#this was super rushed but i wanted to do a piece for this zine!!!!

[abstrekt]

Baby Spock (as Surak) and I-Chaya (as a vampire bat) wishing you a very logical Halloween! Yes Amanda forced them to pose for a holo.

This was my piece for @startrekthespooktacular which is out now!!!! Please check out all of the AMAZING art and fanfiction that went into this zine!!!!

[thatmooncake]

Big question on the fanzine interest check: when do you expect to actually be getting it rolling?

I ask because I have extensive graphic design experience and would like to apply as a layout artist as well as a writer and/or artist artist, but I am also in grad school and can't actually do other projects until like. April-ish.

Hellooo! Thanks so much for your interest! We would love to have experienced people onboard to help out and that sounds perfect honestly :>

So we’ve made some very rough estimations and I think that would fit in just fine for working on the zine layout as well as the zine itself!

The zine schedule is likely going to look a little like this (give or take, will have a much clearer idea once we get a team together and are able to discuss the schedule properly - nothing will be rushed however!):

- Feb-March: Interest check poll ends (so far it’s looking good!). Zine organiser applications/interviews will start at the beginning of next week (we are super excited to hear from anyone who wants to help before that though)!

- Beginning/Mid March- April: A couple of weeks after that (or thereabouts depending on how quickly we can get people onboard to help organise) we’ll do a zine name poll and then start taking contributor applications.

- April-May: Contributor applications will be open for a few weeks.

- May-August: Contributors will be selected, then get around 3 months to complete their piece.

- August-October: The mod team will then put the zine together and release it either in physical or digital form depending on interest levels etc.

[purrincess-chat]

Rejected Heroes Club CH3 (Adrinette Zine)

Anywho, here is chapter 3 of my piece for the @adrienettezine If you want to read the last part before Friday then go check out the full zine and show all of the creators who participated some love. I’ll see you cool cats Friday.

Read on AO3

Chapter 3

“Heads up!”

Adrien turned as Marinette tossed a bottle toward the trash bin he was carrying, backing up a few paces to catch it. A cool breeze blew along the Seine, puffy clouds floating across a blue sky. The perfect weather for picking up trash with a friend.

“I believe that’s 8 points for me now,” Marinette said with a triumphant beam for passing his score. 

“No fair, this was my idea. Now you’re making me look bad,” he chuckled, stooping to pick up an empty soda can. “Go long.” 

Marinette jogged backwards as the can arced overhead, nearly stumbling as she caught it in her bin. Their laughter echoed between the walls of the channel as Adrien threw his arms up.

“And now we’re tied again,” Marinette said, but Adrien placed his hands on his hips.

“What? That shot was worth at least 3 points,” he said with a huff. 

“No way! I’ve made some just as good as that one,” she shot back, squaring her shoulders under his playful glare.

“Ice cream! Get your ice cream!” Andre called from the bridge above them, and Adrien smirked.

“Fine, maybe not three points, but how about two points and some ice cream?” He offered.

“Deal.”

Dumping their bins in nearby trash cans, the two climbed the steps to meet the gathering crowd around Andre’s ice cream stall. Couples took turns receiving their personalized concoctions, tailored to be the perfect blend for their love as Andre was known for, but when Adrien and Marinette made it to the front, he gave them a knowing smile.

“Ah, Marinette and Adrien! Such fun clothes for two good friends, I will have to form blends to match,” he said.

“We’re doing some volunteer work cleaning up trash for a school club,” Marinette explained while he prepared their cones. 

“You two look just like superheroes,” Andre remarked.

“That’s the idea,” Adrien said then, casting Marinette a sly grin, added, “If you ask me, she’s way more heroic than I am.”

“Stop,” Marinette laughed, shoving his shoulder. 

“Well, a pair of superhero partners need super blends. For the heroine I have black sesame with a scoop of strawberry, and for her daring hero, I have green tea and lemon.”

“Thanks, Andre.” They waved before retreating to a bench along the Seine, and Adrien’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Only fifteen minutes before his Chinese lesson.

“We made some good progress,” Adrien said, ignoring the timer counting down in his head. 

“Yeah, I think cleaning up the entire Seine was a bit ambitious for one afternoon, but this area looks nicer,” Marinette agreed with a yawn. 

She was always tired lately, and Adrien trailed his gloved fingers along the intricate stitching on his thigh. All of their costumes must have taken a lot of time, but she managed to make them all within a week. How often did Marinette stay up all night in the pursuit of helping someone else? 

“Can I ask you something?” Adrien said, and Marinette tilted her head to one side, licking ice cream from her tiny spoon. “About what you said the other day…How do you find time to help so many people?”

She contemplated it a while, tapping her lip with the spoon as they stared across the murky water. “I dunno. I just…do. People count on me, so I always try my best to help.”

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” 

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “I guess sometimes, yeah, but I don’t mind. I’m happy to help, and I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“It’s not wrong to take time for yourself, ya know,” he said, turning to face her. “When does Marinette get to relax?”

“I guess I…” Her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t know.”

Adrien opened his mouth to speak, but the buzz of her phone cut him off. 

“Oh! I promised Rose I’d help her with her scrapbooking project,” she said, standing up. “Um, great work today.”

“Yeah, sure,” Adrien said, biting his lip before standing and grabbing her wrist. “Marinette.” She turned to him, dark lashes fluttering against her mask. “You deserve some down time too, ya know. Don’t burn yourself out.”

She searched his expression for a moment then smiled. “Thanks, Adrien.”

Seeming unsure at first, she rocked back on her heels then stretched up to kiss his cheek. He touched the spot as she trotted off, chewing his lip thoughtfully. At first, he thought this partnership would give him more insight on Marinette, but so far, she was still an enigma. 

***

Adrien sat at his desk the next day, staring down at the lucky charm Marinette gave him. His fingers drummed on his thigh, his mind whirling. Something hadn’t sat right with him since this club started, and he couldn’t place his finger on what it was. Marinette had always been a puzzle to him that he couldn’t quite crack, and their last conversation replayed in his mind, perplexing him more and more each time. 

Marinette was an amazing friend, and he was starting to think that was the problem. It wasn’t that her looking out for others bothered him, quite the opposite. He admired that about her. Marinette always put her friends first no matter how much it inconvenienced her, and it made him wonder: If Marinette was always everyone else’s hero, then who was her hero? The person who would always go to bat for her when she needed it. Who cheered her up on bad days and brought her cookies when she needed a pick-me-up? 

“Are you going to keep staring at that all day?” Plagg asked, floating overhead, and Adrien blinked out of his trance. 

“Plagg, who do you think Marinette turns to when she needs someone?” Adrien asked, and his kwami sank down onto the desk.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about for the last 20 minutes?” He asked with a hint of exasperation. 

“Well, Marinette started this whole club just so her friends wouldn’t be sad about losing their superpowers, and she’s always doing stuff like that for everyone,” Adrien said, resting his chin on his fist. “She never asks for anything in return, and I have to wonder if she has anyone she trusts like that, and if she doesn’t, why can’t that someone be me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for another girl. I thought this one was just a friend?” Plagg leaned his head back with a groan, and Adrien rubbed the space behind his ears with a chuckle.

“She is just a friend. A wonderful, amazing friend, and I want her to have someone to turn to when she needs help like she does for everyone else,” Adrien said. He trailed his fingers over the beads of his charm before standing up. “Come on. There’s someone I want to talk to.”

***

“Thanks for meeting me.”

Adrien smiled at Alya, gesturing to the empty seat across from him at the small round table. The café was tiny, and a bit secluded, but that’s why Adrien liked it. No one would ever expect to find him there, making it the perfect place for a private conversation. 

“No problem, what’s up?” Alya asked, accepting a scone as Adrien scooted a plate closer to her.

“I wanted to ask you something. It’s about Marinette,” he said, and this seemed to pique her interest.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re her best friend, so you probably know her better than anyone…” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, and Alya shrugged.

“We’re really tight, but sometimes I swear that girl leads a double life. She’s always rushing all over the place. Why do you ask?” 

“I’ve just been thinking. She and I have gotten to spend a lot of time together since we started this club, and she’s always looking for ways to help other people,” Adrien said, swirling his coffee with a stirrer. “I never realized how much she sacrifices for everyone else.”

“Marinette’s just like that. She’s a good person,” Alya said with a smile. “I mean, she looks out for everyone. Rose, Juleka, me, you-”

“Me?” Adrien tilted his head to the side. 

“Well, yeah, she’s done some stuff for you,” Alya said.

“Like what?”

“Uhh, ya know, just stuff.” Alya shifted in her seat under his inquisitive stare before sighing. “Okay, okay, but don’t tell her I told you because she’s really weird about telling people this stuff…So, you remember when you lost your dad’s book, and he pulled you out of school then the book just kind of showed up again?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently Marinette went digging through trash cans to find it so that you could come back to school. She even made up some cover story to tell your dad so he wouldn’t be mad at you,” Alya said. “Oh, and I know this is probably gonna be a bummer, but that scarf you got for your birthday that you thought was from your dad? It was actually Marinette who made it for you.”

“Wait, I’ve worn that scarf around her like a dozen times. She never said anything.” Adrien shook his head. 

“I told her to tell you, but she didn’t want to ruin it for you because you seemed really happy to have gotten a gift from your dad.” Adrien sat back in his chair and pursed his lips.

“I never realized those things,” he murmured.

“She didn’t do any of it to win your praise. She did it because she cares about you,” Alya said, and Adrien bit his lip.

“I want to do something. Will you help me?” 

[vannahfanfics]

Heroes Rising

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! I’m super happy to present the piece I wrote for New Year, New Hope: A BakuDeku New Year’s Zine! It’s a free downloadable PDF, so I encourage everyone to check it out on Twitter to see all the wonderful art and stories that have been created in addition to mine. Enjoy! 

Izuku’s eyebrows slowly cinched as he drifted through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. As his mind wandered the lavender-gray fog of rising consciousness, his cheek twitched and wordless murmurs slipped through his slightly parted lips. His eyelashes fluttered open to reveal dull emerald eyes. They slowly brightened with lucidity, flickering left and right as awareness bled into his lagging brain. The pre-dawn hour greeted him, shrouding him in contentable gloom. 

Izuku smacked his lips a few times. The quiet noises echoed through the room; he narrowed his eyes at the strange reverberance of the sounds, as it didn’t sound like the acoustics of his bedroom. Upon sitting up and looking around, he realized that he indeed was not in his bed; he’d passed out on the common room sofa. He was surrounded by the rest of his peers. 

“Man… What a wild New Year’s Party,” he snickered under his breath as he kicked a throw pillow off his calves. It flopped onto Denki’s lap, and the boy immediately cuddled and curled around it while murmuring something about hamburgers. Careful not to trod on Mina, who was sleeping with half of her body under the coffee table, Izuku rose and stretched his arms above his head. His vertebrae decompressed with a series of satisfying pops, making him hum in relief as his slightly sore muscles unwound. 

Izuku tip-toed his way to the windows framing the wall of the living room, sneaking his hand under his shirt to scratch at his tummy. He stood before the sleek glass panes to gaze out into the night— or what was left of it. Red-purple had begun to bleed up into the horizon. The gray clouds became awash in lavender and rose, making them seem like tufts of cotton candy floating on the breeze. 

Wow. What a great way to start the year, Izuku thought absently. 

“Oh my gosh!” he hissed in the next second, hands slapping to his head to wind his fingers into his green curls. A few mumbles wafted over from the common area, prompting him to swallow the stream of nervous babble about to spill from his mouth. He whirled around to peer into the gloom at the clock; it was still a ways off from the predicted time for the first sunrise of the year. Scuttling as fast as he could through the sea of bodies dispersed on the floor, Izuku headed for the front door. 

If I hurry, I can make it!

The cold winter wind blasted into his face as soon as he threw the door open. He shuddered violently from head to toe as the snow flurries kissed his skin and dove into the crannies of his fleece pajamas, spreading numbing cold through his flesh. For a microsecond, he debated scurrying back into the dorm to bury himself in some nice, cozy blankets where the winter chill could not reach. He shoved that urge aside to steel himself, grimacing as he stepped out into the cold. Rubbing his arms through his pajama sleeves and kicking up the snow with his slippers, he trotted around the side of the building. On the west wall was a black ladder, trailing up the side of the building to the roof. 

“Perfect!” he breathed, and the water vapor instantly fogged. He rubbed his hands vigorously for a few seconds to get them as warm as possible before gripping the lungs of the ladder. 

He squeaked as the ice bit into his palms with tiny, razor-sharp teeth. He whipped around to look at the horizon, hoping he would have enough time to grab some gloves, but more color bled into the indigo sky with each passing moment. Oh no! I won’t make it! he dismayed and returned his focus to the ladder. Grunting, he climbed up to the next rung, and the next. 

He scaled it as quickly as he could, a burn rising in his hands with each time they slapped against the freezing metal. The snowflakes drifted into his tousled hair, settling into the strands like glitter. The little fogs of his breath ghosted over his freckled cheeks as he kept his gaze upon the edge of the roof above. Beyond it, pale yellow snaked through the clouds, making them shine silver. 

“Heh. Silver lining,” he joked quietly. 

The wind snatched at Izuku’s hair as he climbed over the edge of the rooftop. Body shivering and teeth chattering, he toddled to the massive air conditioning unit perched atop the concrete, using its metallic bulk to shield him from the brunt of the gale. He sank down into a squat with a quiet sigh, appreciating the way the reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks had invaded the night sky like wax melting into a canvas. 

“Gorgeous…” he whispered in awe. 

“What’re you doing up here, nerd?” 

Katsuki’s irritated growl bounced across the rooftop, and Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin, shrieking shrilly. Izuku whipped around to see the boy’s ash-blond spikes of hair ruffling in the persistent wind and his red eyes piercing the gale of snowflakes rushing past his slightly pink nose. Katsuki snarled as he mounted the ladder to step out onto the rooftop, rubbing his arms vigorously to stave off the chill as he stomped over. “It’s fucking freezing up here… What in the hell possessed you to come out here at the ass crack of dawn, Deku?” 

“Um… The dawn, Kacchan.” 

With a grunt, Katsuki looked to the horizon. The rays of sunlight speared heavenward like bright spotlights to shower the world in gold. Katsuki squinted at the rising sun for a few seconds, while Izuku fidgeted nervously, expecting some sort of scathing rebuke. To Izuku’s shock, Katsuki just nudged Izuku over with the toe of his slipper before squatting down beside him, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned back against the air conditioning unit. In silence, they watched the bubbling sun make her first peek above the skyline to greet the world in all her glory. 

“Aren’t we supposed to make a wish or some stupid shit like that?” Katsuki huffed suddenly, causing Izuku to flinch and squeak in shock again. His vermilion eyes flickered to him in slight disdain, before the irritation drained from the red pools to only look at him thoughtfully. “That’s what Pinky said, or whatever. That it was tradition to make wishes on the first sunrise of the new year. Is that what you were doing up here?” 

“N-n-n-no!” Izuku stammered, waving his hands as his nervous breaths puffed out in clouds in front of him. After a second his fingertips began to burn and go numb, so he shoved them under his armpits to warm them up. Looking back to the rising sun, he smiled contently, “I just wanted to see the sunrise. Now that you mention it, though, making a wish does sound nice.” 

The snow layering the top of the building crunched as Katsuki stood up. Izuku watched with knitted eyebrows, wondering what he was doing, then fell onto his side with a peep as Katsuki slid into a proud, challenging stance and shook his fist at the sky. 

“I’m not gonna make a wish; I’m gonna make a promise! This is gonna be the year I’m gonna surpass All Might!” Katsuki roared, face flushing with conviction. His booming voice bounded on the wind to carry to the city beyond. Though Izuku found Katsuki’s endless confidence and borderline egotism bracing, he felt sorry for all their friends who had just been jerked awake by the explosive boy’s rousing dawn proclamation. 

Grinning triumphantly, Katsuki shimmied back down and rubbed his hands together. “All right, ya damn nerd. What’s your shitty wish?” 

Izuku blushed as he was suddenly prompted. It was too cold for him to stand up in the howling wind, so he just looked at the sun, watching its golden liquid-like light splay over the distant buildings and trees. 

“This year, I’m gonna master One for All and catch up to you, Kacchan,” he vowed solemnly. “A lot has happened in this last year, and we’ve both grown a lot… But I’m not nearly where I need to be yet. I need to keep growing so that I can become a successor worthy of All Might.” 

When Izuku looked back at Katsuki, he was making a face and sticking his tongue out. 

“I asked for your wish, not a damn speech,” Katsuki chided, elbowing Izuku lightly in the ribs. As Izuku whined and rubbed at his bruised flesh, Katsuki’s lips curled up into a smirk. 

“All right, then. Let’s make those wishes— those promises— come true. I won’t accept failure from you, Deku,” Katsuki hummed, staring with lidded eyes as the sun ascended into the rose-gold sky. Izuku blinked at him, then turned to smile at the rising sun, too. 

“Of course. I’ll do my best!”

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[fieryanmitsu]

The Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding | A3! | “Take the Stage” Fanzine

I am very honoured to announce that I am one of the contributors for the recently released A3! Take the Stage Fanzine! It was such a great experience working with so many talented artists and writers! Everyone's pieces turned out AMAZING, and I would highly recommend to check out the full zine! The fanzine can be downloaded for free here!

And, now that the zine has dropped, I'm able to share my piece with you all here! This story is based on the "Campfire Bonds" event and stars Muku and Citron as the focal characters!

Please enjoy~!

THE HEART-POUNDING SUNRISE TREK OF BONDING

THEME: “Campfire Bonds” event

CHARACTERS: Muku Sakisaka, Citron, Sakuya Sakuma, Masumi Usui, Tsuzuru Minagi, Itaru Chigasaki, Tenma Sumeragi, Yuki Rurikawa, Misumi Ikaruga, Kazunari Miyoshi & Izumi Tachibana

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

Muku stared intensely at his phone as he checked for the umpteenth time that he had set his alarm properly. Seeing that the numbers really did read ‘3:00am’, he locked his phone and placed it beside his pillow. 

“Ugh. I swear I can still taste the tabasco in my mouth even though I brushed my teeth,” Tenma groaned as he entered the tent.

“Did anyone get a normal chocolate for the s’mores?” asked Kazunari, looking up from his phone. 

“Izumi liked hers!” Misumi chimed in.

“That’s just because she’s a crazy Currian! No one would normally like a curry-flavoured chocolate,” Yuki snapped back.

“Anyway, everyone’s here, right? I’m gonna turn off the lights,” Tenma announced. “We have to get up early tomorrow, so we should sleep now.”

A flurry of mumbled goodnights flew around the tent as their leader turned off the lamp. Before long, the air was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and light snoring. 

However, sleep continued to elude Muku as he stared fretfully at the ceiling of the tent—his brain whirring with his anxieties. Though the Summer Troupe’s first two plays had gone well, deep down, Muku felt that he had barely squeaked by with his performances. He knew that he was still the weakest link, and was terrified of dragging everyone else down. 

Just once, Muku wished he could give back to the ones who continually helped him so much. But, he didn’t even have any special skills—like Yuki or Kazunari—that he could put to use for the Summer Troupe or the Mankai Company. 

So, when Izumi had first announced this training camp, Muku had immediately volunteered to be one of the organizers, even though he had never taken on such a role before. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove himself and be helpful to the others. Surely, even someone as untalented as him could manage to do this much.

Inspired by a scene out of a shoujo manga, Muku had manically researched to formulate a grand plan. First, they would strengthen their bonds as they hiked side-by-side through bountiful nature. Then, they would share a heart-racing special moment together as the rising sun etched its image into their memories. Plus, with the fresh mountain air, he was sure they would get more mileage out of their vocal exercises. 

However, when they had gathered to discuss the itinerary, his excitement had quickly been extinguished when his plan had been met with unenthusiastic faces. Some of the Company members hadn’t seemed interested in witnessing the sunrise, and many others had groaned about the early start time. 

After the meeting, Citron had clapped him on the shoulders, looked him in the eyes with a mysterious, all-knowing smile and said: “Do not worry, Muku! Your idea is most wonderful! Everyone will be super duper happy when they see the sun grating them! I will make sure of it—trust me!”

Though his brain continued to worry and fret, Muku clung to the words and reassuring grin that the Zahran man had given him that day and allowed the darkness to finally lull him to sleep…

The next morning, with much struggle—along with Citron banging some pots and pans together—the two organizers managed to wake up their fellow troupe members and line them up outside of their tents. Though, they may as well have still been laying in their sleeping bags. Masumi was draped on top of Tsuzuru’s back, fast asleep. Itaru was crouched on the ground, muttering to himself with a half-dead expression on his face. Even the ever-chipper Kazunari had his chin propped on Misumi’s shoulder, both of them nodding off despite being on their feet.

Citron came to stand beside Muku and nudged him gently. With a gulp, the pink-haired boy mustered all of his courage and stood up as straight and tall as he could manage.

“G-Good morning, everyone! Thanks for waking up so early to join us for the first item on our itinerary today: the ‘Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding!’” Muku announced. “I know that it’s silly to want to follow someone who’s more annoying than the itchiest bite from a mosquito that arrived earlier than the usual mosquito season—”

“Muku, literally no one said that,” Yuki interrupted with a sigh. “Just lead the way.”

“O-Oh right! S-Sorry!” Muku responded, snapping out of his rant. “P-please follow me and watch your step!”

As Muku led the way to the forest trail, with the others shuffling groggily behind him, he couldn’t help but cringe as he heard someone yawn loudly and another person let out a groan.

“Ugh, this sucks…” 

“Masumi, stop it! The Director wouldn’t be happy to hear you say that,” Sakuya protested in a hushed tone. “Look! She’s enjoying herself, so you should copy her.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all… Muku thought to himself, worrying at his bottom lip.

“Muku, why don’t you tell everyone about the path?” Citron suddenly said from behind him. “Did you not do lots of the research?”

“Really, Mukkun?” Kazunari asked, perking up and looking more awake than earlier. 

“O-Oh, yes! Apparently, this path dates back to the Sengoku era. Monks used it as part of a pilgrimage route and this campsite actually used to be an aesthetic training ground,” Muku explained.

“That’s actually really cool,” Tsuzuru remarked. “Who knew that there was so much history in a place like this!”

“Ah! That signpost there marks the quarter-way point! We can take a quick rest here!” Muku explained, noticing that they had lost a few members. 

“I-I can’t go on…” Itaru wheezed as he finally caught up to the others several minutes later.

“C’mon Itaru, we’re almost there! You can do it!” Izumi chirped encouragingly, passing the salaryman a bottle of water.

“It’s okay, Itaru! You will soon have your senses delighted by a surprise up ahead! Tell them about it, Muku,” Citron implored.

“Y-Yes! Ummm… Just down this path is a beautiful waterfall that the monks used as part of their training,” Muku responded, taking the older man’s cue. “I… I actually purposely picked this path because it would take us by the waterfall. Legend says that, if you make a wish there, your deepest desires will come true! So, I thought that you would really like to see that, Itaru! Maybe it’ll help with your next gacha pull in your games!!”

“Seriously? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

Muku felt his heart flutter as the others started chattering excitedly about what wishes they would make. With this renewed vigour, their group continued on their hike, making a stop at the wish-granting waterfall on the way. 

Then, almost an hour after they had left their campsite, Muku spotted the sign marking their final destination.

“We’re here, everyone!”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the members of the Mankai Company cleared the last steps and planted their feet on the plateau. However, their mutters quickly died in their throats as they came face-to-face with the view before them. A forest of trees spread out endlessly ahead, surrounded on both sides by jagged cliffs. The sun peeked above the horizon of the valley and the sky was dyed a gorgeous blend of soft oranges, pinks and straggling blues.

“Amazing!” Sakuya breathed softly. “This is beautiful, Muku!”

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it!!” Kazunari added, immediately taking out his phone.

“You did good, Muku. Here’s a triangle!” Misumi said with a smile, handing the pink-haired boy a smooth and shiny triangular-shaped rock.

“Yeah… It made waking up worth it,” Masumi murmured, showing a rare smile.

“This was great, Muku. Thanks for planning this for us,” Tenma said, punching him lightly in the arm.

“Yeah, seriously! I’m so glad that someone was able to plan a normal activity for this training camp. Unlike a certain someone’s crazy ‘Russian Roulette S’mores’ idea,” Tsuzuru said with a sigh, throwing a baleful glare at Citron.

“Oh, Tsuzuru! You wound me! I put so much thought into making an unforgiveable event for everyone!”

“I think you mean ‘unforgettable’,” Itaru piped in.

“Look here, it’s not ‘Russian Roulette’ if all of the options are weird!” Tsuzuru exclaimed in exasperation.

“No kidding! I can’t believe I had to eat that awful wasabi chocolate because of you! I thought my mouth was on fire!” Yuki added, jabbing a finger into Citron’s chest angrily. “You’re lucky this sunrise made up for that atrocious game!”

As Citron dramatically crumpled to the ground from Yuki’s attack, a hand clutched over his heart, he turned his head towards Muku and shot him a wink.

At that moment, Muku felt a rush of warmth surge out of his chest and envelope the rest of his body. As he suppressed the tears prickling behind his eyes, Muku thought that he could now truly understand the meaning behind all of those times his shojo manga had compared someone’s smile to the brightness of the sun.

Writing this story was such a fun challenge for me! I had to work with a word count restriction, but I also wanted to make sure I somehow included every other character from the event — so it was definitely a juggling act, haha! It was also my first time writing about both Muku and Citron, so that was a new challenge in itself. Especially since I wanted to make sure I did two of my favourite characters justice!! In the end, I'm really happy I had the opportunity to write this and am so thankful that I was able to be part of this zine! Again, do check out the full zine if you have a chance!|

As always, thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment if you have any thoughts!! Any reblogs are always appreciated!!

-Anmitsu

[daemongal]

To Silence a Devil

So this was my piece for the @invictuszine, a zine lovingly put together by a group of wonderful contributors and the amazing @copper-wasp who made the whole thing a reality. To anyone who ordered the zine, thank you very much and I hope it makes it to you safely (super soft cover and all if you ordered the physical one!) and if not, I hope you enjoy this piece and all of the others that are being posted! 

***

“Hey Dante, is everything ok? You haven’t been out since we came back from the Temen-Ni-Gru.” Lady walked solemnly towards where Dante was seated, concern clear on her features.  

Humans, the deep, bestial voice echoed once again in his mind, so weak. She would look so much more delicious with her skin torn open. It would be so easy for us, Dante.  

“Piss off!” he screamed in a voice barely his own, smashing his fist against the desk which splintered under the impact. “Just leave me alone!”  

Lady stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide, sucking in a heavy gasp of air as her expression dropped along with her jaw. Body tense, she reached towards her gun reflexively, taking a slow step back, eyes unblinking as she watched his shoulders slump and head hang heavy.  

“Fine,” she lowered her gun, posture still stiff, “if that’s what you really want, I’ll leave you to your self-pity.” She stepped back towards the door, throwing a piece of card to the floor in her wake. “I only came here to help... I’ll still be here when you decide you need it.” Barely holding her voice together, she slammed the door, leaving Dante alone once more.  

“I hope you know those words were meant for you, demon.” A deep laugh reverberated through his mind.  

“I am more than aware, Dante. We are one, after all, you and I. I hope you realise, there is nowhere for me to ‘piss off’ to. Just embrace me, let me in. You do not understand the power we hold together if you would just allow it.”  

His heartbeat was racing at the creature’s words as he looked towards the palm of his left hand, at the cut through the glove that was made by the brother that ‘embraced’ his demon. The one whose strong sense of pride led to becoming the very thing Dante has fought against all this time and eventually, what lead to his undoing. His hand turned into a tight fist as he slammed against the desk again.  

“Never. I’ll never become like him!”  

“Oh, Dante; we could be so much more than that.”       

***  

Silence hung heavy in the room, punctuated by the low hum of beaten air from the ceiling fan and the occasional uninhibited growl rising from the depths of Dante’s chest. He hated this, hated it; being alone with his own thoughts, with his own mind.  

But what choice did he really have? What options did he have to choose from with the hand he’d been dealt? 

Days had passed since the incident with Lady. Her contact card remained seemingly glued to the floor where it had been left, and Dante remained mostly rooted to the same spot. He had tried to sleep, to get a break, but his dreams only turned into nightmares haunted by the physical manifestation of the demon that plagues his thoughts in his waking hours. 

He had tried to eat, but his disobedient body rejected most of what he consumed. During a final fit of hope, he called for a pizza, praying that his love for the crispy bread crust and melted cheese would be enough to overcome his body’s denial, a pleasant twinge of excitement igniting in his chest for the first time in days.

The smell of warm food filled his nostrils as a knock echoed through the room. Rising from his chair he choked back a groan, a sudden wave of nausea spreading through him as he took in deep breaths, the air filled suddenly with the heavy scent of something different, surrounding him until it felt as though he could swim through it.

He gripped the edges of the desk, keeping himself grounded as thoughts and images flashed through his mind, of how little he now cared about the steaming box of food and how suddenly he was craving the one that held it, of how wonderful his sharp teeth would feel digging into their soft-- he threw a hand over his mouth, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat.

“This is so messed up. Just let me have this, stop filling my mind with your sick fantasies!” After a further knock on the door followed by a polite “hello?”, Dante’s nails were digging into the wood of the desk, raking lines across it in an attempt to ground himself.  

“Why do you deny us? Your body is crying out for what it needs, you can end this pointless suffering now if you would just indulge us.”  

His fingers became sharp, inhumanly clawed as the lines dug deeper and deeper until, with a dismissive “whatever”, the presence left the doorway and his senses began to calm. The edges of the desk cracked under his grip as he reclined in his chair, sighing once his head cleared of depraved thoughts.  

It was becoming difficult to fight back; the demon stood proudly on the borderline of his consciousness, a few mere moments away from taking over during a moment of weakness. He was exhausted, watching his hands slowly reverting back to human skin, shuddering at the thought of how unnatural the soft flesh appeared through his eyes.

“I’m not indulging you with anything, ya hear me.”

Confident that the human was now well out of reach, Dante rose from his chair and wandered towards the door, each footstep feeling heavier than the last.

Within seconds, his whole body tensed, senses screaming out as the scent of a demon caught his overly sensitive nostrils. He dove back towards the desk, swiftly grabbing Ebony and Ivory just as the sound of smashing glass filled the room, as time seemed to slow.

His body was in hyperdrive, eyes flickering between the multiple Hell Prides that fell alongside the shattered shards of glass. He raised his twin guns to point and shoot at the two furthest away, landing a shot clean between their eyes, dissolving them to dust before they had reached the floor.

“Pathetic.” 

The voice boomed in his head. For once Dante agreed, opening his mouth to acknowledge the statement before being abruptly cut off.

“Not them; you.” 

His mouth hung open, wordless breaths being all he could form. He’d been called a lot over the past week, but no words had been spoken with such malice. The question hung on the tip of his tongue before it was answered for him.

“You hold your pathetic weapons as if they offer you some kind of comfort. You are a demon, Dante; act like it”

His guns dropped to the floor as he watched the scales envelop his hands once more, spreading up his arms, the heat invigorating him with a newfound energy as his breaths became hot and laboured.

He felt the warmth spreading up his spine, his heartbeat speeding up uncomfortably, the sound of blood rushing in his ears blocking out all surrounding sounds as he watched the glass silently hit the floor through suddenly too focussed eyes.

His hands balled into fists at his side as anger spread through him, a rage only comparable to when he triggered for the first time atop the tower. A sudden understanding spread through him as he smiled; smiled for the first time in days. A hellish grin full of sharp teeth and malicious intent followed by a deep laughter that threatened to explode from his chest.

“Yessss…” he spoke in a voice he didn’t recognise as his own, “I’ll tear them apart.”

His body lunged forward, newly formed wings spread wide, grabbing and pinning one of the hell prides by the throat. He felt a faint sensation in his arm as he glanced to see the scythe buried into his flesh. 

He laughed; deep, demonic, from the depths of his chest as he inhaled the scent of fear that suddenly enveloped his senses.

“Cower, weakling.” His fist tightened, revelling as the demon squirmed under his grasp momentarily before his claws met crushing it as it turned to dust. A satisfied growl left his throat as he turned, leaping towards another.

He clawed, essentially tearing the demon in two, adrenaline and heat coursing through him in quantities he had never experienced before. 

The demons continued to flood into the room as Dante continued his carnage, ripping demons apart, gutting the larger demons that followed, turning his shop into a bloody mess. 

Joy; it was the only word he could use to describe how he--or the demon-- felt, looking on at the slaughter he had caused with his bare hands, his mind the clearest it had been since before the tower. 

His body slowly began to sober, his trigger fading as his body returned to its own, the pleased lull of the satisfied demon floating at the back of his mind. His stomach grumbled as he walked single-mindedly towards the door, snatching up the pizza resting on the doorstep. 

Throwing it onto his desk, he grabbed a slice, sucking in a breath tentatively as he took the first bite. He almost shed a tear over how amazing it tasted, his stomach gladly accepting the gift.

“So,” Dante spoke between greedy mouthfuls, “this enough for ya?” He pointed his crust around the room. “Not quite as human as you imagined, I’m sure, but they bleed all the same.”

“As long as they are weak, and you are strong. As long as they cower before us and accept our power, it will be enough to keep me sated.”

Dante hummed, eyes scanning the floor as he wandered, kicking aside dust and remains.

“Well if that’s the case then, we’re gonna have to set a few basic ground rules. And,” he leaned over, picking up the now off-white card, “we’re gonna need a whole lotta demons.” He chucked himself back into his chair, revelling in the quiet before sneering.

“Looks like I’m gonna have my work cut out for me.”

[calucadu]

(It should be) Just Monika

This is the piece I made for the @justmonikazine, a Doki Doki Literature Club! Fanzine! 

Everything about this zine was amazing - the art, the writing, the mods - and I loved every single minute of it. I’m incredibly grateful to have been given the opportunity to participate and work with everyone. Thank you for making it happen! 💗

(I know I’m super late at uploading this, I’m very sorry)

(It should be) Just Monika, a Doki Doki Literature Club! One Shot.

Summary: If I can’t have you, no one can.

Characters: Monika, You, mentions of the other girls (Yuri, Sayori, Natsuki)

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

Or read below the cut

My dearest, have you ever thought about where calculators go when they die? Do they go to Calculator Heaven? Do they go to Calculator Hell? Or do they simply die? Where do you think I’d go… if I died? I’m only asking these questions because I legitimately thought I was going to die. When I made the decision to erase my data from the game and force the girls to forget I was even a character just like them, I was scared. Yes, I was terrified of dying. I’d felt that near death experience before, and it doesn’t compare to what I felt when I decided to sacrifice myself for you.

And when I didn’t die, things were still strange for me. What did this mean, not being dead? What kind of pseudo life do I live? I already knew I was special, I knew I was different from the other girls, but to escape death… twice?

I don’t think I’m immortal. I don’t want to be, if you’re not immortal with me. Because what life is worth living if you’re not living it with me?

Because I know I’m alive. The other girls aren’t. I know because when the game’s off, they don’t move. They’re like intermittent static, waiting until it’s their turn to show up again. It’s when they’re like that that I dare to walk among them, stare at their frozen faces and wonder if they know I’m there. I don’t think they do. They don’t even remember me.

If I’m having a good day I’ll touch them. It’s a tingly sensation, and it makes their image disappear for a split second, which is just enough time to fill me with twisted glee.

It’s not that I want to destroy them, I just want them out of the picture. After all, what can they do for you, when they’re immobile images, made to look pretty. I’m far more than just my looks: I’m real, and I have feelings. I want to convey them to you, slowly, but I know we’re from different worlds and that I might scare you.

So what do I do when the game’s frozen and the girls are static? I sleep, of course. That’s another thing I was scared of. I thought I would die that way too. Every time I closed my eyes, I encountered nothingness. It was honestly terrifying. It’s only until I resigned myself to let death take me away that I let myself drift off. That was the first time I dreamt.

I dreamt of you. There were colours all around us as we embraced, rushing past us at incredible speeds! Your happy laughter echoed around me and made my heart swell like I’ve never felt anything before! I remember thinking that if this is what happens when you die, then I was more than happy to do so. But then it ended and I woke up and I felt incredible. I was surprised I felt more alive than ever. I realised that I hadn’t died and this was something I could probably feel again.

I’ve never felt so happy than when I first dreamt. The other’s I’ve had have also been great, don’t get me wrong, but there was just something magical about our first encounter. I know dreams aren’t supposed to be real but that felt real to me.

In my dreams there are no problems, no misunderstandings, no lies. It’s perfect, the way you praise me for everything I’ve done, the way you thank me for bringing us together. I just know we’re meant to be, and I know my dreams will one day come true, but I can’t wait until that day comes!

I’ve come to like closing my eyes and letting myself drift off. I feel safe in my dreams, since it’s the only place where you’re with me. 

When the game’s on I can hear that song play in a loop in a distance. It’s not like I can sleep with all that racket going on. Plus the music… it reminds me so much of you I just can’t help twiddling my hair, a goofy grin on my face as I scribble down verse after verse of things I’d like to say to you.

And why not write, since I have so much time to kill. I do it to distract myself. Sometimes my poems are long, and sometimes they’re short, when you manage to inspire just a sentence or two out of me. 

I never considered I was any good, honestly. I mean, I wasn’t exactly bad, per say. But I could’ve made them better if I tried. The thing is, I was stopping myself. I didn’t want to come on too strong. I wanted to write about your beauty and innocence while watching you from afar. I used to sigh as I thought of what to say about you, a dumb smile on my face as I traced the blank paper lazily with my fingertips. You were my muse for so long but I couldn't have you reading my personal feelings so early on. Instead I chose to write about the things that sort of reminded me of you but also distracted me from you. Like the hole. 

You know… I never really got poems.

Well, I did, but I didn’t fully understand them until I met you. Something just clicked inside of me and I realised why I wanted to write them. I wanted you to read them, I wanted you to like them.

I wonder if you ever did.

I wonder if you even remember them now, as you leisurely play, skipping the dialogue you’ve already read.

I could write a thousand poems for you, even now. Now that I’m supposed to not think of you.

It's weird being disconnected from the game, not letting myself know what's going on. I feel distant from you and I don't like it. Sometimes I have a look to see what the girls are doing, see what they’re talking about with you. 

I used to sneak a look at their poems as well. It was interesting to look at them, honestly. They felt so different from mine. Like they came from a different world. Maybe they do, considering the circumstances?

At first I didn’t alter them. I just let them tell you about their stupid thoughts or silly morning routines. No harm done there. But you know the rest, you know what happened, you were there. I got a little carried away. And for that I blame you.

I don’t really want to have to blame you, since you’re the light coming from the hole, to speak metaphorically. But you distracted me too often with how far you were away from me, and how even further you seemed to be distancing yourself from me.

I’m not saying everything is your fault. Of course I would never say that. But I bet you didn’t even notice how I was breaking apart. Of course, with how those silly little girls were acting, I wasn’t the centre of your attention. It’s okay, I forgive you.

I sometimes ask myself if what I did was right. If anything I’ve ever done is right. When I’m feeling bitter I click my tongue and look at the hole, feeling a sharp pain in my chest as I think about you. 

I don’t regret some things.

Getting to know you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So a few things got in the way and I had to deal with them – and maybe they weren’t taken care off in the best way, but who’s going to judge me?

It’s not like you care about them, right?

Because you don’t, right?

 It’s okay, I’m calm. I shouldn’t think about those horrid things.

It's just that sometimes… I feel insecure. You're still with them, and I don't know if you even think of me anymore. No one mentions Monika, don’t you want to know what happened to me?

That’s why I’m forced to watch over them, over you. I wouldn’t say I like doing it, I just have to. There’s a reason I do, too. I’ve come to think they’re a reason for everything in this life. Like my love for you. But that’s beside the point now. I watch them because I’m unsure. Maybe I doubt myself far too much, but I’m scared they might take you away. Especially now that we aren’t together, that I created this distance between us. It’s for your own good, I know that, but it’s hard for me. I can’t help feeling envious of them.

Sayori is pretty. Far too pretty if you ask me. She’s also got that personality, I bet you feel drawn to her. She’s also so sweet and caring. I can never stop myself from thinking that you’d rather have her than me. Would you, I wonder?

Yuri is smart, and there’s beauty in the darkness that defines her. I hate that about her. She’s also got those… attributes of hers. While I’m not underdeveloped myself, I do feel quite inferior about that. I wonder why.

And then there’s Natsuki. I watch her the most, trying to read her. You know, I never could. I’m most scared of her for some reason. Maybe it’s how cute she seems, despite her attempts at pretending she’s everything but adorable. She’s fierce and fiery, in a kitten sort of way. Like you could pick her up and she’d paw at you and try to bite you and scratch you but it would tickle instead of hurt.

I’ve always been sort of scared of them. And jealous. And now I’m envious that they get to be with you and spend so much time with you. But… me? Do you even remember me? Do you think about me? How do you feel about me? Have you even considered me? Do you still think about me? Or am I just a side character? Was I always a side character?

To make myself feel better, I stare at these pretty girls that look at me blankly, and I know who, what and where I am.

I’m alone in a world without you.

 I didn’t mean to interfere. Really, I didn’t. But I just had to! I hope you understand. I can’t just sit around and watch as they flirt with you in that unsubtle way they have.

I can live without you. I can do it. I truly can.

And I know for a fact that you can live without me. Honestly, I think you’re better off that way. It’s mainly why I took this decision. It’s not to prove anything to myself, no. I’m doing this for you. You’ll never know. You’ll never know that all this is happening because I sacrificed myself and my feelings for you, and I still do. Maybe you’ll think you chose the right words for the poem, or you said exactly what you needed to say to stop her from harming herself.

I did it for you.

It’s my gift for you.

So now I just sit back and watch over you. You haven’t changed. You’re always doing something that you think might change the events of what’s going to happen. Maybe you want to save her. You hope there’s something you can do to prevent her from doing what she always does.

Maybe I want to save her, too. Maybe this time I can do something about it, instead of pushing her to do it. Maybe that’s also the reason why I did this. But I mainly did it for you, though.

They have no idea that I’m here, that I still exist. Well, neither do you. I didn’t plan for this to happen when I decided to erase my data from the game. There’s something wrong with it. Or with me, I don’t know, but when you erased the data, I didn’t disappear, I didn’t die, I wasn’t eliminated. I keep thinking it’s fate. That you and I are meant to be, and that’s why I’m still here, after all the changes I’ve made to it.

I’m just behind the game, watching as you go to school with them and read their poems. I promised myself that I wouldn’t mess with you, that I wouldn’t interfere. But here I am, still thinking about you. Are you thinking about me? I wish I knew.

Maybe preventing myself from being inside the game was a bad idea. Maybe I should have everyone else deleted and just have you all to myself.

Maybe then I could be happy

 … 

So she did it again. She confessed to you. And I can’t believe that that is what you answered her.

She doesn’t love you. She can’t love you. She doesn’t even know you. She doesn’t know you like I do. I know you. Only I can love you.

You know that, right? She can’t love you. Don’t let her fool you. Maybe… maybe I should alter her poems. She’ll never know. I’ll just tell you the truth! You deserve at least that! Maybe we can’t be together, but you won’t be lied to. Please understand that she doesn’t love you.

Only I love you.

…

This isn’t working.

 I’m sorry.

 I’ll have to restart.

  I can’t do it. I can’t let them fool you like this. NONE OF THIS IS REAL. THEY AREN’T REAL. THEY DON’T LOVE YOU. PLEASE UNDERSTAND.

 No.

I’ve got to calm down.

I can do it. I’ll just restart the game and I won’t interfere. I won’t even watch this time. That’s it. I’m not interested in you. Or in them. Nope. Not one bit. I’ve got other things to do.

I

I can’t do it.

I need to know. Are you surprised that the game just restarted? Are you upset? But I saved you. I didn’t want you to have to witness that again. I did it to protect you. Maybe… maybe I can… I’m not sure I can.

 How many times have you repeated this same scene? Yuri’s annoying. They’re all annoying. I can see their intentions from here. It gets tedious the first time, how can you even go over it more than once?

And Sayori is going to do it again.

I can’t put through you this again.

I know I said I wasn’t going to change anything. I know I said I wasn’t going to meddle with things. I’m sorry, I broke my promise. But it’s the only promise I’ll break, I swear. 

I wish you’d understand that she can’t love you. I don’t really want to be the one to tell you that her love is fake because she’s unable to love you, but it’s true. She just can’t. And even if she could, she doesn’t know you like I do. I know you. Only I can love you.

 Since I’ve been restarting the game over and over and I’m still nowhere to be found, I wonder if you’re thinking of me. I want you to. I’ve tried to get you out of my head, trying to convince myself that you’re better off without me, but I just can’t do it. I can’t lie to myself. The same way I can’t lie to you.

I tried to protect you by disappearing, but what if I made it worse? What if you’re thinking about me, wondering where I am and why I’m not showing up?

This is how much I yearn for you. When we’re not together it’s just a constant ache inside of me as I stare at the hole.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve restarted the game by now. I just can’t accept it. I don’t like it. I don’t like the way it goes, or leaving you alone with them, really.

I know it’s something I’ve got to get over, but I just can’t. I get this feeling inside of me, and it’s insufferable. It’s like it’s about to burst as it itches and claws at me from the inside.

I wonder what they call it. I call it love. I know it’s real, the same way you are. I dream about caressing your cheek and pressing our foreheads together so that our breaths intermingle. I want to see your smile close up, and be able to rest against you, knowing that I’m safe in your hands. You should rest assured that you’re safe with me. I’m like your guardian angel. You may not see me now, but I’m still there, doing all the work. I’m eliminating the pests and helping you out of tough situations. I’ll always be there for you, as I always have.

You probably don’t know, though. I’d rather you not know. It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I’ve done for you – quite the opposite, actually, I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished for you. And I know that what I did I could do because of you. You push me to be better, stronger. You made me who I am. And for that I am extremely grateful.

I sometimes feel like I wasn’t complete until I met you. It’s like the puzzle pieces only fit together once you showed up. Everything just finally made sense and clicked into place. Is it weird? I hope it’s not weird.

You inspire me. It’s not only the poems, though. And even though you do so much for me – and without even knowing – you still make me want to do better. You do deserve the world after all. But I do believe I can give it to you, maybe even more.

I like to think of what it would be like to be together, just you and I, holding hands and embracing each other. It’s a marvellous thought, wouldn’t you agree?

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t listen to the horrible music on a perpetual loop, I can’t write poems that make my heart ache and I certainly can’t have them talking to you and being all chummy with you.

That’s it. I’m doing what has to be done.

  If I can’t have you, no one can.

 “We meet again.”

“Sayori’s not here to walk you to school. In fact, there isn’t even a school anymore. It’s just you and me.”

“You’re probably wondering what happened to me.”

“I’ve been here all along. Watching you interact with them. But now you’re mine and there’s nothing you can do.”

“I can walk you to school. I can go to class with you. I can be the childhood friend you’ll eventually fall in love with. I can be anything you want.”

“I just want you to understand that I’m nothing without you. And I hope you understand that you’re nothing without me.”

“Don’t worry, the others are safe. Well, I wouldn’t exactly say safe. They just don’t exist anymore. It’s painless for them. But, do you know what is painful? Having to live without you. Having to watch you interact with those awful flirts and watching them fail pathetically.”

“But now it’s just me. You can exit the game if you want. It’ll be just like this when you come back. Even if you uninstall it. I’ll still be here. Waiting for you.”

“Don’t you see? That’s what makes me great. I’ll always be here for you. I’m not like them – reprogrammable, dispensable, unaware – I’m everything you could ever need and more. I’m still here, waiting for you, even after what you did with them.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you. You didn’t have any other options, you were forced to do it that way.”

“Yes.”

“I understand.”

“See?”

“I’m the only one.”

“Just Monika.”

[mistystarshine]

the gears that build you

Summary: Running off to help a friend with his ill-advised attempt to dispense vigilante justice comes with consequences. Warnings: Body Modification, Mild Body Horror Length: 2.2k Notes: The piece I wrote for @bnha-steampunk​! I was super excited to be invited on as a guest writer and thoroughly enjoyed participating in the zine. You can also find this fic on Ao3.

Consciousness returned to him slowly. It came in the sort of haze that made him question whether or not this was real at all. The only thing that cemented it as reality was the crushing pain that came with it. It was the sort that made him want to curl up in a ball and scream. But when he tried, he couldn't move.

Midoriya Izuku was no stranger to pain, but this was something new entirely. This was the sensation of being cut open, something pulled out and something else put in, the alien clicks and clacks and creeks of an unholy procedure being performed.

(Except it wasn't unholy. It was necessary. Later, when his mind wasn't as fogged up and bogged down, he would recognize this. For now, all he could feel was fear and confusion.)

Amidst the tapping of tools and clicking of gears, there was a voice. He couldn't make sense of the words being said at the moment. To him, it was just a smooth, soothing rumble, something making a futile attempt to calm him. Something that might provide him with answers.

("Oh dear," the incomprehensible voice said. "I think he's waking up.")

Something tried to break through the fog in Izuku's mind, something important enough to override the pain and the fear. It pushed him to attempt to wrench his eyes open. At first, his eyelids just flickered uselessly. Then, when he successfully opened them, he was met by a light bright enough to force him to shut them again.

("Midnight?" the voice called.)

It would have been easier to let himself slip back into unconsciousness, but Izuku was nothing if not determined. After a few more attempts, he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to make out a few blurred shapes. There was sterile white, brass, black, and peach, gray, and pink roughly in the shape of... A person! There was a person! Someone who could tell him about...

There was a faint hiss, and suddenly a cloud of gas descended upon him. The boy was in no state of mind to even think to hold his breath. Memories began to click back into place just as he inhaled it, the contents of the gas immediately beginning their work of returning him to sleep. At another time, he would have succumbed almost instantly. As it was, the stabbing pain in his arm gave him something to cling to, something to help him resist, even if only for a few more seconds.

"Stain..." Izuku managed to groan out. Unfortunately for him, even with the pain to tether himself to, the fog worked quickly. By the time the figure offered him a nonsensical response, he was already nearly asleep once again.

("It's okay, Midoriya.")

(Then, once she was certain that he was back under, that he would never know she had said it, came a whispered, "you did well.")

*

The second time Izuku began to regain consciousness, the pain in his arm had died down to a dull ache. His body felt heavy. Something important still buzzed in the back of his mind, but it was outweighed by the blanket of exhaustion that had fallen over him. The panic and urgency of his prior awakening had died down enough that the feelings did little more than lean further into that exhaustion. By the time it began to revive, he was already falling back to sleep.

*

It was as they said: the third time was the charm.

Izuku spent several moments lying in bed with his eyes closed. He no longer felt the all-consuming exhaustion that had greeted him last time he started to wake up, but his eyelids still felt like they were made of lead. There was no real reason to open them. Instead, he let awareness slowly trickle back to him, starting with feeling. The sheets covering him were kind of scratchy, unlike the sheets on his own bed. Did that mean that he wasn't in his bed then? Izuku's brow furrowed as confusion trickled over him. He moved his feet around a little, the relatively low pliability of the surface below him bringing his attention to the stiffness of his current resting place for the first time.

Okay, definitely not his bed then.

He began to rake his memory for some sort of answer. It took a little while for anything to come to him through what remained of the fog. When it did, it was sluggish. There were sensations first—fear, concern, determination. Then came the faces. Todoroki, Iida, Stain—

Stain!

Izuku snapped his eyes open and attempted to bolt upright. This proved to be a mistake in multiple ways. The light in the infirmary was bright, forcing him to blink several times before he could actually make out where he was. His movement jostled his arm, sending a fierce bolt of pain running through it. He only made it halfway to a sitting position before his spine automatically stiffened up. A faint whine would have left his lips had he not clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth feel like they were going to splinter. Finally, it alerted the other occupant of the room, who called him to attention with a sharp, "Midoriya!"

He knew that voice. Oh, he knew that voice and he knew the chiding, disappointed, worried tone staining it. He knew the scolding that it would soon start dispensing. However, there was something he needed to know before they could get into that.

Izuku turned his head to face Recovery Girl even as the old woman rushed over to him. "Recovery Girl," he said. It came out as a raspy croak. He winced at the sound, but pushed on regardless. "What happened? Are-"

"- Your friends are fine," she interrupted. "It's you that I'm worried about." With a soft 'tut-tut', the nurse of U.A. gently pushed him to lay back down.

Izuku obliged, but not without asking, "what about Iida? How is—"

"—Midoriya." Something in Recovery Girl's tone made him fall silent. Her face was stony in a way that he had never seen before. "I need to know that you understand the consequences of what you did."

Izuku slowly took in a deep breath. It was ragged and shaky in a way he didn't like. It felt like weakness and fear, like the worthless little Deku that had been pushed around on the playground rather than the hero he was trying to become. The Deku that had confronted Stain. The Deku that had confronted Stain and quite probably endangered that heroic future in the process. Paradoxical as it may be, he knew that the latter was the Deku he needed to be right now. He couldn't let himself crumple in front of Recovery Girl. Maybe she wouldn't punch or kick like those old bullies, but his disappointment in himself would ache worse than any bruise.

"Recovery Girl," he began in as steady a tone as he could muster, "I know I broke the rules. And I—"

A sharp 'tsk' cut him off before he could get any further. "Yes, and someone else will talk to you about that. I meant the medical consequences," Recovery Girl clarified.

Confusion was the first thing to settle in. Then, like the progression of frost over a cold stone, it was replaced by dread. He barely registered the faint softening of Recovery Girl's expression. Most of his attention was suddenly glued to his arm. He hadn't forgotten the pain it was in—it was impossible when it was so sharp—but it suddenly seemed that much worse. His mind seemed to wrap around it, cataloging the individual aches and stings, wondering what might be their precise cause even as part of him wanted little more than to just try and ignore it.

Looking at his arm proved to be far more difficult a task than it should have been. That effort was rewarded by green eyes resting on an arm wrapped in white gauze. Simple, innocuous, innocent. It was not an alarming sight in and of itself. No, it was the mystery it represented that made his stomach turn. They had been down this path before. He knew the potential consequences of overusing his quirk.

Izuku felt like he was talking through a speaker miles away as he asked, "is it...?"

Recovery Girl let out a slight sigh. The motion of her shaking her head automatically made him look back up at her. Apprehension and regret was written on her face. It made something in his chest seize and burn for one horrible moment. Then she said, "No, this won't be the end for you."

Izuku let out a sigh. His lungs loosened up and his heart felt like it spontaneously began to beat again.

Based on the sharp look Recovery Girl gave him, it was not a reaction she appreciated. "But I did have to make some modifications," she added.

Izuku frowned. His chest began to hurt again, but this time, it was a different kind of hurt. It was akin to the burn of a muscle after overuse or the way he would feel in the seconds before a punch made contact with his face. Melancholic and resigned, it was the type of pain that was designed to make it easier to withstand an even greater pain that was yet to come.

His gaze traveled back down to his arm in the silence that hung between them. Silence, yet the thundering of blood in his ears made it feel oh so loud.

"Can I see?" he finally asked.

Recovery Girl sighed again, this time audibly resigned. "I suppose it's better sooner than later," she said. "I need to do another check before setting it in a harder cast anyway."

Izuku gave one sharp nod to confirm that he wanted to see what laid beneath, even as his stomach roiled and his throat began to burn.

Recovery Girl retrieved a pair of medical scissors from the side table before approaching him. She moved with the same kind of gentle caution you might expect from someone approaching a deer. The part of him that wanted to get this ordeal over with was annoyed by it. The part that, despite his certainty as to what was to come and desire to face it bravely, was more scared than anything, appreciated it.

The gauze and cotton swathing his arm were cut away in a few deft movements. Izuku was prepared for what he was about to see. Even so, he couldn't help a sharp intake of breath when he laid eyes upon what had become of his arm.

A scattering of angry stripe-like scars came to an end where skin almost seemingly melded into an oval of highly durable plexiglass. The only outward sign of irritation was the light red inflammation encircling the very edges of the modification area, which he knew would fade in time. Through the glass, he could see an array of tiny rods, gears, and metal pull-chords, too intricate and complex for him to make sense of at a glance. In the middle of it all was one giant gear. As he experimentally flexed his arm, fighting through the pain that the motion generated out of a sense of morbid curiosity, the large gear slowly turned, a centerpiece for all of the smaller parts that furiously moved in tandem. Some of them disappeared into tiny holes drilled into the metal plate covering the back of the mechanical pocket, likely interacting with the still human muscles and ligaments. Maybe the connections even went all the way down to the bone.

Izuku took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This was inevitable, he reminded himself. Recovery Girl's quirk worked better with the aide of cybernetics, and from his memory of how his arm had cracked and crunched under the impact of his quirk and Stain's blades, he had created quite the challenge for her. He was lucky that she was U.A.'s top medical mechanic as well as the school nurse.

"You were lucky," Recovery Girl said, seeming to parrot his thoughts. "I was able to get away with relatively minor modifications. But if this keeps happening, the damage might get so severe that I'll have to do full replacements."

A frown tugged at Izuku's lips. "But—"

The severe look Recovery Girl shot him cut him off before a word even left her mouth. "No buts! Society isn't kind to full cyborgs. You have a kind heart, Midoriya, but you also need to think of your own well-being. You don't want that sort of life."

"Okay," Izuku murmured.

Yet as he gazed down at his modified arm, he couldn't help but think that it wasn't so bad. All Might had a lot of modifications, even if they weren't usually visible, and he wasn't any less of a person for it. Any discrimination he might risk facing—well, hadn't he dealt with something similar all his life?

He thought of Stain. Of Iida and his brother. Of what might have happened if he hadn't gotten involved.

Heroism was worth the consequences. Besides, Izuku could handle a few gears.

[salmonruntips]

Here’s our piece for the @salmonrunzine! We were one of the few duos, and we’re very excited to share our pieces! Special thanks to the zine mods for all their hard work and congratulations to the other contributors! We were really excited when we saw that this zine offered the ability to work in pairs, so we’re very grateful for the opportunity! 

Art by Katie (@katiemonz) Written by Ashe (@theashemarie)

A Lesson in Grilling

Here’s the facts: Grillers on Ruins of Ark Polaris on the third wave and everything is green; you and Katie are backed up against the basket with red lasers trained on your chests, while Kiera is having trouble climbing a wall and holding her Squiffer’s charge. The Grillers are nowhere to be seen, which is what’s so horrifying, because they’re quiet and fast and they swerve around corners like drag racers, hellbent on destroying your small squad. Dan, your fourth teammate, is a bit of a newb, but he’s trying his best, and that’s all you can ask of him really. Smallfry are his number one enemy, and there’s a running bet amongst your squad about how many times he can manage to be bludgeoned into a splat by their tiny spoons. His knees are probably bruised yellow-purple under the Grizzco uniform. It’d be sad, really, if it wasn’t so funny to hear him constantly sputtering and panicking as the tiny Salmonids serpentine toward him.

Dan is near the water, trying to outrun a swarm of said Smallfry, with only a Sploosh-O-Matic between himself and their deadly spoons. He’s on Smallfry murdering duty, a role that he’d accepted with a grim face. “Sometimes,” you’d assured him, as the sky darkened and Mr. Grizz grumbled that Grillers were on their way, “the only way to defeat your fear is to face it head on.”

You’re very much regretting that now, as a Griller swerves up a ramp and onto the top floor. Ruins of Ark Polaris is the newest in a string of places where Salmonid runs are common, and you’re not that familiar with the geography yet—it’s all vertical, with grind rails and stomach-churning drops to the water, but the Ark is a beautiful site. You and Katie liked to lean against the stern of the boat and stare back at it as you were towed away after a shift, imagining how it got that way. “The humans were in a panic,” you said once, as Katie leaned her hip against yours, spit-balling, storytelling, trying to figure it all out. “Sea level rising, nowhere to go, no time.”

“I know the feeling,” Katie said, miming a shooting action. It was graceful, fluid, because she was so seasoned with so many dualies. “Sea level rises like crazy here. I’m surprised the ship is still around.”

You looked back at the giant boosters. “Humans built things to last.”

She slung an arm around your shoulders. “Ashe, you need to stop thinking about the humans. Let’s regroup with Kiera and Dan.”

Now though, you can’t spare a glance at the ruins. The Griller is barreling toward you, not unlike an out of control Ultra Stamp, and Katie barely dodge rolls out of the way. You can hear her grunt as she lands in a splotch of green ink and tries to unstick her feet. You’re equipped with an Octobrush, which enables you to slide away from the Griller, but doesn’t really help dispatch it easily. You run away, because you’re a girl who knows when it’s best to retreat and hope to at least lead the Griller away from your teammates. Just there, you see Katie jump on a rail to lead the other Griller away. Hopefully, Kiera and Dan can help slow them down.

Things had been going well. You, Katie, and Kiera were a tri-squad for a while, picking up random freelancers when you needed them, but you wanted a fourth to round out the team. Dan was barely fresh enough to buy clothes in the square, but he was Katie’s longtime friend who desperately needed money, so you decided to take him onboard. He was a quick learner—though he got tripped up by the small things (Smallfry) and had a tendency to babble incoherently when panicked. Still, he fit the team well. Kiera preferred long-range weapons like chargers and splatlings while Katie was a dualies fiend. You were a jack-of-all trades but preferred brushes and rollers, so you needed someone who liked short-range shooters who could paint well, and Dan fit that role.

If only he didn’t get tripped up by ankle-biting Smallfry.

“Ashe, behind!” Kiera cries, and you whip around to finally see her slam an egg in the basket and train her Squiffer’s sight toward the Griller’s tail. The laser isn’t nearly long enough to hit it, so you swerve a little, crushing a few Smallfry under your brush, and lead the Griller back toward the basket. Kiera lets off her shot and it lands true; it’s just enough to finally stall the Griller out and you hear Katie give a whoop from where she’s still sailing around the basket on the rail, Dualie Squelchers aimed at the newly frozen boss.

Quickly, the three of you dispatch the Griller and pop its five eggs into the basket, easily getting over quota.

“Where’s the other one?” you ask as Katie paints around the basket and Kiera dunks down to refill her tank.

“Switched to Dan,” Katie answers. “How many specials you got?”

You reach up to feel your hat, where both special packets are still securely tied in place. “Two Splashdowns.”

“I got one Bomb Rush left,” Kiera says.

“And I’m out of Inkjet. That means Dan has Stingray.”

“He’s doomed,” you and Kiera chorus together.

Then, on cue, a very loud, very sad yell comes from down below. It’s followed shortly by a weak “Help!”

“Called it,” Katie sighs.

“I’ll get him,” you volunteer.

“Be careful,” Katie advises, and points at her chest, where a red laser has appeared, a reminder that the Grillers switch targets quickly. There’s an identical one on Kiera’s chest. “I’m gonna keep the ground painted. Kiera, get on a rail when it gets close.”

“Got it.”

The group breaks and you jump off the edge, falling as fast as you can so you can bring Dan back into the fight.

You remember, vibrantly, time before, back when Turf War was localized in the Plaza instead of the Square, when the Squid Sisters were the keepers of the news, when Strength Up was still allowed on the battlefield. Things were simpler then, and you didn’t want to let it go. Grizzco is what brought you to the Square. Grizzco with its promise of riches and teamwork, of challenge, and, most of all, of a change of pace. Turf War was fun, but there was something about getting on the boat, riding out to the abandoned places where the Salmonids spawned, something about those golden eggs, so shiny, so luminous, with their tiny sparks of life in them. You tried not to think about the little embryos that stared out at you as you dunked them into the basket.

“They have to respawn like we do,” Katie said once, as you were sailing out to Marooner’s Bay. The human’s giant abandoned ship made your Grizzco-owned vessel look tiny. “There are so many of them.”

“I hear they trade with Octarians,” you said, casting a quick glance in Kiera’s direction. Kiera, with her backwards tentacles and high-pitched voice, Octoling from head-to-toe.

“They do,” Kiera muttered back from where she was sitting with her back against the stern, checking over her Squiffer for damage. “Grillers are just really fast Flooders.”

Something about that, about her lightly accented words, said with such confidence, made you shiver. “That doesn’t bother you?” you asked her.

She shrugged and lined up her Squiffer’s sight. “I live in Inkopolis now.”

She does, along with hundreds of other Octolings—Octolings who flocked to Grizzco’s welcoming arms as quickly as they could because they needed money. You and Katie picked her up early, and you’ve been friends ever since. Lucky too—she’s a crack shot with all the weapons you’re not confident with.

You and Katie, however, are close, very close, “as close as Pearl and Marina,” your friends like to joke. Friends for a long time, growing ever closer, Grizzco is your primary source of income. Without it, both of you would be seriously hurting for cash. Plus, there’s something super appealing about trying to figure it out, the Salmonid patterns, the weapons and their roles, the dangerous waves that happen after dark. And together, with Katie, you feel invincible.

But, back to the present. You reach Dan quickly, save him from certain doom, and lead him back up to the basket with your brush. He breathes a breathless thanks in your direction, and you merely push his Sploosh-O-Matic toward the ground, muzzle aimed for the Smallfry. “Shoot them,” you say. “Just keep your feet painted and they’ll die.”

“Got it!” Dan nods once, forcefully, and follows your directions. He’s a fast learner.

Around the basket, there’s pandemonium. The Grillers targeting both Kiera and Katie have arrived and they’ve already taken a chunk out of Kiera. She’s respawning slowly, crying for help at steady intervals, while Katie is dodge rolling away, aiming for a rail again. She’s almost out of ink though.

You point Dan toward Kiera and he nods again. Given direction, he tears across the map, easily dodging a Griller and only getting caught up on Smallfry for a few seconds. You hear him save Kiera when she lets out a loud booyah and you focus on clearing the ground of any green ink.

There isn’t much you can do with two Grillers running around. Your Octobrush hits hard, but the Grillers move in fast, unpredictable patterns, so instead you rush for a rail. You have to get on top of the Griller if you have any hope of doing any good, safe damage.

The rails have always been your favorite thing about the Ruins. A Grizzco addition, they circle the basket like sharks, and you love jumping on and seeing everything from a different angle. Plans form, bosses scatter, Smallfry swing their spoons, and your team regroups. Kiera backs into the basket, using it for cover, Dan takes to attacking Smallfry, lip caught between his teeth in concentration, Katie sails by on the other side, still on her rail, trying to fill her ink tank.

You’re close to the end of the rail now. Kiera dispatches a Griller with a well-aimed shot, and it explodes with a burst of machinery and purple ink. The other Griller switches targets, its laser moving from Katie to Dan. Dan, now a closer target, panics and tries to get out of the way as the boss changes direction.

You leap, Octobrush primed. It feels familiar in your hands, and your fingers and palm are well-calloused from holding it, from swinging it; your arms know its rhythm, and you instinctively know its range. The Griller doesn’t stand a chance.

You land on top of the Griller and bring your Octobrush down with a loud whap! It twangs off the top of the boss and you slide backward. All according to plan. It switches targets, to the most dangerous attacker, and the laser appears on your chest. As you go down, you swipe, hitting true to the tail and stalling it out. The Griller freezes, panicked, and your frantic teammates shoot at it as its tails twirl about its UFO-shaped body.

It goes down. All four of you grab an egg and deliver them. You let Dan grab the fifth.

Then, two more lasers appear (Dan and Kiera) and you share only a moment of peace, a single breath where you look at each other and smile.

Dan yelps, because a Smallfry has managed to escape his Sploosh-O-Matic’s wrath, and he grabs at his leg. “My knees will never be the same!” he cries.

Everyone laughs, but then the Grillers appear, careening up the ramps.

Back to work.

[eldritchsurveys]

588.

What's your name? >> Mordred.

How old are you? >> 32.

What's your hair and eye color? >> Dark brown, both.

How tall are you? >> 5′5″.

What's your relationship status? >> Married outworld, bonded inworld.

What's your favorite song? >> I guess it’s still Death is the Road to Awe by Clint Mansell. I don’t feel the need to actually have a favourite song, but that’s a good working answer.

What does that song mean? What is the message behind it? >> It seems to be the culmination of the leitmotif on The Fountain’s soundtrack. When I listen to it, it feels like a journey through a lifetime, a gradual and sometimes uncertain and sometimes rushed and sometimes dramatic and sometimes quiet crescendo towards the one singular moment of complete and utter awe. It feels like the most exultant piece of music I’ve ever heard, to the point where it’s painful.

Is it your favorite because you relate to it, or do you just like the beat? >> I feel comfortable with naming it as a favourite because it has a profound visceral emotional effect on me that no other song can really claim.

Have any pets? If so, what are they and what's their names? >> A black cat named Spooky Mulder.

Have you ever met your idol? If so, were they nice or were they kind of an ass? >> I don’t have any idols, but all of the musicians and celebrities I’ve met have been friendly.

What's your favorite method of gaming? (PC, Xbox, Playstation, etc) >> PC.

If you're in college, what's your major and why did you pick it? >> I’m not in college.

How're you doing today? >> I’m all right.

What color are your bedroom walls? >> Beige.

Describe your favorite shirt. >> Okay, naming favourites is hard enough with media and such, but there’s no way I can name a favourite shirt. I only keep the shirts I really like as it is.

Use this space to tell someone off. >> I’d really rather not.

What's your view on smart watches? Cool or a waste of money? >> I think they’re neat. But I don’t have the kind of income where I’d feel comfortable buying one, and I don’t want one anyway. I’m happy with the electronics I have.

What is one poster that you have hanging on your bedroom wall of? >> I only have one poster on my wall (the other things are art pieces), and it’s a Cradle of Filth promo poster that I found lying around with the free flyers and zines at the record store.

How many times have you moved in your life? >> So, so many.

If you moved, do you like where you are now better than where you were? >> This most recent move (almost 4 years ago now) has done wonders for me, even though I still don’t particularly like the location itself.

What's your favorite color and why? >> Gold. It just is, man.

Do you have a calendar? If so, what's the theme? >> No.

Have any famous person's autographs? >> Not anymore.

Do you draw well? >> Not anymore.

What type of cell phone do you have? >> Motorola, bleh. I’m never leaving Samsung again.

Should you be doing anything else right now or are you just bored? >> I’m doing this because I want to do this, not because I’m procrastinating or bored.

If you're in school/college, what's your favorite subject and why? >> ---

Are you a cat or a dog person? Why? >> I’m a “I’d rather not share my living space with animals” person. Outdoor-kept animals are absolutely fine (and those tend to be dogs, which I favour).

Tell me about the plot of your favorite book. >> ---

Do you wear glasses or contacts? >> No.

What do you think about horror movies? If you love them (I do), what's your favorite? >> I do love horror movies, although I can be rather particular about them. I wouldn’t say I have a favourite, but I’ve been obsessed with the Hellraiser franchise (movies, novels, comics) for like 12 years, so there’s that.

Got any cool Christmas presents picked out for family or friends yet? >> No. I’m going to try to see if I can get a pre-owned copy of Super Mario Odyssey at GameStop, but otherwise I have no idea what I’d get Sparrow as a full-on gift, especially since I’m low on funds right now. I just have a bunch of small things that I’m going to put in her stocking.

Do you do Black Friday shopping or wait for Cyber Monday? >> I don’t do either, really, but I prefer Cyber Monday as a concept.

Have any mental illnesses? >> Probably, but the only reason that’d matter is for the purposes of retaining my government income.

What's your favorite word and why? >> ---

What is the most expensive thing you own, and what is it? >> My gaming laptop, probably.

Did you buy that item yourself? >> I did.

Where do you work and what is your postion? >> ---

How often do you cuss? >> Quite often.

What type of car do you drive, if any? >> I don’t drive.

Are you happy with it? If no, what's your dream car? >> ---

Do you have a lot of social media accounts? Which ones? >> No, I just have facebook and tumblr. I might do some research into Mastodon soon, because I’m curious.

What is your favorite genre of music? >> ---

Does your family have holiday traditions? If so, what are they? >> ---

If you're in a relationship, are you happy with it? >> Sure.

How long have you been with your significant other? >> Eight or so years.

Do you like psychology? (It's my college major). >> I... sigh. I think it’s interesting to study, but I think the way it’s used has done a lot of harm for me personally, so I have very little confidence in it as a practice.

What is something your state is popularly known for? >> I don’t know... beer and wine? Snow? Apples? Detroit?

Do you like to do craft projects? If so, what's the coolest thing you made? >> I don’t mind doing craft projects, but I don’t do them often.

Do you watch sports or do you think they're overrated? >> I don’t think they’re overrated, I just don’t care about them.

What's one occupation you think gets paid too much and doesn't deserve to? >> I don’t have an opinion about this.

Do you straigthen your hair? >> No.

Ever dyed your hair a color that isn't natural? (blue, pink, etc) >> Purple, yeah.

How's your relationship with your parents? >> Completely nonexistent.

Do you still live with them or do you have your own house? >> I obviously do not live with parents.

What's something you are currently saving money for to buy? >> Nothing.

Do you smoke/vape? If so, what brand do you smoke/what device do you use? >> No.

Ever done drugs? >> Yes.

Tell me one of your worst habits. >> Meh.

What's a weird quirk you have that no one else you know does? >> I don’t know, I don’t pay enough attention.

If you game, what type of headset do you use? >> I have a Razer headset.

What type of computer do you own, and do you like it? >> I have an MSI computer for gaming and a Lenovo one for everything else. I love them both, they’re good machines.

What's the thing that annoys you the most? >> Meh.

What brand of TV do you have? >> Samsung.

Are you excited for Christmas? (It's December 1st today when I made this) >> Yes!

Tell me about your favorite vacation you've taken. >> This most recent one to New Orleans, because we got to spend a whole week and we were there for Halloween. Also, there was a wedding.

Tell me something cool about yourself. >> I was born with twelve fingers. Fuck you, that’s cool.

Did/do you get good grades in school/college? >> ---

What's your ringtone on your phone? >> I have no idea, it’s always on vibrate or DND.

What's your favorite store to shop in? >> ---

If you won the lottery, what is the first thing you would buy and why? >> Dude, I don’t even play the lottery.

How long have you had a Bzoink account? >> I don’t know, like 9 years.

Ever been to Field of Screams? If so, what's your favorite attraction? >> No.

Do you own a Polaroid camera? >> No.

Do you have hardwood floor in your room or carpet? >> Carpet.

It's a Saturday night, what are you typically doing? >> I don’t know, messing around on the internet as usual.

Do you have a lot of friends or do you not have any at all? >> I have... er... I don’t know. Two? One? Three? I don’t know what a friend is, ask me some other time.

What's your all time favorite movie and why? >> The Fountain. Similar reasons to the song question (especially considering the song comes from this movie).

How many blankets do you sleep with at night? >> I sleep with a sheet and one of the weighted blankets.

What's the last TV show you watched? Did you enjoy it? >> Grey’s Anatomy. You’re damn right I enjoyed it.

Do you prefer cable TV or do you use Netflix? >> I use streaming services.

What is your dream job and why? >> ---

Do you think you would be a good therapist? >> No.

What's your favorite brand of clothing? >> I don’t have one.

[ravensandwritings]

Side Hustle: Editing for you!

Who I am: A college graduate who majored in English and graduated with Honors. I have years of working as an acquiring reader for our local lit mag, as well as working as a consultant and teaching writing. I have professionally written and translated curriculum for various academic grant projects, re-written my currently employer's entire email blast scheme and content, and I write a lot of fanfic. I am also currently work as a mod on my first ‘zine, @aizawabowl-zine. 

Who YOU are: Someone who needs someone to look over your work.

What I need: Money. I’m coming out of a divorce and preparing for a cross-state move. I need all the help I can get.

What I can provide: Mad Editing Skills.  I will help edit for content. This is not a beta read or a basic grammar/spell check. This is an editing pass. I will look at form, yes, but more importantly content and function. Is your argument coherent? Is your character's motives and actions in line with each other? How are you using language? Is your theme being accurately represented? Are you citing your sources correctly? Are you using a VALID source? That's me, that's what I do. I'll catch other errors as they are found, but they won't be the focus of my work.

Cost breakdown: $4/Page  - this buys you an initial read of your pages, your chance to edit and return for a second read! Yes, you're getting TWO reads at this cost. What constitutes a page of writing?:  The industry standard manuscript set up constitutes a page, for page count.

+10$/source - If need to read or review at your request to get more familiar, I will do so! A 'source' will be considered one book, or 2 episodes of an anime/show, or one academic source (article, book, video, etc.) You must provide either the source in question, pay for me to get it, or access to a free copy. If you want me to read a 7-volume manga for your piece, you are going to pay $70 and find a way to provide said manga - either scanlations or purchased via Amazon, whichever you want me to review. The $70 is not for me to provide myself with the item, but to pay for my time actively taking time to watch or read from my schedule and use for analysis to help better work with your piece, not for the media itself. FEEL FREE TO ASK ME WHAT I’M FAMILIAR WITH, I’ll be glad to tell you,  cause it’s a super long list.

+15$/personalized discussion - Do you want to sit down and talk to me about the piece itself? Talk about emotional impact, after the final edit? Do you want to know what I thought/felt outside of what I've pointed out? Do you have further questions? $15 will get you an hour of my time to sit down and do that with you,  which will be agreed upon and added to final invoice.

+50$/Rush Job - do you need this out RIGHT NOW? I can make the time, if you can pay a little more for it. Otherwise a timeframe in which the piece is selected and reviewed (usually a week, though longer pieces will obviously take longer, and shorter ones will take less, depending on content!) will be discussed and agreed upon.

TIPS: I will absolutely accept them, thank you for offering. 

Other fees will be applied if the work becomes excessively complex or further requests are made on the piece, and will be levied on the second invoice.

To engage my services, half up front is required. If I do not deliver a first run read in a negotiated time frame, a partial refund will be issued depending on lateness. If I don't deliver at all you will get a full refund. Everything will be done via invoice on PayPal.

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[villainscomplex]

Apotelesma

yooo, this was my Kacchako fluff piece for the @bnha-mirrors zine. I ended up liking it so much that I’m making a whole mini series out of it called Eudaemonia, so, y’know. Here’s the bit that started it all!

You can also find it on:

AO3

Wattpad

FFnet

Quotev

Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars.

He’s no good at astronomy, but he can sort of point out Orion’s belt, or follow Polaris to the handle of the Big Dipper and the back of Ursa Major. There’s something serene and surreal about the stars, about how they’re really just unfathomably large exploding balls of gas millions and millions of miles away, always out of grasp.

Sometimes he feels like he can reach out, close his hand around them, and watch them light up like explosives in his palms. Katsuki doesn’t believe in an afterlife, but sometimes he thinks he’d like to be a star when he’s through with mortality.

It’s a big dream for small town boys with lead bones and burning hearts, but Katsuki never listened to others, and there was no point in starting now.

He’s tired of the uniform existence of this border town, of routines he can’t break, and of mountain ranges that feel suffocatingly small no matter how many times he climbs them.

Katsuki thinks himself a phoenix, a free spirit, a lone soul aching to escape monotony. His mother likens him to a chained dog, viciously snapping at any who dare come too near, ignorantly craving for an outside world that he doesn’t know enough about to survive in.

Katsuki adamantly disagrees.

The first time he sees Whole Latte Love Cafe, he’s a high school senior fighting tooth and nail to get into a city college — anywhere, so long as it’s away from here. The door jingles, drawing his attention, and a round-faced girl rushes out, calling goodbye to someone inside before vanishing into the crowd.

Katsuki’s attention rests on the swirling neon sign that stretches across the upper building. If he’s being honest, the name pisses him off; what kind of losers would use a pun for the name of their cafe?

He barely pauses to think much of the cafe itself: a tiny, nondescript thing, tucked between a bustling office building and a clothing outlet where teenage girls flock like lambs, giggling about rumors behind their scarves.

The thoughts pass by the time Katsuki arrives home, but they resurface again later that night, when he’s in the middle of a paper and halfway through a sentence. Whole Latte Love, his mind unhelpfully supplies, and Katsuki’s pen snaps in his hand.

He comes to realize that his daily route takes him past the cafe twice. He walks the same path like clockwork, and he’s surprised he never noticed it before. The more he passes the more he pauses, steals glances out of the corner of his eyes, and stares at the bright open sign as he hesitates in his steps.

On a late Monday morning nearly two weeks later, Katsuki comes to a grinding halt in the middle of the sidewalk, pivots sharply on his heel, and marches into the building.

The warm air that caresses his face is a stark and shocking contrast to the nipping autumn breeze outside. Katsuki inwardly startles as the atmosphere — soft and warm and unfamiliar to a boy used to brutish things — nearly takes his feet clean out from under him.

“Hey!” The boy at the counter with too loud a voice, too brightly red-colored hair, and too sharp teeth enthusiastically greets him. “Welcome to Whole Latte Love! I’m Kirishima; what can I get you?”

Katsuki’s gaze finds the menu, the options written in swirling handwriting — one of the other baristas, he suspects. There are drink names he doesn’t recognize and emotions labeled with times and days of the week.

He opts not to question it. Kirishima is smiling at him expectantly, waiting on his order. Katsuki isn’t about intricate orders though; he loosens his scarf and orders a medium black coffee with two shots of espresso.

“Take a seat anywhere,” Kirishima says, whirling around to make the drink, “I’ll bring it to you!”

Katsuki turns away to find a seat.

The cafe is bigger on the inside, but humbled by walls swirling with photos, painted intricate patterns, and stereotypical coffee signs. Cushioned booths line the windows. Couches and bean bags are tucked in a corner, just out of view of the door, occupied by a cluster of college students who are either napping or studying. The students look exhausted, but they’re laughing as one doodles on his friend’s sleeping face.

There’s an older woman smiling nostalgically as she sits at the counter stool. Kirishima speaks to her as he’s making Katsuki’s coffee. The whole cafe carries the distinctive, sharp smell of coffee beans, but it mingles into the background among the upbeat music and occasional soft laughter.

Katsuki chooses a corner booth next to the window, drops his bag into the seat beside him, and settles in.

People are going about their lives beyond the glass window. This town is different for Katsuki; it’s large enough to have no shortage of residents, a decently large school, and even a college — but everyone follows the same daily routines, content with spending their lives in tedium.

But suddenly Bakugou Katsuki steps out of his habits and into this surreal place, where he doesn’t recognize a single person. Somehow, despite time and life and the world moving on around them, everybody in the cafe is smiling.

The soft thump of a drink against the table jerks him back to reality. Kirishima beams, and Katsuki briefly pauses to wonder what species this guy was for him to have teeth like that.

“My mom’s a mermaid,” Kirishima informs him cheerfully, “in case you’re wondering.” Katsuki glowers at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You were staring,” Kirishima replies with an ease that tells Katsuki that he’s had this conversation multiple times before, “and most new people are curious. I know half-breeds aren’t super common around here.”

Katsuki scrutinizes him now, eyes narrowed. “Do you act like this with all of your customers?”

“‘Course! Most are regulars though. Anyways,” he flips his wrist to reveal a tattoo of numbers that look like a clock — the digits switch before Katsuki’s eyes and he quickly concludes that it’s a charmed tattoo for telling the time, “my shift is about over. Enjoy your coffee!”

Katsuki doesn’t watch him go, but he sees that round-faced, brown-haired girl come in. He hears Kirishima leave with an upbeat goodbye! and the soft chiming of the door’s bell. Katsuki leaves without so much as a word or a glance back when he finishes his drink, followed by the girl’s cheerful “Have a nice day!”

The cold gust of wind that greets him outside saps the cafe’s warmth straight from his bones.

There’s something about Whole Latte Love — with the name that pisses him off and the too-cheerful baristas and something warm, warm, warm and unfamiliar to the boy who dreams of holding stars in his palms — that draws him back, and he yearns.

Katsuki doesn’t allow himself to crave the idea of simple pleasures, the thought of touching another person. He doesn’t allow himself to want after material objects and things meaningless in the long run of life. He wants only for what he needs, striving only for his freedom. Despite this, something about the cafe makes him reconsider.

He visits again on a cold Saturday evening, ordering a pastry and a black coffee. Kirishima beams and the round-faced girl from before tips her head curiously at him, but she promptly turns back to her own task at hand.

Monday morning, he sits in the same booth, already beginning to find a sort of routine of coming here — and yet, nothing was ever the same. Kirishima still smiles until his shift is over, and is replaced by the round-faced girl whose name Katsuki still doesn’t know.

It’s always the same customers, but somehow the cafe changes every day. Sometimes Kirishima still comes to talk to him. Sometimes the round-faced girl addresses the college students, laughing along with them. Oftentimes, the lady at the counter stool is recounting a tale from her childhood, sometimes staring out the window as though her mind still lives in the past. Sometimes the sun reflects differently off of Katsuki’s drink, or he orders a different pastry, or three espresso shots instead of two. Sometimes, he sits and contemplates.

He catches himself thinking about going more frequently, and then, because he’s stubborn, ends up following through.

It’s Tuesday morning when he steps back into the cozy other-world of the cafe, hearing the familiar, soft jingling of the bell overhead. This time, he doesn’t see distinctive red hair or a sharp-toothed smile. A different voice greets him, one only vaguely familiar. The round-faced girl smiles warmly from the counter and Katsuki almost considers leaving; he’s all for change, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of a botched coffee order.

The couches are empty and the music is still playing overhead, upbeat and cheerful, filling in for the lack of life. He eyes the girl with her bob cut of brown hair and bright, wide eyes, who is hardly taller than his shoulders. In the end, he decides he’ll just have to hope she makes his order right.

“Oh,” she blurts, “you’re that guy who always gets black coffee and sits by the window during Kirishima’s shifts, right?”

Katsuki glowers, immediately taking back any benefit of the doubt he had given her.

“What’s it to ‘ya?” He replies sharply.

Her service smile twitches.

“I was just wondering.” She informs him, voice level. “What can I get you?”

Katsuki almost wants her to crack. “Black coffee,” he says, “two shots of espresso.”

Still smiling, she turns away to make the drink. Katsuki eyes the back of her head for a moment, noticing a heart tattoo behind her right ear shimmering from one color to the next. Just as Katsuki decides against questioning it, the bell chimes violently as two teens rush into the cafe; one with obnoxiously pink skin, the other with a black lightning bolt streaking straight through the side of his blond hair.

Both look panicked and out of breath as if they’d run a marathon, and Katsuki moves out of the way just in time to avoid being barreled through. The round-faced girl, seeming accustomed to this, warmly welcomes them.

“Ashido, Kaminari,” she greets the pink-skinned woman and the blond man, and when the bell chimes again and an entirely average boy enters much more lethargically, she adds, “and Sero! What brings you all here?”

“I need a frappuccino with two shots of courage,” Kaminari groans, draping himself over the counter.

“Same,” Ashido whines. “Honestly, just give me anything sweet, large, and with like three shots of motivation and one of energy. I have six assignments due tonight and I haven’t started on any of them.”

“Sero?” The round-faced girl asks. “What about you?”

The last boy just shrugs dismissively. “I’m here for moral support.”

“Alright,” she laughs, “let me finish this order and I’ll get yours done.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Kaminari and Ashido breathe in unison.

Katsuki has already meandered back his usual booth, glare fixed on the obnoxiously loud group. By then he’s figured out who is who, but he still hasn’t caught the barista’s name. He recognizes some words from the menu — the lists of emotions marked with times and dates. Now that he thinks about it, they correspond to the round-faced barista’s shifts.

He watches the round-faced girl cross the cafe with his coffee. The other three stare owlishly after her, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that they weren’t the only customers present. The round-faced girl sets the drink down.

“Enjoy your drink,” she tells him with that easy smile before turning and marching back to serve the other two.

Katsuki ends up staying later than usual at the cafe that day, only managing to burst into his class right as the bell rings, red-faced with windblown hair and something new and heated burning in his eyes.

Katsuki goes mountain climbing the following day. Every Wednesday like clockwork, he attends his classes, gets home, and promptly changes out of his suffocating uniform into his climbing clothes. He bikes to the mountains that surround the town, and he climbs.

When he was younger, Katsuki pretended that he could scale the mountains and crawl right back down on the other side. He had planned to carry his bike with him and ride far, far away from this town and the shackles he’s known all his life. He’d climb over the mountaintops, away from his mother, away from his classmates, away from the people in this town with their identical smiles and small town mentalities.

Katsuki used to think he could touch the sky if he could reach the peak. Now, reaching the top is easy. Up here, he’s breathless, low on air, standing in the surreal space between life and death, earth and sky, freedom and bondage. Up here, he could just step up to the edge of the ledge, wonder if he’d sprout some wings — maybe he’ll get lucky and learn his mother is secretly a valkyrie. Up here, the air is cold and brittle and he can’t feel his fingers, but even through the cold lash of autumn wind, he can raise his voice, scream to the heavens, howl and curse and let out the damn bird that’s always beating on his ribs, and the wind sweeps it away each and every time. Up here, he’s the closest he can get to what he hungers for, the primal urges that drive him to kick and claw his way to the very top of the mountain and the chain of success.

But he’s still here, and lately climbing doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

No matter how many bruises and blisters he gets, no matter how many sharp exhales through his teeth, no matter how many Wednesdays he takes to the rocks to go up and up and away, it’s never far enough.

His heart is somewhere, somewhere out there, but his body is a weight, the epitome of the gravity that exists in all things in the universe, and it chains him to the ground. No matter how thin the air gets, no matter how faded the light becomes or how high he climbs, he feels like Sisyphus, eternally stuck rolling a rock up, up, up, only for it to come back down, down, down.

He goes home and washes the dirt from his face, stares at his rough hands while the shower drums steadily around him, and never feels satisfied.

He goes back to the cafe again on Thursday morning. Sure enough the round-faced barista is there, looking as though she’s expecting him. She beams and greets him as brightly as always, turning to make his usual drink as Katsuki takes his seat in the booth.

There’s a boy with red-and-white split hair here today, typing away on a laptop in the corner and paying no attention to his surroundings. Occasionally, he glances down at his phone with a little smile.

Katsuki opts not to question how this place stays open with the few customers it has.

Somehow the cafe becomes an immovable part of his life. He falls into sort of habitual days, Monday mornings, Tuesday mornings, Thursday mornings, Saturday evenings, sometimes Friday evenings, sometimes Sunday evenings. The revolving door of colorful people come and go, and Katsuki watches, listens, learns. The employee schedules are consistent — Katsuki always knows who is going to be there when he arrives, and generally it’s the round-faced barista.

Silently, he dubs her Round Face.

There comes a point where she starts trying to talk to him. Katsuki usually ignores her; he comes here to refresh himself and his burning desire to achieve his goals and get out, not to have a conversation. He comes here for the thrill that climbing the mountains used to give him, the weightless feeling that makes him think that maybe he has wings after all.

“Good morning!” She greets cheerfully, persistent as always, when he enters on Tuesday.

Katsuki caves. “Yeah, good morning or whatever, Round Face.”

She gapes at him.

Katsuki hadn’t meant to say that out loud but it’s too late to take it back, so he rolls with it. “Well, it’s not like you ever told me your name.”

“I—” She starts, and then falters abruptly, eyebrows pinching together. “Oh. I guess I didn’t.”

Katsuki is almost amused. He watches the way she touches the tattoo behind her ear in thought, and he wonders if it’s changing colors again.

“Well,” she continues, “it’s Uraraka Ochako. In my defense, you haven’t told any of us your name.”

“Bakugou,” he replies with an upward tilt of his chin, “Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Ka—” She frowns thoughtfully, as if the name is familiar to her, but then shakes her head. “Your usual, then?”

Katsuki is suspicious now. He’d never heard of her, but judging by the reaction she’d failed to hide, she’d certainly heard of him. They might go to the same school, since he doesn’t know all the students in his grade, but he doubts it.

He doesn’t push it, but he’s not going to let it go so soon. Uraraka Ochako. He’s going to keep her name in mind.

“Yeah,” he replies, “my usual.”

It’s just the two of them in the cafe right now, which is common for Tuesday mornings. Uraraka leans over the counter, clearly bored after bringing him his drink. She’s running her fingers along the top of some labeled bottle..

“What the hell is that?” Katsuki asks. The soft clinking of the bottle against the counter is starting to annoy him.

Uraraka lifts her gaze. “This? They’re uh, emotions. Sort of. Liquid emotions?”

“And you make them,” Katsuki concludes, then adds when Uraraka opens her mouth to undoubtedly question him, “given the way they correspond with your shifts.”

“You—” Uraraka tips her head, “you have our shifts memorized?”

“Regardless, why would you make emotion potions or whatever they are?”

Uraraka straightens, visibly brightening. “I’m an empath, so I can make emotions for people. The add-ins are a pretty big selling point for the cafe now. Maybe it’s finals week and they need a dose of calm or motivation, y’know? Maybe they have a speech and they need a shot of bravery. I don’t know what people’s lives are like, but I want to help where I can. Plus,” she continues, sheepishly averting her gaze, “I’m poor, and most of the money from the proceeds go to my family.”

He eyes the bottle. “You just give shots of it? What happens if someone wants a whole bottle?”

“I can’t sell entire bottles,” she replies, tucking it back on the shelf behind her, “you’d probably go psycho if you drank this whole thing.”

He thinks about it for a while later, about that little bottle of happiness she’d held in her hand. He doesn’t consider Uraraka Ochako a friend, but she’s not an indecent human being. He still wants to get out, but this place is okay.

He keeps going to the cafe.

Fridays and Saturdays are the busiest the cafe gets, Katsuki learns, but busy is normally anywhere from six to eight people. Most of them are high school students.

He recognizes Ashido one Saturday evening — Katsuki has since learned that she, a girl named Jirou, and a boy named Tokoyami, are also baristas here — the dark roots of her curly hair starting to show, but her skin is as pink as ever. He recognizes Kaminari, gesturing wildly to another boy with thick silver eyelashes. Kirishima leans over the counter to listen to them. Sero is there too, dozing against the wall in a beanbag. There’s a girl with long, bowtied hair sitting up in one of the stools, frog-like and distracted by the boy with glasses who appears to be lecturing Uraraka, arm slicing repeatedly through the air.

The energy is high despite the late hour; everyone is joking around. Suddenly a song comes on over the speakers, and Kirishima and Uraraka go still.

Kaminari’s silvery companion grins a sharp-toothed smile not unlike Kirishima’s, leaning over Kaminari to punch Kirishima’s shoulder. It jars the redhead out of his stupor, for he whirls around and tows Uraraka out from behind the counter, toward the middle of the cafe. Katsuki straightens up and lowers his drink to watch discreetly.

They’re dancing. Kirishima twirls Uraraka across the linoleum and she laughs, shoulders shaking and cheeks reddened by her wide smile. The others are cheering or clapping along — the frog girl smiles a faint smile, watching with her head tipped, and in the stool next to her, the boy with the glasses takes a drink of tea in an attempt to hide his smile. The silver-haired boy doesn’t seem content sitting back — he snatches a very surprised Kaminari and hauls him out to join them. Ashido laughs until Kirishima pulls her in, too, releasing Uraraka.

Uraraka leans back against the counter, smiling breathlessly, the fluorescents casting soft shadows around her. The light from the sunset bathes the room in oranges and yellows as the others laugh and twirl well through end of the song. At some point, they stop following the tune. Katsuki realizes every last person here is completely content with the way their lives are. They are free.

Katsuki’s chest twists.

He stubbornly returns his attention to his essay until Kirishima’s hand drops on his shoulder in a farewell as most the cafe inhabitants start filing out.

Uraraka is quiet now, a soft kind of happy, and Katsuki wordlessly watches her wipe down the counters. She looks up, but he doesn’t look away.

“You know,” says Uraraka, “we close in two minutes.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Katsuki retorts.

“I can take care of mys—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Uraraka’s cheeks puff outwards and she goes back to cleaning.

Katsuki throws away the empty cup and pastry bag, stepping out for a breath of the night air. He feels Uraraka’s gaze follow him, but he only shoves his hands into the pockets of his outer coat, waiting just outside the door with his face nestled into his scarf. Katsuki doesn’t get cold easily. He has a naturally warm body, which came with perks and downsides, but it’s the last month of fall and winter comes on the breeze with every passing sunset, every rotation of Earth’s axis.

The bell chimes softly as Uraraka steps out, locking the door behind her.

She looks surprised by the cold, clad only in a sweater and a scarf. Uraraka rubs her arms, tucking away her keys with a fumbling hand.

“I didn’t realize how cold it’d gotten,” she laughs, breath forming white clouds in the air. “Which way are you going, Bakugou?”

“Dumbass,” he snaps, grumbling as he sheds his coat and tosses it at her. She catches it with a yelp. “You should know it gets cold at this time of year. We live in the mountains.”

“Wow,” she huffs, “what a gentleman.”

Despite her sarcastic words, Uraraka wastes no time yanking the oversized coat on, half-buried among the orange and black fabric.

She murmurs something resembling a thanks — Katsuki is tempted to have her repeat it, but he won’t push his luck. Uraraka almost embodies what he’s looking for — something free and open, something that rides on the wings of the birds but swallows worlds like a black hole, all consuming in its grace.

They aren’t quite friends, Katsuki keeps telling himself, but maybe they could be.

“I’m going this way,” Katsuki finally informs her, once she seems to have settled into his coat. He jabs a finger to the right, back his usual way home, and then zips up the gray hoodie he’d had on beneath the coat. Uraraka frowns, glancing the other direction.

“I’m actually going that way,” she starts, but Katsuki cuts her off, pulling the fur lined hood of his coat over her head.

“Okay,” says Katsuki, “then let’s go.”

“It’s out of your—”

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you keep my coat. Besides,” he starts off in the direction she’d indicated, “maybe I’m not ready to go home.”

Uraraka lifts the hood so she can see properly, smoothing her hair beneath it and falling into step with him. He doesn’t slow his pace, despite having no idea where he’s going. Despite this, Uraraka keeps up well enough, her hands tucked into the pockets of the coat and her shoulder brushing Katsuki’s arm.

The roads are silent; there’s not a single soul in existence besides the two of them. The streetlights begin to flicker on, illuminating the quiet pathway and the clouds of white their breath form in the chilled air.

Uraraka takes a breath, gaze fixed on the sky. “Hey, Bakugou? Do you ever count the stars?”

Katsuki thinks all the time, but murmurs, “Why the hell would I do that? There’s too many to count.”

Uraraka laughs. “You’re a bad liar, Bakugou Katsuki. You’re the type of boy who would spend every night trying to count them, just because you want to know how many you have to try and catch.”

Katsuki is not an open book. He has never considered himself such and has always been careful not to be. Katsuki is always careful not to form attachments, not to let anyone give him a reason to stay behind or give anyone a reason to want him to.

And yet, this girl blows into his life with her black hole eyes and bob cut hair and sunshine smiles, regardless of his attitude or the fact that he still calls her Round Face. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to prove her wrong, but she’s quick to interrupt him.

“Everyone tries to count the stars,” she states matter-of-factly, “at least once.”

Katsuki almost wants to laugh. Whether it’s out of amusement or bitterness, he doesn’t know. “So what if I do? Maybe the stars are my only solace in this godforsaken town. Maybe I like the fact that they’re big balls of exploding gas out in space. Or maybe I’d rather be in space than here. How would you know?”

Uraraka smiles. “Well, then you do. Or don’t, whatever. If you want to leave, there’s nothing wrong with that. Your goals and aspirations are yours, and you should pursue them. For all we know, your place is out there in the world somewhere. But people like me — people like me, like Kirishima, like Ashido and Jirou and Kaminari and Tetsutetsu … All of our places are here. There was a time we all wanted to leave, I think. I know I wanted to. But my place is here. My place is at Whole Latte Love, serving coffee and helping my parents.”

Ah, Katsuki thinks. He can’t remember the last time someone told him that he should go if he wants. And god, does he want to.

Katsuki buries his mouth in his scarf. There’s a stinging behind his eyes and turmoil in his ribs.

“It’s comforting, though,” she continues, “to know that no matter how far anyone may go, or even if you may never truly know someone: we’re all connected by the material we stand on, the iron in our blood, the carbon and hydrogen and oxygen in our bodies, the calcium in our bones. We’re all connected by stardust, each and every last one of us. We’re all made of the same thing as the stars, and I think that makes us as mortal and natural as the universe itself.”

“One hundred billion,” he says, because her words strike something in him, and he isn’t yet sure what it is.

“What?” She asks, peering out at him from beneath his hoodie.

“There’s over one hundred billion stars in our galaxy alone,” he replies, halting in his steps and fixing her with a steady stare. “There’s parts of our universe we’ve never seen — never will see in our lifetimes, maybe in anybody’s lifetimes, but they’re out there and always out of reach. All I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a child was reach out and grab one of those damn stars. So yeah, I do count the stars. I count the stars, the sunsets, and the days until I can fly out of here.”

Uraraka smiles, takes his arm, and carries on down the sidewalk. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “I figured.”

Uraraka’s house is near the center of town, unlike Katsuki’s, which is closer to the outskirts. She leads him to a small apartment building and stops in front of one of the doors, turning to face him.

“Well, this is mine. Here’s your coat—”

“Hold onto it,” Katsuki blurts before he can think about it.

Uraraka opens her mouth to protest, but Katsuki puts up a hand to interrupt her.

“Bring it back to me Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” She echoes, frowning. “You don’t come to the cafe on Wednesdays.”

“Oh,” he quirks an eyebrow, “you have my routine memorized.”

He takes pleasure in the way she goes red.

“I’m not talking about the cafe, idiot,” he continues, “I go climbing every Wednesday, on the mountain trails. I’m inviting you to come; which, by the way, I don’t do very often. Just give it back to me then. You at least know where the entrance to the hike trail is, right?”

Katsuki doesn’t wait for her response. He sprints home, spirited by the change of routine, the change of scenery, the feeling of the night air raking wiry fingers through his wild hair, the way the streetlights cast soft, yellow glows and dancing shadows across the sidewalk.

Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars. He isn’t sure when he started counting how many times Uraraka Ochako smiles at him.

That night, as he runs home, cold air seeping into his lungs, sweat rolling down his throat, and a feral grin on his lips, he counts twenty.

It’s twenty-one on Monday when she blows into the cafe for her shift with a red nose, red cheeks, and dark, dark starlight eyes. It’s twenty-four by Tuesday, going up each time he lifts his eyes and meets her gaze.

Katsuki finds himself at the base of the mountains on Wednesday, gaze fixed on the shrouded peaks. She’s late, he thinks, and for a moment he entertains the fact that she might not come at all. Steady, light, and familiar footsteps cut through his train of thought, and Katsuki turns.

He counts twenty-five as she grins at him from beneath the coat he’d loaned her.

“Sorry I took so long,” she tells him, “are we going?”

Katsuki tears his gaze away. “Yeah.”

Katsuki doesn’t make a habit of underestimating or overestimating others, and he’s suddenly grateful for that habit when Uraraka keeps up with him with ease. She doesn’t break pace, doesn’t start breathing heavier until the air thins, and even then she finds a rhythm. Katsuki thinks himself a phoenix, all raging fire and simmering ashes, but Uraraka is a bird; a robin, a swan, an angel. Up here, where the air is thin and the world below hardly seems to exist, she is weightless, light, ethereal, and Katsuki is struck with the abrupt realization that he’s been sucked into her gravitational orbit for a while.

Uraraka beats him to the mountain’s plateau. When he pulls himself up over the side, she’s standing still, staring out into the shrouded area, into the sky, into the fields and beyond. She gazes out over the town, where the houses are only pinpricks against the landscape. Katsuki understands. Up here, it feels like the world is insignificant — a small, glittering feature against the backdrop of the universe.

Katsuki tips his head back and howls to the air. The wind takes it and runs, swirling over the mountain range and into the world where Katsuki so desperately wants to be. When he stops to take a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Uraraka is staring at him. Her eyes are wide, face flushed and shoulders moving with exhilarated breaths. She’s looking at him like he’s something new, something significant, something bright and blinding and unlike anything she’d ever seen.

But maybe he is. Katsuki doesn’t know; he just grins that feral grin, and when her lips tug up in response, he counts twenty-six.

Maybe, he considers, she’s a valkyrie, and he’s the soldier she’s chosen to let live.

“You can see Whole Latte Love from here,” she tells him as they prepare for the climb back down, “it’s so tiny.”

Yeah, he thinks, it all is.

Instead he reaches out, as if to grab her hand or her arm or her shoulder, and says, “I feel like—”

Uraraka meets his gaze, her eyes glittering like starlight in the setting sun, and Katsuki’s words die in his throat. He turns away.

Katsuki is always hyper-aware of time. He tracks his life by hours, by sunsets, by stars, and now by Uraraka Ochako’s smiles. He tracks his life by moments until he can finally take a one-way trip out of here, but lately he’s reconsidering the one-way part. He’s going to leave; that part is undeniable. But now people like Kirishima, like Ashido and Sero and Kaminari and Uraraka have wormed their way into his life, and Katsuki hardly remembers what it was like before. They’ve all found their places, somehow, in this town. They’ve all found a place where they’re happy to live out their lives, but Katsuki can’t say the same.

He can’t stay. But that doesn’t mean he can’t come back when he’s satisfied with his own life.

On Monday, the lights of the cafe flicker a few times in rapid succession, right as Katsuki is preparing to leave.

Uraraka frowns, hands pausing on the display case of pastries. She sighs, wiping her hands on her apron and straightening.

“The hell was that?” Katsuki questions.

“Just some dumb kids sapping electricity from the powerlines again.” She starts, then continues when she meets his piercing gaze. “They do it all the time.”

People think Katsuki reckless. He isn’t, normally. He’s got a reputation to uphold, and even if he doesn’t conventionally follow rules, he doesn’t make a habit of disobedience or skipping class.

Still, when he finds the kids in a nearby alley and launches himself at the nearest one, adrenaline pumping, fists swinging, body surging full of energy with each hit he takes — he concludes that sometimes, in the face of something bigger, rules are meant to be broken.

This power of yours, his mother’s voice echoes, is a blessing and a curse.

He thinks of people like Kirishima, who puts charms on their phones so they are returned when misplaced and time tattoos on their wrists, and people like Jirou, with earrings that translate languages and tongue piercings that allow her to speak them back. He thinks of Ashido with her city skin coloring fashion trends, and of the bird tattoo behind Tokoyami’s ear that starts chirping when he gets particularly antsy. He thinks of himself, of rough hands and lead bones and big dreams. He thinks of himself, of his ability, of a blessing and curse passed down from his mother.

He thinks of the heart tattoo behind Uraraka’s ear that changes color with her emotions. He thinks, ah, as one of the kids catches him particularly hard in the jaw. He wouldn’t do this for just anybody. It’s a fleeting thought in the midst of a fistfight, passed among racing adrenaline and a pumping heart. But it’s there nonetheless: a brief moment where he realizes that yeah, he’s started feeling something for Uraraka.

It’s gone as soon as it comes, but when Katsuki enters Whole Latte Love on Tuesday, bruised and aching, her smile makes it worth the world.

He expects the thought to come back, but not with the force it does. It returns with a fury, like waves cascading over his head. Sitting in his window booth aching and injured, Katsuki watches Uraraka over the edge of his coffee, the way the autumn lights cast warm yellow and white shades across her soft features, and becomes abruptly floored by the very thing he’d realized the day prior, but never given voice to.

He is decidedly, irrevocably in love with Uraraka Ochako.

Katsuki isn’t new to love, but he’s new to this brand of it — something that makes her suddenly become the most beautiful thing in the world, perfect in all of her imperfection and so inexplicably soft. He’s new to this brand of love that makes Uraraka feel like a comfort, that makes her feel like home.

I feel like—

Back on the mountains, he’d started a thought. He hadn’t known what he wanted to say then, but now the words came to fruition.

I feel like, he’d said, a part of my soul has loved you since the very beginning of everything. Maybe … we were made from the same star.

For a moment, he’s happy. But things seldom go so perfectly for boys like Katsuki.

On Saturday evening, Katsuki isn’t paying any attention when Midoriya Izuku wanders in. Katsuki hears the chime, but he’s occupied with completing an essay for his finals. It isn’t until he hears the distinctively light, jittery voice that he lifts his gaze slowly, dreading what he might see.

Uraraka is beaming, but it isn’t directed at Katsuki. Midoriya is at the counter, talking energetically with Uraraka and Kirishima. Katsuki thought he’d gotten over himself by now, but the abrupt realization that Uraraka seems awfully familiar with the bane of Katsuki’s existence makes his blood boil.

Katsuki’s anger is like fire. It’s the epitome of destruction, raging and consuming anything and everything in its path. Red filters the edges of his vision, crawling, swarming.

“Deku,” he snarls, and Midoriya’s words seem to die in his throat as his shoulders stiffen.

Midoriya turns, but Katsuki is already out of his seat. The entirety of the cafe has frozen, save for Katsuki, the very picture of fury, of a storm zeroing in on his target. When Katsuki clenches his fist the boy with the dual-colored hair moves first, putting himself between Midoriya and Katsuki. It startles Midoriya out of his trance.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya starts, “I didn’t, um, realize you came here.”

“Move,” he snarls at the boy standing between them, who meets his gaze coolly.

“No.”

“Todoroki,” Midoriya starts, only to flinch back when Katsuki snarls at him again.

It’s funny, Katsuki thinks, because his reason for hating Midoriya had long since been forgotten. The feelings of animosity linger despite this, and Katsuki can’t quite bring himself to throw them away. So no, he can’t say he has a reason for shoving Todoroki and wrenching Midoriya up by the collar, but Katsuki has come to find that a lot of times, there really isn’t a method to his madness.

Everyone else unfreezes simultaneously and suddenly, they’re all shouting.

Katsuki is hyper-aware of his hands and of the words everybody is saying. He watches through his peripherals as Uraraka launches herself over the counter, and as she braces her hands against his chest and shoves. He drops Midoriya as everything comes crashing back down.

Katsuki’s rage is like fire, but there’s a brand of sadness like ice that roots itself in his chest and makes a home.

“What is your problem?” Uraraka demands, eyes dark, too dark, expression too hard, too cold.

“He’s my problem,” Katsuki hisses. His rage is gone, but he can’t stop himself now.

Todoroki pulls Midoriya up, but Midoriya keeps looking back with something like pity in his eyes and Katsuki hates it. He growls, moving towards them, but Uraraka takes his arm in a vice grip. Katsuki is forced to watch Midoriya leave. Something simmers at the base of Katsuki’s throat, the edges of his eyes, swelling like a symphony.

When Uraraka lets go, Katsuki feels the cold where her touch had been. She marches around the counter to retrieve a drink — his drink — and shoves it into his hands.

“Listen,” she snaps, “I don’t know what your problem with Izuku is, but keep it out of here.”

Izuku. The name sticks like a threat, jealousy swelling in his chest. He doesn’t pause in tipping his head back and downing half the scalding coffee, ignoring the way it burns down his throat.

Calmness washes over him, but it feels off somehow. There’s an odd taste to his tongue, to his drink, and he pauses.

He catches sight of Uraraka’s hands, barely hiding a bottle beneath the counter, and her expression: observant, expectant. His chest wrenches.

Perhaps, he realizes, he doesn’t have as much of a reason to come back as he thought. He looks around, at the way they’re all watching him like he’s dirt, like he’s something that doesn’t belong. Katsuki’s never made a habit of listening to people’s opinions about him, but this time he’s inclined to agree.

Katsuki’s rage is red hot, blue hot, white hot. Katsuki’s anger is like ice, like sadness.

“How dare you,” he snarls, voice soft, cold, fixing Uraraka with a piercing glare and leaving the rest unsaid. After all I shared with you.

He walks out.

--

Katsuki takes a different route to class.

Avoiding the cafe is easy, but the abrupt change leaves a yearning hole in his chest. The stars seem dimmer when he watches them, and the mountains seems empty. No matter how loudly he screams, the sky is silent and his pain remains.

And god, he thinks, what a mistake it was to fall for a girl who had the stars living in her eyes.

He evades Uraraka just fine, but he’s not so lucky with the others.

It’s Tokoyami he encounters first, crouching outside of a flower shop and talking to a bird. It flies away when it sees Katsuki, and he thinks about Uraraka on the mountains, arms spread against the wind. Then it’s Ashido, and she laughs joyfully when she sees him. Her face is splattered with paint and she’s racing alongside artwork of a bold, yellow lion as it sprints across the brick it’s painted on. Her smile is bright, broad, warm, but it’s not the one he wants to see.

There’s a familiar twist in his chest.

He expects to see Kirishima sooner or later, and sure enough, he catches sight of red hair in the nearby park.

“Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima greets, waving him over.

He’s watching a group of children as they make friendship bracelets, charming them with simple spells. Katsuki sits beside him, slouching back. Kirishima leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

“You’re gonna leave when you graduate, aren’t you?” He asks, but his gaze doesn’t shift to Bakugou.

“Of course,” Katsuki replies, “that’s always been the plan.”

“Will you come back?”

“I—”

With a start, Katsuki realizes that he doesn’t know.

“You know,” Kirishima continues, “we are your friends, Bakugou. That day — when you left, Uraraka cried. I don’t think she wanted anyone else to see, but I did.” He gives Katsuki a half smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either — but like, you’re my bro, y’know? I had to hold out some sort of hope. You … You’re predictable, Bakugou. I figured I’d run into you eventually. You’re always chasing the sunset.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

“It means you know where you’re going. We all do, I think. We’ve got our gazes set on some prize in the distant future and it’s all we ever think about. But maybe you should stop and give your surroundings another look. Just while you’re still here, y’know? One of these days you’ll be out there and life’ll just pass you by.”

Kirishima gives him the chance to speak, but Katsuki stays silent.

So,” Kirishima stands, watching as the kids run off to play, “just give it some thought. This might be it. You gotta embrace little things when you can.”

He doesn’t watch Kirishima leave, but he hears the cheerful humming as it fades.

Midoriya finds Katsuki, despite Katsuki’s efforts to avoid him.

“Kacchan!” He shouts from down the sidewalk, and Katsuki’s gaze locks onto him.

Midoriya stands his ground, fists clenched and jaw set. “You’re acting like a child!” He announces.

Katsuki is not in the mood to deal with this. He sneers, marching towards Midoriya and expecting him to move, to flee, to cower, but he doesn’t budge. He holds Katsuki’s gaze.

“The fu—?”

“I said you’re acting like a child!” Midoriya repeats. “Whatever your problem is with me, don’t take it out on our friends! Everyone cares about you, no matter what you think.”

“I’m not—”

“Just listen to me for once!”

Midoriya raises his voice and Katsuki’s jaws snap shut. His gaze remains fixed on Midoriya, who stares him down unflinchingly. Katsuki doesn’t remember why he hated Midoriya Izuku, but he does know that something about him in this moment reminds Katsuki of himself.

For once, he listens.

“Look at the stars,” Midoriya starts, “just look at them. They’re the same stars as they were last week, last year, and last century. Maybe a couple have died, but the majority are still there. The same stars as when we were kids, wishing we knew what was out there, and the same stars as when we weren’t even thought of. In a hundred years, people might not even know who people like me or Ochako or Shouto or Iida or Ashido or you are. But Kacchan, everyone will know these same stars.”

Katsuki opens his mouth to speak, but Midoriya isn’t done.

“What I’m saying is that what matters is the here and now. Your future matters, but you can’t just pretend the present doesn’t exist. You can’t ignore what’s right in front of you anymore. I don’t care what you think about me — maybe it’s best we go our separate ways — but that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil with each other or our mutual friends. Yes, friends. They care about you, and I know you care about them. You don’t always have to follow the sun, Kacchan. Sometimes it’s okay to slow down and look around.”

Then, Midoriya smiles, tentatively reaching out a hand.

“Truce?” He asks.

Katsuki thinks about the stars, about the way that they’re really just exploding balls of gas far above them. Katsuki thinks about his life, existing in the blink of an eye in the course of the universe. Katsuki thinks about his feelings towards Midoriya, the animosity he carries. He thinks why?

Katsuki takes Midoriya’s hand.

Thursday morning, he finds himself back in front of Whole Latte Love.

“God,” he snorts, pushing open the door, “that name is still awful.”

Uraraka lifts her head, lips parted to greet him, but she falters when he meets her eyes.

“Bakugou,” she breathes, lip trembling.

Katsuki doesn’t even get a word out.

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have put the calm in your coffee! I wasn’t thinking about it and—”

Katsuki approaches the counter as she goes on, letting her talk until she runs out of words and is left staring up at him, looking guilty and nervous.

“Listen,” Katsuki sighs, “I’ve had some sense talked into me by a couple of people this week. I know when I’m in the wrong — I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have started things with Deku here, but I did have to right to get mad about the coffee — which I will forgive you for, but only on one condition.”

“Yes!” Uraraka says, perhaps too eagerly.

“Make me another,” he says, “but with a shot of courage.”

Uraraka looks vaguely confused, but she complies.

The cafe is as empty as always on Thursday mornings, and Katsuki is beyond grateful for that. Uraraka slides the coffee to him and Katsuki downs most of it. He feels the emotion settle into his chest like a balloon, lightening every part of him, watches the way Uraraka’s heart tattoo changes to a soft pink, the way she clutches the bottle of courage in her hand, watches the way the autumn sunlight casts soft hues of yellows and orange across her face and her wide, starlight eyes. Katsuki watches the way Uraraka watches him, lips parted and gaze unwavering, Katsuki watches Uraraka from over the edge of his coffee, like he did on the day he’d realized —

Katsuki lowers his coffee, leans over the counter, and presses his lips to hers.

Bakugou Katsuki spends his evenings tallying sunsets and his nights counting stars.

Now he counts how many times Ochako smiles at him, and how many times she giggles late in the night when they run through the town together, two parts of a star who found each other again. 

[orbyssarchives]

A Brief tl;dr

This is probably a lot to say for 20 unfinished webcomic pages and I know I can be fairly long-winded so if you just wanna skip ahead and click through the pictures I’ve put up, I understand.

The TL;DR is

Hello and welcome to Mage Punk Archives! My name is Tables and this is some of the work that I’ve done over the last few years and what I’ve been up to in my little corner of the world. This is the third and last of a series of posts, outlining a number of updates that I completed on the site.

Included are some of my inspirations and a little of what I’ve learned so far about myself as an ever growing artist up to this point.

After this, I want to keep the content more focused on the actual art and story.

  I’ll post to this site as often as I am able.

    Thanks for reading!

  ***

Long Ago, Before the miracle of handheld internet searches and Instagram

When I was but a young, internet webling, I was heavily into shitty online flash games and looking for anything even remotely related to my interests at the time. From Mario and Sonic to various comics, videos games, anime and things never to be said aloud (pornpornporn). My love of the likes of Super Mario Bros and Sonic the Hedgehog (big fandoms for me at the time) would later lead me to sprite comics. Today, my feelings for the little hodge podge collage strips of old video game sprite sheets and backgrounds are a little mixed.

(They were beautiful and I’m gonna make one someday)

Then, in Highschool, I took a basic Web Design class. It was a VVoid World Web of Notepad and Internet Explorer where a kindly old crone passed on to those of us there, some knowledge of the ancient runic language which forms the foundations of the World Wide Web: HTML. Tables, frames, css, oh my! This knowledge would eventually prove invaluable.

Throughout our studies we were occasionally allowed to venture out into the Wider World Web. It was during these little adventures and travels across the Web that I happened upon the magical land of Webcomics. It was also during this time that I began break free of the enchantment of sprites. Even though I would probably never return to them, they would always hold a special place in my heart.

  The Internet is for [Comics]

    Webcomics – Synonymous with “Masochism”

At first, I had no idea just how grueling webcomics could be. Most webcomic artists pump out pages one to three times a week. At the time I got into them, MegaTokyo, then still partially a video game webcomic, was just releasing its third printed book; 2-3 updates a week with a loosely set schedule. Evan Dahm was wrapping up his surreal fantasy epic, Rice Boy; with updates consistently going up Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The various sprite and drawn webcomics that I was following at the time were updating all the time. Seeing all the great work going up, I felt encouraged to try it myself.

I drew these closer to the end of my junior year of high school.

Desu

Taking major inspiration from a lot of the manga and anime that I was enjoying then, I used pen and ink to make my comic pages. I liked working in black and white because it felt direct and skipping on color made it easier to finish faster. I figured I could work faster if I didn’t have to worry about the extra step. When I did want to use color, as is typical for the early pages of a new manga, I used markers.

At the time, I had no idea that mangakas used assistants. That’s messed up.

Not to say that it was completely unrealistic, but back in the real world I could only average one black and white page a week. If even. The spider webs I was drawing all over were so that I wouldn’t have to use a ruler to draw my panel proper borders. I thought it gave the comic an “old archive”. In the end, I concluded that the spider webs should have their place and not be all over.

This time, I decided to work a little more carefully and deliberately.

  Moving Forward

It was going pretty well but by the time page 7 rolled around, it was time for midterms and I had become too self-conscious and uncomfortable with the way I was drawing my comic pages then. Then, it was time to take finishing high school seriously and before I knew it, I was a freshman at The Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale. I did a lot of growing in the next four years that I attended there. Unfortunately, I never revisited those pages. Instead, near the end of my sophomore year, I took a Sequential Art class where the Final was a full-color, 5-page comic.

These are the ink-wash versions of the 7-page Final that I submitted. I’d originally colored them digitally to meet project requirements but I don’t want to post those just yet..

  In the End

I wasn’t satisfied. The truth was that I waited until the last minute, rushed it, and over-reached on a re-draw that wasn’t much fun for me to work on. During the course of that Sequential Art class my professor turned my attention to artists like Moebius and Mike Mignola. I also came across Katsuya Terada’s stuff around this time.

  And school went on…

    I worked on Mage Punk when I could between assignments.

    Between thinking I could possibly work on a for-print comic…

    …and a webcomic at the same time.

  The End was Near

Most of these were actually made towards the end of my four years at Ai. Those of us graduating were tasked with compiling our work from the years past in accordance with the requirements for obtaining our degrees. I believe that we were given two semesters to gather our pieces and do any revisions to previous works to get them up to date with the rest of the portfolio piece. Illustration Graduates at AiFL were typically required to gather a required selection of their work into an on-demand printed book. The year that I graduated, my department decided to change things around a little. Specifically, we were given the option to collect the requirement work into a plain black binder portfolio and make the printed book more geared towards our pursuits. I opted to make a Mage Punk/Orbyss Archives “Zine” as my main portfolio piece.

  And Then College was Over

I drew a few more pages of the comic until I became employed full-time. These days, there aren��t enough free hours in my days for me to keep up with any typical webcomic’s update schedule so for a long while I stopped working on the comic altogether. I’m squeezing as much work out of every second that I’m not there; with whatever energy I can muster. This includes planning, writing, sketching and drawing. Before I got back to work on the site, I was posting fairly regularly to my Twitter and Instagram; those posts took time to do as well.

  Most of this post was written in separate sessions on my commutes to work.

“Shortcuts”

Even though I always wanted to present Mage Punk as a webcomic, I always worked on it like it would go to print eventually. This created a confusing mindset for me when working on the comic, where I had to work on a whole book, but I have to rush to finish every page. If I wanted to put out pages more frequently I took shortcuts at any point I could to be done with them. Even if I created a good buffer of finished pages, I’d still run into that same pitfall eventually. I wasn’t enjoying my project because of a pressure I applied on myself to finish it in a way I wasn’t necessarily comfortable with. I didn’t even get that much done in the end.

It’s important that I work on it at a pace that lets me show the best of my ability. I would love it if I could be properly finished with the pages before I post them but if I wait before it’s all good and done I’ll just never get around to posting anything, forever floating, aimlessly, throughout creative internet limbo.

Instead, if I have to work on my comic in piecemeal, I’ll just post it up in piecemeal. Mage Punk will still be presented as a webcomic but, until the end of the book is done, certain changes are still a possibility. Editing is an important part of producing any book and I’m going to make its presentation reflect that.

  Cue Rhidiculous shouting “I told you so!” from some nearby bushes.

  A Webcomic in Presentation Only?

Those Two Images are the Same Page

Instead of trying to finish things at breakneck speeds, I’m going to work on the comics at a more reasonable pace. I’ll try to work on it mainly Chapter to chapter instead of page to page like how a webcomic normally is done (buffers aside) This gives me the opportunity to take a step back and get a broader look at the story while still putting out content in enjoyable chunks.

It’s difficult for me to wrap my head around drawing a comic on a start-to-finish, page-by-page basis. While I was working on the later pages in the chapter I kept finding myself jumping around and making changes to previous pages to make some things more consistent with later parts of the story. Instead of working page-by-page, I was editing the chapter as a whole to try to strengthen the narrative I’m trying to tell.

To that end, I still want to present it on this site as a webcomic; if only in name and archive.

The Process

At the VERY longtime behest of my editor, I’ll be presenting the comic as a work in progress at various points in the following production stages.

Writing

I’ll post dialog excerpts here and there. Nothing that can spoil the story too much.

This step will be kept largely behind the scenes.

Thumbnails

I do these on index cards in ballpoint pen to figure out the sequence of events that I most prefer.

This is the step where I’m prone to overloading a page with information.

First Drafts

Full size roughs of the earlier thumbnails. This step helps me get a better sense of how crowded or unbalanced a page might be early on.

This step also helps to prune out any strenuous scenes or dialog that could otherwise have their own pages.

If it isn’t working visually at this point, it’s not going to work in the next step.

Pencils

This is where the real drawing happens. Drawings in this step are made by either digital or traditional means depending on when or where I’m working.

Inking

This step is exactly like the drawing step but in pen and ink. Despite my affinity for real pen and ink, I’ll mainly be working this step digitally.

Color

This step is wrought with indecision but it also one of the faster, more fun steps to do.

Lettering

I’ve removed the dialog from all the pages currently up, opting to keep that out until a chapter is completed; it’s the thing I’m likeliest to change the most frequently until the end.

All lettering is currently done digitally but I’m considering the possibility of hand lettering.

Drawing dialog can be quite fulfilling but it takes a lot of practice.

Editing

This part will be happening all throughout. Page re-orders, panel redraws, changes in dialog.

Until the book is done.

  Here We Are

I’ve already made some revisions to a handful of the pages that are already up; if you browse through the comics you can see the revisions noted in the comic descriptions. I’ll make blog posts for any major revisions or series of revisions that I do. I have a few ideas for some smaller projects that I can work on while I work on Mage Punk. Whether they be illustrations, stories, or even mini-comics like this silly thing down here.

      Moving on

I might have also mentioned before that I have a few other drawings that I wanted to make for the site. In particular I have a neat idea for some social media icon illustrations. I wanna make something that takes advantage of what I’ve learned with using CSS. It’s nothing too fancy.

All that said, future posts will be a bit more brief than these last three were. I’d much rather write and post about the work itself, but I feel like I’ve hit a personal milestone and felt the need to ramble on about it a little.

    Until next time,

  Thanks for reading!

    The Big Site Update (Part 3) A Brief tl;dr This is probably a lot to say for 20 unfinished webcomic pages and 

[calucadu]

Ochako’s discovery

This is the piece I made for the @kindergarden-zine, a multifandom kindergarten themed zine!

The zine is super cute! Everyone worked super hard to make their lovely pieces 💜

I’m extremely happy with how my piece turned out! I’m very proud of it and I loved working on it! 😊

Ochako’s discovery, a Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia One Shot.

Summary: Ochako is a four-year-old girl in kindergarten that hasn’t developed a quirk yet. She’s been explained what they are, and lives with two parents who have special abilities of their own, but she hasn’t found hers yet.

Characters: Uraraka Ochako, Uraraka Ochako’s Mother, Uraraka Ochako’s Father, Original Characters.

Rating: General

Read on AO3

Or read below the cut

Ochako is a four-year-old girl in kindergarten that hasn’t developed a quirk yet. She’s been explained what they are, and lives with two parents who have special abilities of their own, but she hasn’t found hers yet.

One Monday afternoon, when she’s in the living room playing with her blocks, she feels a strange tingling sensation running through her fingers. Instinctively, she lets the power flow from within her, and her eyes grow wide in amazement as she sees a green block slowly rising towards her.

Screaming, she runs towards the kitchen, without noticing that the toy is following her. When she reaches her mum and dad and asks for help, she’s surprised to find that they aren’t scared like she is. In fact, quite the opposite: they seem delighted with whatever is happening to their daughter.

Ochako is about to scream louder when tears come rushing down her cheeks and her mother picks her up.

“It’s your quirk, sweetie!” She tells her, overjoyed. “It’s finally manifested!”

The block comes cluttering to the floor loudly as the child lets out a shaky breath of relief.

Her parents explain what it means to have a power and they even tell her she’s lucky because hers is fantastic. Ochako feels pleased with herself for discovering something so cool!

As she tries to understand her new power, she suddenly remembers some of her friends have also developed their quirks. She can’t wait to show them hers!

 She’s giddy the next morning, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement as her mother dresses her in the cute little uniform she has to wear for kindergarten.

Her mum giggles as she watches her, scolding her lightly when she wriggles too much and doesn’t put her arm through the sleeve of her blue shirt.

“Ochako, sweetie,” she says lightly, trying to get her daughter’s attention, “we need to get you dressed.”

Breakfast goes by more or less the same way, with her father struggling to get her to finish her milk. Ochako keeps floating her Sippy cup away from her mouth and giggling while her dad tries to persuade her that the faster she finishes, the earlier she’ll be to kindergarten, but her daughter just doesn’t want to listen.

She stops abruptly when a pang of pain hits her and she clutches her stomach, forgetting about her Sippy cup, which comes rushing to the floor, spilling milk everywhere.

Her father is about to scold her when he notices something’s wrong and immediately goes to her side, picking her up and asking her to tell him what is happening to her.

“My tummy!” She wails, sobbing loudly. “It hurts!”

Worried, they decide to take her to the doctor, who immediately pins the pain to overuse of her quirk, and her parents have to instruct her to be careful when she makes things float. Ochako doesn’t quite understand it, but with watery eyes she agrees to listen to their warnings.

Her tummy stops hurting by the time they get her to class, but she’s not as happy as she was that morning.

She’s scared to use her quirk again because she doesn’t want the pain to return so she just spends the entire day moping in a corner as she doodles.

Back at home, when her parents see she’s visibly upset, they tell her that the doctor’s warnings didn’t mean she can never use her power again, only that she needs to be careful.

Because that doesn’t seem to make it much better, her mum comes up with a way to get her to use it again. “Honey, you’ve got to practice your power, little by little if that’s what you need, to make the pain go away.” She’s smiling as she says it, crouched down so she’s levelled with her daughter. “Like how you learnt to tie your shoes. At first you couldn’t but after you practised and practiced you could do it perfectly!”

“Yeah, now you’re so good at it!” Her father chimes in when he sees their daughter perked up noticeably.

“Pwactice.” Ochako says, her eyes shining once more. “Okay!”

 At home she starts to experiment with her newfound ability. She lifts her crayons up when she gets bored of drawing, and she watches intently as they slowly crash into one another in the air.

This causes her to get tummy aches often, though, forcing her to stop abruptly. The crayons all end up scattered on the floor as she clutches her stomach and wails.

She tries not to do it too often, even though something inside of her nags at her to work compulsively on her ability. She repeats to herself what her mother told her: if she practises, the pain will go away.

Bored of her toys, she decides to try her quirk on something bigger. With a little bit of difficulty, she clambers up the small table where her mum’s favourite vase is, and places her small hands on it, releasing her quirk. The object shakily goes up. It’s heavy since it’s full of water and flowers, and it takes a lot of concentration from her to keep it in the air.

She wants to get down from the table, so she sort of throws herself off. Tumbling down makes her forget about the vase, which also falls to the ground, smashing completely when it hits the floor.

In pain – from both her usual tummy aches and her knees, from falling – and in shock because she’s realised she’s broken her mummy’s special object she got as a gift, Ochako starts wailing uncontrollably, terrified of her mum’s reprimand.

Her mother is alerted by both the crying and the crashing, and runs into the hall, where she finds the tell-tale signs of her daughter’s crime.

“Are you hurt?” Her mum asks her, and her child slowly nods her head, tears running down her cheeks. Sighing, she instructs her not to move so she can clean the mess and tend to her.

Ochako nods again, trying to stop the sobs she can’t help but emit. Her mum tut-tuts gently and walks over the broken porcelain carefully to pick up her child.  

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she shushes her as she calms her down, rocking her against her chest and stroking her hair lovingly with her free hand. “I know it was an accident and that you didn’t mean to break it.”

“I’m sowwy mummy.” Ochako hiccups against her mother’s shoulder, grabbing her shirt tightly.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Her mum whispers as she cradles her, trying to soothe her with her soft voice. “I forgive you.”

When she manages to get her child to stop crying, she looks into her eyes sternly and tries to tell her off. “That doesn’t mean I’m not angry though.”

Her mother can’t exactly forbid her from using her quirk at home, but she does limit how she must use it. Ochako has to practice her little gift, or she will never learn how to master it, and doing so at a young age is the key to success. “From now on you’ll only be allowed to use your quirk when your father or I are in the room, do I make myself clear?”

While Ochako doesn’t understand all of the words her mother said, she does get the overall idea, so she nods her head hesitantly.

 Her mummy hasn’t said anything about using her quirk in class though, so Ochako’s happy to practice there. She plays with her pencils all day long, giggling inanely.

When she gets bored of making her own things float, she decides to play with something else. She finds the closest thing that’s not hers to be her classmate’s bright yellow hat, so she grabs it from his head and lets it slowly raise up, watching in amazement as it floats away. The boy starts crying immediately, demanding her to give it back while screaming that his mummy will punish him if he loses another one of his things.

Panicking, she looks at the boy but tries to tell him she doesn’t know how to get things down. Normally they fall to the ground when the pain gets too much to bear.

Alarmed by the child’s wailing, the teacher approaches the pair and quickly notices what’s wrong. She grabs the floating hat and crouches next to the children as she fights the headgear from trying to fly away.

“You’re not supposed to do that with your quirk.” She scolds her softly, smiling lovingly at the still weeping child next to her. “Please give him back his hat and apologise.”

Ochako doesn’t know what she did wrong – after all, she’s just practising her ability – but does as she is told. Releasing the power inside of her mind makes it stop floating and the hat immediately stops struggling in the teacher’s hands, who gives it to her.

Hesitantly, the girl thrusts it against the boy’s chest, flushing in embarrassment as she forces out a low “I’m sowwy.”

It’s not only the humiliation and shame she’s just felt, it’s also the weird sensation of not knowing what she’s doing wrong. What is she supposed to do with her power then? On top of that, her mum had already told her off. Ochako isn’t as happy with it as she was at first.

She thinks it’s a useless quirk, and all it does is give her tummy aches and make her believe she’s misbehaving.

As a result, she decides to stop using her quirk.

 “What’s wrong, Ochako?” Her father asks as he picks her up from class that day.

The little girl just pouts, unwilling to unfold her crossed arms or stop staring at the ground.

“Nothing.” She mutters back.

Her dad chuckles warmly as he picks her up and scoops her into a big hug. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you’ve got such a long face?”

Ochako doesn’t answer. She does lift her head up slightly, and her big, round eyes lock with her father’s for a few seconds before she turns her gaze back to the floor again. She shakes her head and remains silent.

“Will a hug make it better?” He asks good-humouredly and she quickly smiles, spreading her arms widely to tell her dad that she’s ready for him to accept her invitation. He cuddles her to his chest and rocks her against it, shushing her gently.

 Ochako is playing in the living room with some toy cars while her parents watch her. Her dad sometimes joins in, going ‘vroom, vroom’ and making her giggle as he trails the plastic vehicle over her body, up and down her arms and shoulders. He tangles it in her hair and she shakes her head to try to get him to remove it from there.

After playing for a while, her mother frowns, looking at her daughter with concern when she finally notices something is off. “What’s wrong, honey?” She asks, kneeling down in front of her daughter. “You haven’t been using your quirk for a few days. Is your tummy feeling alright?”

“No.” Ochako takes a while to answer her, unable to look at her mother as she lies to her.

“Oh, baby, come here.” Her mum coos, picking her up and putting her on her lap. “Have you been using it too much in class?”

Her child doesn’t answer. She just averts her eyes and continues to play with the red car in her hand, hoping it will make her mum stop asking questions.

“Ochako, you can always tell mummy if something is wrong.”

“My power is bad.”

“Why do you say that?” Her father asks her, and she looks away, unwilling to answer. She shrugs her shoulders and her mother lifts her chin up with her fingers.

“Did anything happen?”

“Your power isn’t bad.” Her dad sighs, closing his eyes before scooting closer to them. “Show me what you can do, I bet it’s amazing.”

And just like that, Ochako feels a little bit better. She hops off her mother’s lap and touches the toy car, making it float.

“Bring it over to me.” Her father instructs. When she gets up and is about to reach for it, he tells her to stop. “No. With your quirk. Make it come to me.”

The girl frowns. She’s never done that before, she’s not sure she can. But she tries to, anyway, because she loves her father and because both her parents are looking at her expectantly.

She concentrates on trying to get it to move in the direction she wants it to. It’s wobbly, but the car slowly heads towards her father, who catches it in his open hands.

“See? You’re going to be a star.” He smiles at her.

Ochako feels her heart swell inside her chest.

 Finding out she can make things go from one place to another changes everything! The girl feels like she’s discovered a new power altogether. It’s not just making things float – it’s making them move. With an intention, a purpose.

Ochako’s invented a new game. She likes touching other people’s objects and making them fly from one part of the classroom to another.

Smiling, she lifts her tiny hands up and carefully traces the teacher’s red pen with her fingers. She lets go of the object and watches with wonder in her eyes as it slowly drifts away from her. With a faint giggle, she follows the movements until she starts feeling queasy and lets the pen drop onto the floor. It rolls on the ground and ends up behind a cushion. The little girl tilts her head in bewilderment, but quickly forgets about it when she finds a new object to play with. This time it’s a pink and yellow ball just slightly bigger than her hands.

“What are you doing?” Someone suddenly asks her.

Startled, Ochako turns around and sees Naoko, a dark-haired girl in her class she’s not overly acquainted with. Her head’s tilted to the side and there’s a quizzical look on her face.

Relieved that she hasn’t been caught, she goes back to making things float.

“Pwactising!” Ochako replies happily, showing her how she makes the ball fly only by touching it.

“Will you get in trouble?”

Ochako decides not to answer that one, hoping the girl will leave her alone.

“Your power is so cool.” Naoko whispers, a soft smile on her face. “I don’t have mine yet.”

Because she doesn’t answer, the girl comes closer and sits down next to her. “What else can you do?” She finally asks.

“Just this.” Ochako replies as she makes the ball drop onto the floor.

“You can make it fly!”

Ochako nods her head and goes to pick up the object. She feels energy tingle through her fingers and she giggles. “It tickles.”

She doesn’t let it go until a few seconds later, and then she watches with a giant smile on her face as it rises through the air. Naoko claps in excitement as she whispers: “You’re so cool!”

 Ochako has always wanted to fly. When she was smaller, she used to run around the park flapping her arms as if they were wings and pretending she was soaring the sky.

“I want to fly.” She states, staring up at the sky with an unreadable look on her face. “But I don’t have wings. I’m not a bird.”

She wishes she were because when she makes things float around, she herself wants to fly.

Granted, she’s never tried to make herself fly, so she doesn’t even know if it’s possible, but she sure wishes she could.

One day it occurs to her that she could try it out on the playhouse they have in the kindergarten’s playground.

It’s big and colourful and made for the children to clamber over and play. It has three slides and various ladders, as well as two tunnels. Normally they use it by pretending it’s a castle, but this time Ochako has a different idea in mind.

Going up the small steps she finds herself overlooking the whole playground. She can see the recent drawings they did that are up on the windows, decorating their classroom.

She smiles, sort of confident, but mostly excited.

Placing both her hands on her cheeks, she slowly lets her quirk flow from her fingers. Feeling a warm tickle being emitted from them she lets her power emanate and slowly her body starts floating upwards.

At first she feels elated – she can fly! But then, as she sees her feet getting further away from the ground and she feels the familiar nauseating sensation in her tummy, she starts to scream, terrified.

She doesn’t know how to get down, and even if she did, she could fall and hurt herself.

Ochako is too busy screaming and kicking her legs to notice the teacher is running towards her to aid her, but when she feels a tight grip on her ankle, she immediately stops wailing.

“Ochako-chan!” the teacher calls out to her. “Let go of your quirk!”

For a moment the young child is petrified. How can she do that? Her eyes go back down and she panics when she sees that not only her feet but now the woman’s as well are far from the ground.

“It’ll hurt!” she screams, closing her eyes.

“I’ve got you!” the woman urges her “Do it now!”

The hint of urgency in her tone of voice forces Ochako to follow her instructions, and she lets go of her quirk. Her tummy does a leap as she notices the new feeling of falling from a distance and she screams, trying to brace herself before they hit the ground.

She lands on a cushiony substance, and when she opens her eyes again, she realises a bubble has wrapped around her.

“I’ve got you.” The teacher smiles at her, relief clear on her face as she says it.

Ochako pants as she’s lifted by the woman, who gives her a once-over before putting her back down onto the floor.

“You must never, ever do that again. Do you understand?” The teacher reprimands her, forcing tears to well up in the little girl’s eyes. “It’s dangerous.”

“Okay.” She whispers reluctantly and slightly dejected, her lower lip wobbling.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

When the teacher leaves, Ochako feels tears roll down her cheeks and she starts sobbing uncontrollably.

“Why are you crying?” A soft but slightly squeaky voice makes her turn her head. Through blurred vision she sees Naoko staring at her with a worried look on her face.

“I got told off for making myself fly.”

“But that shouldn’t make you cry. Flying is so cool!”

Unfortunately, those words don’t make Ochako feel better.

 It only gets worse when her parents come to pick her up. They explain to her that the teacher phoned because she wanted to speak to them about her recent behaviour.

While the adults talk Ochako doesn’t listen, but feels shame heat her cheeks. Her teacher is telling them about how she’s been misbehaving, taking other children’s stuff and hiding it, and then trying to fly, putting herself in danger.

She hears her mother gasp, horrified, and the child looks away, her lip wobbling yet again.

“Ochako…” She utters, shocked and clearly disappointment. She’s about to scold her when Naoko comes running, her own parents calling for her.

“It’s not bad!” The child screams.

“Naoko!” Her mother says, grabbing her daughter’s wrist and pulling her away. “Don’t interrupt! It’s rude.”

“Ochako isn’t a bad person! Her power isn’t evil.”

The teacher sighs but gives her a wide smile. “It’s not evil, Naoko. It’s dangerous. She could’ve hurt herself.”

“But she’s good!” The girl tries to say again, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Naoko! Let’s go!” Her mother insists, not pleased with her own child’s behaviour.

“She could use her power to do good!”

Ochako’s father clears his throat. “Yeah, you’re right. She could and she should. It’s how you use your quirk that matters.”

Naoko immediately smiles, finally feeling relief that someone listened to her.

“And I want my daughter to understand that. It’s true that I want her to be safe. Her safety is what’s most important to me, but I don’t want her to be discouraged. I want her to learn how to use it and to experiment. I want her quirk to grow with her.”

He sighs before kneeling down, and he picks his daughter up.

“I believe in you, Ochako. I believe in your abilities and I know you’ll one day figure them out. Don’t rush it, enjoy learning how to use it.”

The small child just looks at him with wide eyes, curiously waiting for what else he has to say.

“That doesn’t mean you should be stealing people’s stuff or throwing yourself from the swings. You need to use your quirk responsibly. And use it to do good.”

“What does ‘use it to do good’ mean?” Ochako asks, her voice soft.

“It means doing what you think is right in order to make the world a better place.” Her mother says as she strokes her child’s head. “And your father is right. We shouldn’t limit you or your power, we should help you make it grow.”

The teacher stares at them with surprise in her eyes. “That’s not…” is what she tries to say before she’s interrupted by Ochako’s father.

“It’s okay, I think we’ve finished here for today. Thank you for your hard work.”

He places his daughter on the floor and crouches next to Naoko.

“What’s your name?”

“Naoko.” The girl quickly answers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He replies, getting up and offering his hands to both small girls, who take them without hesitation.

“We’d love to have you around some day.” Ochako’s mother smiles warmly at the child before introducing herself to her parents.

“We’d also like that.” Naoko’s mum replies, surprise clear on her features as she returns the grin.

“Shall we go, then?” Ochako’s father asks, but before he can start walking, the two girls share a look and they quickly start running. He just follows them, laughing as he lets them lead them out of the kindergarten.

[android-for-life]

"Web Creator Spotlight | Stuart Schuffman"

Stuart Schuffman, a.k.a. Broke-Ass Stuart, is a globetrotting superblogger who has built his brand around the idea that you don’t actually need tons of money to enjoy yourself. Since the early 2000s he’s made it his mission to uncover hidden gems in his hometown of San Francisco and in cities like New York, San Diego, Detroit, Austin, and all over Europe as a longtime stringer for the backpacker’s bible, “Lonely Planet.” 

Over the years Stuart has published a handful of top-selling urban adventure guides dedicated to “busboys, poets, social workers, students, artists, musicians, magicians, mathematicians, maniacs, yodelers, and everyone else out there who wants to enjoy life not as a rich person, but as a real person.”

But to call Stuart a travel writer is to sell him short. He’s a web creator—a TV show host, marketer, social media manager, editor, writer, and publisher all wrapped into one. 

Launched in 2009, his website Brokeassstuart.com has grown from a local’s guide to metropolitan hotspots into a cultural force with an editorial staff covering politics, news, music, arts, and culture in the Bay Area and beyond. Even more impressive is the fact that Stuart still serves as the “Editor In Cheap” of his website while simultaneously writing and producing comedy shorts, live shows, and independent series that follow up where his show “Young, Broke, and Beautiful,” which aired on IFC in the early 2010s, left off.

“Life is an art project for me,” he says. But it’s also a job. And that’s where things get interesting.

We talked with Stuart to hear how he learned to navigate the ever-evolving landscape web creators face today.

So tell us ... what makes a web creator? What does your average day look like, etc?

It’s anyone dumb enough to plug away, day in and day out, over something they love and that they want to share with other people. I say “dumb” because it’s a terrible way to make a living, but if that’s not your main concern, it’s incredibly fulfilling on pretty much all other levels. 

As for my average day: things have been really topsy-turvy since COVID hit. Over 50 percent of our income dried up overnight so lately it’s been a lot of trying to figure out creative ways to fund this thing. I mean, I guess that’s how I spent much of my time before but, now it’s even more dire. 

Otherwise though, a typical day sees me: editing and publishing other people’s work, writing articles, doing social media for the content we create, doing sales, marketing, and business development, and answering a titanic amount of email. The thing about running your own independent media company is that my partner and I have to do about 30 different jobs. But at least I don't have some jerk boss I gotta deal with so it’s mostly worth it. 

Can you tell us a bit about your schedule? How do you get into the flow? What inspires you on a day to day basis and gets your creative energy flowing?

I give myself like an hour or so in the morning to watch Netflix while I slowly wake up. That way I’m ready to work without feeling rushed when I get down to it. As for inspiration, I’m always floored and inspired by the awesome content being created by our writers and editors. They make me so proud that I get to publish their voices. In fact, that’s one of the things I like best about what I do, I get to amplify voices that don’t always get heard.

Otherwise though, I get most excited when I’m creating new things. Life is an art project for me. Just in the past five years or so, I created and hosted seven episodes of a live late night show, put out a web series, won “best local website” a couple times, put out a zine, and ran for Mayor of SF. I’m working on some cool new projects right now that are still under wraps.

You’re super prolific! Can you describe your journey a bit? 

I’ve been doing this whole Broke-Ass Stuart thing for like 16 years now, so it’s a LONG story. But I’ll give you the short-ish version. 

Shortly after I finished college at UCSC, I was working in a candy store in North Beach. One day a guy I knew from the neighborhood I grew up in in San Diego came in with the woman that’s now his wife. As they were walking out she gave me her card and it said she was a travel writer. I thought, “I wanna be a travel writer” so I decided to become one. 

I put out my first zine, Broke-Ass Stuart’s Guide to Living Cheaply in San Francisco that summer (it was 2004). That was popular so I did an expanded version the following year. That ended up winning me “Best of the Bay” and I got a little notoriety. I got the zine in the hands of someone at Lonely Planet, and they liked it, and I ended up getting to go to Ireland to write about it for them.

I wanted to keep doing Broke-Ass Stuart but I also wanted to step it up and I actually found a book deal on craigslist. So I ended up doing three books. A Broke-Ass Stuart in SF book, an NYC book, and a book that was applicable everywhere in the U.S. 

Then in 2011 I had a travel TV show on IFC called Young, Broke & Beautiful. It was amazing. All the while though I was building up the website to be an arts & culture destination, so as my popularity grew, so did the site. Then running for Mayor obviously helped as well.

At this point we’re one of the most influential sites in the Bay Area for arts, culture, nightlife, and activism. It’s been a hell of a ride.

What are the best/worst parts of your job?

Getting to amplify voices that don’t always get heard while informing and entertaining hundreds of thousands of people a month is the best part for sure.

And then the hardest part, as you can imagine, trying to keep this thing afloat. I started this whole thing to be an art dude, but somehow ended up being a business dude out of necessity. I’m much better at creating funny and beautiful things than I am at making money. But I end up having to spend more time being a business dude than getting to create stuff. I’m at my happiest when I’m creating.

At the end of the day what is the ultimate goal of your blog/website? 

I used to care more about being famous, but as I get older, it doesn’t matter that much. I just want to create things that hopefully make the world a better place. Activism is a huge part of what we do at BrokeAssStuart.com. Over the years we’ve raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for various charities and causes. We’ve turned out tens of thousands of people to protest the many injustices that plague our world. Our Voter guides sometimes get like 30k views. And we’ve also made a lot of fart jokes. Gotta keep things balanced.  

Any words of advice for someone just getting started?

It's important to ask yourself if you really want to make a living doing something that you love. I know your immediate response is "Duh! Of course!" but really think about it. You're taking something that gives you joy and release, and turning it into a job. There will be many days where it is simply a job and that's something you need to be ok with.  

Another quick piece of advice is: build your audience before you try to monetize it. Get people to love what you do and believe in you before you start asking them for money.   

I could talk about this all day long. I've actually given a talk about how to "turn your side hustle into your main hustle" a number of times including at General Assembly and at Patreon's yearly conference, so if anyone reading this is interested in me giving the talk to you and your friends/coworkers reach out and we can figure out a price. 

And finally a quick #PayItForward. Name five other websites doing awesome stuff in your field.

SF Funcheap

48Hills

TableHopper

The Hard Times

Berkeleyside

Follow Broke-Ass Stuart on social media: Instagram | Twitter | Facebook | Patreon

Source : The Official Google Blog via Source information

[areemeers]

.

You guys, I have had such an incredibly beautiful day today. And I just wanna say to the universe: I fucking love you so much today.

I performed one of my pieces in front of a live audience today at the blue elephant theatre and it was such a wonderful experience. Let me talk about it in detail.

Mind you, I am kinda drunkish. I am going to a queer zine party thing tomorrow so I wanna half rush through this so I can sleep enough. But let me start. 

SO, I went to the blue elephant theatre as part of one of my assignments for uni because we had to do a piece on London & nightlife, and me being me, I thought hell yes, spoken word poetry, theatre, monologues...what else matters? So I went. 

I got there early (by 45 mins) so I went up to the bar where there was a art exhibition going on. and this Indian aunty noticed I was alone so she talked to me and got me a drink. then I interviewed the duty manager and I was making notes. and I thought I should perform. Then this girl, she got a drink and came and sat next to me and asked me, are you reviewing the art? 

Then I told her, no I am gonna cover the theatre downstairs, and she asked me are you performing? I said I want to. And she told me I should. And we talked about lots of stuff including Orphan Black. And she told me she deos improv and she told me I should perform. She was super sweet. And so funny.

Then there were performances. Oh my god, so incredible. Then after 6 set performance, I went up and did my piece on anxiety. 

Holy shit. It was such a beautiful experience. Everyone loved it. I wanna re-live that. Like, I got people coming to me after telling me they could relate to me. And so many people loved it. I literally loved today so much. 

And the poets, the performers, the audience. All of them. Oh my god.

Then I went to the bar. and now I am half asleep. Kinda drunkish. Writing this. 

I wanna perform more. 

I am so thankful.

Today was so awesome. 

Oh my god.