up for the challenge if it meant that she could have a full week off with her daughter. The exhausted, workaholic mother promised Marin that she would be back before 11 pm. However, he pushed back his tutoring session from tomorrow morning to tomorrow in the afternoon just in case she came in later than that.

Till Nadja arrived, Marin was ready to handle a cranky six-year-old for the next three+ hours.

Manon, now a cranky and sleepy six-year-old, stopped tossing and turning on the ground. Stretching out her arms and legs like a starfish in defeat. Closing her eyes and slowly opening them again.

“Tired?” Marin asked, placing his hands on his hips.

Manon nodded, lifting herself off the ground. “Can I have Unicorn Puffs for a snack now?”

“I’ll make you a fruit bowl with fresh strawberries and melon.” Marin reasoned. Recalling that Unicorn Puff Cereal was also a “no” in Nadja’s list.

“I can put that one chocolate drizzle you like on them though.” He sighed, lowering himself to Manon’s level.

The little girl shot up from the floor, her twin-tails bouncing with her quick nod. Gaining back her energy and beaming her toothy smile. Now complete thanks to her new front teeth.

“Deal.”

——–

“Look, Marin! It’s that one person from your magazines!” Manon wooed. Amazed that the model’s hair was as shiny in real life like it was in the glossy pages of Vogue. Wanting to feel it as she stepped towards them before getting pulled back.

“Oh my gosh, Manon! Look the merry-go-around is empty. You should totally go there!” Marin hissed, ignoring his friend/unicorn’s laughs. Pushing Manon towards the carousel. Away from the shiny person taking pictures from the fountain.

////

Manon choked on the sobs that threaten to come up her mouth. Her face felt hot like the time she threw up all the sugary goods that turned bitter in her stomach. However, this type of sick didn’t make Manon’s belly flip in pain, but her tiny heart beat faster and her palms lost their grip on Alya’s hand. She wanted her mommy to smoothen her nerves or Marin to pull her in one for his hugs. Wishing she could smell the fabric softer his mother buys on his sweater or hear her mom tell her that it would be okay in the end.

-But no matter how much Alya distracted her, Manon could only watch the ice around her grow thicker and thicker. Looking towards the outside was harder as the ice grew mistier. The firefighters outside tried to explain how they would get them out as if to calm them down but Manon couldn’t hear them and the ice made them look all distorted and ‘wriggly’.

“Lady Beetle and Chat Noir will save us. Right?”

Manon remembering back to the dolls Marin sewed of the heroes. How they sat on his shelves with a smile. Wondering if they would look that friendly when they pull people out of danger. Or if they really win every time when an Akuma comes and hurts Paris.

“Of course! They’re superheroes."Alya smiled. Pulling her face towards her. Grinning like everything was okay, even when it felt like it wasn’t. Rubbing circles on her back to keep her warm.

"They always save the day. We just have to trust them.”

////

Lady Beetle jumped from building to building before landing on the ice dome that shielded the merry-go-round from the summer heat. Showing no usual signs of melting.  Making him less surprised when he felt the toughness and chill of the temperature drop from the ice through his suit.

Lady Beetle doubted it would make a dent, but he still whipped his yo-yo around the ice capsule. In an attempt to crack it or even split the whole thing. The yo-yo didn’t do much like the firefighter’s axes. Huffing in frustration before seeing a little girl clapped her hands against the ice.

“Manon-”

“LADY BEETLE!” She cried out. Getting the woman behind her to do the same.

“Alya,” Lady Beetle whispered. Rushing over to them.

“LADY BEETLE!” Manon yelled again, softer than the last as LB got her level. He resisted the urge to tell Manon everything. That he’s sorry for leaving her for even a moment when he promised her to protect her. Sorry about ignoring her the whole day and pushing her aside for one of his complex plans on getting a date. Sorry for not stopping Stormy Weather from trapping them in a chilly container. Even apologizing that he didn’t buy the ice cream she wanted.

However, then would blow his identity.

Lady Beetle rolled his words in his mouth, having to settle for the “You will be okay, I’ll get you out” line. Swallowing his uncertainty as he heard Stormy Weather crackled her umbrella to form a hurricane in Chat Noir’s direction. Who tried their best to push Stormy away from the citizens.

Lady Beetle looped his yo-yo in his fingers. Ready to throw it before Manon called out to him.

“I trust you.”  

—

Marin hurried before the reporters could mog him for an interview or bumble questions about the Akuma attack today.  Chat Noir left before their miraculous give out and Marin just needs to see if Manon and Alya were okay. The Miraculous cure would have healed them if anything happened yet that didn’t make Marin feel any better though when he reached the park and they weren’t there.

“MANON! ALYA!”

He called, running around for a bit. Knocking into someone, promptly saying sorry before spinning his head around to find his friends. His lungs drew sharps breaths the more he ran. Stopping when he heard a small shout calling his name.

“MARI!”

“Manon! Alya!”

Rushing into Manon’s hug. Glad to see her again and even better to feel that being trapped in a chilly ice dome for an hour didn’t give her a fever.   Manon’s little hands pulled on Marin’s face, making him face her big, goofy grin. Alya behind her having the same one plastered on her face, only to punch Marin’s arm and scold him for scaring them shitless when he disappeared when the Akuma nearly froze all of Paris.

“YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHO WE SAW TODAY!”

“Wh-”

“LADY BEETLE!” Manon screamed. Almost making Marin drop her from the shock of her roar. From there Manon continued to gush about the red hero. How they tried to get them out and then promised to beat the Akuma to save them.  How high they could jump, making it seem that they could fly over buildings. How Chat Noir and Lady Beetle worked together to save the day. Plus how cool Chat Noir looked when saying “Cataclysm”.  How the magic ladybugs fixed everything for good and how-

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Manon.” Marin sighed. Chuckling as Manon tried to mimicking Lady Beetle calling on their Lucky Charm.  Alya stole Marin’s attention while she happily flipped through the photos of the Akuma to post on the Ladyblog. Mentioning how some filters were needed to make the picture clearer. Even catching a video of the magical ladybug effortlessly fixing buildings and basically 'curing’ all the victims that got swept up in Stormy Weather’s scheme.

Marin was just relieved that everyone was fine and well as people gawked at the aftermath of Lady Beetle’s damage-control or how the girl with the once cursed umbrella now happily smiles on TV announcing that the weather channel will now have two hosts.

——— All as a certain black cat sprang down to an alley. Dropping the magical transformation and swiftly returning to their life. Slipping their way back into the park where a restless and provocative photographer sat and a large gorilla- uh, I mean bodyguard searched for him. Leaving the small piece of freedom they have behind to return to their civilian life. Not before knocking into someone that looked too familiar to just be a stranger.

[chierafied]

Beginning

This is the one shot I wrote for the @bondsacrosstime fan zine and which I posted a preview of last autumn! Since the zine has been published now - and I’ve received my own print copy! ♥ - here is the full one shot for all of you to enjoy! 😊

Also on AO3 & Dokuga.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

When the Bone-Eater’s Well had unexpectedly reopened after ten long years, Kagome had jumped right in. She’d given it no second thoughts, acting on an impulse like the reckless headstrong fifteen year old girl she had once been.

The hope she’d all but given up on had risen from the ashes, fierce and glorious. Her heart had soared.

Now, the well was dead and she was stuck in an era that felt both achingly familiar and changed forever.

Now, her hope had fizzled out and Kagome felt perilously close to crying as she sat on the rim of the well.

She stared down at the stretching emptiness below, contemplating the unfairness of it all – how, although she’d been gone for a decade, seventeen long years had passed in the feudal era.

A dark energy, the like of which Kagome hadn’t felt in ages, licked at the edges of her senses.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her head snapped up, her hold of the well’s wooden rim grew tighter.

Deep inside, where it had been buried and forgotten for years, Kagome’s reiki stirred.

Kagome stepped onto the sun-warmed grass. She drew herself straight and gazed across the clearing, locking eyes with the youkai who’d just appeared at the edge of it.

Her heart clenched.

Here, at least, was one thing that appeared unchanged.

He stalked closer, stopping when he was only a few yards away.

His impassive golden eyes pierced her in brief but intense scrutiny.

“I did not think you would return,” he said.

Surprised he’d been the one to break the charged silence, Kagome shrugged. “I didn’t, either.”

He said nothing to that.

Kagome sighed, unable to hold back the obvious question. “Why are you here, Sesshoumaru?”

“Because I was curious to see if the rumours of your return were true… and because your friend was worried.”

Kagome frowned. “What do you mean my friend was worried?”

“He came to see me to ask if I would mind having you travel with me for a while.”

Kagome stared at him, scarcely believing her ears. Had everyone gone mad while she’d been away? “Why would I travel with you?” she asked, both perplexed and exasperated.

“Your motives are of no consequence to me and I do not presume to know them,” Sesshoumaru replied, sounding bored. “Your friend, however, seemed to think you would not wish to stay in the village.”

Kagome’s heart flinched. Her shoulders slumped, the irate spark in her eyes dimmed.

She hugged herself and let her gaze drop to her feet.

Whoever this friend Sesshoumaru was alluding to was right on that, at least.

The wounds her heart had suffered were still fresh and raw and staying in Edo was rubbing salt right into them.

Yet, she hadn’t considered leaving – with the well closed again where could she go?

She chanced a quick glance up.

Sesshoumaru was still standing there, his expression unchanged. He watched her silently and waited.

Kagome had never been afraid of him, not really. But she had never felt truly comfortable around him, either.

Until now.

He was being patient. Giving her space.

Or maybe she was grasping for straws, so desperate for just a bit of kindness that she was misinterpreting his aloofness.

It didn’t really matter either way, because one thing Kagome did know for certain.

“Do you know what I want now, more than anything? The two very things that got me into this mess: time and distance.”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze was steady as it held hers. “Life is full of irony,” he said calmly.

Such as seeking solace from one’s former enemy.

The corners of Kagome’s lips quirked. “So it would seem.”

Her mind made, Kagome steeled herself and crossed her arms. “What did you tell my friend? When they asked if you would mind having me travel with you?”

“I told him I would welcome your company,” he told her, his golden eyes boring into her.

Kagome swallowed. “Well then. Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me for a while.”

Sesshoumaru inclined his head. “Very well.”

   ---------------------------------------------------------------------

 Kagome briefly returned to Edo to bid goodbye to her friends and to pack. She hadn’t brought any supplies with her, since jumping down the well had been such a spur of the moment’s decision. But Sango and Miroku kindly gave her some provisions for the road. They hugged her goodbye, telling her to take care and to come back soon.

“As soon as I can,” Kagome had promised.

As soon as her heart had settled, however long that took.

Inuyasha hadn’t said anything, but Kagome could tell he hadn’t been happy about her choice to leave with Sesshoumaru.

Too bad. This time, she would prioritise her own feelings over Inuyasha’s.

She pushed aside the thought and breathed in the humid summer air. Stared at Sesshoumaru’s straight back as he walked in front of her. Watched the dappled sunlight play in his silver-white hair.

With a start, she realised she hadn’t really been alone with Sesshoumaru before, aside from the few brief moments during their final confrontation with Naraku.

And then she realised something else, surprised it had taken her so long to notice. “Where’s Jaken?”

Sesshoumaru didn’t slow his brisk stride or turn to glance at her over his shoulder, but his answer came promptly. “I left him with my mother last winter.”

Kagomes’s eyebrows rose. “Your mother?”

“Indeed.”

“OK.” Kagome had so many questions about that, but she tamped them down. “Why did you leave him behind?”

“It was getting harder for him to keep up with this Sesshoumaru. Lesser demons age more similarly to you humans.”

“Oh. I see.” Kagome bit her lip, not knowing what else to say.

But Sesshoumaru did, as he soon added: “Granted, he was not very quick on his feet to begin with.”

Kagome stared at Sesshoumaru, laughter bubbling in her throat as she recalled Jaken’s imperious waddle.

Had Sesshoumaru just made a joke? Perish the thought. The feudal era had really gone topsy-turvy in her absence.

“I was surprised that it was Shippou who’d come to talk to you,” Kagome said next. Shippou had confessed to going to Sesshoumaru for help, back in Edo while watching Kagome pack. “He used to be afraid of you.”

Sesshoumaru shrugged but kept walking. “He used to be a kit.”

Kagome hummed. “True enough, he’s hardly that now.”

She almost succeeded to keep the wistfulness from her tone. Almost.

“He also used to travel with me for a while,” Sesshoumaru continued.

“Really? He didn’t mention that,” Kagome murmured.

At first it seemed like an odd happenstance, but then… Why not? Weirder things had happened.

Kagome’s heart felt heavy in her chest.

Silence fell, but now it carried an edge of pain.

Until Sesshoumaru’s calm voice jerked Kagome out of her harrowing thoughts. “You can tell me about it if that is what you wish.”

Kagome licked her lips. “About what?”

“The cause of your distress that you have been skirting around.”

Kagome stumbled her step, her gut clenching. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it. She wasn’t sure if Sesshoumaru cared to listen. But then, he had travelled with Rin and Jaken, so he must’ve been accustomed to chatter and blabber.

She took a deep breath, despite the tight band squeezing her chest.

“I didn’t think I was coming back,” Kagome said, her voice soft. “I didn’t think the well would work ever again. And then it did.”

A wry smile touched her lips. “And just like that, hope was high. I jumped in without thinking. I was nervous and giddy and I felt so light. And I couldn’t wait to see Inuyasha. One moment I had all but given up on him. The next, everything seemed possible.”

Kagome’s gaze bored into Sesshoumaru’s back. She wondered what kind of an expression he was wearing, if any. She squared her shoulders and ploughed on.

“I went to the village,” she continued. “A lot had changed. Much still looked the same. The first person I saw was Shippou. I couldn’t believe how much he’d grown, that he was taller than me now… Then there were Miroku and Sango. They looked a fair deal older but they were healthy and whole and there. I was overjoyed, seeing all my friends again. I looked around, sure that I would see Inuyasha, that all the noise from our reunion had alerted him. Instead, I saw her.”

Kagome had to pause and swallow past the tightness lodged in her throat.

“I didn’t recognise her, not at first. She seemed the same age as me. I saw the baby she was carrying, the baby with golden eyes. Then she called out my name. She smiled at me. I knew who she was then, because you don’t forget a smile like that. I think I was still in shock – about the baby and that this woman was Rin – when Inuyasha finally appeared.”

Kagome’s eyes were starting to burn. She gritted her teeth and stopped for a moment to will away the tears.

“Our eyes met and I knew. He looked so stricken. My heart broke the day the well closed but now it was breaking again. I couldn’t take it, so I ran away; went back to the well. And the portal was gone.” Kagome let out a shuddering sigh. “I never expected Inuyasha to wait. And still I felt betrayed. How stupid is that?”

Sesshoumaru had stayed silent and walking, but now he stopped and turned to look at her.

“It is not stupid and Inuyasha did wait for you. He simply did not wait long enough.”

“W-what?”

“I believe Inuyasha visited the well every three days after you had gone,” Sesshoumaru said evenly. “Along the years his visits became sparser while he grew more morose. Eventually, he stopped going altogether.”

Kagome gaped at Sesshoumaru, her cheeks pale, her mind sluggishly registering what he was telling her. The words were caught in her throat, but she forced them out.

“How long?”

Sesshoumaru met her gaze, his golden eyes unreadable. “Ten years.”

The knowledge settled heavily upon Kagome’s shoulders. The broken places inside her ached.

But it was a good kind of ache; the necessary kind that paved way to healing.

“Thank you,” Kagome said in a hushed whisper.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head gravely and resumed his walking.

Kagome stood still for a few heartbeats, then set out after him.

   ---------------------------------------------------------------------

 It was startling how easy it was to fall into routine. It didn’t matter that Kagome had never travelled with Sesshoumaru in the past or that she hadn’t gone on a single hiking or camping trip in the last ten years. They found their rhythm with astounding ease.

Already on that first day when they had stopped for the night, they had found their respective roles without having to even discuss it.

His company was silent, but one she felt safe and comfortable in.

And the silence wasn’t too difficult to break, either, when Kagome wanted to.

During the day when they were walking, she actually enjoyed the quiet – it gave her space, and time to think. Right now she needed both, just as she’d told Sesshoumaru.

But during the evenings, after they’d made camp, Kagome started longing for company and conversation. She’d been doubtful at first if Sesshoumaru would consent to being a conversational partner, but to her surprise it hadn’t taken much coaxing at all to get him to talk.

Some days, they talked only a little.

Other days, their conversation might span hours and last long past the time Kagome should have gone to sleep.

At first, they mostly talked of the past; of their memories of the hunt for the Shikon shards and their battles against Naraku. But as the days went by, their discussions broadened to other topics: from their childhoods to their education, from their families to their hobbies, from their various likes to their various dislikes.

Little by little, day after day, Kagome was learning to know Sesshoumaru.

She was learning to like Sesshoumaru.

Although, looking back, Kagome believed her relationship with Sesshoumaru had changed the day of their final battle against Naraku, when she’d come to after Inuyasha had pushed her off the ledge trying to protect her from himself.

Sesshoumaru had loomed over her, impassive as always as he easily slew the lesser demons lunging towards her. He’d protected her, then they had briefly joined forces, just the two of them.

She hadn’t had the time to really think about it then, and later she’d been too preoccupied by the tragedy of the well’s closing.

But now, being alone with Sesshoumaru again made her reflect on that moment and realise its significance.

Coming back to consciousness to see she’d been kept safe – of all people – by Sesshoumaru.

And now, thanks to Shippou’s request, he’d come to her aid again.

“What are you smiling about, Kagome?”

His deep voice jolted Kagome out of her thoughts.

She met Sesshoumaru’s inquisitive stare and her smile grew wider.

“You. I was thinking about you, and how we’ve become friends,” Kagome replied.

Emotion flashed in Sesshoumaru eyes even as one of his eyebrows arched. “Have we indeed?”

“Yes,” Kagome said firmly. “We have.”

   ---------------------------------------------------------------------

The hut was partially scorched. One wall was crumbling. The family that had once lived there was long gone.

Usually, it would have saddened Kagome; seeing this silent casualty of the wars ravaging the land.

Now, however, she let out a sigh of relief through teeth that were on the verge of chattering.

The sad little hut still had its roof intact and that was all that mattered right now.

Kagome walked in, found a dry corner and slumped onto the dusty floor, dropping her pack next to her.

She rummaged around for the spare kimono Sango had given her for the trip and pulled it out.

Sesshoumaru had already removed his swords and his armour and was building a fire in the hut’s long-neglected cooking pit.

As soon as the flames leapt up, Kagome scooted closer to the warmth they offered.

Outside, the rain still poured down, the hum of it loud in the silence.

Kagome started to shrug out of her soaked miko outfit. They’d been looking for a shelter for over an hour and she just wanted to be warm and dry.

Besides, she’d been travelling with Sesshoumaru for nearly two months now and had changed for bed in front of him countless of times.

This time, though, she had forgotten to take into an account two very important things: the underkimono that she usually left on to preserve her modesty was white. It was also just as wet from the merciless rain than the rest of her clothes.

A frisson of awareness snaked across her skin, making it pebble.

Kagome stilled. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she felt the weight of Sesshoumaru’s stare settle on her.

He let out a sound that was almost a growl.

Kagome forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.

Their gazes locked and Kagome’s breath caught.

There was tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

Nervous about the sudden change, Kagome licked her lips.

Sesshoumaru moved so quickly Kagome barely had time to register what was happening before she found herself pressed against his chest. A large, warm hand rested between her shoulder blades.

Claw-tipped fingers nudged her to lift her chin.

Stunned, Kagome saw Sesshoumaru’s intense golden eyes focus on her lips.

Eh?

Then, he kissed her, his lips firm and shockingly warm against her chilled skin. Kagome grabbed a hold of his wet kimono.

The kiss was unhurried, thorough and coaxing; full of lingering promise.

When Sesshoumaru finally pulled away, his hand still cupped her cheek. His eyes were hooded, but there was warmth in their gold depths that she’d never seen before.

It was a look that spoke volumes and louder than any words he could have offered.

“W-what?” Kagome stammered, breathless and unsettled. “How? When?”

Sesshoumaru shrugged, his thumb lazily tracing the line of her jaw. “Since the very beginning, I suspect.”

Kagome shook her head, her heart pounding in her ears. “You tried to kill me in the very beginning,” she reminded him.

“You, a mere human, had just pulled Tessaiga free,” he murmured. “I found that both an embarrassment and an insult, and reacted accordingly. Or what I believed to be so, at the time.”

Kagome scowled at him. Sesshoumaru, undeterred, tucked a wet strand of her hair behind her ear.

“It did not happen in one single moment. But it must have begun the day we met, because since the very beginning, you made yourself impossible to ignore.”

Kagome blushed and instinctively relaxed against him. “I suppose I did,” she admitted softly.

Even so, she’d never have imagined that Sesshoumaru…

He hid himself too well, with the silence and the cold, impassive face he showed to the world.

Kagome let go of Sesshoumaru’s kimono, burrowing her hands into her lap. She steeled herself and tried to ignore the spark of heat in her gut; the slight, tentative stirring in her chest.

“I’m not sure I’m ready yet. For whatever this is,” she told him.

Sesshoumaru’s fingers slid across her cheek in a final feather-light caress as he withdrew his hand.

Kagome was a little alarmed at how bereft she felt without his touch.

Sesshoumaru caught her gaze, his eyes both gentle and solemn with promise.

“Take all the time you need, Kagome. I will wait.”

Once upon a time, the unpredictability of the Bone-Eater’s Well had cost Kagome her chance for love.

As she sat there, shyly peering at Sesshoumaru and feeling the first faint flutters of warmth in the pit of her stomach, Kagome wondered if by opening again ten years too late, the well had given her another one.

End.

[spacechip707]

[Choi Prank Zine] Baby, Maybe?

A/N: Another piece from the zine! Hope you like it :) 

[Out of Reach]

[A Beary Scary Situation]

[Baby, Maybe?]

[Shall We Date?]

Computers shut down. Check! Security system on and functioning. Check! Garage temperature set to perfect sleeping temperature for his babies…

“Check!” Saeyoung announced, spinning his computer chair to face…no one.

He slouched in his seat, flicking a glance at the clock on the wall. Not even 9’oclock and the house was dead silent. No sound but the hum of electric lights, and no movement except the fluttering blades of computer fans.

A sigh swept past his lips as he examined the fruit of his night’s labor—the only evidence that time had actually passed. Newly built toys, ready to be tested and sold, crowded his workbench, and skeletons of new ideas sketched into blue paper were plastered across the walls. Despite the signs of productivity, any fulfillment from finishing his creations was acutely lacking.

Not that he was bored with domestic life. To be fair, boring was never an appropriate word to describe the Choi household where prank wars were a regular occurrence. Still, in the quieter moments of evening, Saeyoung noticed this strange hole inside his chest.

It wasn’t depression or loneliness—far from it now he was happily married and reunited with his brother. Rather it was a bittersweet sting that would rear its head on reticent days—a longing for something more. More noise. More liveliness. More...

He jolted forward in his chair, curtailing his stream of thoughts before it ventured deeper into his subconscious. What was with this sentimental mood? These late hours were really meddling with his head.

What he needed was a distraction—something fun, lively, invigorating! He needed a prank.

His feet hit the ground with enough force to send his work chair flying. His joints cracked and popped in protest, and a tingling sensation marched through his legs like a swarm of ants, but he plodded forward towards the hall.

He scanned the perimeter for potential ideas, and as usual, his eyes naturally gravitated to his brother’s closed door. Light leaked from inside, meaning he was…doing whatever Saeran did in his alone time.

Saeyoung rubbed his hands together in a devious manner. His brother perfectly fit the criteria of a prank victim: alone, unaware, and in need of a good laugh. Albeit, he never actually laughed at Saeyoung’s pranks…unless they backfired and caused the latter pain. But perseverance was key! This would be the one.

The redhead didn’t have to look far for ideas. As if by divine construction, an abandoned box of plastic wrap sat on the dining room table. MC must’ve left it out, making her his unwitting accomplice. Divine construction indeed.

With plastic wrap in tow, Saeyoung padded towards Saeran’s room. Stealthy and crafty—that was the plan. At least until his foot caught on some invisible object in the hall. Suddenly, he was plummeting through air with his arms flapping wildly like the nonexistent wings they were. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fly.

Pain shot through his tailbone, and with it came a colorful word from his mouth. Saeyoung gasped at his own vocabulary, sloppily flailing a sign a cross as he sent a repentant prayer to heaven. After attending to his soul, he shifted his attention to his feet where a thick, transparent string tangled his ankles. The culprit of the mishap.   

Fortunately, his victim didn’t hear the thud—or more likely, decided to ignore it.

However, his angel of a wife appeared in the doorway of their bedroom a moment later. Less angelically, giggles poured over her smiling lips. “D-did you trip?”

Saeyoung cast a disapproving glare though his cheeks burned. “Don’t laugh! Saeran made me sin,” he whined, his fingers detangling the mess at his feet. “Besides, it wasn’t even a good prank. So cliché.”

“Actually,” she said. Her eyes flashed with something dark as her laughter fizzled into a tight-lipped smile. It was mysterious, devious, foxy…kind of hot, he wasn’t going to lie. “It was my prank, not Saeran’s.”

Oh. That changed things.

Saeyoung snapped the string around his legs in one, sharp movement.

“My own wife!” he sputtered in faux anger. He stumbled to his feet, breathing heavily from effort—and maybe a tinge of melodrama. “What happened to Angel 606? Was she replaced with an evil twin?”

Admittedly, her bright pink pajamas dampened the “bad girl” effect, but that dark glimmer behind her eyes still made his heart bounce all over the place. “Your angel has many sides.”

Saeyoung raised a brow at the coy tilt of her head. “Is that so?” he said through a low chuckle, though he paused when the yellow box on the ground reminded him of his original mission. Invigorating as this banter was, he couldn’t lose the opportunity to make his brother irritated—ah, wait, no. To make him laugh.

“Er—can my angel wait one moment?” he pointed to the wrap with a sheepish grin.

Her lips flattened into a frown, and her hands fell to her side in exasperation. “You know your pranks just come back to bite you in the butt.”

The bruise on his rear throbbed at the word choice, but he brushed off her criticism and hooked his finger under the lid. “I’ll be quick,” he promised.

“Fine,” she said. Saeyoung leaned over and pecked her cheek in response.

Wasting no more time, he got to work on his nefarious deed. He tore a few sheets of plastic from the box tucked them into the raised grooves of his brother’s door. The plastic spread taut over the opening—right around where Saeran’s head would be. The job was sloppy, yet efficient. But Saeyoung was eager to return to his wife at that point, so it would have to do.  

Tossing the box aside, he spun on his heel to meet MC where she was still waiting. Her fingers drummed against her arm, and her toes fidgeted against the rug. The enthusiasm was mutual, so it seemed.

“Now…” Saeyoung lunged forward, scooping her around the middle and almost throwing her over his shoulder. She squealed at the jolt, but it dissolved into her melodic giggles once he gave her a fun jounce. “How many of these sides are you going to show me?”  

She propped her elbow against his shoulder. Her warm breath ghosted over the shell of his ear, leaving a trail of shivers down his neck. “That’s something for to uncover yourself,” she whispered.

“Mission accepted,” he responded with a smirk. Saeyoung kicked the bedroom door shut with his heel before tossing her onto the bed. His heart took a critical hit at the airy laughter drifting from her throat as she continued to bounce on the mattress. “Ah-Ha! Found your cute side!”

Her expression relaxed into a soft smile. She extended her arms to him, and Saeyoung bounded forward like a cat. The sweet fragrance of Jasmine and strawberries intoxicated his brain as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

“You smell good,” he hummed, planting a feathery kiss to her skin.

“That would be my hygienic side,” she snorted.

His chest heaved a tired laugh as he continued to kiss her. The way her fingers combed through his curls, detangling both the knots in his hair and his muscles, made his eyelids heavy with sleep. But her warm skin and curved mouth made it impossible to succumb to that temptation.  

His fingertips grazed the dip of her waist, but before he could pull her closer, she spoke again. “Speaking of hygienic, why don’t you wash your face?”

Saeyoung drew away. “My…face?”

“Yeah!” she burst too enthusiastically. “You probably have chip crumbs everywhere since you were working.”

Her thumb rubbed his cheek, though there was nothing to wipe clean.

“I didn’t eat them,” Saeyoung said, bumping her nose with his own. His eyes traced the shape of those pink lips that were causing his brain to short-circuit with every second he wasn’t kissing them.

“Y-you sure?” she said, faltering under his stare.

“I’ll prove it,” he said. Leaning forward, he finally captured her mouth in a lingering kiss. She melted into him with equal fervor until he released her to trail her nose with smaller pecks. “See. No chip taste!”

Her eyes fluttered open, her pleasure flickering away as she glanced towards the bathroom door. Abruptly, she lurched forward. Their heads collided with a sickening crack, but unnervingly, she didn’t miss a beat. “That’s it! Your breath!”  

Mood officially slaughtered. Saeyoung sat back onto his knees, massaging the growing knot on his forehead. “What’s wrong with it?”  

He huffed a puff of air into his curled palm and took a tentative sniff. It didn’t smell horrible.

“You taste like stale Ph.D. Pepper,” she said, nose wrinkling in displeasure.

“But I only had one can,” he said, stealing another kiss. “Okay, maybe five.”

This time her knee dug into his side, successfully prying him away from her person. She stayed silent, but the insistency behind her steady gaze was enough to dissuade his efforts.

With a click of his tongue, Saeyoung begrudgingly shimmied off the bed. He stopped halfway to the bathroom to cast her the most pitiful pout he could muster--protruding bottom lip, watery eyes, even a soft whimper.

No reaction.

He huffed with his absolutely fine breath. “I found another one of your sides,” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t like it.”

She rolled her eyes and vaguely gestured towards the bathroom.

Saeyoung deflated at the dismissal and trudged forward to complete his given tasks. He kicked the door closed behind him and snatched his toothbrush from its stand. The quicker the taste of Dr. Pepper left his mouth, the quicker he could taste the sweetness of MC’s. He wasn’t sure why she was so insistent on cleanliness today. His dirty face and soda breath didn’t bother her before.

Without look away from the mirror, he patted the counter blindly until his fingers wrapped around an object he thought was toothpaste. It was a bit too thin and hard to be toothpaste, but that fact didn’t register until a pink cap touched the bristles of his brush.

“The heck…” he mumbled.

Brows knitting together, he uncurled his fist to reveal the stick resting in his palm. Instead of the slogan of “Minty Fresh Breath” that he was expecting, the words “Pregnant” and “Not Pregnant” were printed next to a circle containing two red lines in its center.

His heart slammed against his ribs with a resounding thud.

The toothbrush clattered to the sink. His eyes trailed from the red strokes to the code next to it, but sudden tremors attacked his fingers. After several failed attempts to decrypt the shaking text, he slammed the stick against the counter so he could actually read it.

Two lines. Two lines meant positive. Two lines meant...

His vision tunneled. In seconds, the air in the bathroom grew warmer and thinner to the point where Saeyoung couldn’t move. Or inhale. His wobbling legs bailed, sending him collapsing bum-first to the ground, but whatever pain he might have felt on impact dissipated in the surging panic from those two lines. Two lines that were now blurring into four.

Maybe he was just hallucinating. Too much sugar, not enough sleep. Right? That’s why he was seeing four lines--No, two!

“Saeyoung?” MC’s soothing voice sliced through the trepidation closing around his throat. “You okay? I heard a crash.”

Crash? Yes, that’s what happened. System 707 had crashed. His brain was experiencing severe errors, his mind was wiped blank. The only things he could compute were those lines. Two lines.

He was going to be a father. He was going have a child, and that thought alone was beyond daunting. He was scared, worried, petrified, terrified, and...happy?

His heart was still racing, but along with this maelstrom of turbulent anxiety, a sudden rush of euphoria burst inside him like a series of fireworks. He could imagine it all—little feet running around the bunker, innocent giggles, park trips, and school projects. The weird gap that plagued him for so many nights began to lessen.

He didn’t know how to be a father. Heck, he had never even had one. But, if the swirling affection accumulating inside of him was any testament, he wanted the chance to love this child.

Finally, a breath of air managed to find his lungs.

Fighting against trembling his arms, he shoved the bathroom door open, startling his poor wife who toppled onto the mattress. Saeyoung tried standing, but his legs still wouldn’t cooperate.  He just crawled forward instead.

“This—you—I’m gonna—Two lines!” The stick wavered in his hand as he extended it to MC.

Her teeth tugged at the edge of her lips, though they were unable to conceal the upward curl.  Of course—this was why she was so pushy earlier. She wanted him to find the test.

“So,” she began, leaning forward on the bed. “How do you feel?”

Saeyoung inhaled sharply, but excitement chased away any breath he took. So he stopped trying.

“We’re having a baby,” he said, still trying to process the news in his scrambled brain.  The overwhelming exhilaration in his head trickled to his chest until he could no longer resist pressing a firm kiss to her mouth. “I feel—I feel so—“

He paused when he noticed the color drain from her face. Shock and dread pooled in her wide eyes that were so full of delight just seconds ago. “You’re crying,” she breathed.

Saeyoung brought his fingers to his cheeks, surprised to find that they were indeed damp. His emotions were finally catching up to him, twisting his chest until something between a sob and a laugh escaped. He brought her knuckles to his lips. “I guess so. But I promise, it’s because I’m just so happy.”

“Happy?” she said, her voice strained and tight.

He nodded reassuringly. “Beyond happy.”

She squeezed shut, her breaths now quivering. “Saeyoung, listen—“

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by aggressive pounding at their door. “Saeyoung, open this door right now so I can kill you.”

“Saeran!” Saeyoung greeted as if he didn’t just receive a death threat. MC’s hand slipped from his shirt when he practically bounded to the door. Any fear of his brother’s murderous tone was drowned in bliss. “Come in!”

The door slammed open revealing a distraught Saeran with red marks streaking across his face. Saeyoung paused in the middle of the room, confused until the younger twin held up a sheet of wrinkled plastic, reminding him of his earlier deed.

“Ready to die?” Saeran asked with a smile unbefitting of the setting.

Without offering Saeyoung a chance to apologize—or triumph—Saeran slapped the plastic onto his brother’s face and shoved him back onto the bed. Saeyoung sputtered against the acrid taste that invaded his mouth.

“Wait! Wait!” he managed to scream. “Don’t kill me! My child needs a father!”

In desperation, he hurled the stick still in his hand, forcing Saeran to retreat. Saeyoung used the extra time to peel the plastic from his face and give his lungs a chance at air after the past harrowing five minutes.

Saeran snatched the stick and rebounded towards Saeyoung. His fists clutched the collar of his shirt, jostling him hard enough to knock his glasses crooked. The edge of the pregnancy test dug into Saeyoung’s cheek, and while it didn’t help his stinging face, he stiffened at the tip.

“Uh, Saeran,” he said, warily eyeing the pink cap. “If you’re going to threaten me, can you use something like a pen—or scissors? I love her, but I’d rather not be touched with something my wife peed on.”

Confusion flickered across Saeran’s features. He paused to examine the stick, a sharp cry squeaking from his throat the moment realization hit. He let both Saeyoung and stick plummet to the ground while he frantically swiped his hands on the bedsheets.

“Gross!” he sputtered. His flailing stopped after a moment, and his wide eyes shifted to look at Saeyoung.  “MC’s pregnant?”

Saeyoung clutched his brother’s knees. “You’re going to be an uncle, Saeran!”

Saeran threw his head back and moaned. “Great, you’re multiplying!”

“I know right!”

Saeran swatted at Saeyoung when his knees buckled under the embrace. “You’re going to make me fall, idiot! Go hug your wife instead. She doesn’t look so good.”

Saeyoung turned to MC. She was uncharacteristically silent this entire time, hunched forward on the bed instead of giggling at the twins’ banter. At first, he assumed it was shock, but seeing her pale face and eyes glazed over with unshed tears…he wasn’t so sure.

“MC?” Saeyoung said, his serious mode switching on when she buried her face behind her hands. He crept onto the bed and rubbed his hand against her back. “Honey, are you okay?”

Her shoulders rose before dipping sharply in a pained sigh. Even when she sat upright, her gaze didn’t meet his. “Saeyoung, I’m so sorry—the prank---”

“Prank?” he said, trying to follow the sequence of events. “The string from earlier? No need to be upset about that.”

“Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones,” Saeran whispered.

“Isn’t it early for that?” Saeyoung said.

“No, it’s not—” MC stopped, mouth twitching downwards. Chewing on her bottom lip, she gestured to the test Saeyoung still cradled to his chest. “The test… It was a prank. It’s fake.”  

The room fell silent.

“What?” Saeyoung stammered. His heart sank into his stomach as he gaped at MC. Maybe she would take it back—announce another prank. But she only hugged herself tighter. “So, you’re not…”

She shook her head.

Saeyoung ventured a glance at Saeran. Not even he was laughing, despite this inflicting more pain than any pranks combined. He gathered the plastic wrap on the bed.  

“I guess I can let this go,” he murmured, offering a sympathetic grimace to his older twin on his way out. Wow, did Saeyoung look that pathetic?

The door shut behind him leaving the couple in the suffocating silence.

Saeyoung breathed, staring at the test as if the baby he didn’t even have was snatched from his hands. That hole returned to his chest, maybe deeper than before, and his previous panic morphed into exhaustion. And disappointment.

Although, looking back, his euphoria was unfounded. He knew zero about parenting. He built toys, got a steady life, was mostly over his past. So what? That didn’t make a good father.

Then, why did it hurt so bad?

“S-Saeyoung?” MC called weakly. She flinched when he lifted his head, guilt pooling in her mournful eyes.

Oh right. It was a prank. He should be laughing. Laughing at himself was usually easy--why couldn’t he manage now? Especially since MC looked ready to burst into tears any second.

For her sake, he plastered a smile across his face, and with some effort, produced the most pitiful fake laugh. “Ha...you got me, honey. I was so…”

Looking forward to having a baby.

His acting didn’t work, and the tears in MC’s eyes fell rapidly down her cheeks. “I’m so stupid!” she said. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. You were just supposed to be a little panicked—I would tell you, and then—Ugh!”

Saeyoung set the stick aside and scrambled forward to stop his wife from hitting herself. “Hey, no, no! You aren’t stupid. If anything, you got me good!”

Her hands fell to her lap, but her lips were still pressed together in annoyance. “You’re allowed to be mad at me, you know. I took it too far.”

A bit, Saeyoung thought wryly.

His thumb brushed away a stray tear skidding down her face. “I’m not mad, MC,” he said honestly. “I just…kind of wished it was real.”

MC wiped her sniffling nose on her sleeve. “If I would’ve known you wanted a baby so bad, I wouldn’t have—“   

“I know,” Saeyoung interrupted, yanking her into his embrace and kissing the top of her head. “To be fair, I didn’t know until I thought it was real. I’ve been thinking about it…but not consciously.”

She groaned again, now sobbing into his torso. “Saeyoung, I’m so, so sorry! Please, don’t talk to me for like three days. I deserve it.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he scolded, pushing her back to look at her face. Strands of hair clung to her damp cheeks, and her eyes grew puffy. Her guilt was so palpable, Saeyoung’s own hurt crumbled under the resolution to stop her crying. Despite the pang still reverberating in his chest, he chuckled. “Maybe you shouldn’t indulge your ultimate prankster side, huh? You’re a little too good.”

She pouted at the reference, only making her angelic nature shine through her mistake. “I really want to make it up to you.”

“If you insist,” he sighed. Saeyoung offered his puckered lips and raised three fingers. Thankfully, the slightest of smiles returned to her face as she pressed two quick kisses to his mouth. She stopped short of the third.

“Saeyoung,” she began. Her fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, drawing him closer on an invisible string.

“Hmm?”

Her last kiss was different than the others. It was slow, adorned onto his lips, translating her repeated apology through tender touch instead of words. Even so, something else hid behind it—a hesitance. Her sparkling eyes met his again, lavishing him with sincere, solemn affection. “Do you want to have a baby? For real.”

For the second time that night, a buzz filled Saeyoung’s head. Unlike before, there weren’t fireworks or dizzying thrills. This was gentler, like the flutter of a zephyr or the glow of fireflies in the evening sky.

A smile drew across his lips as he lovingly lowered her onto her back. He hovered above her, their warm breaths mingling in the small space between them.

“Yeah,” he said, the simple word weighted with conviction. “Let’s have a baby.”

[sending-the-message]

House of The Crimson Nightmare by hashbanger

Every small town has them. These little local legends and stories that grow and mutate through the ages. New England hosts more than most, and in the small twisting streets of Massachusetts, the cause is apparent.

It may be the mist that seems to hang in the air before the sunrise, or the moldering rooftops preying over the cobblestone streets. Perhaps it's just the strangeness of the swamp yankees that peer at travelers who happen upon their labyrinthian roadways. Regardless, it is fertile ground for the fetid and a breeding ground for the macabre tales that haunt the area.

I was never a fan myself, seeing no purpose in embracing the darker elements of life and death. I did it for my son. This is no excuse. There is no justification for what I've done. It's simply part of the story that you must understand. And the more you understand the higher the chance that someone out there can offer some help.

My son, Michael, was always attracted to the macabre. While he never adopted the full goth uniform in high school, as did some of his friends, he was always interested in horror movies, the occult, and moreso tracing local legends and trying to suss out the basis of these stories. At the age of sixteen he had had several small articles published on blogs, and even a local printed "zine". It was impressive to see him take such a passionate interest in anything at that age and my wife and I encouraged his work.

It was two weeks before his birthday that I came across his new obsession. Knocking into the desk in his room had unlocked his computer screen revealing his newest investigation into the "The House of The Crimson Nightmare". His research had only just begun and there was not much information present. Just enough for me to get an idea, one I now wish had never entered my consciousness.

The following day at work, I did some additional research and managed to track down the owner of the home. It was not easy. The gentleman lives in Florida and owns and manages about twenty properties across the northeast. After almost an hour of discussion, and a few emailed and signed legal disclaimers he agreed to rent the place to me for the weekend, for rather an exorbitant price.

Michael was ecstatic about the unconventional gift, and my younger son, Jonah was thrilled about the upcoming "camp out". My wife, Christine, was not quite as thrilled that I had unilaterally made this decision or expenditure, though she respected what I was trying to do for Michael.

He was quite animated during the ride, regaling us with detail after detail about the legend. We had to, of course, continually remind him to avoid getting overly graphic with the details since we had Jonah with us. The legend could be traced back to the mid 1800's, even before the house was built.

As many old New England legends go, it began with a man who lost his wife and son in childbirth. This man, Samuel Mohria buried his suddenly lost loved ones in the woods that they so loved to frequent. But this was not the end. Samuel resolved himself to regain what he had lost and disappeared from the community in search of the knowledge and power to bring his family back to him. It was twenty years later that he returned, arriving by ship in Massachusetts. It was then that the accounts of locals began to be recorded. Residents would hear strange sounds at night that carried through the valley. Some reported seeing fire, others lights moving through the forest. One woman, Bertice Driver, told the local paper that she had seen a man walk directly into a tree and disappear from view one fall evening.

This was the basis for the legend of the Bleeding Tree. For years in the community, mothers would warn their children to avoid the Bleeding Tree when out to play. Michael told us that in his research he had found records of more than twenty missing children during this period, each being found covered in blood, but without a single would to explain their deaths, or the blood upon their little bodies.

Time passed. The community grew. And soon the plot was cleared and homes were built. The legend insists that the House of the Crimson Nightmare was built on the very spot where the Bleeding Tree had stood. Samuel fell from the historical records, and the Legend of the Bleeding Tree subsided. It was however, replaced with the strange history of the home.

Three men disappeared during the construction of the home. The owner, who had commissioned the work committed suicide well before it was completed. It then fell into the hands of his heirs. The first, a widowed woman named Samantha Thomson, was the first to move in and was found weeks later, covered in frozen blood upon her front porch. The history goes on like this, calming for decades, then returning with records and stories of tragedy. The most famous was the most recent. Three years ago a small family of three was found in the basement of the home each beset with small but deep bites. It was as if someone had taken a melon scooper to all three of them and left them to bleed out. It was officially listed as an animal attack, regardless of the fact that all of the doors and windows were closed and locked. And regardless of the fact that none of the investigators could determine the type of animal that would leave wounds similar to the ones found.

It was dark when we arrived, but we were prepared. We used our flashlights and the lockbox to gain entry, and immediately set to laying out our tarps and bedrolls. Michael set himself to searching the house, while Jonah played with his fire-trucks on the staircase. Christine and I managed to get some good time to talk privately (a rare treat for any parent), and overall it was a very nice night. Once everyone got too tired we all got into our makeshift beds and Michael continued with stories and details about the house until each of us in turn fell to sleep.

That was it. The evening was uneventful. There were small noises, but nothing more than typical for an old home. It was cold, but no chillier than expected for an early October evening. I certainly did not sleep well, but that is to be expected for a forty year old man on a thin bedroll.

It wasn't until we went out for breakfast that we realized that something was wrong. Jonah had been very quiet and subdued since the previous evening, which we originally chalked up to a lack of sleep. It became more obvious over breakfast watching his blank stare and incessant scratching at his ankle. Christine picked up on it first and asked him what was wrong.

Scratching and distracted, he told us about his dream. He had dreamed that he was in the woods. That he had seen a man in a robe standing in front of a tree. The man screamed, and then a mother and a child had "walked out of" the tree. He told us that the baby was so hungry,and the mother couldn't feed him. The baby screamed and the mother cried. And then they saw Jonah. He said they looked surprised that he was there and quickly came towards him. The mother knocked him to the ground, and placed the baby down at his feet. The last thing he remembers about the dream was the baby biting him.

Christine looked at me horrified. Michael was a mix of interest and concern. Jonah continued scratching through the entire story and revealed the tiny ringed bite marks near his calf.

We left for home that morning. We've been home for two days now. Each night since has been the same. Each morning an examination of my little boy. He's bitten every night now, each bite deeper, and I don't know what to do. Please help me. How do I stop this thing before it's too late?

[liliannorman]

Curiosity drives this neuroscientist and artist

When she was young, Christine Liu didn’t plan to become a scientist. But chasing her curiosity led her to love neuroscience, the study of the brain and the nervous system. She’s now a graduate student and researcher at the University of California, Berkeley. There, she studies what nicotine, the addictive chemical in tobacco and e-cigarettes, does to the brain. 

Christine Liu sells some of her art at a zine festival.Tera Johnson

Outside the lab, Liu makes art, including some that communicates science. As half of the collective Two Photon Art, with environmental scientist Tera Johnson, Liu makes self-published magazines that illustrate science concepts. And the pair designs and sells science-themed items such as jewelry and clothes. Liu also shares her work on Instagram (such as the posts embedded in this story). 

Liu isn’t yet sure if her future is in the lab or making art, but she knows that neuroscience will be a big part of her career. In this interview, Liu shares her experiences and advice with Science News for Students. (This interview has been edited for content and readability.)

What inspired you to pursue your career?

I pursued neuroscience because of a curiosity about how the world works. Even as a little kid, I was interested in how people experience things differently. So I would ask questions like, “Is the red that I see the same as the red that everyone else sees?” When I started learning about psychology and biology and answers to these questions that researchers proposed, I got more interested. In college, I jumped at the opportunity to get in the lab as soon as I could. And I quite like doing lab work. But I’ve been doing research for almost 10 years. So I might take the opportunity when I graduate to do art more seriously.

How did you get where you are today?

I grew up not really being that great at anything. It wasn’t like I knew I had a special talent in science and that I was going to become a scientist. I also grew up low-income. My family didn’t have a lot of money. As a kid, I spent a lot of time helping out around the house. I translated documents for my family and made sure that the rice was cooked before my parents got home. And I started working part-time jobs really early. In high school, I worked at a Jamba Juice and at a science museum. I did a bunch of jobs in college, too. 

My college applications weren’t very strong. So I didn’t get into the colleges in California I actually wanted to go to. Instead, I needed to apply last minute to the local state school. I went to University of Oregon in Eugene. It wasn’t on the top of my list, but there were a lot of opportunities in neuroscience there. I was really able to take advantage of them. I overcame a lot of what I thought were shortcomings in my ability and competitiveness to do science. 

When I started doing research, I was lucky to be in a lab with other female students. And I had done summer research programs with a diverse community of students and researchers. But when I started grad school, I was a little surprised at how few women and people of color I saw.

View this post on Instagram

.

everything matters

. Or is it that every thing is matter? Here are some molecule constellations! Molecules and constellations are very different in size but they have a lot in common too! The lines dont depict anything with mass, but rather a connection between two points. In the case of a molecule, it is a bond caused by very strong, but tiny forces. In constellations, the lines mean little more than a game of "connect the dots" with what we can see with our eyes from earth. Another thing that they have in common is that they are both quite pretty and fun to draw

A post shared by christine ramen liu (@christineliuart) on Jan 29, 2020 at 10:01am PST

I also wasn’t sure how to express myself — if I needed to conform more or if I could really be myself. But then on Instagram, I found all these women who were not compromising how they express themselves. They were doing incredible science. And they were wearing lipstick and doing their hair and being feminine. This was something that I hadn’t realized was missing in my life. I immediately tried to connect all of us on Instagram, and I created a group called The STEM Squad. (STEM is short for science, technology, engineering and math.) We now have over 1,000 people who identify with the gender that’s been underrepresented in science. We each share our experiences and support each other. 

How do you get your best ideas?

I get my best ideas when I’m taking a break. This happens for a lot of people. It’s like getting your best ideas in the shower or on a walk or right before you fall asleep. I find that when I’m taking care of myself and getting enough rest and social time, I come up with ideas I’m really excited about. Oftentimes, I’ll have a breakthrough in planning experiments when I’m not thinking about them. It’s the same for artistic ideas of what to draw or make. I think when I let my brain rest, it does its own thing in the background and ideas just spark. 

What’s one of your biggest successes?

What I’ve been able to do with my art in grad school has been one of my biggest successes. It’s brought me a lot of joy and connected me with people. It’s also given me an idea of how I might actually be able to continue doing art after I finish grad school. 

Labs in my research area can be competitive. Oftentimes, we don’t want to share our experimental results until we’re ready. So it wasn’t until this past year, my sixth year of grad school, that I presented my research at the biggest neuroscience conference. I presented it with a poster. But I’ve been going to this conference for the past four years because they have a section for neuroscience art. Presenting my art there was a big success. 

What’s one of your biggest failures, and how did you get past that? 

What I perceived to be a failure was when I worked hard in high school to try to be competitive for college. And I didn’t get into a school that seemed like a good choice for me. I was really sad. I thought I was a complete failure. A lot of my peers had gotten into great schools. But in the end, I realized that every failure is actually an opportunity to do better. I think if I had let myself get sucked into the narrative that I just wasn’t good enough, I never would have recovered. In the end, the University of Oregon turned out to be really great for me.

What do you do in your spare time?

I make art! Because research is really hard, there can be lots of failures. Experiments might not work. Or they might work and prove your hypothesis wrong. During a stretch of months when research feels like it isn’t working, I find it fulfilling to go home and draw, paint or share a piece of art. I really love painting. It’s one of my favorite activities. I love the colors and mixing them. And I like how it’s a little bit messy. I also do other things that keep me happy and healthy, like cooking and visiting my grandparents. 

View this post on Instagram

The sketch I made for the mural I’m working on at @missionscienceworkshop! The Mission Science Workshop is a really cool tinkering and science education space in the Mission and Excelsior neighborhoods in San Francisco. I’m excited to paint two walls adjacent walls to give some context for kids to learn about where different kinds of rocks are formed and whether fossils were found! I made this sketch in @procreate on my iPad and then mapped it onto a photo of the walls. You can check out the progress made during day 1 of painting in my story highlights!

A post shared by christine ramen liu (@christineliuart) on Nov 25, 2019 at 7:16pm PST

I also try to support other scientists who have artistic interests or artists who have scientific interests through The Stem Squad. We raise money through artists in the community who submit their art. We print it on shirts, hats or things like that and sell them. This raises money to give out awards for people who do volunteer work to improve inclusion in STEM.

What piece of advice do you wish you had been given when you were younger?

If there’s something that you really want to do, you have to take baby steps and start to do it as much as you can. If I had waited until someone invited me to join a lab, maybe I never would have started my research career. But because I was so in love with the idea of doing brain research, I emailed a bunch of professors and begged for a chance to work in the lab. Then I proved to myself that I can be a really great scientist despite my mediocre high school grades. 

Also, if I had waited until I had more time to make art or until I felt like a perfect artist before selling my art, I don’t think I would be where I am today. It took me a while to become comfortable sharing things that aren’t perfect and trying things even though I probably wasn’t the best person for the job. But taking the risk and putting myself out there and being willing to learn — I think that’s what’s gotten me the furthest.

This Q&A is part of a series exploring the many paths to a career in science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM). It has been made possible with generous support from Arconic Foundation.

Curiosity drives this neuroscientist and artist published first on https://triviaqaweb.tumblr.com/

[kylegoodmanuca-blog]

How to start your own zine - Ione Gamble

What I do and why I do it "I create and edit a self-published zine called Polyester. I created Polyester during my second year of university, frustrated by the media industry's representation of fourth wave feminism and favouritism towards minimalism, and obsessed with the group of young women and queer people I knew online who were creating progressive, beautiful work but weren't being provided with a proper platform to showcase it. From early teenhood I always knew the area in which I wanted to work, but not the specific job. I was obsessed with collecting whichever magazines I could get my hands on, watching VHS tapes bought from charity shops and constantly scrolling through Tumblr seeking things out - and after a short stint studying photography during my A levels decided journalism was the path I wanted to pursue.

I'm not sure there was one specific person or thing that made me want to decide to do what I now do - the generation of women I grew up with were always creating things on their own terms. Watching my peers produce imagery, writing and zines, at a much younger age than I felt confident doing, eventually gave me no reason not to give it a go myself. Seeing people actually buy and enjoy the first issue of Polyester was a nice moment as before then I'd sort of created this thing without really knowing if anyone would like it, if it would resonate with anyone else or how it would be received more generally."

A day in my life... "Consists of a lot of emails, mainly. Juggling my freelance assignments whilst working towards the next Polyester print issue and administrative tasks such as packaging up the zines sold that week. I look forward to the point in production of an issue in which most of the planning is out of the way and we begin shooting or I start interviewing people who we're featuring. A task I hide from is definitely tackling my mammoth pile of unread emails. The most rewarding aspect of my job is seeing people come to the launch parties, zine fairs, or even just posting a picture of the zine on Instagram and seeing that other people actually engage with the project. The biggest misconception about my job is that you'll be making lots of money. Polyester by no means pays for me to live and being advertising/sponsorship free all of the money we make goes towards producing the next issue and paying our contributors expenses."

The moment that made me...

"This is a difficult one to answer as I tend to separate what I think of as 'my career' to what I do with Polyester as a publication - even though obviously certain aspects of the two are linked and intertwined. In terms of my own career as a freelance journalist: Ashleigh Kane was the first person that approached me about writing for her and has always been so supportive of what I do. In terms of Polyester I think the defining moments so far in terms of advancing the zine have been our Meadham Kirchhoff feature in issue two and securing Tavi Gevinson as our cover girl for issue four. Both of those features were incredibly important to establishing the zine's tone of voice and gave me the opportunity to work with figures I hugely admired personally. The first birthday party we threw for Polyester was really cool - seeing hundreds of people come together to have important discussions on feminism, gender and social politics whilst also doing completely fun and ridiculous workshops like creating crowns out of pipecleaners and partaking in a live photoshoot with Maisie Cousins. It really cemented the community around Polyester that I've always strived to create."

To degree or not to degree, that is the question.... "I went to university, and did a degree in Fashion Journalism and although don't think it's entirely necessary in order to have a successful career in journalism the grants and loans that were available to working class kids (before the Tories scrapped them) - who couldn't afford to intern for free off the back of their parents' paycheck -- did mean it was a more viable route for many (including me) than going out into the industry alone. I think work experience is completely necessary and more important than studying in some cases. But traditional placements aren't the only way of securing job offers - during university I wrote for smaller publications, and other zines before I established my own, which provided me with the invaluable experience of working with editors and pitching ideas - it also meant I wasn't hugely reliant on working for other people for free full time and already had contacts in place when looking for freelance work once I'd graduated. Be enthusiastic and don't be afraid to chase things up - people are busy and forgetful, but that's not to say you should hound them with five emails a day until they reply. Apply for places you genuinely care about and give reasons as to why you want to work for them and why you feel like you'd fit in well there. Most of all don't feel disheartened by rejection as something will always work out! The biggest lesson I've learnt is to persevere against all odds, stand up for yourself when you know you should be getting paid, and don't let anyone or thing get in the way of what you want."

What I wish I knew then that I know now...

"Maybe that harding work does actually pay off and as much as people say that the fashion/media industries are super difficult to break into, if you're motivated enough then anything is possible. Make sure you really know what you're getting yourself in for - starting and maintaining a zine is a lot a lot of work but really, really worth it when it all pays off. Find a strong community of friends and creative peers to surround yourself with and work with each other on projects both just for fun and in a professional context. Write for other people before you try and go it alone."

I'm excited by tomorrow because… "I'm currently in the early stages of planning Polyester issue six, and we're also looking to make some changes to Polyester online and organising more events in between now and the next issue. At the beginning of each issue the thing that excites me the most about making Polyesteris the opportunity to work with a load of new inspiring people, or the opportunity to interview someone who's work I have loved for a really long time. I think that's the best thing about working in a creative field - making things collaboratively, watching the images and words other people have produced for the issue who live in other parts of the world be submitted, and eventually seeing it all come together in the form of a printed publication. I'm inspired by my peers and creative women. In general the community around me of visual artists and activists who continue to fight for the causes they believe in and create inspiring work inspire me to continue doing what I'm doing. Spoken word artist Liv Wynter completely made me reconsider my own writing style after reading the brilliant profile she wrote on fellow performance artist Liv Fontaine for our current issue. My friend Maria Cabrera who helps run Reel Good Film Club, and Art Baby Gallery's Grace Miceli both work so hard and both of their individual hustles inspire me daily."

Source:https://i-d.vice.com/en_uk/article/7xvgkz/how-to-start-your-own-zine-by-ione-gamble

[culturalmishap]

In light of a surprisingly great week, I’m suddenly floored with Sunday night anxiety. I cope by typing my way through my feelings, so, under the cut it will go.

So, as stated, it was actually a pretty great week. Lots of shenanigans, lots of inspiration, lots of embarrassment that I caused for myself, and I finished another zine piece. But, here to darken my doorway comes feelings of inadequacy again. Particularly surrounding Otakon.

Man, I have so much planned for that con! And while I’m really excited, I’m still terrified. Even after talking with friends who make wonderful points, there’s still this little voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me “you’re not good enough to be there” and “you’re not good enough to be friends with these people.” Lately, I’ve just felt like my art is awful. I’m overwhelmed by how talented my friends are and all the wonderful things they’re doing in their lives and how strong they are. And then there’s just me, drawing dumb doodles in my sketchbook in an attempt to stay creative while I’m drowning in school work and fighting the pressure and stress that comes with applying into the Rad Tech program. Every piece of art I make, I feel like it’s worthless in the end. It won’t be good enough. My art has no feeling to it anymore. The gestures are gone, even when I feel like I’m trying to exaggerate them. My faces are bland. My ideas aren’t anything special. 

So, who on earth is going to want my work? It’s this con’s first time in a new location. This could either be great or a huge loss. This will be my first time selling at a huge anime convention. I’m so scared of what the reactions will be. I know my style is... iffy. I’ve always floated in that awkward space between eastern and western.

I’m really excited for this new experience, but terrified at the financial weight. Not only am I pouring money into airfare and almost a complete overhaul of my prints, there’s so much money going into the Rad Tech program, even before I can get myself accepted into it. I hardly get any hours at my work (not that I have the time to really be working any more than I already am with all my school work) and I haven’t had the time to open up commissions again.  I’m worried I won’t make it into the Rad Tech program. I know my grades are stellar but they require a CNA certification before starting classes in their program and it’s sounding like the competition to even get registered for the CNA is insane thanks to all of the medical majors who needs it. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to wait another year before I could apply again. Like I’ve said before, I’m really tired of living in this town and I want to move on. I’ve consigned myself to two years to get done with Rad Tech and get out, but to add another year onto that? Ah, I just can’t imagine it right now. I just feel suffocated by the nothingness that’s here. I don’t go out with friends. My family stays home most of the time. I’m either in class, at work, studying, or losing myself in FFXIV, which is dull at the moment while we wait for the next expansion.

Even if I do get in, will I fit in with my classmates? Will I meet my goals? Will I impress the people who are in charge of the program, even though they won’t even reply to my emails right now? Can I be a good technician? How will I be with the public? Will I be able to find the balance between Rad Tech and continuing to push myself into more cons?

To add to my ache, the con I attend every year has made changes that are making it impossible for me to sell because of increased fees and new rules that won’t allow table sharing. I’m so sad because it’s been my go-to con every year, but it’s looking like it just won’t happen this fall. I know I would make back what I put into it, but my income would take a huge hit.

Lastly, I still feel insecure in my friendships that I currently have. Maybe it’s because they came so suddenly? I feel like I usually have to work for a while to “convince” people to like me. These beautiful, talented, just...  completely wonderful people treat me like I’m one of them. And my heart cries out, “YOU’RE AN OUTSIDER!” They’re so genuinely good to me and it makes me so scared. Maybe it’s because for the year leading up to meeting them, things weren’t so good with others. Because I’m so used to being hurt and just saying, “it’s alright, that’s just how they are. I want to be their friend really bad, so I won’t ask them to stop or hurt them by leaving them be.” While my wounds have (mostly) healed after letting a big part of my life and heart go, there’s still a pink, glossy scar where they used to be, and if I think about it, I remember the hurt and the way things were and ache to fall comfortably back into being emotionally manipulated. The cycle of happiness, then neglect, then confrontation, then sweet words to distract from the pain, and then starting it all over again. Yet, my well of inspiration has run shallow a lot since cutting them out. I feel creatively strangled without the RPs and world building we had. So many characters and so many stories now frozen in time, never finding their conclusion. ... Did I ever really expect them to end in the first place though? It makes me uneasy, still.

But yet I’m still so scared all the time with my new friends. I wanted to cry so much after being told some really great things this week. Okay, I actually cried anyways. I see these little powerful groups of friends and I talk to them and I feel like I’m trying so hard to fit in, but really I’m just a nuisance who keeps butting in on everything. I’ll get to see them all soon and I’ll turn red, and get sick with anxiety, and overthink every little thing they do and I do. But what if we just can’t become as good of friends as I want to be because our interests really only overlap with conventions and games? Will I be the odd one out because I just don’t share interests that the majority does? Will I leave a good impression? Will they miss me? Will they honestly laugh with me, or will they only laugh to be polite?

In a month I’ll be 24, but I’m still trying to grow up. I’m trying become my best me. And, with a little tough love, I’m making those baby steps. Each one is trembling and small, but some progress is better than none, right?

[nxbxdysart]

I’ve recently released a Zine which i intended on partnering with an EP i'm releasing within the next couple of months with @kevbars . The project was going to be just instrumentals initially, but adding a rapper to the mix would actually convey the message behind this Zine/EP more efficiently. The Zine - Zine -O- Phobia, is a mashup of found articles mixed with characters i created (Offensive Youth) responding to much of the fear mongering, bigotry, misogyny and violence that these newspapers published during the 20th century. These characters resemble the rebellious teens that parents fear, but are exposing the hate and ignorance in the ideologies of these older, “wiser” generations. The cover further expresses this idea, as i poke fun at and deface an image of the mid-century (white) American dream - the Cleavers. Leave it to Beaver is the epitome of what’s supposed to be “all American”, wholesome goodness - but, in actuality, it’s an unrealistic and exaggerated representation of the American family. The demographic of the people who watched this show were more likely to be bigoted and sexist because of the era that this show existed in and the people it intended to “represent”.

The name of the zine is a double entendre, because even though there are xenophobic themes in these pieces, there is just a lot of phobia inducing propaganda espoused as well. Some of the articles also impart atrocities committed when these phobias and myths are fully ingrained into the fabric of our society (such as the halloween candy myth). This is revealing of the cycle in which 20th century news media (mostly religious/right wing) has played in implanting and continually perpetuating these ideas.

The horror movie theme also goes hand and hand with the other themes, beyond my love for retro horror, most horror movies are a commentary on societal fears. My subtle use of Roman Polanski was intentional, his existence and work cover most of what the zine is discussing. Polanski is polarizing, his films - specifically Rosemary’s Baby, Repulsion and The Tenant - tackle fear, mistrust, and ironically, the hardships of womanhood. This is especially troubling when you analyze his personal life after these films were made. Polanski is notorious for the rape of a 13 year old, which caused him to flee to Switzerland to evade arrest and continue making films. However, the murder of his pregnant wife, actress Sharon Tate, by the Manson family, unearths how society reacts to these harmful ideologies. Cults are often based on some alternative interpretation of religious texts, and Charles Manson’s obsessions with the book of revelations and race wars, transformed him into the leader of a racist, sexist, murderous sect. It’s also important to note that Sharon Tate’s filmography consists of a couple of occult horror films, one being a Polanski film.

I worked on this for a little more than half of a year, and i finished it during a time when the American political climate is in total disarray with the Trump administration. It only felt right to release it now when fear mongering, conspiracy theories, misogyny and racism are at the forefront of American politics.

[yiyunkong-blog]

Notebook 4- A03

Peer Review by Maggie Goodson

Yiyun’s zine uses a lot of what have become iconic and recognizable photos of the Syrian refugee crisis along with almost anecdotal stories of a refugee family in Texas. My classmate’s zine is about the Syrian refugee crisis and charts the migration and assimilation of one family into American society, and the trials they have faced and continue to face. The intended audience would be fellow students; it has a very approachable and understandable feeling.

One of the most compelling quotes I found was “In Daraa, Faez  is seen as a commoner trying to fend for his life in his own home while in the Unites States, Faez is seen as a refugee who left his dangerous life behind and chose the best possible life for him and his family”.

I think it would be really interesting to overlay or superimpose the words refugee, commoner, father, immigrant, stranger, dangerous and other words that describe (or other people) would use to describe Faez over a photo of him. That would be very interesting visually. Another idea would be adding those words over an American flag with his image next to it.

This collage, or series of photos is so incredibly powerful and amazing. And would be so good to include. I would either sight the Huffington post on this one, or I would find other pictures of these people or other people and add the same text.

Additionally this photo is also really compelling because it shows the world these people are escaping as almost post-apocalyptic.  This could probably just be cited. 

I am going to do some analysis on the Intersectionality notebook (notebook 2).

           Faez al Sharaa survived the process of escaping his war torn homeland and assimilating into American culture. Learning to be “white” was fairly easy for the Sharaa family compared to other Syrians (explore why more). Luckily, Faez was able to get a referral from his family to be smuggled into Jordan. However, many Syrian’s are forced to pay an absurd amount of money to hire a smuggler (how much?). Some refugees cannot afford plane tickets, and instead enter the hold of a ship for weeks on end.

Faez’s spent a lot of time in Jordan in a refugee camp (how long?). He was lucky to be able to find a job, and welcome a baby along the way. Faez made the best of the time he had waiting for a response from the United Nation’s refugee agency. Even though he didn’t know if he was going to be able to leave the country with his family, he found a mediocre job while living in Jordan. Faez eventually saved enough money to buy plane tickets with enough money left over to go towards purchasing a new apartment. After arriving in Dallas, Texas Faez and his family slowly adjusted to the life of a Syrian refugee living in the United States. While working the graveyard shift at Wal-Mart and raising two young girls, they were able to save more money to buy a second-hand car and a new apartment.

Whiteness and Citizenship are two national binds I believe are present in Faez al Sharaa’s story. The al Sharaa family immigrated to the United States and were forced to act “white” and blend in according to “white” traditions. The refugee crises in countries like Syria have led many first world countries to question if they should accept refugees. In an article in The Wall Street Journal, a reporter describes how before Donald Trump was elected he was quoted in a speech saying that he would deport all Syrian refugees regardless of any laws granting them citizenship in the United States. Donald Trump’s reasoning is a clear example of fear mongering and isolationist thought. He fears that the refugees could be Islamic State militants. While unrealistic, him stating this characterizes Muslim people as people who are closely associated with war and aggressiveness. This is to say that they are not “white” and cannot fit in to “white” culture.

What was promised in a speech is now becoming a reality in our lives. On January 27, 2017 Trump signed an executive order to, “temporarily for now, ban citizens of seven Muslim-majority countries from entering the US.” The executive order bans all people coming in from Iraq, Syria, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, and Yemen, which totals to about 218 million people. With so many refugees in the United States this is currently causing a panic within the refugee community that has yet to enter into the United States. As well as those already here, and have already started adjusting to American culture. Trump declared that the ban is not an attack on Muslim’s or any other group of people. But this clearly is attacking specific races and religions. With the implementation of the ban, Faez and his family may still not be safe in the land of the “free”. 

I feel like you did a really strong job setting the stage for whiteness. But I think you could elaborate more on how this family blended into “white” culture. What that truly means, how they did it, and why? I would also explore what it means to assimilate into a new culture. This could be through any lens we have learned. You could talk about how Eng and Chang Bunker assimilated into whiteness and do a little bit of a relational analysis too. Or compare the Irish immigrants assimilation to whiteness. You could also look at the Intersectionality of Faez’s ability to assimilate due to being a male in American society versus how his wife was able to assimilate. I would also look into how the Muslim figure, as portrayed in U.S. media intersects with the image we have of a refugee? Is there overlap? I would also state how ironic it is that after fleeing a war torn country Faez and his family may still not be safe in the land of the “free”. What does “free” even mean in the face of Trump’s Muslim Ban? I would also include some images of Syria before and after the Civil War (I google-ed it) and they are incredibly powerful at conveying the devastation and are incredibly haunting to the viewer.      

Overall your images are incredibly powerful and I would use every single one because you will get an amazing emotional response from your viewer. You’ve also made this topic super approachable and understandable. So great job!