#Ragamuffin Day

[raggydollsscreenshots]

Posting screenshots from The Raggy Dolls every day until ITV puts it on ITVX: Day 100!!!!!!!:

THIS IS AS GOOD AS YOU'RE GETTING

[poorslaindoll]

DOES ANYONE STILL REMEMBER LENORE THE CUTE LITTLE DEAD GIRL???

I was unbelievably OBSESSED with the YouTube videos when I was in middle school. I would quote it religiously lmao.

Also I’d do anything for a little Ragamuffin plush lmao.

[givemetherapyimawritingtravesty]

Trying to unlearn how to forever hate my body based on hearing 'if you can pinch more than an inch it means you're fat' from someone who clearly doesn't know how skin works.

[clangandclatter]

Rich Mullins – A Liturgy, A Legacy, & A Ragamuffin Band (October 26, 1993)

[the-good-ship-ragamuffin]

Captains log, day 108. Deckhand Paisley is using the drinking water to bathe. Threw in brig. Third offense. Starship Ragamuffin has traveled 3.5 light-years from the Aurora Nebula and will dock at Andromeda 5 in three weeks, if crew does not mutiny first

[yourmommmmma12244]

Pets I think sinners characters have.

Smoke - Blue nose pit-bull. Her name is princess and she loves that dog like it was his own kid. Princess don’t play she barks at almost everyone and had bitten someone who almost stole outta smoke’s truck. (He gave her a treat afterwards)

Stack- Blue nose pitbull. Him and smoke got them from the same pound. But he’s dog name is Jawbreaker and is the happiest dog on earth. Unlike princess he’s scary. Ran away from a bird once but Stack wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Sammie - Gold fish. Had one when he was 10 years old and it lasted 3 days. He’s name was Goldie…

Pearline - corn snake. He’s name is Jerry and he just sleeps in his cage all day. Pearline loves Jerry and would die for him.

Mary - White Poodle. Like one of those rich ones from the movies. Her name is Aphrodite the 3rd. She’s spoiled and gets the most expensive stuff and she always barks at Jawbreaker.

Annie - American shorthair Orange tabby cat. He’s name is Sunny and he’s a well fed (Fat) cat. Smoke always bully him and calls him fat just for Annie to yell at him for talking to her son that way.

Remmick - Parrot. A sassy one named mango that Remmick stole from a rich family. He loves his bird to death and mango is always on his shoulders.

Delta slim - Golden retriever dog. He’s name is buddy and is always jumping on someone. Got it for his kid and was like “I ain’t taking care of it nor do I have to like that thing.” But ends up being the main person loving the dog and taking care of it.

Bo chow - Ragamuffin. Named her Muffin. It was really supposed to be Lisa’s cat but Bo got attached to her so now it’s his. Muffin walks around the store like one of those bodegas that you see in New York or Philly somewhere.

Grace - 2 ferrets. Pip & Squeak is their names and is actually Lisa’s pets this time but Grace does all the vet stuff. Pip and Squeak always find a way to run around Grace’s store and somehow never get stepped on.

Cornbread - 4 turtles. Yes he named them Leonardo,Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo. Stack and Sammie tries to convince him to get a Rat and name him Splinter.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Three -- A Reunion

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Part: Chapter Two -- Where Is She

Warnings: Another pretty tame chapter ngl. Mild mention of murder I guess??

Word Count: 1,195

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N just a reminder that my requests are open :)

"Blitzo, can't you just deal with whatever it is on your own?" Y/n groaned, rubbing her temples in irritation as she stepped out of the office, "I swear to god, if this is some joke? I'm gonna kill you."

There was the quiet, indiscernible drone of the TV. Other than that, the room was silent. Y/n looked up, her eyes falling on the wall beside the office's door and the people who stood before it.

Moxxie, Millie, and Blitzo in a quiet, tense line. She raised her eyebrows, nearly smiled.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Blitzo uncharacteristically said nothing, simply raising his hand and pointing to the entry way. Y/n's eyes narrowed, her muscles tensed and ready for a fight as she followed the path indicated by his gesture. The hand on the knife at her side fell slack as her gaze landed on an achingly familiar face.

"Holy shit." she mumbled, her mouth falling open a little.

"Yeah, uh, he's been asking for you?" Moxxie nervously explained, "You didn't... I mean, he's the Radio Demon. He hasn't been seen in years, you didn't fuck with him... did you?"

Y/n felt tears press behind her eyes again as she took a tentative step forwards. Then another one. Slowly, she crossed the room to the taller demon who just stood there with a smile, watching her all the while with his arms folded behind his back. Y/n peered up at him, her eyes narrowed as they met his own.

The one person in the whole world she'd been practically dying to see. There was a pain, he was the cause and the cure of it. Hesitantly, she raised a hand and poked his nose.

"Shit." Blitzo muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly as Millie let out a subtle gasp.

"Are you done?" Alastor asked, his voice crackling with irritation as he looked down at Y/n, whose arms were now crossed over her chest.

"I had to make sure you weren't a dream." she shrugged, turning her head away, "Mox was right, you've been gone seven years."

"Are you mad?" he teased, leaning down towards her ear.

Y/n rolled her eyes, turning to face him once again. She scowled at the man for a moment before a smile broke out across her face.

"I never could stay mad at you." she admitted, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I..." Moxxie trailed off in confusion.

Alastor slowly wrapped his arms around Y/n's waist.

"Mills, start planning a funeral." Blitzo scoffed.

Before any of the trio could say another word, he had lifted her off her feet and was spinning her in the air.

"Al!" Y/n shrieked through her laughter, "Stop it! You'll mess up my hair!"

He set her down again and the pair released each other.

"You menace." Y/n shook her head, still laughing, "It's like you knew I was thinking of you."

"You were, were you?" he teased, leaning down to her level.

"Y/n, do you know the Radio Demon?" Millie interrupted, taking a step forward.

Both Alastor and Y/n turned to face her.

"What, this old freak?" she asked, elbowing him gently.

"I resent that." Alastor hummed and Y/n laughed again, her joy unbridaled.

"Yeah, we're friends." Y/n confirmed, catching the genuine concern in her friend's eyes, "Known each other for about as long as I've been down here."

Alastor nodded as Y/n looked back up at him.

"Speaking of the old days," he hummed, looking her up and down, "what's this new look you've got?"

"Huh?" Y/n looked down at her clothes before turning and meeting his eyes once again, "Oh, I'm an assassin now."

"No no no, my dear." he shook his head, "This simply wont do. I can't have you wandering around looking like some ragamuffin."

Alastor snapped his fingers and Y/n looked down to see she was wearing a dress now. She almost yelled at him, almost tore him a new one and called him a dick. Then she realized what dress it was she was wearing. Y/n looked up at Alastor with wide eyes.

"This is..."

"The dress you murdered your husband in, yes."

Y/n squealed, throwing her arms around Alastor's neck and pulling him in for another tight hug that he reluctantly accepted. Letting him go, she spun around, watching the way the skit splayed out from her legs.

"You remembered! Oh, Alastor! Thank you."

"The fuck." Blitzo muttered to himself, watching the scene playing out before him.

Y/n beamed up at him as Alastor raised a claw, looping it through the circle on the collar Y/n still wore. All of her other accessories and clothing had vanished, as he had intended, except for this. He hummed thoughtfully and Y/n's cheeks grew hot with shame. She looked away.

"What's this then?" he asked, letting the ring fall from his finger.

It hit the leather of the collar with a quiet thud.

"Look, I... made some bad choices." Y/n sighed, refusing to meet his eyes, "A physical sign of a very real metaphysical decision I had to make."

"Quite possessive, to cast a spell like that." Alastor mused, "You always had a thing for that though, didn't you."

Y/n raised her arms, wrapping them tightly around her body at the harsh remark. She made to move away from him but, as she did, Alastor grabbed Y/n's chin, forcing her to look at him. He watched her expression carefully.

"You could have come to me. You know I would have taken that delectable little soul off your hands in a moment."

"Yeah well, you weren't here." Y/n firmly stated, taking a step back so he no longer held her, "I did what I had to do to survive."

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

"And who exactly did you make this... bad decision with?"

"Al, can we please talk about this later?"

"They don't know, do they."

"They do." Y/n insisted, "I just... please, not now."

"Fine." Alastor relented after a moment.

The pair fell silent, Alastor's critical gaze interlocked with Y/n's indignant one.

"Sooo," Blitzo began, breaking the awkward silence and drawing the attention of the room off the pair and onto him as he took a step forward, coming to a stop beside Millie, "you two fucking?"

"Jesus, Sir!?" Moxxie exclaimed in shock.

"You can't be serious, right?" Y/n laughed in surprise, "No, Blitzo, we're not fucking. The day Alastor has a sex drive is the day Heaven is overrun by... I don't know, giant killer bees?"

"It's more likely than you think, dear."

"What's that-"

Alastor cut her off mid sentence, placing a hand over her mouth as he caught the images flashing across the TV on the other side of the room.

"Hey, rude." Y/n scoffed, pulling herself from his grip.

Alastor ignored her. With a flick of his finger, he raised the volume on the TV. At the sight of his narrowed eyes and tight smile, Y/n turned to see what exactly was bothering him so much.

----

Next Chapter --> Chapter Four -- Vox

[darkmatters-ghost]

While I know that the Sonic Boom cartoon show hype is probably super dead, the way Sonic and Eggman interact has me convinced Eggman did SOME parenting when Sonic was tiny, so here's my headcanon for that. Enjoy!

While Eggman could conquer the island he lived at, Bygone Island, the one he found nearby would be much easier, hypothetically anyway.

While Seaside Island was redundantly named, it was much more his style. The villages on it were smaller and meeker. They had no real way to fight back against his takeover! Which made it the perfect starting point for his upcoming break in his villainy career! If he took that island, surely that would've made his father proud!

Unfortunately, 'if' is the key word in that sentence.

The little blue hedgehog was no older than five years old, but despite his youth, he sucessfully stood between Eggman and complete control of the island.

And the little ragamuffin didn't even talk.

He never said a word, just showed up with his super speed and sharp quills and would put a stop to whatever genius plan he was making by breaking all his robots.

Eggman wished he knew the little nuisance's name, but seeing as he wasn't interested in talking, it left Eggman to hypothesize on appearance alone.

His back quills had ripped right through a shabby brown jacket that he wore, to the point where it wouldn't work as a jacket much longer. His gloves were constantly dirty, and no one on the forsaken island admitted who his parents were. It was like he suddenly existed one day! With no explanation!

The blue hedgehog was often running at ludicrous speeds. Speeds that, depending on the day, neared the sound barrier!

Eggman feared the day that the little blueberry would create a sonic boom.

The 'impending-sonic-boom' as he began to call the hedgehog was rather unpredictible. It all fell on a scale. Going extremely fast one day, sticking his tounge out at him and humming mocking songs, to going at what must've been like a meer jog to him, with no aknowledgement of Eggman at all the next day.

But one day, things were far more unpredictable than Eggman had bargined for.

He was racing the impending-sonic-boom in the Eggmobile. There was no hope of winning, just like there was no hope for his receeding hairline, but he needed a test. He couldn't create a robotic duplicate without anything to base it on! So it didn't matter that there was no hope of winning!

Eggman didn't need to be fancy with it, he just told the five year old koolaid stain that if he reached the end of the course before the rodent did, that he would offically own the island. And being five years old, he took it seriously.

There was no hope of winning. Not with the determination on the little guy's face.

So one can imagine the confusion that Eggman was met with when he won.

It didn't make any sense! He wasn't even- It was just the Eggmobile! It was nothing fancy! That sound-barrier-threatening-lifeform was much faster than that!

Eggman got off of his Eggmobile and stared at the folliage in front of him. Waiting to see blue quills poking out from the tall grass.

"Oh, Blueberry! I'm waaaaiting!"

It took another three seconds for the kid to show up. And when he did, he looked tired.

"Kid, you gotta be faster than that! You're not doing this on purpose are you? If this is just to spite me..."

The rodent shook his head. Eggman wouldn't have believed him if he didn't look so tired.

"Then what gives!? You can't just suddenly be slow! It's narratively inconsistent!"

The blue menace looked up at Eggman with an angry look.

"No... foo." Eggman flinched. He just spoke. He just... SPOKE.

"What? What did you say?"

"No foo...d! No food... No... fast!"

"Your speed depends on your diet?" Eggman tapped his chin, before grinning smugly. "What, did you miss your peanut butter sandwich for lunch?"

He was promptly glared at. "Okay! Geez!" Eggman tapped his gauntlet, and used it to scan the incoming-sonic-boom.

"Let's see, you're about five years old, according to your inteligence and fine motor skills... and you're one foot tall so you should weigh roughly..."

Eggman's stomach sank. He knew for a fact that the arriving-sonic-boom wasn't hitting that number. Not by a lot... Eggman could pick him up like he was a beach ball.

"When did you last eat..?"

Nothing. Nothing but staring.

"Yesterday? ...No? How about the day before? Th-the day before that? Five days ago? How about a week ago?!"

It wasn't until they hit a week and a half that the sonic-boom-in-progress pointed at Eggman. Signifying the correct timeframe

Eggman stared at the incoming-sonic-boom. For anyone, that would be damaging. For a five year old, that was almost a death sentence.

Eggman crouched down to the sonic-boom-creator and put a thumb under his chin. He squirmed violently and pushed Eggman's hand away as he stepped back.

But Eggman saw what he needed to see. There was almost no fat on his face. He was horribly underweight.

Eggman was a villain. Not a monster.

The hedgehog wiped his face, as if Eggman had gotten something on it by touching him.

"Hmm. Well, you're clearly malnourished. I can't declare victory under those circumstances! That would be cheating! Looks like you win this time, hedgehog! Now, come along! We have work to do."

The hedgehog looked up at him in–adorable–confusion. Eggman stood back up on his Eggmobile.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Hop on!"

The inevitable-sonic-boom inched towards it slowly. He gently tapped the base of the Eggmobile. When nothing happened, he looked back up to Eggman. Who groaned.

"Fine, I promise I won't hurt you, got it?"

The sonic-boom stared even more, before inevitably going for it and climbing onto the Eggmobile like a toddler.

It wasn't tipped in the slightest by the extra weight, which reminded Eggman why he was doing this at all.

His Eggmobile floated upwards and flew off. It quickly left Seaside island and then there was nothing but water below them.

He didn't expect the oncoming-sonic-boom to whimper at the sight of the ocean.

Eggman glanced down in time to see him curl up, hiding between his legs and the lower wall of the Eggmobile.

When the sonic-boom leaned against him for support, he winced and stepped back.

"Watch the quills, you blue nuisance!" He yelled.

It didn't stop the incoming-sonic-boom from grabbing him, but at least he was more careful.

Eggman had to remind himself, that the sonic-boom was a little malnourished kid, because he almost made too much food. Twice. The rodent's stomach would be small, too small for him to give the blue guy a full child-sized meal. Unless he wanted the sonic-boom throwing up on Eggman's floor.

Once Eggman had handed him a plate of food, his skittish attitude towards being on an island nowhere near his old one vanished completely. Eggman's place was a chunk of earth and lava broken off of the bygone island, yet it felt safer than the previous island, when it came to that Sonic-Boom of a hedgehog's wellbeing, at least.

The blue stain in his life stood on a chair, his tail wagging excitedly as he immediately started eating what was on his plate. Apple slices, a hot dog cut into little pieces, crackers, and even a juicebox. It might've still been too much.

Eggman watched as sonic-boom ate. Making sure that he was properly eating. It would be a waste if all his cooking didn't help out the blue rat at all.

When he was mostly done with his food, Eggman decided that enough was enough.

"Alright you menacing blue fiend," he said. "I'm going to watch television on my floating screen. Don't break anything."

He walked over to the TV, grabbed the remote, and sat down.

"Maybe I'll watch that new comedy show with the monkey-ape-thing, that should be interesting."

No more than a few minutes had passed before The Sonic-boom came into the room and jumped onto the couch.

"What do you want now? I already fed you!"

The Sonic-boom yawned and crawled onto his lap, before half-tucking into a ball and closing his eyes.

"Ohh, no you don't!" Eggman said, he picked Sonic-boom up by the back quills and pulled him off of his lap. He set him down on the couch next to him. He whined annoyingly. Before racing back on. Great. Looks like that speed is kicking in...

"No, off!"

He raced back on.

"No, off!"

He raced back on.

"No, OFF!"

He raced back on, again. Eggman grit his teeth. "NO, OFF, SONIC!"

Eggman was so caught up in the stupid game that he forgot the rest of the blue hedgehog's title. He didn't care much however, because he had raced back on and clung to him for all he was worth. Eggman sighed and decided that he didn't care enough. He wasn't willing to do this all day, after all.

The Sonic sighed happily, and purred for a moment before he fell asleep.

And if Eggman freaked out? Well, at least it stayed on the inside.

[no-charity-case]

An analysis of Davey and Katherine's relationship (part 1/2).

I think one of the most interesting developments in the entire show is how Davey and Katherine come to like each other, so let's explore their relationship in another informal essay (part 1).

When Katherine arrives at Jacobi's Deli, Davey is already in a bad mood since Jack forces him (one of the only newsies with a curfew) to go to Brooklyn:

JACK Oh. Me and Davey will take Brooklyn. DAVID Me? No. KATHERINE Why is everyone so scared of Brooklyn?

When she first arrives, David seems to already doubt her qualifications (likely because of her gender) and seems quite amused that she's even trying. It is strange that Davey immediately looks down on her and regards Katherine as an outsider. After all, he doesn't exactly fit in with the other newsies ('auspicious' anyone?), and he isn't dressed like them either.

Plus, he didn't undermine his sister's ability in the 1992 movie or the earlier drafts of it (such as Hard Promises), so I don't see why he deems Katherine incapable on first glance.

Even though David didn't believe in Katherine as a reporter at this point, he still got worried when Jack accused her of following him. As seen in the gif above, he whispers "Oh Jack", places a hand on Jack's arm, and glances back to see her reaction. He is seemingly warning Jack to shut up and not antagonise Katherine. He may dislike her, but David has a level of social etiquette that the other newsies don't.

Where Davey is initially sexist, Katherine is initially classist. She assumes the newsies are unorganised, filthy, and dumb because of their social class. Katherine speaks patronisingly to Jack in particular (which makes sense based on their past meetings), but she also talks to the newsies as if they aren't individuals (she seems to be spitballing somewhat sensationalised headlines rather than seeking genuine answers to her questions).

KATHERINE No. The only thing I’m following is a story. A ragtag gang of ragamuffins wants to take on the king makers of New York? Well, do you think you have a chance? JACK Oh, shouldn’t you be at the ballet? KATHERINE Is the question too difficult? I’ll rephrase. Will the richest and most powerful men in New York give the time of day to a gang of kids who haven’t got a nickel to their name? CRUTCHIE Hey! You don’t gotta be insultin’. I got a nickel.

In response, Davey scoffs (as seen in the second gif). He didn't take kindly to the newsies being dubbed a 'ragtag gang of ragamuffins' and was immediately on the defensive. As soon as she thinks up the 'David and Goliath' analogy, Davey is quick to jump in. He gets out of his seat and approaches her.

KATHERINE So I’d guess you’d say you’re a couple of David’s looking to take on Goliath? DAVID We never said that. KATHERINE Well, you didn’t have to. I did.

Katherine's response, again, disregards the voice of the newsies (which should be the reason she's there: to listen to their answers). She even laughs to herself after her witty response. This causes a slight dislike for both parties. Katherine was likely bothered by Davey's defiance, and Davey was irked by her speaking for them.

Jack also doesn't trust Katherine immediately (alternatively, he may just be arguing with her for argument's sake). He points out that women do not write the serious, important stories. This may even be where David's later sexist comments stem from. As I mentioned prior, it seems out of character, but I'm also not denying that he could feel this way without Jack's input - after all, I do love a good character arc.

JACK You know, I seen a lot of papes in my day and I ain’t never noted no girl reporters writing the hard news.

Katherine fought against this, insisting they need to wake up to the new century and essentially calling them closed-minded. This shuts up Jack and the newsies (who were previously humming and murmuring their approval to his comment).

Although we do see Jojo and Race judging her reply, we can also see Albert, Specs, and Tommy Boy actually listening behind them. We do not get to see Davey's reaction here, but both do make sense for his character.

He could scoff as he did before. After all, he disliked her immediately and wanted to somewhat fit in with the newsies (so he may have mirrored the reaction of Jojo and Race). But the 'Walking Mouth' does seem to appreciate debate and reasoning, and Katherine makes a good argument. So, he could be weighing up whether he should or should not trust her at this point.

She continues by calling either the strike or their petty argument 'entertaining'. I think she means the interaction she is currently having, but I reckon Davey interpreted it to mean their strike. He assumes the worst in her so therefore sees the worst in her.

KATHERINE Well, wake up to the new century. The game’s changing. Now, how about an exclusive interview? JACK Ain’t your beat entertainment? KATHERINE This is entertaining. So far.

Jack and Katherine continue to bicker. Her comeback gets many more of the newsies on her side because she'd now proved to them she was witty and intelligent. David (who likely thought of a similar counterargument himself) is unmoved by this.

JACK Hey, what’s the last news story you wrote? KATHERINE What’s the last strike you organized?

When Katherine puts Romeo in his place, the newsies seem to have more respect for her. Davey is likely the only one who doesn't feel this way because he hasn't known Romeo as long as the others, so he won't be as irritated by his painful romantic ventures.

ROMEO You’re out of your league, Kelly. Methinks the lady needs to be handled by… a real man. KATHERINE You thinks wrong, Romeo. ROMEO How’d she know my name? JACK Get outta here.

So, Davey approaches her again, rejecting her offer from earlier. Now, he could mean a "real reporter" as in someone who writes the serious, important stories, or he could mean a "real reporter" as in a man. Again, that's up to your interpretation, as either can be true.

DAVID I’d say we save any exclusive for a real reporter.

Katherine begins answering Davey, but leaves during the ellipses (below) to talk with Jack. This could be for two reasons. Firstly, Katherine knows there is little she can say at this point to get Davey on her side. Or, it could be that she sees Jack as the leader of the strike. I am more inclined to believe the second because (as we will explore as the post goes on), Katherine considers Jack the leader.

KATHERINE Well, do you see somebody else giving you the time of day? All right. So I’m just busting out of the social pages, but… But you give me the exclusive. Let me run with the story, and I promise I’ll get you the space.

Interestingly, when she first offers the exclusive, she offers it to everyone, but she only speaks to Jack the second time. Again, Katherine is disregarding the voice of the newsies as a group, and she is also disregarding the voice of the actual leader (in terms of the 'brains' behind the strike): Davey.

Now, this could be because Jack is the 'face' of the strike, so is, by extension, the face of the Manhattan newsies. However, I do think that it is strange she doesn't address the group as she did the first time. Why couldn't Crutchie, Race, Specs, Albert, Mush or Elmer give her the interview?

Even more interestingly, in 2012 bootlegs, she appears to offer the first interview directly to David. Her offering the second only to Jack would make more sense in this case, as Davey says, "I’d say we save any exclusive for a real reporter," before the second offer is made (and Katherine likely knows David is not yet on her side).

Davey seems to quickly change his mind on Katherine when she tells Crutchie they'll make the front page. We can see him nod and then reach for Crutchie's arm in a way which communicates 'do you believe this?' or 'let me make sure I'm not dreaming'. The newsies are all excited by Katherine's claim, which may have also helped in winning Davey over. As we can see from his face, he is still cautious. But Katherine's news makes him optimistically cautious (in a similar way to Jack's hundred papes a week promise did in the novel).

CRUTCHIE Hey, you really think we could be in the papes? KATHERINE Well, shut down a paper like The World? You’re gonna make the front page.

This doesn't really relate to the Katherine and Davey topic, but here is the novel extract I referenced in case you haven't read it yet:

David didn't want to be partners with anybody, particularly not with this fast-talking Irish boy who seemed to live on the edge of the law. In David's neighbourhood, the Irish boys and the Jewish boys were always fighting. He especially didn't want to be dependent on his own little brother. But a thousand papers a week! If Jack was right, David and his little brother would be able to support the whole family.

Jack, in a way, reaffirms that he is the only person Katherine needs to speak with as he gives her the exclusive she wants. However, he excitedly rushes over to Davey as he tells her to bring a camera and the two share a moment of eager enthusiasm, suggesting that Jack sees David as crucial to the strike in a way that Katherine does not.

JACK You want a story? Be at the circulation gate tomorrow mornin’, and you’ll get one. Oh, and bring your camera. You’re gonna wanna snap a picture of this!

I think the reason Katherine initially wants the interview with Jack is that she believes he amounts to something more. She doesn't want to interview a 'ragtag gang of ragamuffins', but she doesn't mind interviewing Jack Kelly, the kid who (she assumed) is working his way through art school.

KATHERINE So, what’s your story? Are you selling newspapers to work your way through art school? JACK Art school? Are you kiddin’ me? KATHERINE But you’re an artist. You’ve got real talent. You should be inside the newspaper illustrating, not outside hawking it. JACK Maybe that ain’t what I want.

Even when Jack points out that David is the brains behind the strike, Katherine doesn't believe him. She instead assumes Jack is trying to be modest. So, it is clear that Katherine initially undermines Davey in a similar way he initially undermines her, although her reasoning behind this is also unclear to me (unless she was blinded by her attraction to Jack).

KATHERINE So tell me what you want. JACK Can’t you see it? In my eyes? KATHERINE ….. Yeah, okay. Have you always been their leader? JACK Hey, I’m a blowhard. Davey is the brains. KATHERINE Modesty is not a quality I would’ve pinned on you.

Davey is visibly different to the newsies around him, just look at his costume, or his use of language, or how he stiffly carries himself (not being comfortable in the group yet). Katherine, as we see, is rather sheltered, so she likely didn't think much of it when Davey called, "Hey, come on, Les. The folks are waiting" - she may have assumed they all have parents in a similar way Les did ("doesn't everyone?").

In Watch What Happens, Katherine calls Jack a "modern day David" and I see this as crucial to analysing her relationship with Davey.

KATHERINE Ok. “A modern day David is poised to take on the rich and powerful Goliath with the swagger of one twice his age, armed with nothing more than a few nuggets of truth, Jack Kelly stands ready to face the behemoth Pulitzer.” Now that is how you turn a boy into a legend.

As we see in the 1992 movie, the 'David and Goliath' analogy is based on David, not on Jack. I do love how the main difference between Katherine and Denton is who they interpret the leader of the strike to be (but that's another topic for another post).

DENTON I'm Denton, New York Sun. What's your name? DAVID (suspicious) David… DENTON David. As in David and Goliath?

The reference definitely works better with David (due to them having the same name), and Katherine does know David's name as Jack tells her (and she definitely heard it before she entered Jacobi's Deli). Yet, with this in mind and the fact that Jack told her Davey is the brains, she still decides to use Jack for the analogy.

It seems she doesn't want to accept Davey's role in the strike at all, instead wanting to credit it all to Jack.

Even when we look at the Watch What Happens lyrics, she acknowledges that Jack is the face of the strike (face, not brains). But, in the next breath, she says he is the one who can save them from "sinking in the ocean". I have two potential reasons for this. Her attraction to Jack could be influencing her interpretation of the strike, or she (as a reporter) could decide that what people see is more important than the truth.

So, he's a flirt A complete ego maniac The fact is he's also the face of the strike- What a face- Face the facts, that's a face that could save us all from sinking in the ocean

After the end of Seize the Day, When she celebrates with the newsies after taking their picture, she only goes to Jack. This is because she doesn't yet know any other newsie well because her interview was only with Jack. Davey celebrates with Crutchie.

It would have been nice to see Katherine and David share a happy moment together as it would show they had put their initial judgements aside. Then again, the pair likely still don't see the true importance of the other (especially on Katherine's end as she still feels it's only Jack who is the leader).

I'm not sure if David begins to like her now (as she's just taken their picture, so she's clearly serious about reporting on the strike), or when he learned she might get them to the front page (during their first meeting in the deli), or after he learns she got them to the front page (King of New York).

As Wiesel and the Delanceys show up, one of the scabs, Sniper, taps Davey's arm, implying that Davey had solidified himself as a leader within the newsies (after all, David was the one to kindly convince the three to throw down their papers, whereas Jack intimidated and shoved them). It is clear Davey is getting more and more respect in the group.

Katherine must have noticed David's co-leader role by now, though, because she specifically speaks to him in the next scene (King of New York) when Jack is away. However (I'll speak more on this when we get there), it is clear that Katherine still sees Jack as more important than Davey.

The lack of connection Katherine has with the other newsies doesn't last too long. During the fight, she checks in on Specs. From the very chaotic proshot clip, it seems that she runs over to him, which is a huge growth in her character. This is likely because she saw first-hand that the boys didn't do all that much wrong to deserve this brutal treatment, which challenged her prior beliefs about the "ragtag gang of ragamuffins".

In the 2012 bootlegs, Katherine leaves as soon as the fight begins, so she does not have this interaction. I do appreciate that the proshot decided to have her check in on the newsies though, as it is a small change which makes a big difference.

Unfortunately, we don't get to see Katherine and Davey interact during these scenes, so we do not know how their relationship is at the very end of Act 1.

In Act 2 their relationship changes significantly, but I wish I could've seen them interact at the end of Act 1 or before she tells them they made the front page.

When Katherine enters Jacobi's Deli, all the newsies are dejected and defeated from the fight. Katherine refers to them as 'gentlemen', showing that she has shaken off her classist prejudgements. This change in her language choices may also show a change in her and Davey's relationship, as (like we've discussed) his dislike either began from sexism or when she called the newsies 'ragamuffins'.

KATHERINE Good morning, gentlemen. Oh. Would you get a load of these glum mugs. Wait, can these really be the same boys who made front page of The New York Sun?

Either way, her new way of addressing them does show that she and the newsies now have mutual respect (which she definitely didn't have with all the scoffing from the first meeting).

As she talks, she tries to cheer them up. On "glum mugs" she lightly squeezes Elmer's shoulder, which is a very comforting action and something she wouldn't have even considered when she first met them. The newsies touch anyone for any reason (to name a few: in playfulness, in anger, in excitement, to motivate, or to comfort).

Davey and Katherine go through similar journeys with physical touch. They initiate touch when they see themselves as accepted by and integrated into the group. So, by this point, Katherine sees herself as a comrade rather than someone who is 'above' or 'superior' to the newsies.

Katherine still speaks in that sensationalised tone of voice, but she is now using it to uplift rather than undermine the group: "Can these really be the same boys who made front page?". Of course, her initial interview wasn't supposed to be uplifting, but as we explored, she disregarded and spoke down to them rather than aligning herself as an equal.

However, she is now focused on the newsies. She excitedly presents the newspapers to them, and is happy to see their moods immediately lift.

Katherine getting them to the front page seems to be why Davey's opinion on her changed; he now sees her as a 'real reporter'.

DAVID You got us in the pape? KATHERINE You got yourselves in the pape.

Look at the image above with the description "An image of Kathrine being proud of the newsies while she says they are the reason they made the front page, not her. David looks as if he's regretting that he judged her." David regrets doubting her capability as a reporter and gives her credit for what she's done (showing growth from when he initially disregarded her), but Katherine credits him and the newsies instead, implying how she sees their strike as equally important to her career, and showing her personal growth (as her first interaction was insensitive and patronising).

SPECS So, what else you got? KATHERINE Mine’s the only story that ran. Pulitzer declared a blackout on strike news, so even I’m shut down now.

Specs and Davey stick around to hear if Katherine had any more news (they both seem to be the two newsies closest to Katherine). Albert half sticks around, but it seems he wants to talk to Specs rather than gather more information, and it also isn't really important to this post.

However, Specs and Davey seem to be equally interested in Katherine as they are in the strike. They are disappointed in the blackout for strike news, but they also feel saddened that Katherine is shut down.

KATHERINE Hey, I heard they arrested Crutchie. Did they get Jack too?

She asks Davey this. This suggests two things. Firstly, the pair have a more sensitive and vulnerable relationship. Or (the interpretations could also be an and by the way), Katherine sees Davey as Jack's right-hand man. I'm not fully sure she sees him as a co-leader quite yet, but she definitely realises he plays a very active role in the union.

As the newsies detail what they'd like in King of New York, Katherine shows interest and support. She is far wealthier than the newsies (as she's literally Pulitzer's daughter), but she knows how much a pair of matching laces or a sandwich ('pastrami on rye with a sour pickle') means to them. Plus, she seems to be doing some sort of variation of 'good one' each time the newsies suggest things they'd like, even when they're objectively never going to get it ('a solid gold watch with a chain to twirl it').

DAVEY (sung) A regular beat for the star reporter!

While the newsies all think of things they'd like for themselves, Davey says what he wants for Katherine, and she looks very flattered by this. It's such a sweet interaction between the two, and I think it aptly showcases how they've come to like and respect each other (which is a clear growth from their first interaction).

Feel free to look up the definition yourself, as mine is quite lousy. Beat reporting is when a journalist has their own specialised topic (or 'beat') they write about consistently and expertly. Davey is essentially saying that Katherine is a real and capable reporter who deserves a promotion.

She sits with Specs, Davey, and Les during King of New York, and I'd say she has the strongest relationship with those three. Here we see her talking with Davey, and they both have a massive smile on their face.

Davey is playful with Katherine during the spoon dance, tapping his spoons on her hands. He still does this in the proshot, but the camera is (rightfully so) focused on Jojo having a blast instead. We can hear Davey excitedly shout "Katherine!" just before he taps the spoons on her hands.

Katherine also says a few things during this section of the dance, but I can't fully hear it: "yes, ???" (I think it's a newsie's name as she's cheering someone on, it might even be 'Dave/Davey') and I have no idea what the second thing she says is, perhaps "yeah, fellas!"

Based on the transcript (following 'but I was a star for one whole minute'), this is all the dialogue. It doesn't assign who says what though, which is unfortunate.

[Instrumental Dance Break] NEWSIE COMPANY & KATHERINE Yeah! / Alright! / Hey come on boys! / Oh my gosh! / Come on man! / You know, I taught him to do this. / Allright Albert! / Yeah! / He’s got things in his pockets! / Spoon Fight! / Come on! / Got ‘em! [Race and Smalls do the splits] Ow. / Got ‘em! Got ‘em! / Here we go! / You guys are great! / Here’s a big one! / Woah! / Come on Katherine! Let us see ya! [Katherine dances.]

However, I'm not sure all of it is fully accurate to the livesies recording as we can hear Davey say "Katherine, that's not fair, I mean he's got things in his mouth," but it isn't included in what I've pasted above. Here's a short audio file showing this:

Davey encourages Katherine the most in King of New York. He eagerly rushes over to her, trying to get her to dance and include herself in the group's fun. They are very similar characters when it comes to confidence, and he notices her reluctance but pushes her to try dancing anyway (similarly to how Jack encouraged him into the strike).

After she holds back and does a poor job, the newsies tease her:

DAVID That’s it? TOMMY BOY You gotta be kidding me. HENRY Boo. ROMEO That’s the best you got?

The newsies are very rowdy, and she responds well to them by putting more effort in and proving that she can dance.

All the newsies are proud of her, but Davey seems to be the happiest. Just look at the bright smile on his face. For Katherine and Davey, partaking in this celebration is so much more than the excitement of the strike making the front page; it's also about feeling at home with the newsies. Neither of them are outsiders anymore, and they are now happy to act silly and have fun with the newsies (which neither of them would have considered doing in the first Jacobi's Deli scene).

He brings her a chair and holds her hand as she kicks on it (he also has one hand on the chair to keep it stable for her). We can hear him say, "Come on, Katherine!" and the pair are just having the time of their lives.

Towards the end of King of New York, Katherine and Davey exchange a look that communicates pride, and a sense of 'can you believe it'.

At this point in the musical, they have a close relationship.

Katherine, Davey, and Les all leave together after King of New York, showing that the three have grown close. She sits on the stairs, and Les stands nearby (I can't see Davey in the clip). He's either spending time with them or he trusts Katherine enough to leave Les in her care (which he does during the search for Jack anyway).

When the newsies are searching for Jack, we can see Katherine and Davey talking. They have to work together to get Jack back, and we can see them spreading what they've just discussed to the other newsies. They make a great team as both of them are united, organised, determined, and calm about the situation.

David is searching for Jack alone, and Katherine is looking after Les, which shows his progression as a character (as he no longer needs Les nearby to know he's safe) and shows how much Davey actually trusts Katherine.

My next section is unfortunately cut off because only thirty images are allowed per post (I can add three more to this post, but I feel like part 2 should begin on my next point rather than splitting it between two posts). So, I will update with part 2 shortly.

[doveentrails]

Heaven Can't Be Sweeter Than This (Chapter 1)

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. You type back.

**Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

**Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You're lonely. You're bored. You're unsatisfied with your job, still not over your last break up, and your closest friend is your cat. You want someone to hurt you. You want to feel something. So you venture into the depths of a kink forum and start chatting with a mysterious stranger...

This was a fun idea I had that I'm so excited to write! What if Art was a lurker on various weird, dubious online forums looking to lure victims, but then meets someone who's into it, like really into it. He's confused, annoyed, he's into it too?? What could go wrong! Will probably be a little slow keeping this one updated, but I love the idea so much and I promise I'm gonna see it thru!!

Yes, this fic will be very NSFW, but nothing here in chapter one...

Word Count: 3800

All chapters

A mug of tea sits steaming on your desk as you stare at the monitor in front of you. You just have a few more emails to reply to, but you feel your eyes growing heavy. You were swamped with extra work tonight, still on the clock hours after you’d normally be done. Lifting the mug to your lips, you feel the warmth of the apple blossom black tea seep into your fingertips. You take a sip, hoping the caffeine will tide you over. Grogginess pulled at the corners of your vision, but the frustrating part was that without fail, every night when you lay your head on your pillow, sleep was hopelessly out of reach. You’d toss and turn and stare at the ceiling for hours, imagining arguments that would never happen, horrible ways you could die, dredging up old embarrassing memories. It was torture. 

The insomnia had been an issue for the better part of a year, and you weren’t sure what the reason for it was. You’d had a sleep study done to not much avail, and you hated relying on prescription sleep aids, though you often had to. The weeks you went without them were brutal, and you’d have to make up for it with an 18 hour crash brought to you by your friends seroquel and nyquil. 

People told you it was because you spent so long staring at screens. The blue light messed with your circadian rhythm. That’s what it was. You just had to quit that damn job you always complained about and get outside more. The long hours of screen time, of course, were courtesy of your job as a cyber security operator for a large corporate health and beauty company. You got to work from home though, which you loved. Staying at home with your fluffy, grey ragamuffin cat, Mia, was a perk of the job. The work itself was something you could take or leave. You didn’t care much for being a cog in the corporate machine.

Ever the practical type, you went into the tech field for job security. That stuff has always come naturally to you anyway, and you didn’t mind it. Some of it was actually interesting. Being one of the few women in your field was a novelty that soon wore off though. That’s why you opted for the health and beauty route. It was a company with more women and general diversity than the average cyber security sector. You liked your coworkers enough, even though you saw them almost exclusively through screens. Not much of a people person, you tended to prefer things that way. 

You had a comfortable routine, but you had to admit that you were bored. The days tended to blur together, and you’d sometimes go weeks without leaving the house until you’d realize you’re about to run out of something essential and have to go to the store. The cashier would be your only socialization for the month. Mostly, you liked to exist this way, but recently you were finding yourself feeling more and more unsatisfied. Maybe that’s what the insomnia was trying to tell you; something needed to change. 

You finished your email replies and signed off for the day, taking another large gulp of your tea, now cooled to the perfect temperature. Getting up from your ergonomic, cushioned rolling chair, you switched your apartment from work to relax mode. It was a distinction you had to make. You hated the lines between work and leisure becoming blurred. The switch entailed turning off all the overhead lights in favor of string lights, kitchy neon signs and lava lamps that filled the apartment with a diffuse, multicolored glow. Next, you put on a record, taking the time to choose something that matched your mood. Tonight you were feeling melancholy and melodic, opting for some acoustic singer songwriter to waft through your gigantic sound system at the perfect decibel. You stripped off your jeans (you opted to wear them to put yourself in your work mindset, even though you didn’t have to), and changed into a pair of pajama pants and your Garfield slippers. Lastly, you took your tea to the kitchen and poured in a shot of brandy. 

Officially off the clock, you sat back down at your desk with a sigh. You clicked around your usual sites for a bit, scrolling social media, reading forums and checking ebay auctions for vintage clothing. Your spiked tea warmed you from the inside out. It was your favorite pre dinner ritual. Mia came over and rubbed up against your legs, chirping softly at you. You scratched her behind the ears and cooed back at her. This was your typical Wednesday evening. That nagging urge to search for something more surfaced, and you took another sip of tea.

The dull ache of boredom in your chest propelled you to open the web browser and begin typing. The brandy supplied you some boldness as you navigated to a page you rarely visited: a fetish forum, specifically a heavy BDSM forum. Even though you were alone, you felt yourself blush as the page loaded, and you glanced over your shoulder. Mia blinked at you judgmentally. 

Admittedly you had some kinks, quite a few, and you’d never really found a partner who matched what you were into. Once you got into the details of your fantasies, you scared any potential mates away. Some would go along with it, but you could tell they were performing, not being genuine, and that just put you off. It became frustrating, and you dreaded opening up about your unconventional tastes. You had one partner (your now most recent ex girlfriend) who you felt was on your level, and it had been great while it lasted. She let you try things you’d never done with anyone else. She had indulged your fantasies, even yes and-ing you and giving you more than you’d asked. You had thought she was your perfect match, Liz. 

But around this time last year, the relationship went up in flames. You hadn’t been seeing each other particularly long, just 9 months, but it was a passionate whirlwind 9 months. Real stereotypical lesbian stuff. She was actually the first woman you’d ever been with. You had gotten tired of men trying to play the tough dom role, laying it on too thick and making you cringe. Liz made it look easy. She was a breath of fresh air. She gave you something you never knew you wanted, and then she was gone. The insomnia started after your break up, your longest relationship since. 

Post-Liz, you took a big step back. You were depressed and bitter and entirely uninterested in dating. The handful of times you tried, you got cold feet and backed out, calling off dates or just ghosting them entirely. Liz had really done a number on you. All your friends knew it too. You weren’t very social to begin with, but once you started seeing Liz, your social life went out the window. You were entirely consumed in her orbit. You still haven’t made a full recovery socially, letting the bridges of your friendships atrophy due to apathy and embarrassment. (Surely, it’s been too long to reach out now.)

So here you sat behind a screen, a voyeur into the lives of other kinksters. People who were actually getting some, you thought with no shortage of self pity. You read several discussion posts, questions about bondage, cnc fantasies, people bragging about glorious encounters that made your mouth water. You thought about pulling up some porno, jerking off and going to bed, but something stopped you. Instead, you decided to type a post. 

ISO someone with dark tastes. I’m looking for a sadist who will hold nothing back. Someone who will push my limits (Trust me, I’ve yet to discover them - Maybe you can help me?). Aiming for bruises I can’t leave the house with, and stories I can’t tell at parties. The more blood the better. An offer not for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach. (Medical knowledge is a plus!) Reach me here, and we can discuss further, xoxo. 

You let the text sit in the type box, looking back at you. Rereading it several times, you still debate whether or not to post it. You get up and change the record, putting on some 80’s new wave to boost your confidence. You deserve this. You can find someone twice as kinky as Liz. Someone who will actually get you to safeword for once. That’s what you're really looking for. Honestly, you’re so bored of everything, so numb and detached most of the time, you just want someone to scare the shit out of you. 

You walk back to the computer, holding your breath and hitting post before you can think better of it. Then you slink over to the full length mirror in your bedroom and sexy dance in front of it, hyping yourself up. Internally you repeat the mantra, ‘you deserve hot, depraved sex’. Feeling a little better about yourself, you finish your tea and then make yourself some dinner. You get comfy on the couch with more brandy and some shrimp pasta to watch your usual bad reality TV.

Picking up your phone, you decide to text your long distance friend, Nic. He works for the same beauty company as you, but in regional sales. You met years ago at a large holiday event, and have been friends ever since. Even though you're seven hours away from each other, you talk nearly every day. 

Ur not gonna believe what I just did…

Nic: What? Took a shit thru someones sunroof

Lmaoooo nooo wtf

No I posted on KinkBound

Nic: Shut up! Finally! Get some, girl

Nic: Show me what u posted!

Nooo wayy, too personal

Nic: Whatevr I know ur a freak

Well, leave it to ur imagination

Nic: Fine, I’ll just imagine ur into shitting thru ppl’s sunroofs lol

Works for me :-)

You text back and forth for a while as you eat your dinner. Then you finish the episode of trash TV you’re watching, and sip the rest of your brandy. Once the show’s over, you hop in the shower. 

You can’t help yourself from fantasizing while you’re in there. You think about all the things you want to try, all the things you’ve been too afraid to ask for. There was stuff you even held back from Liz, though she was the one you opened up to more than anyone else. But you never shared with her the darkest thoughts. The literal torture you’d like to endure, the true breaking point you want to be pushed too. It’s too real, too raw, too heavy for most people.

You’ve always wondered why you’re like this. Why isn’t light bondage and spanking enough for you? It’s all too tame. You want to really feel like you’ve given up control, like your life is in someone else’s hands. You’ve psychoanalyzed yourself about this enough. You could blame your parents for raising you an over-achieving only child, always type A, always with a plan. Nothing was ever up to chance, nothing was ever out of your hands. For once, you want someone to take it all away from you. 

And the pain, god you love pain. You couldn’t really explain why. Maybe your safe, comfortable life has made you an adrenaline junkie, an endorphin addict. Everything is always so predictable, and the pain snaps you out of it, makes you feel alive, puts you right back in your body. It’s just so good. You’ve never explored it to the full extent that you’d like to. You want to know what it’s like to get seriously injured. To heal. The body’s ability to heal has always fascinated you. 

You know you could get away with it too. Working from home, you’d be able to recover from all kinds of heinous injuries in peace. No one would be the wiser. You just need to find someone willing to inflict that kind of suffering upon you. To rend your flesh, steal your breath, maybe even break your bones. You just want to know what it feels like. This is the shit you don’t tell people. Here you are, scrubbing yourself with eucalyptus sage body wash and imagining someone breaking your leg in a sexual context. Some Stephen King, Misery, type shit.

You towel off and throw back a couple sleeping pills. You don’t want to be up all night thinking about who will reply to your post on the forum. Sliding between the silk sheets of your bed, you feel calm and strangely optimistic. You succumb to sleep much quicker than usual, all the while hoping it could be possible for you to find your freak.

***

Morning comes, as usual, all too soon. You reach for the blaring alarm clock and silence it. Early morning sunlight streams through your window, and your second alarm clock, Mia, jumps up onto the bed and starts pawing at your face. You allow her to curl up on your chest, scratching her head until she begins meowing in your ear for breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” you tell her, pulling yourself out of bed. In the kitchen you procure Mia’s half can of fishy smelling wet food, avoiding taking in a full whiff of its odor. She runs to the dish on her little paws and gobbles it down appreciatively. Then you put on the coffee pot and head to the bathroom.

Slowly, you awaken and come fully into your body, going through the motions of your morning routine. Drink half a cup of black coffee, get dressed, jog around the block, shower, put on your work clothes, and finish the rest of the pot of coffee throughout the morning as you sit at your desk. 

The light run, your cold shower, and the strong coffee have you humming to life with your computer like always. Mia naps in the sunlight at your feet. You check your inbox first thing, and see that you have a couple messages from the kink site. You can’t believe it, honestly. It takes everything in you to not open them, and instead direct yourself to your work. Excitement bubbles up inside you, but you quickly remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high.

Weirdos are about a dime a dozen, and that’s bound to be who’s messaging you. But maybe the right kind of weirdo… You steer your thoughts back to your screen, loading up the morning check in meeting. You’ll leave those unread messages as a special treat for once you’re off the clock.

The day drags by, all you can think about are the mystery messages waiting for you. 4 ‘o’ clock can’t come soon enough, and once it arrives, you're navigating to the kink site without a second thought. You don’t even bother to change into your comfortable clothes or switch the lights.

The first message is a bot, and your heart sinks. The second message is from some guy with a handlebar mustache that puts you off immediately and the screen name BigMistressMaster, but you figure you should give him a chance. His profile is full of giantess fetish posts, so you really don’t think he’s who you’re looking for. In no hurry to reply, you get up to put yourself into relaxation mode. You’re going to need a double brandy for this.

Mia follows you dutifully as you change, put on a record and pour yourself a drink. Sitting down at the computer, you type a friendly hello to Mr. Mustache. He tells you his name is Ivan, and even the name makes you roll your eyes. Maybe it’s his real name, you think, telling yourself not to be so mean. You chat with Ivan for a bit, drifting to other tabs and leaving space between your replies. You keep the conversation dry while Ivan flirts and tries too hard to win you over. After a couple hours, you lie about the time zone you’re in and tell him you’re going to bed.

The boredom thrums painfully in your chest again. You get up and walk to the freezer, pulling out your bottle of brandy and pouring yourself another double, neat. You don’t usually drink this much, especially on a weekday. Spending so much time alone makes for a slippery slope, and you make an effort to not form a habit, but tonight you indulge in your disappointment. Walking over to the record player, you put on some whiney, sad boy music and let it fill your deflated heart. You think of Liz and take another drink. 

Avoiding the computer, you walk a slow lap around your apartment and decide to water your neglected house plants. Then you make dinner and turn on the TV like always. You send Nic a self pitying text message.

Convinced I’m going 2 die alone

Nic: Online dating not going well huh

It’s abysmal

The one reply I’ve gotten is from the most boring white bread man on earth

Nic: White bread on the kink site?

Nic: That’s crazy

More common than u think

Nic: Why don’t u try a real dating app

🙄 ugh

Nic: idk what u have against it

Dating is just so hard

I want something else

Nic: She’s so mysterious…

Nic: So aloof….

Nic: Not like other girls

Stoppp

I hate 2 admit it but I still miss Liz somtimes

And you do hate to admit it. You hate that you’re thinking of her right now. You wish you could give yourself everything you want, be completely self-sufficient. You try, but some things just can’t exist in a bubble like that. You crave excitement, and you haven’t figured out how to get it without bringing someone else into the picture. 

Nic: Aw babe

It sucks

Nic: Don’t drunk text her ok, call me instead

Nic: idc what time it is 

Thanks <3

You weren’t planning on drunk texting. Although, those things are never planned. You want to defend yourself and argue that you’re not even drunk, but when you get up to bring your dishes to the sink, the world swims beneath you for a brief moment. No more texting, you note to yourself. Really, you should just delete her number already.

You leave your phone on the couch and go back to the computer, planning to check some clothing auctions you’ve been watching. However, the KinkBound page is still up on your screen, and you see you have another new message. The screen name isn’t anything clever or fancy, just Art. At that you feel some relief, just a normal person for once. You open it, hating yourself for feeling another rush of excitement.

Art: I’m interested in your request.

Short, to the point. There’s no profile picture, which should be a red flag, and the account hasn’t made any posts. Still, you can’t stop yourself from typing back.

Hi, glad to hear you’re interested. Have you been on this site long?

You get a reply right away.

Art: No, not long. Why do you want someone to hurt you?

What a weird question. The answer should already be baked in, but you suppose he wants to know more about what you’re looking for. You’re not completely sure how to answer.

It’s exciting… I like how it feels

Art: Exciting… tell me more.

I guess it’s the adrenaline, you know. I really don’t have a lot going on. I get bored, and I guess I’m looking for something to make me feel more alive.

You can’t believe you’re being so candid. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you stare at the screen, waiting for Art’s response. 

Art: More alive, that’s interesting. You don’t feel alive?

You realize how desperate and angsty you sound. You get up and refill your glass with brandy. Already, you feel like this guy can see right through you somehow. You gulp down the brown burning liquid and start typing.

Well, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but everything just feels dull. I do the same things every day. It’s boring. And honestly I’m lonely.

Dear god. You didn’t even reread that one before you sent it. Well, you might as well lay your cards on the table. 

Art: Bored isn’t good.

What do you do when you’re bored?

Art: Oh, I’m never bored. I make sure of it.

Normally a statement like that would make you roll your eyes, but instead you’re genuinely intrigued. 

Wow, well that sounds nice. You’ll have to show me how you do it.

Art: Maybe.

What do you do, Art?

Art: You wouldn’t want to know, it’s boring.

Okay, fair enough, my job is boring too

He’s a tough one to crack. Usually these people are spilling every detail about themselves, aiming to impress. Art’s approach is refreshing, and it’s definitely working on you. You swirl your glass, and can’t help but smile as you see him typing a reply. 

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. 

Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

You want to jump through the screen and hug him. Who is this person? Why are you suddenly compelled to bear your soul to him? God, you really are lonely. 

Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You find that hard to believe, but for now you’ll take him at his word. You check the time and decide to wrap it up for now. You want Art to stay mysterious, living in your brain as three letters on a screen and the promise of something more. 

Well, it was nice meeting you Art, do you want to talk tomorrow? Same time?

Art: Sure, same time. It was nice meeting you too. 

You close the tab and just sit there for a moment, processing the new, exciting possibilities that have opened up for you. Biting your lower lip you smile to yourself, and then finish the drink that remains in your glass. For a moment, you consider texting Nic, but you decide you want to keep this to yourself, at least for now. 

Getting yourself ready for bed, all you can wonder is whether Art will live up to your expectations. You know literally nothing about him, so you try to stop your mind from running out ahead of you, but it’s no use. You’re lying awake, thinking of him, wondering what he could be doing, and if he could be thinking of you too.

[gremlin-girly]

Bucky's Big Day

Banner by me and the images were sourced from Pinterest (credit to the OG pics and their beautiful cats!), made in Canva | Dividers by @/kodaswrld

Part of the Tails of New York Collection, Bucky's Birthday Bingo (For Alpine and Love Confession boxes) by @avengers-assemble-bingo (card 4B023) and my 20 Questions Challenge! Talk about triple threat....

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Quote 20: "What have you done to me? I used to be scary and now I'm all gooey inside."

Trope: Mutual pining / idiots in Love

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, Alpine helping out Bucky a wee bit 🥺, love confessions, kissing

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through an AI machine.

Summary: You surprise Bucky with a special gift on his birthday and he returns the favour.

Word count: ???

A/N: I did have another fic planned but I didn't like it for the vibe of a love confession. So, I have added it as a stand-alone or read along to Tails of New York since it's been a minute!

Bucky Bingo | Bucky Masterlist | Tails of New York | 20s Masterlist | Navigation

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Alpine was a saving grace Bucky never knew he needed.

The little ragamuffin had ended up in his life and never left, helping to ground him on days that weren't his best, hell - he's half convinced she found you for him.

It had been four months total since meeting you. Three of friendship - one of dating. When you started dating not much had changed between you both; you'd still laughed, teased and spent time together. The only differences were that he could hold your hand now, open his arms for you to cuddle close, and peck your cheeks.

Your first date had been a write off thanks to the pan incident, however, Bucky made sure to bring you flowers and take you out for a nice meal at the Korean BBQ downtown for your second date. You always looked beautiful but that night when he picked you up you'd been stunning, so much so he was lost for words, and your cat Apollo had you meow loudly to snap him out of his stupor.

At the end of the date Bucky walked you to your door, both your cheeks were pink and you were both smiling nervously as he pecked your cheek and wished you goodnight. Texting was still pretty new to Bucky so he'd not expected you to text him when he got back to his apartment not twenty minutes later.

Tonight was amazing. I hope we can do it again soon. X

His heart fell out of his chest. It took an hour of giddy pacing around his apartment, watched closely by Alpine, to calm down. He hadn't felt like this since... ever.

Bucky needed to think of another date, something romantic that you'd love. But you had insisted on planning the next date. You'd taken him out for a coffee spot you'd found in the park you found Alpine all those months ago and Bucky found his heart fluttering. The park was now his favourite place because of what it represented; the first day he met you. Now, if you both ever went for a coffee it was there.

Over your month of dating, Bucky had taken it slow despite his growing excitement and his feelings for you. Feeling he never thought he'd have. He didn't know much about modern dating but he knew that the admission of love came a lot later on than it did in the thirties and he didn't want to scare you off. He really didn't want to.

For his birthday the following week, you'd let Bucky organise your plans. You didn't want to step in and interrupt time with his friends, even though you selfishly wanted to see Bucky. Thankfully, Bucky seemed insistent to see you and as his birthday wish, requested you do something together.

"What do you wanna do, birthday boy?" You'd teased, giving him a peck on the cheek and handing him a small gift bag with his card and gift inside.

Bucky thanked you before shrugging. "I dunno I've not thought that far ahead. I'm a 108 doll, my birthday isn't that special anymore."

"Birthdays are always special." You counter as he snorts at the cheesy joke on the front of the car before placing it on his kitchen island and reaching for your gift.

"Hrm." Bucky playfully tuts, holding your gift in his hands. "I think you just like birthdays."

"I do. Now, open up!"

Your excitement is contagious and Bucky stares at the bright paper that covers a large rectangular box. He peels it away gently, frowning in confusion when there's no names marked on the box, and rips into it.

Bucky's blue eyes widen into saucers. "You didn't-"

"Happy birthday Bucky!" You squeal. "Do you like it?"

It's a bottle of 12-year old single malt whiskey from the Glennturret company. Not a stupidly expensive whiskey by any means, but more than he expected you to spend on him. Better yet, he knows why you bought this whiskey.

The gold liquid moves like silk as Bucky inspects the bottle, his heart beating his ribs so hard that they feel like they'll bruise.

"You may not even like it anymore." You say, slightly nervous, wondering if he likes it. "I know you said you drank some in the war when you were stationed in England but I saw it and... well, you know. Happy birthday."

Bucky scoffed a chuckle with a shake of his head, setting the bottle next to his card. "God, I love you."

You both freeze. Your head whips up to look at him and you're baffled to see that he's just as shocked as you are.

"What did you say?" You'd heard him and he knows you heard him but you needed to be absolutely sure that he meant it.

"I, uh, um GOD!" Bucky points his fingers at the cieling looking more and more panicked by the second. "I love him. I love... God?"

His voice tapers, he doesn't sound convinced by his poor attempt at a lie and he bites his lip, dropping his gaze to his feet. This is the worst. Worse than the pan. And it happened on his birthday.

Alpine weaves around his feet, rising to bump his knee with her head in encouragement, big blue eyes staring up at him as she chirps. She was sick of watching fawn all over you and do nothing about it.

Bucky looks back at you and sighs awkwardly, rubbing his organic arm. "You don't believe me."

"I - no, Bucky I don't." You snort and that makes him crack a smile. "You said it pretty clearly."

Bucky starts babbling hurriedly. "I know it might be soon. I didn't want to say anything and freak you out. I don't really know how dating works these days and I like you - obviously - and I just-"

"Bucky," you interupt softly, holding up a hand. "It's okay. I love you too."

"Huh?"

You snort loudly and start to laugh at his reaction; deer in headlights, mouth agape, scared to move a muscle. Then, he laughs.

Elation floods his body and he rushes forward, wrapping you up into his arms and kissing you so hard it leaves you breathless. You're used to gentlemanly pecks of the cheek or chaste kisses on his lips; going at whatever pace he felt comfortable with. Clearly, you'd broken the floodgates, and the man before you - the man you loved - was kissing you senseless after you bought him a bottle of whiskey he used to drink. Alpine meowed loudly to interrupt your kiss, reducing you and Bucky to excitable giggles that made you feel like a teenager again.

"What have you done to me?" He huffs playfully, grinning ear to ear. "I used to be scary and now I'm all gooey inside."

"If I recall, that goo is for God not me." You tease and Bucky groans.

"I panicked, okay?" He pleads, squeezing you closer to him and placing a long kiss against your lips. "I didn't want to freak you out and lose you."

Your stomach swoops. He was so sweet and that's why you loved him. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile at him. "You wouldn't have. But that was a terrible lie."

"I know," Bucky sighs, brushing your nose with his.

"So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?" You murmur against his lips. "Go out? Stay in?"

"A lazy day with my girl." Bucky says quietly, the low rumbling of his voice makes your skin bubble with goosebumps. "I've got you, my whiskey and Alpine. We should go get Apollo and make it a unit before we get cosy to watch something."

A unit.

Your heart swells so much you think it'll burst. "Sounds like a plan, birthday boy."

A/N: Not posted on his birthday or much of Apollo and Alpine in this one! But I needed something for the bingo and I'm gonna be honest I missed these two so much!! Should this be part 3 or 2.5?

TAGLIST

Add yourself here

@railmesebstan @irishhappiness @looking1016 @awkwardgiraffe726 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @dugiioh @cieraboobear

[raggydollsscreenshots]

Posting screenshots from The Raggy Dolls every day until ITV puts it on ITVX: Day 123:

[yyprompts]

PLEASE make a list of 100 rare words. PLEASE. 🥹

Usually I'd say no, but I'll do it this once...

I'll make a list of 50 and post another 50 tomorrow, then link the other one back here. 🤍

50 Rare Words in English Language.

.Luminiferous (adj.) - Creating, transmitting light.

Ailurophobia (n.) - An irrational fear of cats.

Heliolatry (n.) - Religious worship or reverence of the sun.

Selcouth (adj.) - Strange, rare, and marvelous simultaneously.

Unipara (n.) - A woman who gave birth to one child.

Snowball (v.) - To increase quickly in size, intensity, or importance.

Assail (v.) - To attack someone violently, heavily criticize someone.

Accountrement (n.) - Items of dress, equipment, or other items used, worn, or held for a particular activity.

Atelier (n.) - A workshop or studio, usually one utilized by an artist or designer.

Coruscate (v.) - Giving off or projecting light in bright flashes or rays.

Empyrean (adj.) - Relating to heaven or the sky.

Sumptuous (adj.) - Very rich, luxurious, or detailed in a way that appears expensive.

Desolation (n.) - A complete state of emptiness or destruction

Pastiche (v.) To imitate the style of another artist or piece of art.

Laconic (adj.) - A person, speech, or writing style that utilizes little words.

Snuggery (n.) - A cozy place such as a bedroom or den.

Vagrant (n.) - A bird straying or forced off it's usual migratory route.

Imperil (v.) - To put at risk or endanger.

Cabotage (n.) - The transportation of goods or passengers between two areas within the same nation.

Penitentiary (n.) - A prison intended for people convicted of serious offenses.

Imago (n.) - The unconscious idealized mental image of someone, usually a parent, which influences the person carrying it.

Hallux (n.) - Your big toe.

Ragamuffin (n.) - A person, usually a child, in ragged or unclean clothing.

Xanthopsia (n.) - A color vision deficiency causing predominantly yellow vision because of the yellowing of the optical media of the eye.

Derecho (n.) - A line of intense, widespread, rapid windstorms or thunderstorms that travels a great distance and is primarily characterized by it's damaging winds.

Nemophilist (n.) - A lover of the forest.

Woolgathering (n.) - Indulgence in aimless thoughts or dreamy imagining.

Patella (n.) - Synonym for kneecap.

Polydipsia (n.) - Excessive thirst.

Ligature (n.) - Any material tied around a blood vessel to prevent further bleeding.

Natter (v.) - To talk casually, usually about unimportant things.

Henpeck (v.) - A woman continuously criticizes and orders her husband/male partner around.

Sedulous (adj.) - A person or action that shows dedication and/or deligence.

Ultracareful (adj.) - Extremely careful.

Crapulence (n.) - A terrible sick feeling someone gets after drinking too much, or a stomachache from overeating.

Trigger-happy (adj.) - Ready to react violently, especially by shooting, to any provocation.

Rutilant (adj.) - Glowing or glittering with red or gold light.

White-hot (adj.) - Hot enough to radiate white light and heat.

Hodiernal (adj.) - Of this day, relating to the present day

Mondegreen (n.) - The mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase that gives it new meaning.

Yclept (adj.) - By the name of, having the name of.

Farrago (n.) - A confusing mixture.

Turophile (n.) - A lover of cheese.

Glabella (n.) - The part of the forehead above and between the eyebrows.

Zetetic (adj.) - Proceeding by inquiry, investigating.

Corrugate (v.) - Contract or cause to contract into wrinkles or folds.

Striate (v.) - To mark with long, thin parallel streaks (striae).

Variegated (adj.) - Displaying different colors, especially in patches or streaks.

Splodge (n.) - A large blob or smear of something, synonym for splotch.

Nacre (n.) - Synonym for mother-of-pearl, a smooth irredescent substance forming on the inside of mollusks.

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

Challenges of Raising a 6 Month Old Demon

Rebel Without Pants

...

It was 9 am in your suite at the Hazbin Hotel and you were currently watching your husband and daughter fling themselves and each other out of the small shadow pockets they continued to open in a weird game of cat and mouse wack-a-mole. You let loose a loud sigh of exasperation as Alastor once again caught the small fawn by her tiny hoof and begin threading the pair of cotton pants unto it, only for her to use her own spectral tendrils to yank his tail. He sounded a surprised bleat, while his child wiggled out of his grasp and tossed the clothing onto the ground with a giggle.

"Now see here, young lady!", the tall deer flung a pointed claw in the direction of the grinning diapered demon, "You WILL wear clothes! Or so help me, I will take away your-"

Your husband quickly looked around for something to make his threat credible, but smiled darkly when he eyed a certain container. "Or I will take away your yogurt covered eyes!", he continued to smirk triumphantly at Evangeline's low growl. She had been gifted those treats from her beloved Auntie Rosie from Cannibal Town and they were her favorite snack.

You knew this threat would not go over well with your daughter and could only watch as she tucked her ears back, hissed in static, and narrowed her eyes before darting into another shadow pit. The entire room was, then, painted in darkness as a wary Alastor stood firm in the middle. Waiting for the attack.

His tendrils stood flailing at the ready with different articles of clothing, when, suddenly, he was smacked on the back of his leg by a small, furry ragamuffin. He immediately went to grab his fleeing child before the feeling of weightlessness seized him. The shadows disappeared into the hole your fawn had created, and lured her father into, before you noticed Alastor falling past the tower windows and unto a confused Angel Dust outside. He must've not seen her trap hole with his own shadows covering the entirety of the room, you reasoned and looked down at the laughing spider holding your furious husband like a princess.

Turning around, Evangeline was under the bed trying to open the child proof clasp on her snack container. With a shriek of frustration when she was unable to overpower the magic lock, she threw it down at your feet in a silent request. Unfortunately for her, you were now running late for your meeting with Charlie so you fixed her with a hard stare. At that moment, your mate had made it back up to the tower window and began to coil his muscles and shake his growing antlers. (Many of which sported impaled baby shirts, socks, and pants)

Here we go again. You thought looking at your watch as the small fawn once again reared up at her father from the ground.

"Evangeline Hartfelt!", you spoke with intensity and at once commanded the attention in the room. You almost never raised your voice so the two deer immediately focused on your next words. "I have had enough of this foolishness." You walked forward to pick up the still locked, dented yogurt box and held it out to her. The small fawn's eyes widened with curiosity.

"If you be a good girl and dress properly, you may have your snack.", you fingered the latch open with a precise slowness, "if not, Mommy and Daddy will eat them all!"

The little deer hopped up quickly as you let out a forced evil laugh and brought an eye up to your lips. She allowed Alastor to properly dress her (he actually enjoyed picking out her outfits) with only a few whines when he groomed her fur covered head with his tongue. However, she nuzzled back into his cheek when he softly purred a bit and gently scratched at her tiny antlers.

You smiled and threw 2 of the yogurt eyes in their direction, which they happily caught with their teeth and followed you out the door to FINALLY begin the day.

...

Hey everyone 🙂 been a minute but I had this idea from the other day and wanted to write it really quick (inspired by my own tiny rebel who absolutely refuses to dress in anything but her diaper 😅)

I'm nearly done with the 4th chapter of The Rival and hope to have it out asap

-SSPR

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Curiosity (Series Debut)

Juliette Nichols x Fem! Reader

Summary: The monotonous doldrum of IT tasks brings the daughter of Mayor Holland into the path of the determined Sheriff Nichols. Against the better preparations of the overprotective Bernard Holland, Juliette inadvertently tangles (Reader) right into her mess of lies, cover-ups and the biggest killer of the Silo- Curiosity.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This Juliette series was originally called "Nuts, Bolts and Awkward Silences", but I'm a self-conscious creator riddled with fantastic ideas. Hence, a new and improved beginning to my Juliette series!

Word Count: 4.7k

Comments and reblogs are appreciatied!

“We do not know why we are here. We do not know who built the Silo. We do not know why everything outside the Silo is as it is. We do not know... when it will be safe to go outside. We only know that day is not this day.” - Cleaning Address, Mayor Jahns (deceased). File Serial No. 153.76.98, Records Department. 

To say the Silo smelled like a lump of old pipes was incomplete. The upper levels, the Mids and Up Top, smelled of people. Of life, of fresh bread, laundered linen and occasionally corn, if you caught a breeze from one of the farms. It was only when you got Down Deep that the smell worsened.

Rusting pipes leaked with brackish water, and depending where you walked, there would be piles of metal shavings or maybe a few loose screws from the engineers doing their own maintenance. It was a climate one had to adapt to, a sort of behavior that was as interwoven as the exposed pipes and wire clusters that peeked out behind crumbling concrete. Few could put up with the Down Deep’s inhospitable nature; it was a thing to be endured until the Down Deep became as natural to you as the smell of stale air, oil and body odor.

The Sheriff’s office felt too pristine to Juliette. Living in close quarters with engineers too busy, (or too disinclined) to bathe regularly had given her a certain standard. Walking into that office she smelled paper. Old, but dry, sterile paper. Her clothes were threadbare and filled with slightly off-colored patches where she’d darned holes shut. The residents of the Mids looked put together, crisp in their attires. At least to her eyes. Even the porters had a certain uniformity to them, quite unlike her ragamuffin band of mechanics she’d called her family.

Juliette knew she didn’t belong here. She stuck out like a stray hair; ever present and subconsciously noticeable. It made sense that her closest companion was the hardened, conflict-savvy Deputy Marnes. They made quite a pair, strutting up and down the levels. She with her freshly starched uniform that felt all too coarse, and he with his bandaged nose and gruff demeanor. They would have made a fine pair. Neither truly wanted the power they held, they wanted the truth. But that was the unwritten rule of the Silo. Look for truth, and truth finds you. Ten steps later, so did death.

Mayor Jahn's death had put Juliette into a frenzy, and with that, the drive to find George Wilkin’s file grew until it felt like life or death. She missed the smell of old pipes and the occasional unwashed man. She missed the smell of her unwashed man. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Mayor Bernard Holland had little interior ties to the Silo. Work colleagues, employees and the occasional childhood playmate. If Bernard could fit all of his relationships into one single box, it would be labeled ‘working acquaintance’. But earlier in his life, before he had ascended the ladder higher into the goings on of the interior Maintenance department, he had decided to take a shot at having a family; a wife, and a cozy, little apartment central to the Mids. Every morning Bernard would get up and take his small briefcase to work in the IT department, and his wife, Amelie, walked with her lesson plans to go teach kindergarten.

Somewhere in the mess of young, ambitious travailing, Amelie had brought up the lottery. Bernard, being an older man in his early forties, put little faith in the possibility of having children. In his ever analytical, sagacious mind, Bernard computed the odds of having a child at his age, given only a one year window for Amelie to conceive one, at near zero. But life wasn’t little boxes that could be sorted, assessed and compartmentalized into near-zero possibilities. 

Ten months after reproductive clearance had been granted, Amelie skipped a period. And then another. A younger, fuller haired Doctor Nichols confirmed the life-destabilizing news. Bernard and Amelie Holland were expecting a baby girl. Twenty some odd years later, that baby girl sat in the IT department day after day, typing out the same files in the same pattern Bernard had completed when he was her age. You had his brain for the computer, the ability to examine flawed programming and dissect it within a day or two. Sometimes three, if a previous worker had gone hopelessly astray. 

Bernard Holland had made a mistake, having a child. Sure, you were astute, eager to please and unnaturally adept at the skills he himself had spent years toiling away to gain, but you were his. And with possession came the possibility of loss. Every day that Bernard wasn’t in that IT department was another day he felt that creeping paranoia, that low buzzing of anxiety in the back of his skull. You were a good child, an obedient, Pact-abiding adult. However, you’d inherited more than just his measured customs; you’d inherited Amelie’s curiosity. Amelie, who’d hidden her inner wonder for the first ten years of their pairing. Amelie who’d been found with a red class relic, only for it to disappear back into the Silo. Amelie, loyal wife, doting mother, and veteran teacher who’d been sent down into the mines at the hand of one rebellious human condition.

Curiosity was a killer. And that curiosity that you carried could destroy more than just your life, it could destroy what little bit of faith Bernard had in the limited autonomy of the Silo. Therefore, when Mayor Holland assured Juliette that he did not wish to be mayor long term, he hadn’t lied. Having that kind of responsibility on his shoulders meant that he no longer had the luxury of keeping his daughter safe from herself. Having that luxury meant that the little curiosity Bernard had whittled away day by day began to blossom anew. Like a child left without adequate stimulation, you began to question unrelentingly. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

The IT department was a stale, colorless room filled with the bustle of various employees working side by side on equally monitored computers. The day started when you punched your time card in, and it ended when you punched out. The act of punching a time card in and out was old. Your Dad mentioned doing it when he first started, and how his elders at that time had always done it that way too. Each yellow card was good for a month. If you lost it, you lost your wages. No one lost their timecard, no one was stupid enough to misplace such a valuable object. Except Lukas.

“Sorry, I literally haven’t seen it.” you shrugged, going in to punch your time card.

Once the machine had stamped the yellow slip, you put it in your empty card, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You’d come in at the perfect time to get a cup of coffee before you slipped down in the records department for an agonizingly boring shift, and Lukas was wasting what precious time you had to do so.

“Nowhere? Is it on your desk perhaps? I looked behind the copiers and I can’t find it-”

Lukas was frazzled, face drawn out into a deep frown as he anxiously slicked his dark hair back.

“Listen, I know you’re worried, just grab a spare time card and punch in today. That way when it does turn up you’ll have proof of when you were in and out while it was gone.” you tiredly instructed, pouring yourself a steaming mug of bean juice.

For eight-forty-five in the morning you were on a roll, as far as advice went.

“Okay, yeah. That’s actually a good idea.”

Lukas walked back to the time card machine, writing his name and employee number down before punching the time card for the date and time. You didn’t stay to watch more than that, waving to your favorite coworker before you made the descent deeper into the office. 

Well lit computer desks were replaced by rows and rows of files, the bookcases old and battered from wear. One of them had cracked, mixing up all the files. Maintenance had been quick about fixing it, but now it meant all the files that fell had to be re-organized on the new metal shelf. The lightbulb above your head buzzed in an irritatingly persistent tone, making the work just that much more tedious. All of the files were shoved off to the side in the walkway between shelves. It was a tripping hazard, and an overt demonstration of how dichotomous Maintenance’s help could be.

Taking sips of your coffee here and there, you started sorting the files in piles, ensuring each file inside the record matched the labeling outside of it. Every so often you’d glance overhead at the large clock illuminated by a flickering bulb. You swore the motor was slow, after all you’d been at this for what felt like three hours, and it was hardly past ten. Taking a deep breath in, you reached for your coffee, holding it up to take a sip. Empty. Hardly a whiff of coffee remained, just the overpowering smell of mothballs, old paper and dust. If you had any allergies like Meryl, one of your coworkers, you’d be sneezing left and right.

Time passed, and you were just about done with the third shelf of files. Clean manilla envelopes sat side by side, each correctly labeled and displayed. It was good work, and accessible in the future. The work was monotonous, but it all faded into a distant hum as you worked in silence. The clock winked down at you, twelve-thirty blinking down like a beacon of hope. Break time.

The relief you felt walking out of the records room and into the well ventilated IT office was immediate. Lukas was still at his desk, typing away rapidly. His productivity was up. Not quite as high as yours, but higher. Meryl smiled at you as she walked by.

“Ready for lunch?”

“Are you kidding?” you chuckled. “Founders, that job is the worst.”

Meryl gave a sympathetic pout, grabbing her purse and walking towards the exit with you. 

“I appreciate you taking up the torch on that one, my allergies won’t let me in that room for even fifteen minutes without hacking.” she lamented.

The two of you traded gossip and office news as you walked down to the cafeteria, catching up on whatever little bits of life the two of you hadn’t shared since your last shift. It was an uneventful lunch break, just like you wanted. The walk up to IT was filled with satisfied sighs.

“Almost there.” Meryl remarked.

“Almost.” you echoed.

Your solace was a fresh cup of coffee and a brief chat with Lukas, (who had found his time card), but that was all you dared delay. Walking back into the records department, you found that your quiet, uneventful day was abruptly shattered. Towards the back of the records department you could make out a stooped figure, carelessly rifling through the shelf you had just organized.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you gasped, quickly walking over to the individual ruining three hours of meticulous work.

“Looking for a file.” the woman huffed, pulling out another file and dropping it on the floor.

There were patient people in the Silo. People who could withstand far worse inconveniences than this. But a dubious individual rifling through restricted and sometimes confidential material without regard for proper protocols or clearance boiled your blood.

“Where’s your clearance?” you demanded, setting your mug off to the side.

“Clearance?”

The woman rose to her full height, hands on her hips. You’d originally clocked her as a deputy gone rogue, but you knew your deputies. No, this had to be the new Sheriff. Nichols, Juliette Nichols. What a pain in the ass she was, that’s what Sandy had said. And somehow she was exactly what you had pictured, and then again, not quite at all. She was shorter than you would’ve guessed, only five-foot-five or so. Her hair was short, this made sense, and it was dyed by chemicals. Experimentation mechanics got away with, you supposed. Not what you would’ve pictured, especially in a tiny bun that emphasized the deep hollows of her cheekbones and brow, but it worked. But her eyes. Those made sense. Piercing, distrusting and a bit resentful. It fit everything you would’ve assumed from her character given how much Sandy complained when she came down to grab a file.

You were gawking, you realized. Clearing your throat once, you answered her question.

“Every individual looking for a record from the record’s department needs to fill out a request slip and send it in so that IT can track down the record and deliver it to the requester.” you spoke out in a long, run-on rush. “It’s a way of ensuring files don’t go missing.” 

“Okay, well I did that, and they said they couldn’t find the file. I printed out a map of the records department, and it’s supposed to be on this shelf in this bookcase, see?” the Sheriff aggressively gestured to a guide of the bookcases.

You heard the clock audibly tick as you took a deep breath in. Getting upset with the Sheriff of the Silo wasn’t a proper first impression. It was a horrible first impression, actually. True, she couldn’t get you into any legal trouble without probable cause, but you could piss her off. Pissing off a Sheriff, albeit a temporary one, not such a good idea.

“Which file are you looking for?” you managed, voice artificially measured.

“George Wilkins, a report on his death.”

Another deep breath. The Sheriff was frustrated, and you were too. It was clear she’d been digging through this shelf for a while, probably during most of your lunch break. Her uniform was crumpled, sleeves pulled up her arms and a few hairs loose around her face. There had never been a mechanic who’d been nominated before, at least not before going through IT or the Sheriff’s department as a deputy. That’s where your fascination came from, truly.

Again with the gawking! You shook your head, trying to dispel your brain fog. It had been a long day of sorting files in a dim, stuffy room. 

“Listen, this shelf collapsed a few days ago, and Maintenance just replaced it. I’ve spent the last three hours of my shift meticulously organizing it, so my guess is that whoever was on shift didn’t bother finding the file until the shelf was reorganized.”

Sheriff Nichols reached up, smoothing a hand over her skull. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring in belligerent frustration. But if she couldn’t find it in the thirty minutes she’d been digging, someone who was meticulously organizing the shelf probably would.

“Right, so if you find it you’ll let me know?”

“Yup.” you answered, folding your hands together to restrain the impulse to shove her out of the way.

“Thanks.”

Sheriff Nichols moved, too fluidly, with too much assurance in her surroundings. It must have been imbued by years spent in closed spaces, but she miscalculated. Your coffee mug went flying off of the shelf it had been balanced on, drenching you and the various files on the floor in lukewarm coffee.

“Fuck, sorry.” Sheriff Nichols swore.

She reached around, grabbing a rag left from dusting, vainly and forcefully trying to dab at the liquid all over your blouse.

“Stop, stop, it’s fine.” you gritted your teeth, dropping to your knees and doing your best to salvage the files that had been damaged.

Your face felt hot, and you looked down on instinct. You were flushed. Both from the further inconvenience of several files being damaged by this insufferably meddlesome Sheriff, but her hands… They’d been so clumsy and rough as they’d patted down your front with a dusty, dirty cloth. The tension was unbearable, and one of you had to break it.

Heavy footsteps echoed as the Sheriff made a quick escape, leaving you to deal with the mess she had caused.

“Bitch.” you cussed, doing your best to salvage the situation.

Even worse, her shuffling of files had stirred up the dust again, and this time it was bad enough that you sneezed. For the next five hours of your shift, you sat damp, sneezing and pissed, doing your best to finish sorting through the files she’d fucked up. The clock hit six and what little difference you’d made wasn’t enough to be satisfactory. You’d be working overtime tonight.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Walking into the cafeteria at just past nine was depressing, there was nobody there. Even Lukas was absent, presumably opting to head home and help care for his Mom instead of his weird hobby spent staring at the screen. He watched the little white dots. You didn’t pay attention to it most of the time, you thought it was foolish, but exhaustion made you wonder. That was before your stomach complained.

The kitchen staff managed to scrape together a meal, an uncharacteristically generous thing to do. Probably because you looked a mess in your ruined blouse and dust covered hair. Dinner was a cinnamon roll leftover from breakfast and half of a turkey wrap, but it was something. You ate quietly, observing the display with that same wonder. They were odd looking, those white dots. Footsteps echoed out from the hallway as people came and went. You never looked up, too caught in your quiet vigil of the display screen. It took a subtle wrap on the table to get you to look up. 

“Hey.” Sheriff Nichols sighed, resting her hip against the table.

She looked tired. More hair was out of her ponytail than in it and her uniform was unbuttoned. It might’ve been a conscious decision, but it made her look more haggard than she would’ve appeared otherwise.

“Hi.” you replied, biting into the cold cinnamon roll.

The icing stuck to your teeth in a grotesque film.

“Sorry about the coffee again.” she gestured to your stained blouse. “Umm… Did you find the file?”

“File?” you frowned, unsure.

“Yeah, the George Wilkins one.”

Your palm came up to your forehead in a quick, masochistic slap. You’d totally forgotten to look for that file, all that had been on your mind was finishing the job and getting out. And dinner. Food had been on your mind for a while.

“... I can go look for it tomorrow.” you sighed.

Sheriff Nichols crossed her arms, toeing at the ground for a moment.

“You’re too tired to go back?” she asked, tone neither hopeful, nor presumptuous.

It was almost ten, and you were both exhausted, but something told you that the Sheriff would keep showing up to bother you until she had her answer. Considering how adept she was at inconveniencing you, the sooner you got rid of her, the better.

“If I do this for you will you promise to never set foot into the record’s department again?” you asked, eyeing her with a stern glare.

“Sure, yeah. I’ll fill out the request thingie… Yeah.” Sheriff Nichols nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Words weren’t her strong suit, especially when her stomach was churning with hunger. Taking a deep breath in, you stood, leaving the half-eaten cinnamon roll on your plate.

“... Gonna eat that?” she asked, hopeful.

“No, it’s yours, I guess.”

Sheriff Nichols snagged it, following you up to the IT department. She held the door open once you unlocked the building, which was helpful, you supposed. Upon entering the office, you noticed how the Sheriff seemed to inspect everything, scoping it out with curious interest. She’d inhaled the cinnamon roll. You didn’t remember seeing her swallow.

“Records are this way.” you gestured, not in the mood to enable her gawking.

Sheriff Nichols followed you into the dusty library of records, standing off to the side as you carefully looked for the file she wanted. You skimmed the shelf twice over, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s not here, let me check the record’s catalog.”

Turning on your heel, you walked over the dingy concrete floor of the room, turning on an ancient looking monitor. Humming along to yourself, you quietly searched the system for the record Sheriff Nichols was after. It popped up as returned to the library by the former Sheriff. He’d logged it himself. And you assumed he had done it correctly, but somewhere in between the return of the file and the cracking of the bookcase, it was more than probable that it had been misplaced.

“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry. The shelf cracked, and it’s possible maintenance damaged the file. I’ll fill out a missing records report, and if it turns up I’ll notify you.”

It was the only response you could muster. The blank look Sheriff Nichols gave you felt undeserved, especially considering she’d snagged your cinnamon roll.

“Sheriff, I’m sorry it’s not where it should be, but we know it’s missing and we can look for it now.”

She walked over and behind the desk, brushing against you as she examined the screen for herself. She’d seen you examine the files, she herself had been examining a few. You weren’t lying, and the screen didn’t lie either.

“Well. Thanks.” she mumbled, scooting out from behind the desk.

As you watched her go, you found the exhaustion and irritation of the day was slowly becoming overshadowed by a larger, far less negative cognition. Why did the Sheriff want that file? What was it about this George Wilkins that had her so worked up? And why did you care?

Three levels up into your apartment and you were still asking yourself that question. One twist of your key and you were inside. A weight left your shoulders as you slipped inside, and you shut your eyes in relief. The door was solid beneath your back, and the smell of soup drifted out. Hunched over a stack of papers sat the white haired, uniformed form of Mayor Holland, as calm and measured as he’d always been. 

“Ah. You’re home.” Bernard, your father sighed, looking up from the recliner. 

Blue eyes landed on you, and he huffed out a laugh as he took in your frazzled form. Coffee-stained, dusty and the image of worked to the bone, he couldn’t help comparing his younger self to you. How many late nights had he worked, surviving on watery coffee and cafeteria cuisine? There was a story behind this, and he was anxious to hear it.

“Did you spill coffee on yourself, what happened?” he smirked, taking off his glasses to see you better.

His teeth were straight and white, devoid of any crookedness or discoloration. It was the product of bi-yearly dentist visits since he was a child. His hair was combed neatly, and he carried the countenance of a man too stuck in his ways to ever bother relaxing. It was exactly what you needed to see after such a stupidly tiring day.

“Sheriff Nichols came in during lunch and rifled through the records I’d been reorganizing. The shelf collapsed in aisle H, you know?” you began, walking into the living room. “I agreed to help her find the record she was after, off the books like an idiot, and the thanks I got was coffee on myself and several pristinely maintained files.” you irritatedly reported, walking into the kitchen. 

“You made soup?” you eyed the pot, stomach growling hopefully.

If you’d been watching Bernard in that moment, you would’ve seen how his eyes clouded over in concern. His jaw twitched, eyes working in small patterns over the wallpaper as he worded his next statement with as much care as possible. You were too busy ladling yourself a bowl of the most delicious looking soup to notice his change in demeanor. 

“You said she was rifling through files? She didn’t have clearance, did she?” Bernard asked, keeping his tone casual.

The last thing he wanted was to drag you into this. Or more accurately, ignite your curiosity.

“Yup. Not a single request. I didn’t end up finding the file she wanted, so I’m not going to get into hot water…” you paused.

As soon as you processed what you said, it became clear just how close you had been to fucking up, admitting it to your former supervisor of all people.

“I shouldn’t have let her get away with that without reporting it. I can go back and fill out a violations slip right now, I wasn’t thinking, the files were all wet-”

Two firm hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing twice. This wasn’t something you needed to run yourself ragged over, and Bernard knew that. 

“This wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be helpful because she’s the Sheriff, and causing problems with the Sheriff is arguably worse than forgetting a standard protocol of IT.” he said calmly. 

He let you process his words, guiding you to sit down at the table while he ladled himself a bowl of soup as well. One look at his side profile, and you noticed how relaxed his face was.. 

“She was in the records department without clearance only once?”

Again he gave you time to process, his tone even and controlled. 

“Twice. I grabbed food from the cafeteria right after my shift and she came up to ask if I’d found it. I hadn’t looked for the file at that point, so I went back and looked.” you reported, 

Your tone matched his in evenness. Hysterics and anxiety wouldn’t buy you any points, but a simple relation of the circumstances would.

“Did she touch any files when she was in there with you?” Bernard asked, walking over and sitting quietly across from you.

“No, that time I was the only one looking at the files.” 

Bernard didn’t visibly show his relief, but he felt it. The tension in his chest dissipated, and he found himself able to quietly eat.

“You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning go into the office and write the report. Detail exactly which rows you found her rummaging through and include the second, supervised visit.” Bernard quietly instructed.

The room went quiet, the pair of you eating your meal without further comment. Only when the bottom of both of your bowls was empty did he finally bring up his most significant instruction.

“A final note.” Bernard stated, tone almost emotionless. “As a rule, try to avoid Juliette Nichols as much as possible.” 

The way he said it, the firm command interwoven between the sentence disturbed you. You’d heard him use this tone few times during your life, and each had been a direct command to enforce your safety. But the threat Sheriff Nichols could pose to you simply didn’t compute. Your eyes flickered, and Bernard caught that spark of damnable curiosity.

“Do I ask why?”

“No. No you do not.” 

Bernard met your eyes, blue irises hard and demanding. It was a simple matter of knowing something you didn’t, something you couldn’t know. Your only course of action from here was to obey, and so you would. The chair screeched as you stood, quietly reaching for his empty bowl. The dishes were a welcome distraction from the sudden severity he had imposed upon you, thus you retreated to it. Bernard returned to his files, busying himself with the concerns of Silo management. Neither of you spoke, not until you went to leave the room.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

The soft click of the bathroom door shut you out from the force that was Bernard Holland. The conversation had rattled you, for reasons you couldn’t quite name. As much as you tried to place it, whittle down the particular mannerisms he’d used during the conversation that had spooked you so, you couldn’t. Perhaps it had been the suddenness of it, the way he’d gone from relaxed to impenetrably stern over a bowl of soup. The more you tried to dwell on it, the less you could figure it out. The semantics were abandoned, along with your coffee stained blouse. 

Hot water blasted down from the shower head, soaking the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders until they went completely lax. Then, and only then, did you dare ask that treacherous question that itched provocatively over your tongue. A whisper, killed by the sound of water hitting the shower floor.

“Why can’t I talk to Juliette?”

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[starrynetta]

So much thinking today! This is VERY LONG

I love Jack and Katherine together but not in a "oh its canon" way. In my head I have created so many extra scenes that I convince myself are real. Aside from that, Jack Kelly, who despises all who are snobby and upperclass meets Katherine Plumber (Pulitzer), born into an aristocratic life she never wanted and who was taught to look down on those like the newsboys.

They both do not understand each other. He would never understand why she wants her own life away from her class, and why she dreams of writing big news. She does not get why he would ever want a new life far West, and why a minor group like them believes they can pick a fight with Pulitzer.

Until they do.

Katherine watches them fight together and watches them experience hardships and she understands. In the beginning she refers to them as "a rag-tag gang of ragamuffins looking to take on the king makers of new york." She talks to them only using headlines and mainly only refers to Jack. In my eyes she is classist? Katherine starts off an outsider. People like her don't associate with the poor filthy boys who work their last sweat selling newspapers. What their life depends on, she sees as a headline. She's patronizing, but she wants to help in her own way.

Jack sort of mocks her--he tells her he's never heard of any lady reporters. He also says, "shouldn't you be at the ballet?" He doesn't get it either. From the start you could say it's a gender thing. He flirts with her like it's an everyday thing and doubts her skill as a writer. But after some convincing, he follows through with it. Deep down maybe it was never about gender, but his lack of trust. And rightfully so. She dresses so much nicer than anyone he's seen strolling the streets and she speaks with a confidence he isn't used to. He does not understand why a girl like her would want to help them out. The only person from the upperclass that gives him the time of day is Medda.

Throughout the musical Katherine finds herself with the newsies more and more. She takes their photo and witnesses how courageous they are. Despite the bulls brutal invasion, she runs to the aid of Specs, crouching and feeling his face to check his injuries. At this point she doesn't care where they come from or how dirty she'll get, she knows they are equal and will do anything to help them. In King of New York, she dances messily with the newsies, celebrating their "victory" and cheering them on. She is very physical with the newsies too, putting arms around each other and holding hands here and there. A break-through headline doesn't matter anymore.

As the story goes on, Jack is changing too. At first it isn't great. He gets confronted by Pulitzer and discovers everything and it breaks him. He immediately assumes it was all done by Katherine, because how could he trust a girl so put together? Especially descending from the man who runs The World itself? He proves himself right, so he thinks--you can't trust those higher than you because the two classes can never see eye to eye.

So Jack runs into Katherine on the rooftop. She's going through his artwork and he knows she won't get it because she's meant to look down on people like him. He's ashamed because it reveals a part of him a person like her doesn't deserve to see, hence the, "a little different from where you were raised?"

But outside of his view Katherine has been growing and changing by following the newsies and getting to know them. She does not think of him as a thief and a scoundrel at all, but a boy who's gone through too much. She wants him to understand her, too.

In all honesty there was SO SO much potential for the rooftop scene! It needs more anger and more feelings!! Definitely not my favorite but @/jack-kellys rewrite is real to me.

When Katherine reveals her idea of the children's crusade, after everything Pulitzer has threatened, he realizes. She has never thought of the newsies as less than her, she's still helping them rise up. She comes to his aid even when he revealed an angry and violent side of himself. Katherine has called upon every working boy and wants to stand by their side. Maybe the upperclass is snobby and untrustworthy, but by now she has proven herself the opposite.

It took a lot of time, fighting, and obstacles but he truly trusts her. He calls her, "an angel come to save him," and he tells her that she gave him something to believe in. She isn't staying for her job, she's fighting because she genuinely cares. Jack understands that her expected life is restraining her. She's her own person. For them to work they both had to change and they have.

Maybe Jack isn't ready to open up about most issues but he knows there are arms to hold him when he needs them. He knows for sure that she's his light in the dark when he's on the edge of giving up. Countering all his previous beliefs, a girl from the upperclass laid her life down to support him and his family.

Katherine is there to witness the terrible situations Jack and the newsies experience. From them getting beat on by the police, to his drawings of the Refuge, she understands why he wants to leave this life behind and she understands why him and the newsies are brave enough to go through with this. She isn't their superior at all. She doesn't only learn about Jack, but every newsboy. That is why she tells him to stay. Not for her, but for knows the boys that need him. (In Something to Believe in, she doesn't try to change his mind. Not until they win with the boys.)

Both of them go against all odds and it led them to each other.