#and if i'm right they also would have had to order the lenses and that means i wouldve had to go to short pump Twice >:[

[grantairezee]

me: i have Flex Account Money so i will go to the lenscrafters and get prescription sunglasses in like 2 hours.

lenscrafters: *is open but under construction*

me: surely this will not affect the timetable of my glasses being finished.

the guy: yeah it's gonna be 3 weeks :)

[yanderes-galore]

Darling escaped Wesker and is hiding from him, being constantly paranoid and all. She takes a hike and gets captured by the Las Plagas cult but before they can do anything Wesker arrives (because he was conveniently around, watching Ada). How would the reunion be like? - 🐈 anon

I was confused at first but found out you meant the Separate Ways DLC. Here you go! Did a concept as not specified.

Edit: I only just saw this was meant to be a female darling I'm so sorry, but I hope you like it despite my mistake- 💀 The only gender related thing is in one thing Wesker said anyways-

Yandere! Wesker "saving" Kidnapped! Darling

(RE4: Separate Ways)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Violence, Thoughts of murder mentioned, Forced relationship.

The whole scenario just sounds unfortunate for you.

From one bad situation to another.

Then potentially back to the first one.

Escaping Wesker is a feat within itself.

He usually always has an eye on you although he isn't as deadly as he is in RE5.

He may even be impressed that you managed to slip by, if not annoyed.

Not only is escaping a feat but hiding from him is also an achievement.

So to stay away from Wesker's sight you hide in the woods.

For awhile you learn to survive.

You take hikes to stay in shape and find food as you go.

You yearn for your old life... the one before Wesker.

Hikes have been the only way you were able to cope.

At least... that was until you encountered Los Illuminados.

The reason for taking you in could be for any number of things.

However the most likely reason would be for experimentation.

Injecting people with Las Plagas makes the cult grow.

It just so happens you were a vulnerable target.

They most likely had no idea who you were (unwillingly) connected to.

As a result you are chased and dragged to a cell for later use.

Around this time Wesker would've sent Ada to look for the amber he needs for his virus.

He may have even asked her to find you if she was able to.

Wesker is no doubt searching for you ever since you managed to leave his gaze.

He'll admit it's felt... odd to not have you around.

He doesn't like the feeling of being unable to hold you, feel your warmth, or breathe your scent.

As a result he's been on edge.

Not only must he make his virus but he also needs to have you by his side again.

Imagine his surprise (and anger) when he sees footage of you being carried away through Ada's lenses.

Wesker knows if they hurt you he's going to gut them all.

Plans have changed. He orders Ada to keep an eye on you while looking for the amber.

He's finally found you again... and he plans on retrieving you along with the amber.

As a result you end up meeting Ada.

You have no idea she's working with Wesker or why she's here.

All you know is once she sneaks into the prison and stands in front of your cell, you're saved.

Wesker most likely didn't say why you were so important.

He doesn't need Ada to know your past.

You and him have had history, romantic history in his eyes, and he'd just about blow up this entire island to have you.

If Wesker really can see footage through Ada's cameras then he watches the screen intently.

You look so dirty, malnourished, and unkempt.

He can fix that once you're back in his arms.

He wonders as he watches you if he should be punished.

However, the fact you were kidnapped by the cult seems punishment enough.

It only proves the reason he took you in to begin with.

You're weak without him... you need him in order to be stronger.

Surely you'll learn such a lesson by the time he comes to pick you up.

The moment Wesker comes onto the island, he calls Ada and demands she brings you to him.

Until then he watches the island to catch sight of you.

He's been patient with you... but you have to come back with him now.

Right where you belong.

It's a sad sight to see.

You trusted Ada to save your life, what does she do in return?

She brings you right back to Wesker.

The moment your eyes land on the blonde haired man, you try to go the other way.

You shake your head but Ada nudges you in front of her.

"You've managed to retrieve them, but what of the amber?" Wesker asks Ada before beckoning you closer.

There's silence between you as Ada explains she still needs to find the item.

You feel betrayed as Wesker sends her away before turning to you.

"I applaud you for making it this long. But you must know you weren't going to last long."

You're roughly dragged into Wesker's chest as he checks you over.

He's checking for scratches and signs of any parasite you could've been infected with.

If you were hurt his mind is set.

"For now... you're punished enough." Wesker tells you, but he doesn't let go. "But I'm not done here."

"You're going to take me back..." You whisper, defeated.

"This is only proof that you can't survive without me. You got yourself captured by someone else." Wesker frowns, annoyed.

"They won't leave this place alive. None of them will."

You stay silent, feeling Wesker stroke your head before kissing the top of it.

He hasn't been able to feel you in so long.

He feels you struggle a bit but he doesn't care.

All that matter is he has you again.

He'll make sure you're brought back onto his boat and watched.

You're coming back with him.

Meanwhile, he'll make sure there's nothing left of the cult that took you after he's obtained the amber.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Why you don't like Galadriel?

WELL. I mean this would need a complex answer, for one thing because you could say I don't actually dislike Galadriel as a character really. She's interesting, she has layers, her position in the story creates intriguing mysteries and insights into elven realities and her actions are always percieved in multiple different ways by different characters. She is both an object of world building and a lense to view it through, she had only contempt for Feanor but is the character MOST like him in the end, there's lots going on!

So as usual what I'd say I dislike is more fandom's perception of Galadriel than Galadriel herself, although don't get me wrong in terms of sympathy for her I have none to spare. But to the fandom she's like... well she's whatever anyone wants her to be, so long as that's pretty much perfect and always more right than anyone else around her. Idk if this question came because of my RoP Galadriel tirade post of a week ago, but the fact that people seem to believe Galadriel's right to the 'good guy' role is so irrefutible that it makes any negative portrayal of her 'bad' and 'tolkien's rolling in his grave' etc etc- it's just flabbergasting to me and is a symptom of this problem.

Like Galadriel's entire motive for coming to middle earth, declared and narrated, is to rule over people. She wants to be a Queen of a land that she controls with people inside it whom she has power over. That's it. Now, far be it from me to be on the Valar's side, lord knows I don't support their right to unquestioned rule either and the Eldar's urge to rule themselves is completely valid and Galadriel's no worse than any of her male counterparts who were also looking for the same thing. (In fact, given this is something she is apparently required to 'overcome' when none of those male elves must do the same, I'm inclined to believe this is another of those 'eowyn must reject violence for peace because war is bad except when men do it and for sure the men do continue to do it that's fine' misogynist tolkien moments.)

BUT STILL.. that's not like... a GOOD motive is it? It's neutral at best, right? And Galadriel never actually does anything that could be called more than polite for the rest of the time we know her. She never risks anything for the good of middle earth, she never solves any problems, she goes from place to place to avoid any conflict that threatens her until she and her husband finally decide to usurp a Silvan kingdom and magically isolate it from the rest of the world. They change Lindórinand's name to Lothlorien, thereby overwriting the language of it's native population and Galadriel then uses the power of her ring (that was given to her she didn't make it heself) to EMBALM (tolkien's words) the forest in time just so that she could make it appear as much like Valinor (her home, not the silvan's) as possible. Like!! This is not some paragon of virtue character!

Honestly RoP's portrayal of Galadriel is actually vastly more sympathetic than her actual character. PTSD, survivor's guilt and the maladaptive cope of needing to hunt down evil fanatically for all eternity is, to my mind, 100% more understandable than just... staying in Middle-Earth because she still wanted to rule over people and never believed she did anything wrong in the first place. Which is the canonical reason she's still in middle-earth post the first age, technically a sin by the Valar's standards! Galadriel is rebelling against the will of the west in doing this, but apparently SHE gets all the grace and chances to 'reform' in the world, unlike some other characters I could name >:|

... Maybe she aggravates me a little, but she does so IN COMPARISON to the criticisms other characters must bear as 'the reason they had to die to redeem themselves'. Like if Boromir wanted to take the ring once in order to save his people, is death really the only way to atone for that when Galadriel has been power hungry for 7000 goddamn years nonstop, acquired and used her own ring of power to satisfy that power hunger and then managed to 'overcome it' at the very last minute JUST before middle-earth became 'less elven' (and therefore her position there would be less prestigeous) to demurely sail off home to a gilded cage paradise where literally all her family are alive and waiting for her. Like is 'power hunger' really the sin Boromir comitted here that he needs to die for. Is Tolkien really criticising the desire for power. Is the narrative of lotr really so cohesive and consistent as to allow you to put all the characters into good and bad little boxes and declare those categorisations infallible?

Am I making sense, is this coherent. Does it make more sense if I say like... I do not dislike Galadriel as a character, I dislike what her fandom-reputation reveals about the way the story is engaged with by and large? When I am getting heated about this or that misconception or aspect of her character, it is not because I hate she has that aspect, I like a lot of morally questionable characters, what I am railing against is the double standard that her having that trait reveals. (And I'm not even really angry about it I'm more just very activated by what it reveals about the story, like it makes me feral) The narrative loves Galadriel, Tolkien loves Galadriel, characters regularly threaten violence in order to defend Galadriel from even mild verbal criticism and no one appears to see this as a kind of ominous aspect of her when she's done very little to deserve it. Other than, of course, be ontologically 'pure' and 'divine' due entirely to the circumstances of her birth. I'm a bit manic right now so I hope literally any of that made sense.

Actually addendum example just to further affirm my point. So catholic tolkien scholars will tell you that Denethor's use of the Palantir was a sin, apparently even using a tool you have 'the right' to use to observe reality as it actually exists and then extrapolating that observation into a prediction of the future (ie seeing frodo is captured and the ring gone and extrapolating that the enemy has it and you're all doomed) is a sin. Because only god is allowed to see into the future. And this is somewhat backed up by the way characters treat Denethor's use of the Palantir, it was apparently foolhardy and bad and reckless and nebulously wrong etc. Remember, the Palantir is not a mystical artifact, it is like a satallite imaging tool + a one way video only skype.

.

Galadriel's mirror literally sees the future 😂LIKE? WHY DOES SHE HAVE IT? WHY IS SHE ALLOWED TO USE IT? WHY CAN SHE JUST SHOW IT TO OTHER PEOPLE? It's because she's holy!! But that doesn't mean anything about her actual character, it's just an attribute she inherited from her family and her place of birth that actively changes what her existence means entirely by it's own virtue. Imagine living in this world for a second, imagine if it was ontologically true that you (an unblessed child of eru) would never be as right or as good as Galadriel, no matter what the reality of both your actions were. LIKE. !! WOULD YOU LIKE GALADRIEL?

[hockpock]

Glasses Review - Firmoo

Hello vision impaired friends, I bring you the gospel of Ordering Your Damn Glasses Online

I have previously ordered from EyeBuyDirect (luxotica/lenscrafters'/America's Best in disguise, sorry.) and Zenni Optical ( most well known online provider, A+ would recommend) and have seen lots of ads for free pairs from a competitor, Firmoo. I have too much prescription for the free pair offers to ever work out from ANY provider, but their fun designs put them on my list.

When my current glasses broke, I was dinking around and saw their current promotion is Buy One Get One Free PLUS 20% off lenses and as lenses are the real $$$ I jumped on that like tigger on crack. I am VERY nearsighted with astigmatism and the average pair of glasses from lenscrafters used to cost me $300 minimum.

After much deliberation with a million tabs open and a poll I ignored the results of for Reasons, I ordered a pair of clear frames and a pair of purple steampunk-y wireframes . Two pairs of HIGH PRESCRIPTION glasses for $87 shipped. I could cry, y'all.

Note: I have an up to date prescription and a nifty app that measures Pupillary Distance or 'PD'. you will need both these things accurate to have the best experience buying your glasses online.

I ordered them 9/22, they shipped 9/25, I received them 9/29 with regular shipping. They came well packed - each pair was in a bag made of cleaning cloth material inside a sturdy plastic case and they come in a foil bubble mailer.

Both pairs feel well made, with lots of attention to detail-

however I did not pay attention to detail or pay extra money for the Re-he-heaaallly thin lenses. So the clear ones are slightly too big and I hate the way the nose pieces sit, while the purple ones are a wee bit small across the temple and heavy to boot. I haven't had dents in my nose like this since I was 12.

the website lists their exchange policy as 30 days, the pamphlet that came with the glasses says 60. Either way it was pretty painless to go into my order history and select "exchange". The form I filled out with my reasons for dissatisfaction promised me I would be contacted within 24 hours.

My 'personal Firmoo consultant', 'Karen', emailed me with a code for the full price before discount of both pairs + standard shipping, as well as the usual customer service canned answers about checking the sizing information and did I know I could upgrade the lenses?

Also I could keep the failed pairs 'FOR NOW', here are some places that accept glasses as donations. (mixed messages, Karen, but sweet!)

New friends are April006, round anodized wireframes with a cute dingly gem thing, and Sandy020 , literal tortoiseshell cat eye frames.

This time I used the site's search terms to cut the temple width and earpiece length options down and double checked the weight of the base frames. (14g vs 24g for the round wireframes before my coke-bottle lenses. RIP my nose. )

New order was placed 10/5 and they arrived 10/17 . (last time I checked the tracking estimated arrival had creeped from the 19th up to the 23rd so grain of salt. This may be a tactic to make the order feel like it got here faster or legit delays. In my case there was a federal holiday involved.)

Complete disclosure I'm gonna grab a pair of pliers and take the little dangly off the wireframes. It makes a noise when I move my head and if I don't fold the frames in the right order when I take them off it'll scratch up the lenses. I ain't gonna remember to avoid that, so off it goes.

The Good:

Large selection, Good Quality, Good Communication. Lots of Off the Beaten Path options for internet weirdos. Firmoo p much always has a promotion going.

My wallet is so happy. SO HAPPY. Frames run $20-30ish to start. lenses will vary with your prescription and options.

If y'all want 50% off your first frames and to give me a $10 credit they have a referral program and my code is T4Z8I2. BOGO20 is a better value but it expires 11/01/23.

The Bad:

Not flexible about lens options- you go down one track and pick your options within that. If there was a way to put tinting on a pair of glasses other than blue light blocking I couldn't find it. (in contrast I believe Zenni lets you choose a range of colors and tint depth on any pair, designed as sunnies or not)

You Will Get Emails. Firmoo REALLY wants you to buy more glasses and post about it and tell your friends and HERE THIS CODE IS ONLY GOOD FOR 3 DAYS, GO BUY NEW GLASSES. They are marketing themselves to fashionable young influencers who change styles every month. Unsubscribe with impunity.

like Zenni, this is a company with the majority of it's functionality based overseas. It's cheaper because you're ordering directly from a factory and not paying Luxotica's markups to itself. Customer service is mostly English as Second Language speakers and there may be delays.

Not For Emergencies. I was able to coast on a pair of glasses from a prescription or 2 ago but it's gonna take time for your order to be made and shipped.

Overall I'm very happy with them and will probably order again.

Next time I have spare money I'm aiming at Wherelight because y'all. they are next down on the list of reputable to shady AF but they have the most amazing WTF designs.

[neongalaxiie]

Request idea

Villain goes to buy a coffee and runs into Hero at the coffee shop

Villain opened the door to the coffee shop and stepped inside, letting the door shut. They shivered, pulling their unzipped jacket over their shoulders and raising the lapels. The heated cafe contrasted with the freezing outdoors like black and white, but staying out for too long without a coffee to heat them up left Villain freezing.

They made a beeline for the counter, not wanting to waste a second despite having to wait in a queue. A longer queue than usual, Villain noticed. The cafe seemed more crowded today, with most of the inside tables taken up and multiple customers waiting for their takeaway orders.

Villain ordered a large black coffee and headed to the back of the cafe to wait. They leaned against the wall in one of the corners and pulled out their phone, glancing up occasionally when a name was called out.

They looked up again when the door opened and a small but heavily bundled-up figure stumbled in, covered in snow. Snow? Villain's mouth hung open as they turned their attention to the window beside them. It was indeed snowing, although lightly. Shit, this was bad.

Villain was still staring outside in horror as the stranger finished ordering. Villain swallowed, wide-eyed. Their scalding hot coffee would become ice within two seconds of stepping outside. They weren't even that well dressed for this type of weather, and they just recovered from the flu not a week ago. They couldn't go through it again, all those sleepless nights and the runny nose and constant coughing and sneezing and postponed plans and canceled fights and--

"Villain?"

Villain looked up to the barista just in time to see someone else pick up a coffee from the counter. Villain kept their head up a moment longer to make sure...

"Villain, down here!"

Villain startled, seeing the short little stranger right in front of them. They didn't even see them approaching. How did...?

Villain frowned. "Who are you?"

"Don't you recognize me? I'm Hero!"

The villain's eyes flew open in recognition. They couldn't tell at first, with the voice muffled by the oversized scarf, every square inch of skin covered by clothing, and every square inch of clothing covered by... believe it or not, more clothing. Hero's thin, round glasses fogged up with every exhale, making the lenses appear almost pure white.

Villain tore their gaze away from Hero and cleared their throat. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting a coffee, duh," Hero laughed. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Almost ten minutes," Villain replied, fighting the urge to move as Hero leaned against the wall next to them.

"Honestly, I think you'll need a lot more than coffee to get you through."

Villain blushed. "Like what?"

"A thicker jacket, for starters," Hero said, tugging at Villain's leather jacket. Villain pulled away this time, pushing off the wall. "But also like, a beanie, a scarf, two pairs of pants, and another thicker jacket, as well as boots."

Villain grimaced, guessing those were the layers Hero had on. "I'd rather not..."

"What?" Hero pushed off the wall and planted their mittened hands on their hips. "You don't like what I'm wearing?"

"I don't want to look like you."

Hero snorted, shaking their head. They opened their mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud barista.

"Order for Loki?!"

Villain locked eyes with the barista and made a hesitant move towards her. Their eyes flicked back to the hero, who started to giggle.

"Loki? That's what you call yourself now?" They erupted into peals of laughter that filled the cafe, turning several heads and leaving Villain with a deep crimson blush.

"It's funny to see other's reactions to it," Villain grumbled. "You just ruin my fun."

Villain stepped up to the counter, muttering their thanks to the barista and sipped their coffee, savoring the hot bitterness for as long as they could. They left the cafe without another word to the hero.

[msfcatlover]

Death Mask Steph

Oh boy. This is the big one. I've agonized over this, and getting the design right has been... ugh. Nevermind. Here we go.

Death Mask needs to draw on Red Hood and Steph designs. (I would draw from Black Mask designs, but frankly Roman's designs are all kinda boring? He's a skull-head in a suit, and basically always has been; it's simple & effective, but there's not a lot to iterate on there.) Steph's suits tend to be armored one-pieces, but layering is so crucial to most Red Hood designs, that balancing the two has been... tricky.

(I've already shared the Stephanie Brown Costume History page. Unfortunately, the n52 designs page seems to be just descriptions with no pictures, and the page for her n52 appearances doesn't give you many good angles. So here's Steph's "Future's End" & "Future State" designs, as the stand-out missing designs, in my opinion.)

The absolute vital part of any Red Hood inspired design is, of course, the helmet. It's also been the biggest pain. Jason's had some good helmet designs and a lot of bad ones over the years, and (as I've previously stated) finding a full reference page for them is basically impossible. So here's what I'm going with.

Steph starts with a sleek, sculpted black metal base. Say something like this model of Jason's Injustice helmet. The primary difference would be that Steph's helmet opens up at the front rather than the back; the faceplate would be hinged at the top of the head, and it would swing up & forwards to reveal her face.

(Using the Injustice helmet as a base because it more than most looks like it really should open from the front. I'd also say the sides would also be able to open wider, so that it can still fit snug without being a pain to get in & out of. Not that anyone would ever bother to draw that detail, but I think it would look neat opening up in 3 directions all at once.)

Next, most of the face plate is covered by a sculpted skull. This is how she invokes the whole "Death Mask" idea, as well as purposefully stealing Roman's gimmick. Below the teeth are a couple understated tubs & valves, evoking a gasmask---something like this.

(Kinda a Red X look, I'm realizing now that I'm digging through my reference folders all at once... Anyway, this piece seems to be by Laura Sheridan, but her website seems to be down, you can only buy her art seemingly 2nd hand, and I can't find this picture listed anywhere but pinterest.)

The edges, mechanical bits, and any detail work added should be done in copper.

Within the eye sockets are two recessed glowing lenses, like Jason often has, though Steph's glow a dark magenta, casting light that borders on red.

(Obviously, these lenses change size & shape to show emotion through the mask, like you do. They're not designed to---in fact, logically all the bat-masks are designed like this in order to help hide the wearer's emotions---but that's comic logic for you.)

Below the helmet, Steph's suit is mainly made up of reinforced black leather motorcycle pants, a black undersuit, and an armored vest like this.

(But black. Obviously.)

However, she accessorizes. Steph has added a decorative metal ribcage to her armor, as well was plates mimicking a spine. The ribs should be copper-colored, while the spine can be either metallic or black.

(Depending on who's drawing them, the ribs could range from purely decorative to practically another layer of armor. And following the links from pinterest, both of those artists have apparently taken their rib-art down, which is once again very disappointing.)

Steph wears a chunky utility belt which sits crooked on her hips. I personally think it should be black (maybe brown?) with either copper, ivory, or dark magenta snaps/clasps holding the pouches shut (pick one for all pouches, not a mixture). She has a gun holstered on each hip, one on each thigh, a set of throwing knives (3-5) on the front of the belt, and wears her sickle-swords strapped criss-cross on her back.

The swords themselves are made from a copper-alloy, retaining their coppery color, and easily double her reach (are about as long as one arm.) They have a hilt not dissimilar to an Egyptian khopesh, but a completely different blade; Steph's swords have a much more exaggerated curve, and crucially, they're sharpened on the inside of the crescent, where a khopesh is sharpened on the outside. They legitimately look like a crescent moon sickle, stretched out to sword size.

(Khopesh hilt, and genuinely the best crescent sickle sword I can find for what I'm picturing. Steph's would be in much better shape, obviously.)

Steph keeps it understated-but-still-stated with knee-high, buckle-up, black leather motorcycle boots.

(These are mid-calf, but it's the closest I can find that aren't completely over the top. Also, any artist who figured out how to make the laces work without losing the straps would win my unending love for the symbolism of Steph clearly still mimicking her big brother but trying so hard to hide it.)

Steph’s sleeves are armored in black metal plates, ending in sharpened black gauntlets. I don't care much about the specific structure, I just really want that clawed look.

(Shorter would be more practical for finesse work, while longer claws could be worked into her fighting style. I am going back & forth on whether this should be both arms or just one of them, because I’m a sucker for asymmetric designs, but I think it might be a bit too much with all the other details.)

Finally, over top of it all, Steph wears an uneven ivory-colored hooded shawl made of layers of thin, wispy fabric. It hangs down her back to her waist, but bunches up in the front over her collarbones. It's purposefully designed to look tangled & messy, hiding her body shape with all its bulk & fly-aways, and is flimsy enough that grabbing hold of basically any part of it will just leave you with a fist full of torn fabric.

This is the hardest to find examples for, but... okay, so it's shaped roughly like this:

(If anyone can find the non-pinterest source for this one, I'd hugely appreciate it; all I'm getting is a dead twitter link.)

It's layered like these:

And it's made from material like this:

(This definitely gets swapped out for either a white scarf or a brown trench coat pretty regularly, just because those are easier to wrap your head around/draw. I think both could work & be cool, but Steph is trying to give off “undead vibes” with this original costume, and this gives her a more ghostly look which… okay, is heavily inspired by this Jason design.)

Also, Steph's hair is still long, but she ties it up in either a french or dutch braid before going out most of the time. Dutch is for going out in public or to the gym, where she'll lift it off her neck in a ponytail, french then gets coiled into a bun inside of her helmet.

(I am undecided on whether or not she also has an undercut.)

[driftward]

Sorry ;)

19) getting turned on by their partner’s new uniform for work and then roleplaying a bit

Don't apologise, I'm delighted. Thank you for the ask, and I appreciate your patience in waiting for an answer. Answer beneath the cut.

(WoL or GA timeline, works in either, maybe in both)

~*~

Y’shtola looked herself carefully in the mirror as she made final adjustments to the glasses she now wore.

In appearance, they were quite plain. A pair of glasses of moderately thick rim, in a classical style. In actuality, they were quite sophisticated, made exactingly for her needs. The lenses were based on a starlens, meant to amplify distant aether, and the frame was so thick for the metals it had to contain, in order to maintain the enchantments that had been worked into it.

They were meant as an aid to Y’shtola’s aethersight. The use of a starlens was Zoissette’s idea, and she had initially made just such a hand lens for Y’shtola to use during their study hours in Nuomenon. The glasses were also Zoissette’s design, meant to help Y’shtola in her latest pursuit. Acting as head archivist for the nascent library that Koana wished to have built in Tural. A personal favor Zoissette had asked, and something to do between stints researching the gate to Alexandria.

She frowned at herself, looking through her new glasses at herself in the mirror, but decided that was the best she was going to manage. She smoothed down the front of her outfit, a simple buttoned up blouse, a skirt that went to her knees, a sensible pair of pumps she could stand in all day, and some stockings. An outfit that was elegant in its simplicity, and one which she could comfortably wear all day while making her way through the stacks. The skirt may have been a bit impractical, but she liked its cut too much to go without. She slipped a cardigan over to complete the look, and wandered back out into the living area.

Zoissette was waiting for her, sitting on the couch, eager to see her.

“How do you like them?”

“I will be able to tell you more after a day or so of using them. For now, I will say, it is as much as you anticipated. Useful for reading and small, fine work. But not good for general use. The view distance of my aethersight is even shallower than before, and everything has a terrible halo around it. I have well grown used to the world as seen through aethersight, but these, well.”

“Well, they are meant for close up work to help you read more than anything. I would advise… not, uhm. Wearing them. Otherwise.”

Y’shtola looked over at Zoissette, and saw the swimmy, starry expanse of her aether, the individual lights that she was shining all the brighter for the faint halos around them. As beautiful as the sight was, especially in the waviness of the rest of what she could see, that did not help her just now, so she lifted the glasses up and focused her aethersight to see the world more like most people did.

And as the colors settled and turned to true, and details came into focus, she saw Zoissette, seated, biting her lip a little, and her eyes a touch too wide open, a touch too focused.

She allowed herself a small little laugh.

“Enjoying the view?”

“…maybe.”

“And here I thought this outfit somewhat conservative.”

“And the glasses.”

“And the glasses? I would have thought their rims rather thick and unwieldy to truly be alluring. Certainly, not as sophisticated as I might like…”

“Right. Yes. Of course.”

Zoissette swallowed, and smiled at her. One of the real smiles. Oh, the things she would do for those rare real smiles.

“Do they not make me appear older?”

“No? Not really? Those ones in specific I think, well. Neither older nor younger. More authoritative, maybe.”

Zoissette had her feet tucked under her, and was gripping the side of her chair. Y’shtola raised an eyebrow, and then, with deliberate slowness, sauntered over.

Zoissette just stared, transfixed. The woman was tall, but seated while Y’shtola was standing gave Y’shtola just the tiniest bit of advantage, Zoissette’s gaze at about her bust line. An advantage which she now fully utilized, as she moved to gently nudge her knee against Zoissette. Zoissette sat back a little, spreading her knees apart, enough for Y’shtola to lean forward, and plant her knee on the seat.

“Maybe you could, uhm, help me look-” said Zoissette, who finally actually looked up to meet Y’shtola’s eyes, “- something up.”

“Oh?” said Y’shtola, her tail swishing back and forth behind her. She arched her back a little, to press her chest forward prominently, and she angled her head to look down her nose at Zoissette, whose face was beginning to turn quite red. More importantly, so were the tips of her ears, a sure and familiar tell.  “And I suppose my eager little student would like to review the pertinent appendices?”

Zoissette bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and rocked back and forth in the chair a bit. “Well, I thought about maybe spending some time in the stacks. I hear the selection here is extremely well rounded, and I would love to delve in.”

They held their gaze for a moment, and then, Zoissette broke, looking down, tittering slightly. “Sorry. Sorry. This is very silly. I feel very silly. That outfit is really -”

She stopped as Y’shtola grabbed her jaw with one hand, fingers and thumbs pressing on her cheeks, making her mouth pucker just a little. She pulled her face back up, Zoissette going willingly with the motion, until their gazes locked one more.

Y’shtola narrowed her eyes. Still looking down her nose. She tilted her head just the tiniest bit, as though intrigued by this specimen that had wandered into her ‘library’. And then she rolled her head back and forth slowly, as though inspecting said specimen, carefully looking it over. And as she did so, Zoissette began to fidget. Her hands still gripping the sides of her seat, even as she drummed her fingers. Her breathing becoming shallow. Her mouth beginning to tremble, Y’shtola feeling the vibration in her fingers. Her ears turning redder.

And still, Y’shtola was implacable. Just watching. She reached up with her other hand, and lowered her glasses. She would lose much, in the shift in sight, but it was worth it. Worth it to feel the shift in Zoissette as she did so. As she primly adjusted them onto her face. As she lowered her head, bringing her nose almost to Zoissette’s. As she moved her body closer. As she leaned against Zoissette, feeling her own heat reflected off Zoissette’s body mixed with the warmth Zoissette herself brought to the equation.

Once her glasses were settled the way she liked, she examined Zoissette again. Her aether, swimmy, waves of stars in an ocean of blue so deep it was almost black. Ripples and waves of who Zoissette was and all of her might and destinies.

She still held Zoissette’s jaw in her hand, though she relaxed it, just a bit. She did not want to harm Zoissette, did not want the press of her fingers to begin to ache. Just to remind her where she should be looking and who was in control here.

With her other hand, she reached up, slowly, and delicately took an ear between finger and thumb, and lightly drew along its edge, pinching every so slightly. Like running a thread through her fingers. Her vision may not have been clear or detailed, but her sense of touch was more than present, and she could feel Zoissette tremble against her body.

Slowly, she tilted her head, past Zoissette’s field of view, still holding on. As her hand trailed down from ear to neck to collarbone, from collarbone to swell of breast, from swell of breast to the firmness of stomach, she touched her lips to Zoissette’s ear, and ran her tongue slowly along them.

And she purred as Zoissette sucked in her breath.

She let go, now, and Zoissette tilted her head to the side, looking up, making more space for Y’shtola. Y’shtola resettled a bit, shifting around to get more comfortable. One hand against Zoissette’s side, to hold herself steady. Just a little bit of separation of their bodies, for just long enough for another hand to find the inside of the waistband of Zoissette’s pants, to explore further downward. One foot still on the ground, helping her hold her own weight and so she could move around as she pleased. And the knee that was on the seat slipped off, now, to lean against the front of the chair, arched foot touching toes to ground. She stuck her butt out a little further, her tail now curled back upon her, swaying in the air.

And the entire time, Zoissette’s breath had been quick, unsteady. She only attempted to lift her hands from the edge of the seat once, but a swat and she put them back, immediately understanding her part, role, and place in all this.

Steady once more, Y’shtola moved one hand to be on top of one of Zoissette’s hands, fingers on the outside of tight knuckles, and she leaned back just a little to look at Zoissette’s face once more.

“Now tell me,” she crooned. “What brings you here?” and as she said that, she slid two fingers in between Zoissette’s folds.

Zoissette spasmed, and threw back her head, and cried out. Y’shtola was quick on her, her free hand now back on Zoissette’s jaw, shifting her weight so she could stand.

“Behave,” she said. “We must maintain a certain level of decorum, should we not? Inside voice, if you please.”

Zoissette just sort-of nodded against Y’shtola’s hand, and whimpered.

“Good girl,” said Y’shtola, letting go, and she bent over to run a tongue along Zoissette’s ear while her fingers explored, finding Zoissette delightfully wet. Fingers slid up and down her slit, and she could feel the nub of Zoissette’s clit. A light touch of teeth to skin made Zoissette choke a gasp. The rubbing of two fingers on either side of her clit made her whimper, curling on herself, going tight to try to control herself, to not make a noise.

Well, not make too much noise. Her breathing was quite loud, and there was definitely a ‘nnnnnngh’ escaping from her.

Y’shtola continued, with an almost casualness to her. She pulled back from her ear, and leaned against her once more. She moved to be more on Zoissette’s side now, rather than in front of her, allowing herself easier movement inside of Zoissette’s smalls under her pants. Allowing her to look from head to toe, able to see the tension in the currents that were the aether that made up Zoissette. Able to reach with her other hand where she liked, and where she liked was Zoissette’s breast, kneading it with her fingers through Zoissette’s top.

“You are not very articulate,” she said. “Have I found what you were looking for?”

“Y-y-yes,” said Zoissette, her voice strained.

“Are you certain?” asked Y’shtola. “I might check elsewhere, if you remain unsatisfied.”

“N-no. I am - I am good.”

“Breath.”

Zoissette rocked back and forth in the chair, taking several deep gulping breaths. Y’shtola smiled wickedly to herself, as she placed a hand on Zoissette’s shoulder, and leaned close to an ear once more.

“And now,” she said, and she leaned, leaned forward, leaned in, and really bore down, her fingers alight, with carefully timed movement and lots of pressure.

Zoissette cried out, and as she did so, Y’shtola stuck her hand full in her mouth.

“Quiet in the library,” she said, cooly, calmly, as she continued her ministrations. Zoissette nodded dumbly, even as she whimpered against Y’shtola’s hand, drooling slightly. Her eyes clenched shut, and began to water from the exertion, from the effort, of trying to hold in, trying to hold back.

It was no use. Y’shtola well knew what she was doing now, and Zoissette’s body bucked. She bit down, hard, and Y’shtola resisted the urge to yelp herself. She had put herself at such risk, and she knew it. However, even her throes, Zoissette still had enough control to not fully bear down. And so she kept her hand in Zoissette’s mouth, letting her ride out the wave of her first orgasm.

“Breath,” she admonished again, and Zoissette nodded, before reaching up a hand and desperately tapping at Y’shtola’s arm.

Y’shtola pulled back immediately, retrieving her hand from Zoissette’s smalls and pulling her hand out of her mouth. Zoissette gasped, and pushed herself forward out of the chair, and fell to the floor on hands and knees, breathing hard.

“Oh gods. Oh Fury.”

“Are you alright?” said Y’shtola, mildly concerned, crouching next to her.

“Gods swive hells yes. That was intense. Oh hells. My stomach hurts from tensing. I just - I just need a moment. I just…”

Y’shtola nodded, and took off her glasses. She wanted to be able to see, now, and her more normal aethersight returned to her. She wrapped an arm around Zoissette, and rubbed her back as the woman continued to take several deep breaths, trembling.

“I think,” Zoissette said at last, “We have ruined my smalls.”

Y’shtola laughed.

“Oh gods you are a demon with your voice. I am going to be hearing that in my dreams.”

“Sweet ones, I hope.”

“Damning ones.”

Zoissette let herself down the rest of the way to the floor, and rolled over to her side, stopping to look at Y’shtola with open adoration, before rolling onto her back, her breathing still heavy.

“Are you certain you are quite alright? Normally we can go for quite longer.”

“Just intense. Also I do not think the chair agreed with me.”

“Duly noted.”

Zoissette stayed where she was, and Y’shtola settled into sit next to her, picking up a hand to hold it.

“So do I get to stay in the library, or…?” asked Zoissette, and Y’shtola laughed.

[fanfiction-she-wrote]

Pulitzer's Daughter

A redemptive take on the confrontational scene in Pulitzer's office before the rally, as well as the rally and rooftop scene.

Word Count: a little over 9000 (I'm a fiend, I know)

Warnings: perhaps some language, mentions of potential abuse (physical/emotional/verbal) but nothing graphic or explicit

Author's Note: I do bring up Lucille, Pulitzer's second oldest daughter who died two years before the Newsboy Strike in 1897 at the age of 17 from typhoid fever, so just wanted to offer that context. Also, I'm playing with the idea of continuing this into a mini collection that includes Jack and Katherine telling everyone about her identity, the blackmail, and The Children's Crusade, as well as maybe a heart to heart about the Pulitzer family dynamic and the process of writing The Children's Crusades? I'm really out here trying to build up Katherine's character a little more so I can justify my love for her lol.

Still reeling from the excitement she felt over the upcoming rally, Katherine Plumber roamed the streets, giddily informing every Newsie she passed about it. By the time she made it to the gates of The World, the sun had started to go down and the Newsies had all scrambled to sell the last of their papes before the meeting, leaving Katherine to her thoughts. She wanted to be realistic about the odds, but she couldn’t help the hope that had stirred from within her. This just might work. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice ring out beside her.

“Just who we’s were lookin’ for.” Katherine whirled around to come face to face with one of the Delancey brothers. She tried to take a step back, but where one brother was, the other was never far behind. In this case, it came in a literal sense as the other brother stood right behind her and blocked her motion. “Mr. Pulitzer would like to speak with you.” A slew of responses swam through her mind, every single one of them sarcastic and witty and not particularly cooperative, but they all left as she spotted a figure looking down at her from the office balcony above. Biting her tongue, she followed them silently, keeping her head down. As the doors opened and she was escorted into the room, she faced the mayor, two World staffers, and the infamous Joe Pulitzer who all looked her way.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lady of the hour,” Pulitzer said sneeringly, newspaper in hand. He unfolded the paper as he stood directly in front of her, holding the print to her face for her to see. “Are you proud of yourself?” Katherine straightened her posture a tad.

“I am. Those boys-”

“Are none of your concern. Clearly, you’ve allowed your bleeding heart to guide your pen.” 

“But-” She went to reach for the paper and explain herself, but he retracted it with an aggressive flick, causing her to flinch.

“Sit.” She immediately backed away and obediently took a seat in the nearest chair. As soon as she plopped down, the other men in the room spoke up, clearly carrying on a conversation she had missed the context for.

“I’ve read your editorials, Mr. Pulitzer. How can you express so much sympathy for the trolley workers and yet have none for the Newsies?” the mayor asked, walking closer to Pulitzer as he addressed him.

“Because the trolley workers are striking for a fair contract,” he explained calmly, removing his spectacles from his face and studying them. “The Newsies are striking against…me.” He tucked the lenses into his vest pocket, focusing his attention on the mayor.

“Well, I’d spare you the embarrassment if I could, but Medda Larkin’s Theater, the Burlesque House, is private property,” he responded matter of factly.

“He can’t order a raid without legal cause,” Mr. Bunsen chipped in, holding his ledger book close to his chest. Katherine felt herself sink into the chair a little more, realizing she was in the middle of a conversation regarding the very rally she had just been optimistic about. Of course, he already knows about it, she thought to herself.

“Mr. Mayor, would the fact that this rally is organized by an escaped convict be enough to shut it down?” Pulitzer tried, stepping up to the mayor, who shot him an inquisitive look, though he stood his ground.

“An escaped convict?” His tone seemed to imply that he didn’t believe Pulitzer’s assertion.

“A fugitive from one of your own institutions” Pulitzer emphasized, pressing the folded-up newspaper against the mayor’s chest in a pointed manner. He started walking back to his desk, everyone shuffling on their feet to follow in his direction. Even Katherine unknowingly shifted her posture toward him, her curious nature peaked. “A convicted thief, at large, reeking mischief on our law-abiding community.” With a twirl, Pulitzer spun his desk chair around to reveal Mr. Snyder as he dropped the newspaper down on the desk. Katherine felt a sinking pit in her stomach. “Mr. Snyder, which one is he?” Pulitzer turned away as Snyder immediately leaned forward and pointed at the picture on the front page, her picture from her story.

“That is him, there.” He stood up and handed the mayor the paper. “Jack Kelly.” Katherine felt her heart stop, slight panic settling in as she tried to absorb the conversation without giving anything away.

“And how do you know this boy?” the mayor asked, taking the newspaper but not minding the picture, simply listening to Snyder speak. 

“His is not a pleasant story. He was the first sentenced to my Refuge for loitering and vagrancy,” he explained, the mayor taking a step back to finally look at the paper. Katherine’s eyes were fixed on his, watching him study Jack with anxiety crawling up her throat. “But his total disregard for authority has made him a frequent visitor.”

“You called him a thief,” the mayor punctuated, lowering the paper before turning to face Snyder once more, “and escaped convict.”

“After his release, I caught him myself, red-handed,” Snyder replied animantly, walking around the desk towards the mayor as Pulitzer took his place, “trafficking stolen food and clothing. He was last sentenced to six months, but the willful ruffian escaped.” Katherine’s eyebrows furrowed. Trafficking food and clothing? As in bringing them into The Refuge? But The Refuge is a government facility. Those children are supposed to be cared for…unless- her thoughts were interrupted by Pulitzer’s voice. 

“So, you’d be doing the city a service, removing this criminal from our streets.” Her eyes darted between the newspaper tycoon and the mayor for a moment.

“If that’s the case,” the mayor responded, emphasizing the if, “we can take him in.” She froze. Jack going back to The Refuge? “Quietly-” No, they can’t, her thoughts voiced at the same time. Her heart skipped a beat with the sudden slamming of Pulitzer’s hands against his desk, grabbing everyone’s attention and silencing her mind.

“What good would quiet do me!” He yelled, an eerie silence filling the room as he stalked around his desk, eyes directly on the mayor. “I want a public example made of him,” he said in a cold steely tone. Just as Kathrine started to catch her breath, Hannah, Pulitzer’s secretary, came rushing in, her breathing slightly erratic.

“Mr. Pulitzer- the boy, Jack Kelly, is here.” Katherine’s eyes went wide, and she immediately launched herself to her feet, fear racing through every inch of her body. What?

“He’s-” she started to whisper, only to be cut off by Pulitzer himself.

“Here?” he asked, sounding quite amused. 

“Just outside. He’s asked to see you,” Hannah added, uncertainty written on her face. Pulitzer started to laugh gleefully, a sound that made Katherine’s skin grow cold. That’s a sadistic laugh, even from him. 

“Ask and ye shall be received.” He quickly whirled around and directed everyone into their places. “Mr. Snyder, if you please.” Snyder clapped his hands with excitement as Pulitzer gestured to Mr. Bunsen over with him. Katherine’s head was swirling with thoughts and anxiety. Run, Katherine. You need to warn him or he’s going to walk into a trap, she said to herself mentally. Just as she made to move, Pulitzer put a hand on her shoulder, suddenly beside her and giving her a passing but icy glare. “Sit,” he commanded with a quiet snarl. Despite herself, she did as she was told, holding tightly to the armrests as he quickly spun her chair to face the wall. She let out a small gasp, garnering his warning glare once more before she heard footsteps enter, pulling his attention away. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears, understanding the look he had just thrown her: behave or else.

“Mr. Jack Kelly,” Hannah announced. The footsteps paced leisurely, and her chest tightened.

“Hey. Good afternoon, boys,” Katherine heard him say, his voice as cocky and confident as ever. It made her flinch, despite how easily it also almost made her heart skip a beat. We just got him back to his usual self. There has to be some way to warn him.

“And which Jack Kelly is this?” Pulitzer stepped away from the chair as she heard a small whistle, clearly coming from her favorite Newsie as she imagined he was taking in the office. “The charismatic union organizer, or the petty thief and escaped convict?”

“Which one gives us more in common? Huh?” She wished his witty comment had made her feel better, but she held onto the arm rests tighter, her brain firing a million miles a minute. The more Jack taunts him, the more likely he is to carry on the act, which buys us time. But he also doesn’t mind the theatrics of it. He still holds all the cards and time may not do us any good.

“Impudence is in bad taste when crawling for mercy.” There was a pause. Jack, don’t take the bait.

“Crawlin’?” Jack let out a chuckle. She nearly huffed out a breath before noticing Pulitzer’s staffer Mr. Seitz standing close by, subtly watching her. She bit her lip instead. “That’s a laugh. No. No, I just dropped by with an invite. No, it seems a, uh, few hundred of your employees are rallyin’ to discuss some, uh, recent disagreements. Now, I thought it only fair to invite you to state your case straight to the fellas. Huh? So what'dya say, Joe? Want I should save you a spot on the bill?” Leave it to Jack to walk into the lion's den just to gloat, she huffed mentally.

“You are as shameless and disrespectful a creature as I was told. Did you know what I was doing when I was your age, boy?” Pulitzer said, emphasizing the word ‘boy’ to get under his skin. “I was fighting in a war.” 

“Oh, yeah, how’d that turn out for ya?” Jack didn’t seem to skip a beat with his commentary as Katherine tried to casually look around. Damned chair, I can’t see any of the doors from here…

“It taught me a lesson that shaped my life. You don’t win a war on the battlefield. It’s the   headline that crowns the victor.”

“Well, I will keep that in mind when New York wakes up to front-page photos of our rally.” She tried not to smirk at his confidence.

“Oh, rally till the cows come home. Not a paper in town will publish a word. And if it’s not in the papers, it never happened.” There was a pause. Right, Pulitzer put out a ban on strike material. How were we going to spread the success of the rally, she distractedly contemplated.

“You may run this city, but there are some of us who can’t be bullied. Even some reporters,” he growled lightly. Her brain stopped for a moment as she bit her lip to hide her full-blown smile. Oh…he’s talking about me… she thought to herself for a moment before feeling the upholstery under her hand and remembering the circumstances. Focus on that later. For now, get back to looking for an escape. 

“Ah. Such as that young woman who made you yesterday’s news?” She froze in place. Forget the escape. Why is he talking about me? Where is he going with this? She could hear footsteps approaching the desk. Pulitzer was, no doubt, setting up for something.  “Talented girl.” She heard him tap on the newspaper and realization struck. This is part of the set up. He meant for this to happen. He wanted Jack to- “And beautiful as well, don’t you think?” Jack was oblivious to all of it as she tried to look for a way out without moving the chair and drawing attention to herself, her hands wringing anxiously.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her you said so,” Jack said in a scoffing manner, turning to leave.

“No need,” Pulitzer said with a smirk. She felt like her heart might give out from how hard it was pounding now as she turned her gaze to him. Her eyes widened when she saw him nod, clearly enjoying the panic in her eyes. Please, don’t do this, she begged silently. “She can hear for herself.” She flinched as he threw down the paper on the desk, not breaking eye contact with her as he made her presence known. “Can’t you, darling?” She stared at him wordlessly before she saw his finger wag. The signal was clear. Get up. With a shaky breath, she rose to her feet in defeat and slowly turned around. Jack’s back was to her, but his head was turning in her direction after seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye. “I trust you know my daughter,” Pulitzer said as her eyes started to mist, “Katherine.” He spat out her name with such venom, but she knew it wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at Jack. All of this was to hurt Jack. Congratulations, Katherine. You played the part perfectly, a voice in her head hissed. “Yes,” Pulitzer sang out, clearly enjoying how distraught the infamous Jack Kelly had become, her eyes never leaving his. She could see storms of emotion crashing in his eyes: disbelief, hurt, betrayal, grief. Tears welled up in her own eyes, unable to tear herself from tortured his gaze. “My daughter.” Her father sat at his desk as Jack tried to take a few steps toward her, and away from the door, his only exit. No, Jack you need to run, she screamed in her head, but she couldn’t even bring herself to say a word, much less move her legs as she stood there frozen by sheer panic. This is bad. This is very bad. “You are probably asking, why the nom de plume, and why doesn’t my daughter work for me?” Hearing her father’s gloating tone, she hesitantly glanced in his direction, distraught by how content he sounded with himself. “Good questions.” He clearly didn’t care about her opinion of him as he settled back comfortably into his chair. “I offered Katherine a life of wealth and leisure. Instead, she chose to pursue a career.” She swallowed the bile in her throat as she looked at Jack again, her eyes shining with tears. And guilt. “And she was showing real promise until-” She jumped and flinched at the sound of him slamming his hand against the desk and dragging the newspaper across the wood. “This…recent…lapse,” he said, pausing with each word. Get a grip, Katherine. You have to do something. “But you’re done with all of that now, aren’t you, sweetheart?” An opening. This is an opening to speak. Say something. Warn him!

“Jack, I didn’t mean to-” she tried to explain herself as she took a step towards him, but he was quick to step back, breaking eye contact from her as he held out a hand telling her to stay in her place. You did that to him, Katherine. Now he won’t listen to you. She could see the way he was taking uneven breaths and staring at the ground to keep it together. A part of her broke seeing him like this. 

“Don’t trouble the boy with your problems, dearest,” Pulitzer chimed in, a small smile on his face. “Mr. Kelly has a plateful of his own.” Despite her distraught emotions, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Oh no. Jack, run.

“Jack-” she whimpered, his name just barely falling from her lips as her father cut off her warning.

“Wouldn’t you say so-” No time for warnings.

“Run!” a hiss ripped through her throat as she gripped onto the chair tightly to stop herself from running at him. His eyes just barely flashed up to meet hers as her father uttered the end of his sentence to snap the door on the trap. 

“Mr. Snyder?” There was a pause as Jack’s eyes widened, staring at Katherine. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, but the shadow of a figure coming out from behind Pulitzer’s desk made his eyes stray from her and believe her words. 

“Hello, Jack,” he snarled. Jack immediately tried to make a run for it, but Katherine could see the Delancey brothers right behind him, ready to restrain him. She went to throw herself away from the chair to help him, but a hand landed on her shoulder. Mr. Seitz squeezed her shoulder to remind her that they were outnumbered. They had been the entire time. This was the plan from the moment Jack arrived. They beat us. She covered her mouth and grabbed hold of the chair once more, letting the wood brush against her skin as she watched Jack struggle. This isn't a fight we win, Jack. I’m so sorry. 

“Does anyone else feel a noose tightening? Hmm?” The Delancey brothers threw Jack forward. Looking back at them, he realized just how trapped he was, and Katherine watched his back as he struggled to even his breathing. 

“But allow me to offer an alternate scenario,” her father announced from his throne. “You attend the rally and speak against this hopeless strike.” Katherine dropped the hand covering her mouth to her side, biting her lip and squeezing the chair tighter. So, an ultimatum. “And I’ll see your criminal record expunged, and your pockets filled with enough cash to carry you, in a first-class train compartment, from New York,” he paused for emphasis, her hand slacking and dropping from the chair in surprise. How did he- “To New Mexico, and beyond.” Pulitzer then turned his head to his daughter, giving her a sickly-sweet smile as she shook her head in disbelief. “You did say he wanted to travel west, didn’t you?” She let out a bitter chuckle, knowing that he was implying that she fed him information. Of course, he knows about Santa Fe too. She crossed her arms and covered her mouth with one hand, some tears leaking from her eyes. She wanted to say something, say anything, but she knew the second she opened her mouth, it wouldn’t be words coming out as her nausea continued to brew. She hesitantly looked at Jack, his eyes burning into her. I didn’t sell you out, Jack. Please know that I would never do it, she tried to convey through her eyes.

“There ain’t a person in this room who don’t know you stink,” he growled. He meant it towards her father, but she knew that some part of him meant it for her too. He held her eyes with his, anger and hurt swirling in them. The moment was broken though as Pulitzer stood from his seat, demanding attention.

“And if they know me, they know I don’t care.” he responded, making his way around his desk. He stopped to lean against the desk instead, clearly confident in the circumstances. “Mark my words, boy. Defy me, and I will have you and every one of your friends locked up in The Refuge.” Jack stood tall, defiance in his stance. But she’d come to know him well enough to recognize the slight tremble in his fingers before he balled them into fists. He’s scared. But if the Refuge is as awful as it sounds, surely my father wouldn't sentence dozens of children to such a fate...would he, Katherine tried to reassure herself, though she wasn't sure anymore. “I know you’re Mr. Tough Guy, but it’s not right to condemn that little crippled boy to conditions like that.” Jack tilted his head, gritting his teeth. Katherine's head felt like it was spinning. He knew about them. He knew about all of them. Of course he did. “And what about your pal, uh…”

“Davey,” Snyder chipped in. The spinning stopped and her body snapped in his direction. Bringing the Newsies into this was bad enough, but Davey and Les?

“Davey. And his baby brother,” Jack stepped back, staring at Katherine in disbelief. She didn’t bother breaking her glaze to meet his though as fire made its way into her eyes. “Ripped from their loving family and tossed to the rats.” Her father started tutting. He’s taking this too far, she growled internally. She could see the way Jack looked away from the corner of her eye, helpless guilt written all over his face. It was enough to send her over the edge. “Will they ever be able to thank you-”

“Enough!” she yelled, her hands shaking with rage. Her father’s cold fury glared at her, daring her to say more. In shock of her explosion, she diverted her eyes to Jack who had slowly turned his head to look at her, his gaze conflicted with emotions. Katherine swallowed the bile that rose up her throat and tried to work up her courage. Enough sitting silently. I need to say something while I’m still brave enough to open my mouth. “You can’t do this.” She broke Jack’s gaze and stared at her father. His glare burned her, but she fought the instinct to recoil and continued, stepping closer to his desk in an attempt to put them on the same level. "This isn't about the strike. This is about your willingness to throw dozens of boys into a prison for something that isn't even illegal. What kind of person does that make you?" Katherine felt her chest light for a moment. That felt good to say. The relief was short lived however as she watched her father step up to her, casting down his infernal glare. The last time she had seen those eyes so close, a hand followed, the memory eliciting a reaction. Everyone in the room could see the way her assertion dimmed into a plea, her body physically shrinking back slightly with each approaching footstep from Pulitzer. “Please. They’re just children,” she whispered, all of the bravery fleeing in an instant. Despite himself, Jack instinctively clenched his jaw at the way she sounded so small and afraid.

“As are you,” he responded coldly. He raised his hand towards her face, causing her to flinch. Jack went to step toward them until he saw Pulitzer's hand simply take her by the chin and force her to meet his eyes. Seeing the fear in them, he scoffed and let her go, turning his back to her and approaching Jack, a twinkle of humor back in his eye. “Time’s running out, kid, so what do you say? Cowboy or convict, I win either way,” he hummed softly, a menacing tone to his voice. Jack's eyes were bouncing back between Pulitzer and Katherine, part of him getting over the fear he had for her as fear for himself settled in once more, remembering the trap he had found himself in, the trap she had a part in springing. Katherine stared at him, once again frozen in place. That did nothing. All of that was for nothing, she scolded herself. “Your abject surrender was always,” he broke into chuckles before sharply delivering the end of his tune, “the bottom line.” Without skipping a beat, he waved over the Delancey brothers. “Gentlemen, escort our guest to the cellar so he might reflect in solitude.” The boys started pushing Jack around just for him to throw up his hands and follow on his own will. Katherine, to her surprise, was quick to follow, her feet trying to keep up with Jack. The Delancey brothers, however, knew she would try to join them and quickly blocked her off.

“Jack,” she shouted breathlessly, trying to make her way past them. When he kept walking without even a glance back, she tried again, more loud and certain. “Jack!” She watched the way he shook his head and she processed the gesture. Oh…it was on purpose. She hurt him and he’s ignoring her. She stopped at the steps of the stairs and tried to hold it together. She was brushed aside as her father followed, leading them to the cellar. In response, she followed, though she knew there was nothing she could do anymore. By the time she had made it to the cellar entrance, her father was already turning to leave with a grin on his face. As soon as he registered her presence however, the quirk of his lip fell and he rather gruffly grabbed her arm and pulled her away. He dragged her back into the office and only released her once the doors had been closed and it was just the two of them. She watched as he went back to his desk silently, rubbing her arm where it had been grasped harshly.

“I called The Sun. You can go retrieve your things in the morning.” She stared at him blankly, hoping she had misheard him.

“...what?” He shook his head and picked up the newspaper once more, lazily glancing over the front page. Her story.

“Come now, darling, you’re smarter than this. I didn’t just blacklist you. I had you terminated. Clearly, journalism is too much pressure on you-”

“You had no right. That article was my best work, my big break-” she argued, stepping forward to be at the foot of his desk.

“The entire story was a hyperbole. There weren’t swarms of children, just a handful of Newsies. And they didn’t storm the gates, the Delanceys opened the gate for them to come in for work. You misguided your readers and gave those boys false hope.” Katherine tried not to let the hurt shine through her eyes as she stood her ground.

“Of course you’re hypercritical of the piece, you have a conflict of interest in all of this, Mr. Pulitzer,” she hissed.

“And so it seems do you, Ms. Plumber.” This time, she can’t hide the shock on her face. “What, you thought I wouldn’t know about that Kelly boy being sweet on you? I’ve been keeping an eye on you for longer than you think. You’ve clearly taken to him far beyond what your writing suggests. Dare I say you found a muse in that riffraff?" How dare he insinuate such things.

“Just because he’s a flirt doesn’t mean my nonpartisan integrity as a journalist is compromised,” she said, straightening her back despite his claim. Jack Kelly is a lot of things: handsome, cocky, witty, brash, charming, and loud, just to name a few. But he is not and has never been a distraction, she told herself.

“Maybe. But you’ve too emotionally grown attached to your subject. Luckily, I stepped in when I did before you considered anything you’ll regret.” Ignoring his implications, she leaned forward on the desk.

“Don’t pretend like this is about me. You’ve refused to so much as look at my way since I decided to pursue journalism.” He looked up from the paper and decided to put it down, waving a hand for her to speak. Finally. “This strike is happening because you up-charged the Newsies and have refused to treat them as anything more than children-”

“They are children-”

“Working class children that work for you. They should be treated as employees.” He scoffed and folded his arms. “The upcharge may not seem like much, but those boys barely have enough to live off of as is. And all of this for what? So you can pocket more money?” He rolled his eyes, agitating her a bit more.

“It’s not about the money, Katherine. It’s about the principle. I need more circulation and we need to cut costs somewhere to make more papers, so the newsies pay more for each paper they sell. The more papers they sell, the more readers I have. The more readers I have, the more people listen to my opinion. The more people listen to my opinion-”

“Then it’s a matter of pride.” Her father’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t stop. “You care more about competing with the other big names of the city and increasing the power of your voice than the livelihood of those children. And when they raise their voices, you want to stomp them to the ground.”

“Those children are gutter rats. Most of them won’t even live to become to adults-”

“No thanks to people like you.”

“I’m teaching them a lesson: the world isn’t fair.” She chuckles dryly. No, The World isn’t.

“You act as though they don’t know that. Those kids have been dealt some of the most unfair hands in life. I don’t understand why you don’t just-”

“Of course you don’t understand. You are still a child learning about the world. I made it so you wouldn’t have to face hardships, but again and again you choose to make life more difficult-”

“Because I want to understand the world!" Katherine snapped. "How am I supposed to learn anything when I’m trapped in a comfortable bubble of wealth and privilege, which I never asked for? I am 17! It’s time for me to go out and work for a living and learn about the world, away from this easy life you keep trying to impose on me!” Her father’s face turned red at her words.

“It's a matter of maturity, not age. Why must you be so difficult? Lucille understood such things and she never had these-these outbursts! She understood the price of this life, that these are benefits she could never gain elsewhere, no matter how much hard work and effort she put in, so she was obedient and grateful. Why couldn’t you be more like your sister?” The air cooled as she stepped away from the desk slowly. He really went there…he really brought her up just to get back at me.

“I know I’m not the daughter you want me to be, and I miss her too, but you don’t have to throw Lucy in my face every time I don’t measure up.” He stared at her and sighed. Instead of apologizing though, he merely picked up the paper once more, keeping his eyes off of her.

“Go home and freshen up. I want you there when Mr. Kelly gives up on this union nonsense tonight.”

“You don’t know if he will-”

“If he’s as much of a hero as you painted him out to be in your article, then I’m positive he will.” She’s silent. He’s right. Jack is the type to bite the bullet, but only for himself. For others, he'd make himself the human shield. And to add money on top of that…he’s getting paid to walk away from all of this, something he’s wanted to do since the beginning…would he? Sensing her uncertainty, he turned around in his chair so that his back was to her. “You should pick out something nice to wear. This will likely be the last time you see Mr. Jack Kelly.” She stared at the upholstery blankly, her emotions too jumbled to sort through. “You’re dismissed,” he emphasized with the crinkling of paper. Without another word, she turned and walked out the door, her eyes prickling with tears. It wasn’t until she had made it down the front steps of The World that a thought occurred to her: Jack. Is he still down in the cellar? Should I go see him? Would he…would he want to see me after everything? Insecurity crept up her spine and she decided to focus on making it to the rally. The only way now is forward. If I’m early enough, maybe I can warn Davey and them about what happened just in case Jack… Her trail of thought sputtered out. She didn’t want to think like that. Jack Kelly was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a sell-out. She knew that.

By the time Katherine made it to the rally at Medda’s, she could see the discussion was in full swing. To her reassurance, they had over triple the numbers of Newsies than what they had been working with. It seemed to be going well with all of the boroughs. She found herself a nice spot to watch Davey speak from behind a group of Newsies from Flushing up on one of the risers. It almost made her smile…until she saw Jack coming around from the backstage area with his jaw set. Oh no… she thought to herself, bringing her thumb up to her lips as she started to bite on her nail.

“You wanna be talked to like an adult? Then start actin’ like one,” Jack grumbled loudly, cutting off the applause Davey had conjured up.

“Jack-” Davey said, catching Jack’s tone and trying to ease him up. Jack however was a man on a mission, so he gave Davey a small push to let him know he was taking over, not once stopping his grumbling

“Don’t just run your mouth. Make some sense.”

“And here’s Jack!” Davey announced with enthusiasm, though his face showed some concern. The Newsies started chanting his name and Katherine could see him fighting himself. Come on, Jack. Do the right thing. These boys need you.

“Alright.” They didn’t stop. “Alright,” he said a little louder, but to no avail. “Alright!” he shouted, finally getting the boys to simmer down. He took a moment to think, his eye catching his artwork on display. Katherine followed his eyes. He could do so much with talent like that…is that what he hopes to do when he goes to Santa Fe? Katherine startled herself out of her thoughts. She didn’t mean to imply that he was leaving. It had always been an ‘if’, not a ‘when’ and something about that realization made her stomach sink. “Pulitzer…raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us, and that was a lousy thing to do.” The Newsies murmured in agreement. “So we got mad and we showed ‘em we ain’t gonna be pushed around. So we go on strike! And then what happens? Well, Pulitzer lowers the price of papes, so’s we’ll go back to work!” More murmurs of agreement came. Katherine felt a little better and pulled her finger away from her lips. Maybe I shouldn’t have doubted him. And then he held his hand up to silence them, a look on his face that brought the pit back to her stomach. “And a few weeks later, he hikes the price back up again, and don’t think he won’t. So what do we do then? And what do we do if he decides to raise his price again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here.” Davey realized where Jack’s going with his line of thinking and walked up to him to try to calm him down. Katherine’s finger was back to her chin, her teeth preoccupied with her nail once more. “If we don’t work, we don’t get paid.” Jack turned around to see Davey standing right beside him, looking at him with concern on his face. “How many days can you go without makin’ money? Huh? Believe me, however long, Pulitzer can go longer.” Suddenly the crowd started vocalizing their confusion.

“What are you saying, Jack?”

“So what do we do, Jack?”

“Oh no…” Katherine mumbled to herself. 

“But I have spoken with Mr. Pulitzer!” She shook her head as the boys quieted down. Jack, don’t… “And he…” Jack was fighting himself to finish, “he has given me his word.” His voice cracked at the end. “If we disband the union-” All hell broke loose with those words. All of the boys started coming down the risers and yelling. Jack was trying to hold firm on his stance, but he was in the thick of everything. Katherine shook her head in disappointment, moving up to the railing to have a better look at the scene below. However, her eyes stopped on a figure on the opposite riser from her. Snyder. So, they made good on their threat after all. She watched as he threw his hand down on the railing in what seemed to be disappointment before he left. Katherine wanted to make sure he was gone for good before letting her eyes fall to the mess on the stage. All these boys don’t even know how close to hell they just were, she thought, her eyes prickling with tears once more. Jack was still being drowned out by the voices of the other Newsies and looked up for some relief just to meet her eyes. He froze in his place as she watched him with misty eyes for a moment before taking off, unable to stomach the scene in front of her anymore. He did it. He took the money, and will no doubt leave as soon as he can. No goodbyes, no apologies, just burned bridges. She walked the streets of New York, her emotions becoming less of despair and more of defiance as she wiped her tears away angrily. No, she thought to herself. This doesn’t end like this. I need to talk to him. I need to… Just then, Katherine remembered something one of the Newsies had told her about: Jack’s penthouse. Picking up her skirt, she hurried over to the fire escape accessible rooftop she had heard about, fully aware that if she didn’t beat him there, she may never see him again.

By the time she made it up to the top of the ladder, she could see she was alone. There were still some things lying around so she took that as a sign that she just might have beat him back. At least, that’s what she had hoped. Taking a moment to catch her breath, the first thing she noticed were the stars above.

“Jack Kelly, the stargazer. The ‘Go West, Young Man’ theme continues,” she whispered to herself. She started pacing the area before noticing rolls of paper in an air vent. Hesitantly, she picked one up and unrolled it, her breath catching in her throat. Is this…Snyder is supposed to take care of them. This…this is unacceptable. She continued to study them until she heard the metal creaking of the ladder. Turning to face the ladder, she continued to fiddle with the drawing, though her eyes were switching between the boy she had been waiting for and his art.

“That was some speech you made,” she said dryly, despite knowing she shouldn’t be too hard on him. He didn’t have much of a choice, really…

“How’d you get here?” he grumbled before he’d even made it up the steps fully.

“Well, Specs showed me.” His eyes found the papers in her hands and he quickly rushed up to her, snatching one of them away quickly.

“What, he say you could go through my stuff?” he snapped at her. She flinched away slightly as he came around behind her and rolled it up.

“I saw them rolled up sticking out of there. I didn’t know what they were,” she defended herself gently, staring at his back as he tried to ignore her. She looked down at the paper still in her hands. “These drawings…these are drawings of The Refuge, aren’t they?” Jack didn’t respond, taking the other drawings and storing them away in a poster tube. Don’t stop, Katherine. This may be your only chance to get some answers. “Is this what it’s really like in there? Three boys to a bed, rats everywhere, and vermin…”

“What, a little different from how you were raised?” he spat out bitterly, snatching the page from her hands. She jumped and looked at him in surprise, but instead of fighting back, her eyes softened. He’s processing a lot. You can’t blame him for being upset after everything, Katherine. He made eye contact with her and held it for a moment before turning his back to her one more time to roll up the paper. 

“...Snyder told my father you were arrested stealing food and clothing. This is why, isn’t it? You stole to feed those boys…” When he kept his back to her, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jack, I don’t understand,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. He scoffed to himself.

“’s not that surprising,” he mumbled under his breath. Her cheeks went red. Why does everyone keep throwing that back at me today, she thought to herself as she flung her hands up in frustration.

“Then help me understand! If you were willing to go to jail for those boys, how could you turn your back on them now?” That triggered his fight instinct as Jack turned quickly and shoved the tube back into the air vent to face her head on.

“Oh, I do not think you,” he asserted pointily, finger directed at her, “are one to talk about turnin’ on folks!” She took a quick breath to keep her voice level again. 

“I never turned on you, or on anyone else,” she said, but he was quick to refute her.

“Oh, no, you didn’t. You just-just double crossed us to your father. Your father!” he yelled venomously, brushing past her to get to the other side of the railing. Despite herself, she raised her voice and followed him over. 

“Despite how it sounded, I never told my father a thing about any of you. My father and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” Jack rolled his eyes at her. That little-

“Oh yeah? Then how did he-”

“He has eyes on every corner of this city! He never needed me to spy for him, not that I would even agree to!” She stopped just short of him as he turned to look her in the eyes. He wants to believe. “And to be clear, I never lied.” His gaze shifted to disbelief, making her a bit nervous. “But I didn’t…tell you everything.” He let out a frustrated groan, the hope in his eyes gone again.

“If you weren’t a girl, you’d be trying to talk with a-a fist in your mouth!” He turned to face the railing, leaning against it. Katherine huffed to herself. What a stubborn boy. 

“Look, I told you that I worked for The Sun, and I did. I told you my professional name is Plumber, and it is. You-you never asked my real one,” she said, immediately wincing at her choice of words at the end. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. Jack seemed to agree because he whirled around exuding frustration.

“I wouldn’t think I had to unless I knew I was dealing with a backstabber!” She blinked and tried to manage her frustration. Keep your calm, Katherine.

“I already told you, I’m not a backstabber or a liar!” she hissed. Okay, that wasn’t very calm, she told herself, clenching her jaw to fight the desire to yell again. 

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t a fan of the truth, now are you?” She glared at him and felt heat rise up her cheeks. You know what, screw calm!

“Oh, if I was a boy, you’d be looking at me through one swollen eye!” she yelled, raising a fist up at him.

“Oh yeah?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it under his chin, incidentally pulling her close as well. What is he- “Don’t let that stop you, huh.” He let go of her wrist and leaned forward, ready to accept an uppercut. Jack, you infuriating boy. “Give me your best shot!” He stared her in the eyes. That’s when she saw it. Guilt. He thinks he deserves this. Her breathing was just as erratic as his as she stared at his face. His infuriatingly handsome face. Her eyes flickered down to his lips as he let out puffs of air that tickled her forehead…

…you know what? What the hell. She grabbed onto the base of his neck and pulled him forward, raising herself up on her tiptoes to meet his lips with hers. To her surprise, he was quick to react, grabbing hold of the railing to steady himself and meet her lips. Her hands naturally slid down to hold his face as they melted into the kiss together. After a few moments, they pulled away, foreheads still pressed together. Did I just… Their eyes met and he leaned back in for another kiss. Katherine wanted to stop him but allowed him to pull her in by the waist for a moment to share in another kiss before she felt a thought take over. The deal. She suddenly pushed herself away with a gasp and covered her lips, taking a few steps back. In the following moments, Jack seemed just as frazzled as she was, but she felt the need to say something, unable to stand the silent tension.

“I-I…”  An apology might be a good start. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. But I know how my father is and I just…I don’t want to be attached to him.” She turned to lean against the railing, a shadow passing over her eyes as she remembered his words. “He’s already made it very clear that I will never be enough to make him proud as a father, so why…” she hesitates with her words. “…why pretend to be someone I’m not?” Jack stared at her, trying to take in her vulnerability. 

“So…you made a fake name to make a name for yourself?” She fought the urge to chuckle. Nice word play, Kelly. 

“I…I guess so.” She hesitantly looked over at him. His eyes were still hazed over slightly from the kiss…es. Plural, Katherine. She shook the thought from her head, fighting off the blush that tried to creep up her cheeks. “I never lied to you about who I was. This is me. This…” she took a deep breath and turned to face him fully. “This is the real me. It’s the only me you’ve known, and it’s the only me there is.” He nodded slowly. She wanted to enjoy the moment, but her thoughts interrupted her once again. Ask him about the money. She shifted on her feet and looked away. “Jack, I…” he stepped a little closer to her, hanging on her words. Swallowing thickly, she looked at him again and hesitantly laid a hand on his chest. “I need to know that I wasn’t wrong about you. I…” his hand wrapped around hers, giving her the strength to continue. “I need to know that you didn’t cave for the money.” He tried to read her face before letting out a sigh and turning to the railing, leaning on it with both hands as her hand slipped out of his grasp.

“No, I-I spoke the truth,” he started, turning to face her. “You win a fight when you got the other fella down eatin’ pavement. Alright, you heard your father. No matter how many days we strike, he ain’t given’ up. I don’t…I don’t know what else we can do,” he whispered, clearly feeling hopeless. She came up beside him and leaned against the railing with him in silence for a moment. There must be something we can do. Another rally, another article, another…wait. She remembered the paper she had stowed away in her pocket when she changed at home, a new piece she had been working on before she had realized she was blacklisted. Maybe it doesn’t end here after all. With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she turned to him, her hand in her pocket reaching for the paper.

“Well…I just might have the solution to our problem.” He let out an exhausted groan.

“Oh, come on, Katherine. It’s-” She stopped to shoot him a challenging look.

“Really, Jack, really? Only you can have a good idea?” He drew back a bit, looking at her baffled. “Oh, I know, is it because I’m a girl?” He pointed a finger at her with a defensive look.

“Hey now, I did not say nothin’ about-”

“This would be a good time to shut up,” she cut him off, holding her hand up to silence him. He closed his mouth and tried not to let out a smile at her antics “Being boss doesn’t mean you have all the answers. Just the brains to recognize the right one when you hear it,” she says, pulling out a folded paper from her pocket and waving it in the air for emphasis, a wide smile on her face. Jack silently stared at her before dragging his hand down his face.

“...okay, I’m listening,” he felt the need to announce. She gasped playfully.

“Oh, good for you.” She could practically hear him roll his eyes as she started unfolding the page. “Look, the strike was your idea. The rally was Davey’s. Now my plan will take us to the finish line.” She held the paper up in front of his face. “Deal with it.” He snatched the paper from her hand, trying not to quirk a smile at her spunky attitude. He started looking it over, pacing around her.

“The Children’s Crusade,” he read aloud. Too excited to stop herself, she recited the words herself from memory, hands clasped in front of her.

“'For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in New York. I beg you…join us.'” Jack looked at her in shock, pointing at the paper.

“This…”

“With those words, your speech,” she emphasized with excitement. “The strike stopped being just about the Newsies. You challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table.” He was silent for a moment, mulling over his words. He didn’t even realize his potential as a leader back then, she smiled to herself.

“The Children’s Crusade…” he repeated in disbelief. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was clear in his eyes every time he looked at her: this girl never stopped amazing him.

“Just think, Jack! If we publish this- my words…” the gears were turning in her head. Pictures sell. “-with one of your drawings!” she squealed, quickly reaching for his art as he stood there, watching her bounce around with hope. “And if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work…” she tossed him the tube of sketched as she stopped her words, a new thought popping up. Or we could make it a public stand! He shook his head in disbelief. “Or better yet, they came to Newsie Square for a general city-wide strike!” She broke out into giggles, feeling like a mastermind as she took her piece back from Jack and looked it over again as she twirled around. “Even my father couldn’t ignore that.” When Katherine looked at Jack, she could see him hesitating. She stepped over to him, her smile dimming. “What is it?” He sighed, trying to give her a small smile that just couldn’t reach his eyes.

“This is…I mean, it’s great, but…we have one…small problem. We got no way to print it.” She rolled her eyes with a groan. Of course that would be a problem. Stupid ban.

“Well, there has to be one printing press my father doesn’t control.” Jack sighed and leaned against the railing, deep in his thoughts before he paused. 

“Oh no,” he groaned playfully. She quirked her eyebrow, reading the stress melt off his body as a good sign.

“What?” He let out a gruff laugh, fully recognizing the irony of what he was about to propose. The sound reminded her of the Jack Kelly she’d come to know and appreciate, and it brought a smile to her face.

“I know where there’s a printing press no one would ever think we’d use,” he smirked. Leave it to Jack to find a way! she squealed in her head.

“Well, then, why are we still standing here?” she squealed out loud, skipping with excitement towards the fire escape to get to work. He watched her with a smile before feeling the need to rewind and address the elephant in the room, just as her shoulder brushed past his.

“Hey,” he tried gently, but she kept walking. “Hey, wait!” His voice didn’t carry enough as she went to take a step down the ladder. “Stop! Just…” She looked up and froze in place, surprised by his outburst. He looks flustered, she noted. He quickly put his tube of sketches back in the air vent and turned to face her fully, struggling to find his words. “Wha-what is this about for you?” he asked, gesturing between them. Katherine tilted her head in confusion, but she stepped back onto the rooftop to give him her full attention. “And- and I’m not talkin’ about the Children’s Crusade. What’s this about?” he pointed between them once more, emphasizing the word ‘this’ as he did. Her eyebrows furrowed. What is he…does he mean us? She asked herself nervously. “What-am I…am I kiddin’ myself…or is there something…” He sounds so…nervous. I make Jack Kelly nervous? she thought giddily, a small flutter in her chest. 

“You mean…us?” she asked, stepping towards him. He shyly nodded his head, afraid to look away. “I mean, yeah, I like to think there is. We did kiss, so-” she said in a slightly teasing manner, giggling to herself as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Well, don’t say it like this happens every day!” he shouted in a panic, catching her by surprise. Oh, he’s actually wound up about this. She came closer, trying to calm him down.

“Wait, Jack, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, I’m not an idiot!” he yelled, flustered as he stared at her. “Look, I know girls like you don’t wind up with guys like me. And I don’t want you promisin’ nothin’ you gotta take back later.” She stared at him, uncertain of how to react. Part of her felt like she should look away, but she couldn’t, not when he was staring at her with such an intense look in his eye. Hesitantly, Katherine opened her mouth and started fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves to calm her nerves, eyes still on him. Here goes nothing.

“I...I wouldn’t have come after you if there wasn’t something. Not after all that happened today. I just…I couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go without seeing you one more time.” He stood there, trying to find the words to convey his emotions. Please, say something, her heart begged.

“Standing here…tonight, lookin’ at you, I…” He stumbled over his words, but those words were enough to make her heart soar, her hands brushing her skirt and folding behind her back as she bit her lip. “Look, I’m…I’m scared tomorrow’s gonna come and change everythin’. If there was a way I-I could…grab hold of something just to make time stop, so’s I could just…keep on lookin’ at you.” Katherine couldn’t fight the smile on her lips as she watched this boy bare his heart to her under a thousand New York stars. She didn’t even realize she had tears falling from her eyes until she felt one roll down her cheek. Out of instinct, she went to duck her head to wipe it away, but Jack came up to her in an instant. “Hey, hey.” He slotted a finger under her chin and lifted it up so he could see her face. “What is it?” His hands cupped her cheeks, thumb brushing after the stray tear. She laughed softly at his concern.

“No, I just…” She stared up at him. “You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly,” her voice wobbled. “I never even saw it coming.” He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Fo’ sure?” he whispered, his accent thick. She let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.

“Fo’ sure,” she mimicked him softly. He smiled and slowly brought her lips to his, giving her a chance to back away. Not a chance, she smiled to herself, pulling him into the kiss.

[therealgchu]

Late Snippet Sunday - To the Shore: Reflections

i'm late cos i deciced to scrap the whole first section of this chapter. it was just too contrived and not organic at all. i started re-writing it on saturday, and finally got enough up to post up a snippet. it's not likely i'll make my publishing schedule for friday, either, as this chapter is going to be long and involved, and i don't have another thing queued up (unless something pops into my thinky-blob between now and wednesday).

progress is never linear.

if you want to read To the Shore from the beginning, or missed a chapter, check it out on ao3.

i've also started a backstories companion called Anamnesis, also on ao3.

finally, sneak peekage

Cora looked up in wonder, “This was your mom's? Grandpa said he didn’t save anything of hers.”

“He didn’t. I don’t remember much, but I know at some point he threw mom’s stuff away. I think he wanted to get rid of the memories…” he trailed off, then looked at Hwa. She could see in his eyes the unfinished portion of that sentence, like me. He shook his head, “It looks like he saved her camera though.” He picked it up, examining it. “Yeah, it’s pretty broken. But, I bet we can fix it.” He handed the camera to Cora. “Would you like to try?”

Cora’s eyes shined and she nodded, taking the camera gently from her father’s hands. She examined it carefully, analyzing what was broken and where. She nodded again, “If I can find the right parts and tools, I’m certain I can get it working!”

“May I see it?” Hwa asked. Cora handed her the camera. “You’ll need some speciality tools. Some of these parts are small and delicate. I think I have some, but otherwise, we can probably find some at a jeweler.”

Sam grinned, “Sounds like a project for the both of you!”

Finding the tools was easy as Hwa and Cora repurposed computer repair tools; sourcing the parts, however, proved to be a challenge as there were very few actual film cameras in existence. It was Walter that delivered the goods for the spare parts, film, and chemicals for developing the film. Apparently, antique film cameras were one of those trendy hobbies for the people he regularly hobnobbed with, namely wealthy people of leisure.

It took about a week of intermittent work to get the camera in working order. Sam and Barrett helped set up a dark room in the basement of the Lodge, clearing out the spare storage room. Once the work was done, Cora started photographing everything and anything she could find. Walter, once again, was instrumental in assisting her new hobby, as he was her source for acquiring film. He felt it was a good investment as it “recorded Constellation’s endeavors for posterity.”

She had a good eye for composition, but it took time to understand the mechanics of things like aperture speed, film grain, and lenses. And, there was both a craft and an art to developing the film. It was a couple weeks before decent enough photos were produced, for which Cora showed off proudly to the members.

The first batch she showed to her dad, especially one photo of which she was particularly proud of, and thought he’d like. It was of him and Hwa aboard the Razorleaf, with Hwa holding onto his arm and laughing. 

“Oh, gum drop,” Sam said, a little choked up, “this is beautiful. My mom used to show me pictures like this. Can I have this?” he asked. 

“Of course. I can always make a copy from the negative.”

“Thank you so much,” he whispered to Cora, and hugged her tightly. He let her go, sniffled, and wiped his nose. “I want to get this framed. Have you shown this to Hwa yet?”

“No, I thought you’d like to show it to her.”

Sam smiled widely, “That I would. This is the best gift I think I’ve ever received.” He gave Cora another hug. “Do you know where Hwa is? Is she in her room?”

“No, last I saw her, she was downstairs working on her armor.”

Sam headed down the stairs, two steps at a time, and found Hwa was tinkering with the Mantis helmet, head down and goggles on, soldering servos. He walked over and put his arm around her waist when she stood up. Hwa jumped a little, but calmed when she felt him kiss her neck. “Cora’s first batch of photos are done. I wanted to show this one to you,” he said, and handed her the photograph.

She briefly glanced at it. Her body went rigid and her breathing stopped. She dropped the picture, and removed his arm from her waist. Without a word, she left the basement, leaving Sam flabbergasted.

[slashingdisneypasta]

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! Omg I'm so happy you like them!!! I glad I got your OC's right too ^^

Ok ok. Remember, other than Poppy, these are mainly me spitballing ideas until I find a design that works best. With that out if the way, let's get to it in alphabetical order ^^

Ben Cottontail/Ben Cooper

This is the second one I feel most assured in design. I want him to look as plain as your typical perfect school boy looks. Basically, you can tell that he values too much in the wrong things just by looking at him. I was trying to go for a strawberry blonde look, though I doubt I succeeded 😅

Henry Foxworth/Henry Worthington

Henry on the streets VS Henry being blackmailed into marriage by you-know-who. He is meant to have a more dirty, cheating Flynn Rider look. Or, as you perfectly put it, a fusion between Nick Wilde and Prince Hans. I want his hair to stick up anime style like your drawing of him showed, but this app didn't have that option XD

Moony Wolf/Marcus Wheeler

Moony's design I'm having the most trouble with. Both as a toon and a human (as a toon, I want him to look scary while also keeping the 30's-40's cartoon style. As a human, how can I humanize Moony if I don't even have his toon design fully developed? 😅). I do know I want him to be African American at least, though. And I want his eyes to be a reddish brown to best replicate his red eyes as a wolf. I tried to make him look roughed up while simultaneously make him look like he's actively taking care of himself. I still have a lot to figure out about Moony's design.

Poppy O'Hare/Sophie O'Brian

You already know what Pops looks like, but I still wanted to include her... Not to mention the blood effect did make me think of how, as friends with gangsters, she had to have witnessed at least one murder...

Shiny Weasel/Miriam Hill

I was originally going to make her Augurn, but then I realized she started to look too much like Jessica Rabbit. So bright brown hair it is XD she is also supposed to have freckles... But I forgot XD (she does wear foundation at work, though. So we'll say that this is her club look). I'm thinking about making her African American as well, or mixed race.

Terry Ratt T./Terry R. Jordan

Terry's was simultaneously fun and frustrating to do. I needed to make him look as ratty as possible XD I think this one is my favorite most of all.

Now, the most important question... Would Rena smash or pass? I'm kidding I'm kidding XDD (unless... 👀)

MOONY, my wolfy husband,

IS EVEN H O T T E R

THEN I THOUGHT.

ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?? 'roughed up while simultaneously make him look like he's actively taking care of himself'- I'm looking at him through this excellent lense, as well, and ohhhh boy ❤💕❤💕❤💕

I love how Ben has such an angel face XD And HENRY OH MY LORD- you wnat me to throw away my morals dont you?? You want me to throw off the Hunt?? Call Greasy and Bugs off the search for him dead or alive??? I refuse!! No! XD But he is hot 😅XD Oh my lord.

Poppy, of course ^^ She's so pretty ^^ And now that we have the guys looks, I'm having a lot of fun picturing that sweet lady with them!! Her and Moony are p a r t i c u l a r l y cute! XD

SHINY IS B E A U T I F U L !!! I love her hair and eye make up! Its not what I was expecting at all but its different and unique and so Her!! Kinda like a beautiful and colourful, dangerous bird or plant-- which is SO SHINY!

And... I just love how ratty Terry is XDD Love him definitely XD

~

Omg is that a real question??? THE ANSWER IS YES. RENA WOULD SMASH THEM ALL. So would Ryan (Well- Moony, Poppy, Terry and Shiny (though she and her drama are on thin ice- he already has Kingston and his drama's to put up with) at least. Platonically XD If they needed it and simply asked.).

[bts-story]

LOVE IS CHAOS

Previous chapters

Chapter 9 - Memories from above

You pulled back the white curtain with a sudden yank, revealing a man in his early twenties. He was lying on one of the hospital beds, several compresses in his mouth, blood-soaked absorbent cotton sticking out of his lips. 

"Hello, I'm Dr. Ito. I'll be taking care of you today," you stated without much will, the weight of the long night of emergencies you had spent written on the dark circles under your eyes. 

The man could not speak, he was lying motionless. He was wearing a black university outfit that was somewhat torn in some places, the collar of his white shirt stained with blood. The glasses over his eyes were cracked, a panicked look through the lenses. One of his sleeves was rolled up where a needle was stuck in it, connected to a morphine bag. There was also a beeper around his finger that monitored his heartbeat. 

You had his file in your hands and as you read the information, you said, "So, Niragi Suguru, is that right?" A grunt was heard, "It says here that you slipped on the subway stairs, and bit your tongue when you fell." Another groan. "Okay, let's look at this together, shall we?" 

The student straightened up on the bed and with a frantic look on his face, he looked at you apprehensively as you pulled on a pair of new latex gloves. You gently removed the cotton pads from his mouth one by one, being careful not to hurt him. 

With a small flashlight, you inspected his mouth. 

There was a lot of blood, his white teeth covered with a scarlet color. His tongue was so swollen that it took up most of the space in his mouth. In the middle there was a huge infected hole, redness all around and in some places the tongue turned white. 

It was very odd, the way the hole had formed, something you didn't think would happen the way he described it. "Are you sure you got that from falling down the stairs? It looks more like a piercing that got infected..." 

The man named Niragi muttered from the back of his throat, which you could understand as an affirmation that what he was saying was true. 

It was hard to believe, and as a doctor, it was crucial to know exactly how a patient had been injured in order to determine how to properly treat them. It was impossible to get a gaping hole like that on a tongue just by running down a flight of stairs. The hole pierced his tongue, like a needle that had forced its way through. 

Brow furrowed, you pulled your hands away from his mouth, seeking the student's frightened gaze. "Excuse me," you sighed in a weary, tired tone, not really buying his shit, "I can't treat you if you're lying to me."

You were tired of all those patients who didn't face their own stupidity. Just last night, a man had come in, his genitals bloody, claiming that he had cut himself while shaving. Only to find out that no, it was his dog that had bitten him while he was masturbating. You didn't give a damn about their two-bit stories, you didn't even have time to laugh about them because the workload on your shoulders was so enormous.

From your point of view, it was just a waste of time playing Sherlock Holmes to find out how their nonsense had come true, and less time spent in the shower or in your bed. 

The man on the bed had an angelic face, fine features drawn with care. He had a soft but panicked look, a piercing on his eyebrow that contrasted with the shyness with which he looked at you. He avoided your eyes at all costs, as if the ember in your gaze could burn him to the ground. 

"Hey, I recognize you, though! You were on the train that derailed, right?" You'd seen that same frightened face before, a face you never really would have noticed if not for the way his lips trembled every time you addressed him. 

It wasn't that you were used to being wooed, drunk guys hitting on you while you were sewing their nonsense didn't count, but it wasn't that often that a man would blush so easily just at the sound of your voice. There was that pink tinge to his cheeks as blood began to leak from his lip. 

Niragi shook his head from side to side, waving his hands in protest. This accident had happened about ten days before, and at the memory of that shy head avoiding your gaze, you remembered, "But... I sewed your brow back on, I think. Why did you put a piercing there?" 

Indeed, on closer inspection, you could see the skin of his eyebrow tugged where you'd sewn it back on, as if the stitches had been ripped out deliberately. The piercing wasn't fully healed, you could see it clearly, where the bruised skin was still red. 

You had enough experience, even if it was still short, to know that this kind of injury was often not an accident. You had already seen quite a few patients, and in any case, the emergency room was full of different cases. But this kind of wound was often the result of an intentional action. 

There was a fright in Niragi's eyes as he tried to hide behind a false imposing look. His lips trembled and the blood finally trickled down his chin. The fingers of his hand absentmindedly played with the dead skin around his fingernails, and if you concentrated hard enough, you could surely hear the sound of his heartbeat beating against the bones of his rib cage. 

"You didn't fall down the stairs, did you?" you stated softly, as if the realization had just hit you hard. You understood, and sadly, you completed, "And you weren't on the derailed train either, right?" 

It was still impossible for Niragi to speak, his mouth on fire as his frightened gaze slowly turned into a shameful and demeaning sight. There was no point in lying now as you had unraveled the mystery around his wounds. 

"Who did this to you?" You asked tenaciously, forgetting that he couldn't really talk. "Did you go to the police?" 

It was too much for him all at once. He'd spent so much time hiding his pain and torment from the world, that suddenly being noticed made him lose his nerve. He had only one thing on his mind now: to disappear. He tried to get up from the bed, ready to run away as far as possible, away from his problems and away from the questions you were asking him. 

"Hey whoa, where are you going?" You were trying to hold him back, pushing him back against the bed as he tried to walk past you. 

He was ashamed, so ashamed to be a man who let himself be bullied like that. He wasn't a man, no, anyway, he was a nobody. A worthless piece of shit, just a piece of trash. 

But he had gotten up so fast that his vision wavered, his head carried away in a tornado that spun, spun, spun. Niragi's hands were sweaty and his breath was coming hard into his lungs. The very idea of someone learning what he was going through every day, like a victim to his abusers made him feel as tiny as a speck of salt. 

"Easy, easy," you pushed him against the mattress and Niragi blinked, as if trying to chase away the black dots that obstructed his vision. He hadn't reported it, but the way his mouth was eating him from the inside out was a pain that was very hard to bear. 

The infection was itching, scratching and making his tongue throb unbearably. 

He remained motionless on the mattress then, and looking in the cupboard of the small emergency room, you searched for some mild morphine to inject into his IV. This should be enough to ease his pain for another hour or two, without overdosing him on drugs. 

You picked up a pack of new compresses, wetting them with saline before placing them gently on his swollen tongue. There was also the ointment you were looking for, which you put on the small table next to it to use in a few minutes. You glanced at the monitor that was beeping very softly over his head to check that his vitals were satisfactory enough before turning your attention back to him. 

Niragi had opened his eyes again, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the wall in front of him, as if he had finally accepted the inevitability that he couldn't defend himself. "I... sorry," you apologized after a few minutes in a soft, repentant voice, "It's none of my business, I... I shouldn't have asked you all those questions."

It was kind of embarrassing to have to follow up after an accusation like that. You had been far too intrusive and even if it was just a projection of your good heart that only wanted to help him, he must have been a big enough boy to stand up for himself. You had a mountain of work to do anyway and your job was to care for the patients who came to you. You weren't a cop or a social worker. 

The student didn't say anything, he couldn't talk anyway. But he let himself be treated without moving much, and once you had applied the ointment to his tongue, you gave the instructions that he should not close his mouth while the product was working. This should not have taken more than fifteen minutes, enough time for you to go and see another patient before coming back to see him. 

You had gone to see an old lady in her fifties who had almost torn her finger off with a kitchen knife while cutting her carrots. The skin was split down to the bone, the ligaments and nerves visible as clearwater. All that needed to be done was to change her bandages, which had been soaked with blood for several hours. 

Exactly twenty-two minutes later, you were heading back to Niragi's gurney. The patient from before had taken a little longer, and she kept moaning every time you touched her. She was a little bitch, according to you, and you would have let her know that if she didn't threaten to complain to your superior. A cunt, yes, that was the word. 

"Shit, where did this one go?" The student's bed was empty, the rumpled sheets flipped over on the gurney. There was not a single thing of him left, only the bloody compresses littered the small table set on the side of the bed. 

You turned around to look around, searching with your eyes in the middle of all those mattresses and patients if Niragi was not there. "Irina," you called a little further, your young colleague with very short hair and a white coat who looked up from her own patient, looking annoyed (it was a young boy who was holding his stomach, twisted with pains), "Have you seen the patient in bed 32? He was here fifteen minutes ago..." 

"I don't know, Doctor Tanaka went around the beds earlier, see with him," she replied in an annoyed tone, trying to focus on the child in front of her who was giving her trouble cooperating. 

So you headed to the counter where the nurses were hanging out updating all the patient files. The head doctor, your superior, was leaning against the counter, a forgotten file in his hands as he flirted shamelessly with one of the obviously embarrassed nurses. "Excuse me, doctor, did you see a young student come out of here? He was in bed 32 with an infected tongue wound..." 

The doctor wasn't listening to a word you were saying, too busy giving indecent looks to another nurse who was walking by. You wanted to raise your eyes to the sky so high that they would fall off, but that was risking getting caught in the act for nothing, which would generate a reflection from him that was far too justified for your taste. 

"Doctor Tanaka?" You repeated and the man finally looked at you, looking at you from head to toe as if you were nothing but a piece of dirt on the toe of his shoe. "Have you seen the patient in bed 32? Niragi Suguru?"

"Yeah, the guy wanted to leave so I discharged him." he explained in a weary tone, a smile playing on his lips as he turned his attention back to the nurse. 

"But... We had to keep him at least overnight, his tongue was completely infected and -" 

"Look, doctor... [Y/L/N]," he was looking for your name on your name tag that adored your chest, as if it hadn't been two years since you worked with him, "This is a hospital, not a prison. The guy wanted to leave, I let him go, okay? I think you still have work to do anyway." 

It was an order to end the conversation, you could hear it clearly in the sound of his voice that left no room for an argument. Disappointed and annoyed (he really was the worst asshole in your eyes), you held back a sigh before turning on your heels. 

It wasn't so much the fact that your patient's injury intrigued you, nor how and why it happened to him, but it was your instinct as a doctor that was outraged that you couldn't treat this injury properly. You knew he would have a hard time getting it to heal, and if he didn't treat his tongue right, it could lead to an irreparable fatality. 

"Hey, doctor," the head doctor called over his shoulder as you began to walk away, "next time you question what I'm doing, there will be a sanction. Is that clear?" 

Clear as a bell.

It was no longer your problem. Whatever you thought, Niragi's life was out of your hands and you couldn't legislate any longer on something that didn't concern you. And it should have stayed that way. Yes, you should never have met him a third time, because not only was it far too easy to call it a coincidence, but the way it happened was completely unacceptable.

"You've got a face, old girl, you do need to sleep..." Kana had said exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes later in the absolutely dingy bar she had chosen to spend the evening. She was a young woman with very long black hair, often styled in braids, with a mole on her upper lip and always wearing make-up for any occasion, whatever it was.

You gave her an annoyed look as you sat down next to her, completely ignoring the way she was gently mocking you. "Yeah, and yet, here I am," you replied because she was the one who insisted that you come for a drink, just one drink, just to relax from the twenty-four hours of being on call that had absolutely wiped you out. It wasn't a bad idea, if only the softness of your mattress didn't seem to scream your name across town.

"Good thing I'm a golden friend and ordered you a lager, no ice, in a tall glass," she recited with a big smile on her face, proud to remember what you liked to sip on to take the edge off. 

With a smile of contentment, you took the drink in your hands and once at your lips, the smell alone was enough to appreciate how this beverage would help you relax your shoulders. 

You drank the beer with one sip, two, then three and finally, in no time, you finished all the liquid that went down your throat as easily as water. "Fuck, take it easy, are you nuts?" Kana commented, incredulous to see your glass empty as you set it back down on the table with a thud. You caught your breath quickly, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your sleeve. It wasn't exactly a very feminine gesture, you could admit, "Was the week really that hard?" 

"You have no idea."

It was a good evening, after all, Kana always had a smile on her lips and the right word to cheer you up. Even if finally, the way she kept trying to push you into the arms of this handsome stranger who had been devouring you with his eyes for the last twenty minutes or so annoyed you slightly. "Come on, just go ahead, don't be such a buzzkill!" 

"No, are you crazy? Look at me, I don't have my hair done, I don't have any makeup on, I just came off a twenty-four hour shift, I look like shit..." you were trying to argue, trying to ignore the dark eyes of this man who wasn't focusing on his own friends anymore but on you. 

"That's right, if he's interested in you now, imagine his face when you come out with it..." she had that laugh in the back of her throat that made you roll your eyes. 

And even though this man with short jet-black hair, pronounced facial structure and muscles visible through the fabric of his shirt, looked absolutely gorgeous (he was surely a very respectable man), you didn't have the courage to accept the advances he was making. 

"A Sex on the Beach from the gentleman over there," a waiter was coming to bring you a red colored cocktail, with a straw and a cut pineapple on the edge of the glass. Kana's penetrating gaze insisted that you were far too much of a killjoy for her taste. Meeting the man's gaze nonetheless, he raised his glass in a gesture of cheers, before sipping his own drink. 

"Honestly, you need to chill out, and there's a beautiful fucking stud right there to send you over the edge. What are you waiting for?" Kana was seriously insisting, and it's true that a good little one-night stand could bring you down in a way that alcohol couldn't. 

But no, not then, not now. Not tonight. 

"And you, you need to get off my back," you'd reply wearily, praying that she'd finally decide to move on. She still had that smile that made it impossible to be angry with her. You knew it was only her job as your best friend that made her like that, like a guardian who had to make sure your sex life didn't lose its importance. 

"Are you crazy? No way," she echoed, laughing out loud, looking proud and petty. 

You squinted at her, pushing the offered drink away in disgust, "I don't drink vodka anyway, so..." 

Even though she didn't say anything, you knew Kana wasn't done with you. When she had something on her mind, it was very rare to succeed in changing her mind. And tonight she had decided that sooner or later she would get you to fuck a guy. It was all the more tiring to have to deal with her when you were so exhausted that you needed at least a dozen hours of sleep.

"You don't know what you're losing," she said as she took a sip of the drink, offering a nod of thanks to the guy who was chasing you from afar. You stood up, grabbing your coat and pulling it over your shoulders, your bag in your hand, "I'm not done with you, [Y/N]. You're going to give in, sooner or later." 

You nodded so as not to contradict her. You didn't have the courage to argue about anything anymore, so you had to go home quickly. "Bye," you sang to ignore her accusing look, waving your hand in goodbye. 

"Love you, bye," Kana called as you walked further and further away from the table. 

You pushed your way through the crowd at the bar, trying to make your way to the exit. The trip home was not supposed to be more than ten minutes, but the sight of the pouring rain that was suddenly raging over the city of Tokyo made you swear under your breath. Your shoes were way too thin to keep them from getting wet, you didn't have an umbrella because the weatherman hadn't really predicted this nightly downpour (or maybe he had, but you wouldn't admit that you hadn't looked at the day's weather forecast for a few days already), and to top it all off, you didn't have a single penny in your pocket to take a bus and avoid this walk. 

"Hey, wait," you'd hear far behind you as you took only about ten steps up the street. Behind you, the handsome stallion from the bar was running with small steps to catch up with you, a smile on the corner of his lips, "'Hi,'" he chuckled as he reached your level.

Unconsciously, you sighed. You already knew what he was going to say or ask before he did. Not that you had developed a mind-reading superpower, but you didn't have to be Einstein to deduce why. 

"I... my name is Kenji, I have..." It seemed that in the end, he himself didn't know what he wanted to say. He scratched the back of his head absentmindedly, and he could hardly sustain your insistent gaze as you watched him intently. His voice was deep, and he towered over you by at least twenty inches, as if he had giant genes coursing through his veins. "I couldn't help but notice you in the bar earlier and..." Yeah, okay, so what? "I wanted to know if it was possible to get your number..."

A group of friends walked by you, their laughter loud and clear. You were embarrassed that you had to turn him down like that, if only he hadn't had the courage to run after you. "I'm sorry, I have to go home..."

It wasn't really a refusal, or just a way to get around a flat no to justify that in any case, he wouldn't get what he asked for. You turned on your heels quickly, resuming your walk and hoping that he would let it go. 

"Please," he called behind you and you continued to walk away. "Can I at least get your name?" 

It wouldn't have been unpleasant to be chased like that if only it were another day, another time. But fatigue was clouding your brain and preventing you from giving any information to this man who surely deserved a tiny chance. 

"Wait, I just wanted to - Argh, what the - Argh!" He shouted behind you suddenly and with a jump you turned around to see what was going on. This man named Kenji was on the ground on all fours, head down against the ground. Next to him was another man, a little shorter than him, with hair plastered against his cheeks that stuck out of his hood, a black hoodie and in his hand, a gray box that he was clutching with all his might. 

It was him. The patient from this morning with the infected tongue, standing in front of his victim, taser still activated as he looked at you with round eyes. "Oh my God," you exclaimed as you rushed over to Kenji, helping him up. "Is everything all right?" you asked but the man couldn't articulate a single word, shocked and immobilized with pain. 

Niragi stood frozen in place, as if he himself could not believe what he had just done. He took a step backwards, then a second one and finally, taking his legs to his neck, he ran down the street with all his strength and disappeared in the distance. 

"Who the fuck was that freak?" Kenji articulated with difficulty, trying to stand on his two legs that were still shaking from the shock. 

Searching in the distance for Niragi's silhouette, you didn't have the words to give an answer to the question. Even though you knew the identity of the aggressor, you wondered how all this could have happened. What was he doing there? Why had he done this? Where had he been? How did he get there? 

What made Niragi Suguru attack a man who was just talking to you?

//////// / / / / //////// / / ///// ///

Let's take this back a few years and admire how insecure Niragi was before being his now-self; kinda cute though no?

I hate ending chapters like, I never know how to do this shit -sighs-

Nageoire

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #100

This will be my 100th generic letter to you. Imagine that! Assuming you can hear me somehow, we've been on a very unorthodox journey for a while now, no? How marvelous!

I spent some of today checking on my epoxy spheres. It needed a few small adjustments. I made another mess. But I'm feeling pretty good about how these are gonna turn out, and I'm looking forward to showing the finished spheres to you very soon!

I spent the bulk of today writing up descriptions for various items, though. I'm pretty excited about it, actually! But I can't tell you what it's for; sorry about that. With any luck though, my intentions will become clear in maybe a decade or so, assuming I can maintain my focus and my faith in my own efficacy. I suppose we'll see.

Along the way, I made myself a couple mugs of jasmine green tea! I was surprised, though, to find that we were out of milk. I improvised with whipped cream for the first cup, and ice cream for the second cup!! And I gotta say, these were THE BEST improvisations!! 11/10 stars, absolutely would recommend! I'll show you a couple pictures!!

At 4pm today I went for my orthodontics consult. I went to go see an orthodontist because I've got some weird jaw issues on my right side because of the way I gotta move my face when I try to chew things. And also, my dentists have been bugging me about getting orthodontics done for the last couple years, because there are certain teeth in my face that can't be cleaned properly because they got confused and wandered off, presumably to chase butterflies.

I was hoping that I'd be able to get away with using Invisalign to avoid needing to get teeth removed, but… well… the fact of the matter is that I simply do not have enough jaw to work with, and I am WELL beyond the age when things like palate expanders would work. So 4 of my teeth need to come out in order for the inside of my face to be aligned properly.

…And this really fucking sucks, because if my parents had given even a fraction of a genuine shit about me, this ALL could have been prevented. My jaw could have developed properly with upper and lower expanders. I could have avoided the crowding and the overbite and the crossbite and the resulting damage to my jaw joint if this had been taken care of like it should have been when I was a little girl. But, no. Instead, my parents were too busy being in denial about the fact that they wish I was not born. So here we are.

The reality that is, "because of my parents' negligence, I now have to get body parts removed and pay lots and lots of money because insurance doesn't cover it past a certain age" is just… fucken… it's WILD, man. Admittedly, I'm struggling with it. And I'm struggling with the resulting VERY angry thoughts. But that's okay. I can feel angry. It's allowed. And thoughts are just thoughts - passing noise that is not reflective of who I am or who I wanna be:

…I can make use of my coping skills. The technique outlined in the video above is one of them, and I make ample use of it on a near-constant basis.

Admittedly, I don't really understand why we can't just use the Invisaligns to scooch my molars back to where my wisdom teeth used to be (I thought being able to move teeth backwards was the ENTIRE FUCKING POINT, but I could be mistaken, so whatever). But I forgot to ask. I'll call them up tomorrow and find out.

Anyway. Wanna see my skull? And my weird-ass teeth? Of course you do. Why not. But I'll put it all the way at the end, after the part where I put my name, just in case you don't. Hahaha…

…Ya know… Sephiroth… admittedly… some days I get real tired of this meat-mech I'm piloting. I've got a host of rather unpleasant genetic issues. The defective collagen thing sucks; it impacts literally my whole body. The misshapen skull thing sucks. The misshapen eyeballs and misshapen lenses thing sucks. There are other things - lots of them; it'd be a long list if I wrote 'em all out. I'm really not gonna be sad when the one I've got can't clunk around derpily anymore. But I'm not gonna rush the process, either; I've got shit to do - I've gotta make sure someone I love is safe, even if it might take me a long time to get it done.

But ya know. Maybe when it's time to go get a new meat-mech, maybe by some small miracle, I'll get to visit you for a bit until it's time for me to cycle into something new! Tell you what - if that happens, I'll bring you some matcha ice cream or something, okay?

For now… I'm gonna get back to writing up lists and descriptions of items; if you're not gonna make sure you're safe, then someone's gotta, and if someone's gotta, then I might as well, right? I mean… what else am I gonna do while running around confusedly in a capitalistic hellscape on a dying planet? Aside from eat cheese directly from the refrigerator like a weird little goblin, anyway…

I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

P.S. Weird pics of my skull and teeth below, if you wanna see!

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) “Depressed? Anxious? Unhappy?” The sign shouted at you, “Why not become an amorphous entity and shirk the confines of time and space? Embrace your Eldritch Nature today!”

The plan was simple, because it had to be. We had little to no idea what kind of countermeasures the Silent Peaks would inflict on people who tried to flee their little paradise, so we cheated. Sansen was still wrung out from the last time he'd gone deep into an oracular trance, but he still agreed to put his mind through the wringer of living through the same three days over and over again for our sake.

So Lucet, Sansen, Meloai, and I all gathered in the safe room's ritual circle, holding hands so that Sansen could draw on our hope. Sansen touched the paintings and carved wooden tokens that Jiaola had made for him, laid in a neat circle around him, and even though I couldn't see the hope coruscating through his soulspace, his straightened back and sharp, clear gaze told me he was ready.

Then he set down a wooden pair of glasses and, without touching them, carefully mimed lifting them to his face.

"What's he doing?" Meloai whispered.

I concentrated on my soulsight, slipping for a moment between realspace and soulspace, and in Sansen's soulspace, I saw him lift the memory of the glasses to his face. It was a technique I'd only seen once before, but intuitively, I knew what he was doing.

"He's using the memory of the glasses to channel the spell," I whispered back. "He doesn't need to open a massive rift into the Plane of Elemental Possibility—he just needs to be able to see the future. It's more energy-efficient to make two tiny rifts over his eyes than a larger one further away."

And as I spoke, I felt Sansen tug at our souls, and the future seemed a little less bright as hope drained from my soulspace. But it was worth it. A dizzying rift into another timeline coalesced and stabilized in the form of two swirling lenses, held firm by the memory of a pair of glasses. Sansen's eyes flickered, darting left and right as future after future sang to him. His brow furrowed into a scowl, and his jaw began to twitch.

"That doesn't look good," Lucet muttered. 

"We're supposed to stay hopeful," Meloai said.

"You can't just force yourself to feel hope," I grumbled. "Come on, just shush and let Sansen do his thing."

As I spoke, I noticed something begin to... change. Sansen flinched, then started whispering something. Over and over again, he murmured beneath his breath, and I couldn't help but lean in to hear him say:

Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll do better next time. I'll keep them safe. I'm so, so sorry.

"Sansen?" I hesitantly asked. "Are you o—"

Sansen jerked back, swearing, and clutched his head, waving away the memory of the glasses and letting the tiny rifts unravel. Lucet yelped in surprise; Meloai blurred with clockwork precision to keep him from falling. I just waited for Sansen to come back from the trance, and though it was a slow, dazed process, come back he eventually did.

"I kept dying," he finally managed to say, "because our future held something so deadly it killed me just by looking at it." He managed a weak smile. "That... that's new, at least."

Meloai frowned. "Wait. If you looked at a future that kills you if you see it... why aren't you dead?"

Sansen tiredly waved a hand at me, so I took over to explain. "In order to look multiple days into the future, you kind of have to cheat. The amount of hope you'd need to directly look three days into the future is obscene; maybe the Peaks could manage it with a specially-trained battlechoir, but our ragtag little band definitely can't."

"But there's a workaround," Sansen said, pushing himself to his feet and giving Meloai a grateful nod. "If I can look five seconds into the future, I can choose to look into a timeline where my future self is also looking five seconds into the future, and telling me what he sees."

"And you can chain that until you reach the point in the future you want," Meloai said, eyes lighting up. 

"Well, the inaccuracies introduced are exponentially compounding with each link in the chain, so I try to make the links as large as possible. But yes, it's a very potent oracular technique. It also provides some insulation from... whatever one of my future selves died looking at."

The four of us traded nervous glances.

"And what would that be?" Meloai finally asked.

Sansen shrugged. "Not a damn clue. But whatever my future self saw through the rift, it must've been horrible. He started vomiting and bleeding and seizing up, and..." He trailed off at our horrified expressions. "What? What is it?"

"Iola," I hissed, and it was more a curse than a name.

###

Class the next day was an awkward, fearful thing. I sat down in Ritual Magic 201, in the same room as the boy who killed us in some timeline that never was, and wondered if firing a frostbolt through his head now would be worth getting mind-wiped if it meant letting Lucet and Meloai and Sansen go free.

"Now, class," Mr. Ganrey said, "I'd like to share an exciting opportunity with you all. Thanks to an exciting new legislation from the Silent Parliament, there are some new opportunities for those of us on the home front to assist with the war. Thanks to our angelic partners, I'm glad to announce a brand-new way for excited young soldiers to become combat-ready in no time."

Mr. Ganrey stepped to the side, and a rift between planes opened, letting a pale-white agglutination of flesh step into the classroom. Somehow, the Angel of Arrogance reminded me of a half-melted candle.

"Thanks to new advancements in our understanding of human soul fragment absorption," the Angel of Arrogance said, "we have discovered that it is now possible to hybridize a soulspace entity and a realspace creature, resulting in a soul capable of feats of witchcraft hitherto unimagined. Preliminary animal trials and oracular divinations have yielded promising data, and we are now looking for human volunteers."

The Angel of Arrogance went on about the possible benefits of joining the Eldritch Initiative, but I had eyes for only one person. One gleeful elf who'd been raring for a chance to join in on the war since the day it had begun.

Iola's soul twitched with corrupted glee, and I knew I had to stop him from joining the Eldritch Initiative before he killed us all.

###

"Hi, I'm here to inquire about the Eldritch Initiative?" I asked, tentatively sidling into the... distressingly organic clinic in the center of the Silent City. Pulses of power languorously pumped across its skin—its walls, I told myself, buildings have walls—and the amorphous blob of pale white flesh that served as its receptionist.

"Wonderful, wonderful! We could use every hand, tentacle, and other grasping appendage we can get. May I start by asking how you heard about it?"

"OH THAT WAS ME," the sign from outside shrieked. Its fleshy, bulbous lips looked like they were going to pop, and for a heartbeat, I had an insane urge to take a pin to them. "I SHOUTED AT THEM LIKE YOU TOLD ME TO SHOUT AND FOR SOME REASON INSTEAD OF RUNNING AWAY THIS ONE CAME HERE."

"Er, yeah, I have a... a 'friend' who came here earlier. I was wondering if—"

"Well, hold your horses, thestrals, Bearers of the Apocalypse, or other metaphysical equestrian-equivalents!" I got a distinct impression that the blob at the desk was trying to smile. "You can't leave—"

"What?" I burst out.

"—without hearing about the wide array of possible benefits that the Eldritch Initiative can have for you. Ask your doctor if becoming a demon from outside realspace is right for you," the receptionist finished smoothly, as if I hadn't said anything.

"WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP INTERRUPTING AT THAT PART?" The sign screamed. I still wasn't sure how its locomotion worked, to be honest, but it had managed to find a way to wriggle closer to me while I wasn't looking.

"Use your inside-spacetime voice, A." Ugh, all the soulspace entities around here had such bizarre names. This one was pronounced 'Albin,' too. Like that wasn't going to get confusing. "You see, we here at the Eldritch Initiative don't just offer suppression of undesirable emotions and enhancement of Academic emotions. We actually offer an entirely original broadening of your emotional spectrum!"

Uh... what? "Like... as in... uh... no, honestly, I have no idea what that's like."

"We have a helpful procedure to explain." The receptionist elongated their body—or maybe contracted spacetime—and pulled over a cup of what I hoped was water. "This, here, represents the spectrum of all humanly possible emotions." Then they drank the water, gulping it down, satisfied. "And that represents the scope of the emotions you'll have after your partnership with the Eldritch Initiative. Any questions?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "What... what on Earth does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything on Earth! You have to transcend realspace in order to have access to most of these emotions, after all. In addition to normal human feelings such as happiness, relief, awambuk, and ikstuarpok, we offer expanded emotions, normally inaccessible to single sapient minds, such as: Humber. Nage. Dorcelessness. Kindness. Ponnish. Harfam. Loric..."

The receptionist just kept going, and I found my vision swimming. I tried to stand, but the receptionist's droning voice and the pulsating heat of the room blended together, and I found myself tipping over—

"Andric. Varination. Kyne."

"UH. HEY. THE HUMAN DOESN'T SEEM SO GOOD."

"Trantiveness. Teluge." The receptionist paused. "Oh, dear. Was that too much for—"

And I blacked out, squelching on the tongue of the building's mouth.

###

"I'm scared," I admitted. "No, scratch that—I'm fucking terrified."

"They wouldn't let me stop him," Lucet admitted. She'd tried after I'd—somewhat embarrassingly—fainted with fear as the receptionist rattled off the monstrosities that Iola would have access to now that he'd gone from human to elf to eldritch fusion. "Maybe... maybe we can't leave. Maybe we just have to hunker down and try to survive."

"Yeah, and maybe the Silent Peaks are going to stop mind-wiping us, harvesting our emotions for war, and getting increasingly close to letting Iola murder us on principle," Meloai said.

Nobody really had anything to say in response to that.

"Iola's got it out for me," I admitted, "and it's pretty fucking clear that the administration no longer cares if their golden boy decides to do some vigilante justice on the troublemaking Redlander. I'm done for if I stay."

"Being a Fell witch isn't much more popular around here, either," Lucet said. "And... I don't want to think about what Iola would do if he got his hands on me again."

"According to your school's terminology, I'm technically a demon," Meloai added. "Iola's going to, ah, 'disassemble' me if I don't get out of here as quickly as possible."

"People have been giving Jiaola and I a blind eye ever since the Redlanders became the city's newest punching bag," Sansen said, "but I'm no fool. I've seen this before. Once they've ran out of newcomers to hate, they'll fall back on old prejudices. It's certain death if I stay; at least there's a chance if we make a break for it while we still can."

"I can take us through the Plane of Elemental Falsehood," I said. Of the planes I had access to, it was the only one that was remotely close to being safe for us to traverse. "Unless Iola's got an attunement to insecurity, he shouldn't be able to follow us there."

Meloai grimaced. "We'll have to deal with the mimics if we route through Falsehood."

"We'd already get our asses killed dealing with Iola Classic. I don't want to try our luck against Iola, Eldritch Edition. We can handle mimics."

"I'll scan the future to see how true that is," Sansen said, wearily getting to his feet. I grimaced—it was obvious that seeing his death over and over was taking a toll on the old man—but we had no choice. If we were to flee the Silent Peaks, we needed every edge we could get.

"You've packed everything you need?" I asked Lucet. I was pretty sure Meloai didn't have any belongings, anyway. 

Lucet nodded and was about to speak when Sansen, pale-faced, burst up from the safe room, swearing under his breath. That... that was not what you wanted to see from an oracle.

"He knows," Sansen said, panting for breath. "He's already coming. Iola's already here."

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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[sweetglitterparadise]

Can't work, can't sleep.

My little self-indulgent alarene... something. A short little story.

Summary: Alain has been trying to work on this new project but things are just not going all that well. He's been losing sleep. Rene is here to help him out

Tags: Alternative universe: noone dies, fluff, nsfw as a joke, but nothing actually happens, established relationships (they are like. friends with benefits or something like that. Not- not dating. Kaveh: "it's complicated" you know, scientists stuff, the usual)

English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes,,

"Alain, please." Rene sat on top of the other's bed while Guillotin was studying some kind of lock. He was struggling to open it because it had a detector that required to use elemental reactions which was very unusual... and hard to achieve without a vision. Meanwhile Petrichor was bothering him with some unrelated questions.

It's not like they had a lot in common when it came down to the things they were interested in. Alain studied technology and kinetics while Rene - mostly biology and alchemy. It is more interesting that way, Rene once said to him, something about experiencing the world through different lenses and what not. Alain didn't wear any glasses except for the ones to protect his eyes while he was working but that was probably one of those things they call metaphors...

"No. Isn't it obvious I'm a little preoccupied right now?"

He hears humming.

"Why can't you put it aside then?"

"Why should I?" That was his answer.

Rene stood up and walked up to him, his hands landing on his shoulders. "I haven't seen you in a few days and when I come back you're busy. Is it so unlikely that I would miss you?"

Alain sighed. "Three days is only 72 hours. That's an adequate amount of time. But... I have to admit that I'm not qualified to comment on the latter."

Rene furrowed his brows. "I don't think you can calculate how long it would take for somebody to start feeling lonely without an important person in their life. You would need to consider a good amount of variables in order to even estimate such a thing."

He then grinned and leaned in a bit, their noses almost touching. Alain averted his gaze, blush making his face look a bit more healthy.

"You look like you've been losing sleep. A case of insomnia or sleep deprivation as a result of working on a new project?" said Rene and kissed him on the cheek, something brief and light.

"None of your business." Alain closed his eyes and put his little lock on the table. He then stood up and went right to his bed, shaking his coat off his shoulders and getting rid of the gloves.

"Alright then. Surprise me."

Rene smiled at him, amusement obvious on his face. "Weren't you busy, Monsieur researcher?"

Alain nodded. "I was. But it is indeed quite dangerous to work non-stop and I've only managed to get two hours of sleep last night."

Rene sat down next to him, taking their hands and clasping them together. The way Alain's skin felt under his fingers... it put his mind at ease. "Insomnia then? Have you tried taking any medication?"

Alain shook his head. "Nothing quite managed to help. Made me sleep longer but approximately only for 13 minutes and 44 seconds."

"Hm... alright I'm not sure if this will help but we can try it anyway."

Rene stood up again and started taking off his clothes. Alain looked at him, a tired expression on his face.

"I don't think I'll be able to hold on for long enough..."

Then it was Rene's turn to look at him with confusion.

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

Alain shrugged, pulled his pants down and took of his shirt. He was about to take everything else off when a hand stopped him mid movement. "What are you doing?"

They stared at each other for a bit.

"Nothing."

Alain removed his hand from his underwear. Rene just laughed to which the other also smiled, even if a bit embarrassed. Rene then rolled to the middle of the bed. Alain crawled up on top of him which looked quite interesting from an outside perspective.

"Hi." said Rene. Alain giggled, a rare but beautiful sight. He looked so carefree for once, nothing heavy weighing on his mind. Rene pulled him closer by the neck and connected their lips. He kissed him slowly, enjoying this moment they were sharing. Alain, tired as he was, closed his eyes and completely relaxed in his arms, his worries melting away. Rene tangled his hand in his hair and started brushing it, his fingers running through the strands.

"Thank you..." Alain said after a while. "I think this was very much necessary. I've been stuck on this lock for a week now. Maybe I need some time to just... not think about it."

"Perhaps. I might try to help you in the morning if you want, maybe all you need to do is to look at the problem from a new perspective."

"This sounds reasonable..."

Alain closed his eyes. Rene wrapped his arms around him. Alain then, with his eyes still closed, pulled out a blanket and gave it to Rene who then covered both of them with it.

"Alain."

"Hm?"

"Sometimes I think about cutting your head open and looking at your brain"

"That's a very bad compliment."

"It isn't."

"Yes, it is."

They spent a couple of hours arguing over some different topics such as human autopsy and the necessity of morals but soon enough Alain fell asleep, his face in the crook of Rene's neck.

"I thought I should bring you some medication to help with your insomnia but maybe you just need some company instead"

[biblioflyer]

Ahsoka Theses Intro

I'm late to the party as usual but I wanted to let the show digest before I started banging out some thoughts. Some are pedestrian, many meandering. On the whole I liked it but also I felt like there's a lot of nits to pick with how the story unfolded.

As an amusing device, I'm dividing up my praise and complaints into Light Side and Dark Side Takes. As always, this is my two credits, your mileage may vary and I'm also down for having something I missed pointed out that seemed blindingly obvious to someone else.

And no, its not the usual complaints about Mary Sues or "Look how they massacred my boy!" blather that centers Legends as peak storytelling.

Additional entries in this series:

Light Side: "Balanced" Anakin

Dark Side: Efforts were clearly made to develop complex, layered characters through heavy prosthetics and contact lenses but someone dropped the ball on supporting these performances.

Just to prime the pump and for a sampling, here's a few short ones.

Light Side: The Action Choreography. 

I have generally been in favor of the return to more tense, tactical swordplay as compared to the flamboyance of the Prequel Trilogy. The jockeying for position and mind games before the first stroke is made really worked for me. I know some people seem to feel like the Prequel Trilogy’s high octane, more acrobatic combat conveyed the idea of superhuman power more, but the older I get, the more I find it more tedious than exciting.

Dark Side: The conflict between Ahsoka and Sabine just didn’t work for me. 

At any point. I was frustrated and disengaged with how the series saved the context for the sullen silences and the clipped remarks until the series was mostly over.

It certainly seemed like an attempt to set up an intriguing mystery. Why are Ahsoka and Sabine at odds? Is it Sabine? Is it Ahsoka? Is it Ahsoka’s baggage from the Jedi and Anakin? Is it Sabine’s Midicholorian deficiency? 

We don’t get a real clue until Ahsoka’s shadow play with Anakin. Then we finally get the unpacking of some of her fears over being tainted by her experiences as a child soldier and being the padawan of the man who went on to become the second most evil person in the galaxy up to that point.

Huyang’s explanation of the conflict to Ezra, in my opinion, steps all over the much better explanation that it was all Ahsoka and her conflicted feelings over the Jedi, how she was trained, and whether she was herself actually a good person after everything she had to do. Instead the explanation is apparently that Ahsoka is afraid of what Sabine could become with the right training. 

Which isn’t necessarily bad as explanations go: Mandalorians aren’t exactly known for being on the same page as the Jedi as to when violence is and isn’t an appropriate tool for a situation. It's just an explanation that is less directly connected to Ahsoka’s journey from gray to light.

I suppose these two explanations aren’t even mutually exclusive. Huyang is observant but not omniscient. Nothing says he has to be taken as if its from an entirely reliable narrator, although he’s presented as pretty darn reliable. Further, it could be both at the same time: Ahsoka fears that she is incapable of training someone who won’t fall to the Dark Side and she also fears that Sabine’s baggage and instincts lead to a natural affinity with the Dark Side and a Dark Side Mandalorian would be bad news indeed.

Light Side: Ahsoka Tano, Child Soldier

The switch from seeing animated Ahsoka to a live action, age appropriate Ahsoka was harrowing. It absolutely, positively did what it needed to do: to represent all of the complicated feelings Ahsoka has about the Jedi Order, Anakin, and the trajectory of her life. It's left unsaid, but it offers an implicit explanation for why she doesn’t stay on as a teacher for Luke’s new Jedi Order nor are there hints that she had any inkling to mentor him. 

That Ahsoka would struggle to form a connection with Sabine, another child of war, would make perfect sense. I’m slightly less thrilled about Huyang going so far as to suggest Ahsoka feared Sabine, but it might be proper to say that what Ahsoka fears is that she only knows how to forge people into instruments of destruction and thus any lineage she starts will be at risk for falling to the Dark Side.

Baylon is also an effective mirror to show what Ahsoka could be if she’d traded fear for resentment and let it curdle.

Credit where credit is due, Ariana Greenblatt can play any traumatized alien child she wants. That is a kid who has a natural talent for acting through prosthetics. Watch this kid, because I think she could be the female Doug Jones if she wants that career path. 

It just shouldn’t have taken five episodes to reach this kind of breakthrough in unpacking the title character’s motivations.

[unboundtravels]

Hey gang, back from the dead for a bit to share some recent headcanons I've been thinking up regarding the three new Doctors I've been working on. I'm waiting for commission art to get back before I officially add them, but for the newbies— Bumble, Purple, and Sleepy are the new Doctors who are arriving on their way. My ninth, tenth, and eleventh Doctors. I do have a twelfth Doctor, but he'll probably stay private for a pretty long time until I feel confident enough to bring him over. For now, my last three have been on my mind a lot.

Under the cut is a TON of headcanons regarding their characterization, as well as the commission details I have AT THE MOMENT. Final designs are on their way.

Bumble

Rascal incarnate. Comes directly after Pink, and I think some of those colors bled into her mind. Living life in the most cunty way possible. Disrespectful, punkish in nature, and absolutely bonkers. Out of these three, she's medium-sized. I like to imagine she's retreading One in some ways, maybe wearing a waistcoat & tie with a dress shirt, but then there are some jeans and chains here and there— fingerless gloves and boots. She's like a college professor and a punk-rock biker girl all in one. Wears those round sunglasses with bright red lenses when it's sunny out. I also think she's a pansexual nightmare. She wants to do crime and kiss pretty people, as well as spend most of her life driving with the top down. I think she realizes she might be approaching the end of her regeneration cycle, and is kind of going through it. 

The Darkest Incarnation? Maybe. I think she's definitely up there. She's a little bit unhinged. Pink as an incarnation was very much pragmatic in his approach to violence. If he had to kill someone in order to defend himself or to protect his friends, he would. He's a Doctor fit for a harsh universe, but wasn't absent of that kindness that made The Doctor has as their core personality component. Bumble, following that mindset, and adding in that twinge of extra charisma— is someone who (when faced with the trolley problem) could absolutely justify trading one person for a hundred. She's more of a game player, I think. She plays mental chess with her enemies, lulling them into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under them. That doesn't mean she won't give them the option of surrender— she just doesn't offer it as much as any other incarnation would. She's a "no second chances" kind of Doctor, but doesn't actively preach toward someone about considering mercy if she knows they won't take it. "Two truths one lie I'll start— I have killed, I'll kill again, and It burns when I pee." energy.

Tired of being nice: Bumble is probably the most chaotic incarnation in my about. I think even Looney would struggle to keep up with the amount of energy she has and how generally unpredictable she is. She seems to lack a certain noteable amount of sympathy that other incarnations would have. The energy levels of Looney mixed with the general cold/bitterness of Goth. While Goth on his own was mourning his people, and had a heart of gold underneath all that rage— Bumble seems to be generally disinterested in being polite, nice and seems to lack a certain social awareness that other Doctors have on at least a basic level. I think she has a very party-girl lifestyle. She still helps out where she can, but she really does it from an "Oh, you're interrupting my good time" mindset. She would rather go to a club and get involved in someone's night then patrol the universe as a do-gooder. She really is a very morally grey incarnation. 

Purple

The Comeback King: If Bumble following Pink was a challenging adjustment for the universe (and others) then Purple following Bumble is perceived at least as a bit of fresh air. I have no idea what kind of arc Bumble would go through throughout her life that would help her remember the fundementals of being The Doctor and doing what's right because you want too as opposed to doing good things because you have too. However, I think Purple does a sort of comeback tour. He definitely cares more about people then Bumble does, and definitely has an overall greater compassion for things and life in general. 

Disorganized Twink: That being said, I think he's high strung. I think his TARDIS is littered with maps and charts and things. Mostly like books and stuff that help him figure out where he'd like to go. I definitely think that he gets involved in situations where The TARDIS doesn't land exactly where he wants it too (probably BECAUSE of his piloting, which is probably more jank and disorganized) and he gets involved in a situation, solves that situation, and then quickly gets on the move to try and see if he can get to where he was going— rinse and repeat. He has a TON of White Rabbit from Wonderland energy in the sense that he's checking his wrist watch a lot because he's late for something on another planet even though he has a time machine. He's also the tallest out of these three and has the most snatched waist. 

Worse then your aunt but better then yer mum: Just like any Doctor— Purple is a lot to deal with. He's highly energetic and asks a lot of personal questions (just because he wants to help, though.) He lacks certain social graces, blurting out things before he speaks. He's easily distracted, can't keep his head on straight, and definitely is wound too tightly. That being said, he really just wants to be a good person, have a good time, and genuinely is just a good guy to be around. He's based on Matt Smith's Doctor, so there's a lot of those elements reflected here in Purple. He's serious and deadly when the moment calls for it, but chooses to maintain a sort of disorganized lifestyle because he feels like it works well for what he has going on. Life moves fast, and so does this Doctor. He has stay-at-home mom energy, sometimes. "Oh no they love orange juice but they been bad" tiktok energy, if you know what I mean. 

Sleepy.

You're a devious man, Columbo: I'm NOT even gonna hide it. Sleepy is 100% based on Columbo. He is the SMALLEST Doctor on my roster, based heavily on the smaller columbo twitter account. While I haven't decided exactly WHAT his height is, part of me is thinking about making him a four foot short king. That being said, he does share a few elements with Columbo, but isn't like. A direct copy / paste. I think he's very laid back. He's got a sharp tongue and a quick wit, but most of what makes The Sleepy Doctor unique is his approach to his day-to-day adventures. He really is not the running about doing crazy things Doctor. He's very much a handles things very quickly and casually. He CAN be challenged, but I feel like he's the most difficult Doctor to combat— because he's so focused at absolutely all times that he probably has everything mapped out in his head. He's hyper observant and hyper vigilant, but he DOESN'T present that way.

Just a sleepy little guy: Which BRINGS ME to this point. The Sleepy Doctor is EXACTLY that. Sleepy. He's just this really sort of. Low energy incarnation. I think he realizes that his next incarnation is the last body. That means that no matter how Sleepy acts, or what he does— at the end of the day, it's up to the LAST GUY to figure out exactly what they need to do in order to either get the rest The Doctor deserves, or continue persevering. So The Sleepy Doctor is sort of committed to a low energy low activity lifestyle. This doesn't mean he actively ignores the danger in the universe and doesn't help out— he's very capable of that and often still does adventure. It's more of just the fact that the universe is in a state (thanks mostly to the combined efforts of the post time war Doctor's including Goth, Looney, Pink, and Bumble IG, and Purple as well) that he can sort of just RELAX. So he DOES. He's like a big ole sleepy cat— He's also just GENERALLY really friendly. He's laid back, and is probably the most domestic-fueled Doctor. He wants a life, wants to retire. He'll live in that era before the next guy has to start setting up things for finality. "I'm rechargin', so the next guy has a big ole battery."

GOJO ON MAIN? That being said, I don't think you wanna fuck with Sleepy. I think he's potientially the most dangerous Doctor. Super experienced, has a massive collection of artifacts he can use to trap his enemies or disable them entirely— and has a very, very powerful memory. Sleepy's Memory is EXTREMELY percise, to the point of basically being an incarnation-exclusive trait. He remembers exactly everything he needs to about an enemy, but plays it off like he doesn't. Nobody takes him seriously, but I cite Gojo Satoru as an example of Sleepy's characterization in ONLY the most basic sense in which: Visually, his eyes are closed almost ALL the time. However, when they're open, that means you've fucked with him to such a degree that you're being banished to the shadow realm, basically.