#the only colorful segment of the whole show and its when she's NOT with the ugly husband

[gael-garcia]

Ruth Negga, Presumed Innocent 1.05

[bueckersbitch]

how many drinks would it take you to leave with me?

how many drinks - paige bueckers x reader

⟢ warnings : sexual content, semi-public sex, alcohol

⟢ authors note : just bc i loved paige on the tonight show ☺️ thank you to my kewi 🥝 @thaatdigitaldiary for helping me with the song for this fic ILYILYILY

⟢ taglist : @sierrale8ne @pboogerswbb @lupinqs @xxloveralways14 @bueckersfive @vamptizm @lovegalor333 @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @mrsarnold @janaelalfysblunt

The zipper of your new pink Louis Vuitton purse made a smooth noise as you closed it shut. Your manicured hands smooth over the top of your hair, and you knock on the door, ‘Paige Bueckers’ on its nameplate. You had just watched your girlfriend make her debut on The Tonight Show, a small segment, an invitation from the crew following the team's blowout victory in the national championship. You were sitting in the crowd when it happened, her composed strut when she came out from behind the stage curtains, walking with her signature basketball walk. Shoes adding at least two inches to her already towering height.

The crowd rose to their feet when she emerged, applauding the new champion on her smooth victory. And you? Your eyes were alluring. Her gaze flicked to yours the entire time she was on stage, and when she made her way through the aisle, you followed the crowd, taking a chance to touch the trophy, you diverged from the crowd though, subtly gripping her bicep, apparent to her, but friendly enough for the cameras.

“‘S open!” Paige said, from beyond the door, you gripped the door handle, rubbing your lips together, pushing the door open. Paige’s head whipped around, ponytail swaying as she moved. “Hey, mama.” Her words sounded like honey, her usually sharp tone loosened a bit from the champagne sitting in front of her, a definite attempt from her to pregame for the party you two were attending after the show. “Hi, Ms. Big Shot.” Teasing her. Her head dropped between her shoulders slightly, when she pulled up, you saw the signature smile she had when she was feeling a little tipsy, eyes low, face reddened. Sitting in the vanity chair in front of the large mirror with Hollywood lights, her makeup a soft glam but just right. “C’mere.” Her hand reaches out for yours. Your kitten heels clicked against the tile, the matching pink Louis Vuitton’s matching your purse perfectly. Both gifts from Paige, ‘Sum slight’ She had told you, gifting them to you after you guys had gotten back to the hotel following her big national champion performance. 

“Mmm, this lil number you got on.” She hummed, clearly pleased with your outfit choice. “You like? I asked Britt for some assistance, made sure she worked in the bag and shoes.” Your small white mini skirt barely covered your ass and the gold tank top you had on adorned a deep v, contouring your boobs nicely. “Mhmmmm, I love, goes together real well.” Paige tugs on your hand, obviously wanting you to sit on her lap, but you walk straight past, leaning against the vanity. 

“Britt got your fit right too,” You started, taking all your hair to one side of your shoulder, “Whole thing just screams Dallas.” You smile, acknowledging the country-esque flannel paired with the camouflage pants, the rhinestones on the top, and her Prada shoes combining the country cliche with a more New York vibe. It was out there, sure. But you knew Paige loved it, wanting to branch out into different styles and colors. You saw the vision, the dark colors accentuated her features, blue eyes now striking, her blonde hair adding a halo-like glow against her skin tone. 

“Wanted to ease into the whole ‘dark colors’ thing. Y’know wit my draft fit nd everything.” You felt your panties soak at the thought. Paige’s draft outfit. She had shown it to you, only you, a couple of days prior. The all-black Louis Vuitton suit, with a black tie, and glossy ‘LV’ emblems which caught the light perfectly. Britt had her try on her grills this morning, a simple ‘PB’ with diamonds studded throughout, the right amount of iced out for her.

“You a’ight there ma?” Of course, she noticed, because when does Paige not notice? “I’m doing just fine. Thinking about Monday.” You say, cocking your head to the side while looking at her. “I know, got that lil look in your eye like when I first showed my fit for it to you.” Her eyebrows shot up as she said it, following her confrontation with a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t get too cocky Paige, might not leave with you tonight.” You backfire, knowing the blonde would want you back in the hotel as soon as the party ended. “Why you gotta leave wit me? Y’know I could jus’ get you right now.” She shrugged, pouring a glass of champagne for you, offering it to you after she was finished. “Are you crazy? We have a whole film crew about 500 feet from us, and we also leave for the after in 10 minutes.” You scoff, sipping the smooth champagne, enjoying the drink after a long day of helping Paige prepare for her segment.

“Not seeing an issue, you can be quiet.” She says. Even though she knew that was a lie.

Paige rose from her seat, her shoes thudding for a couple of steps, making her way over to you. She towered over you, setting her arms on the vanity behind you, caging you in. “You’re lying to yourself, Paige.” You say, looking up at her. Paige shrugs, one hand coming up to toy with the hem of your skirt. “I can keep you quiet ma, jus’ gotta let me.” Your heart started to beat faster, you considered your options. You knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself at the afterparty, and you were already starting to feel the effects of the champagne. You wanted to believe you would, but the insufferable thought of having to wait five more hours had you annoyed at the mere thought. You rested your hands on her chest, feeling her heartbeat, like yours, it was quickened. Paige clearly getting antsy. “You think you can do it in 10 minutes?” You asked, your resolve breaking at her sweet talk. “Y’know I can, done it before.” You don’t have time to process her words, her hand tips your chin up, and she crashes her lips onto yours.

The kiss was messy, your recently applied lip gloss smearing while Paige’s tongue prods into your mouth. Her lips were warm, you could taste the remnants of the strawberry chapstick her makeup artist applied. Your breath quickened, feeling Paige’s calloused fingers pushing your skirt up. She pulled herself away from your lips, her blue eyes looking at you for a second, lagging at the sight of you falling apart. Her hands found your waist, picking you up and seating you on the vanity, spreading your legs with her hands, groaning at the sight of your pink underwear, a wet patch right at the center. “So easy, falling apart before I’ve even started.” You whine impatiently, “That’s how it always is with you Paige, you know that.” You unintentionally spread your legs further apart. Paige hummed, her fingers looping through the waistband of your panties, pulling them down far enough for you to kick them off. 

Paige let out a low whistle at the sight, your folds were soaked, glimmering in the light from the chandelier above you. Paige stepped back in between your legs, pushing your hair to the other side, latching her lips on your neck. Her lips were plump from the kiss you two just shared. Paige sucked slowly right below your ear, a bruise forming from her actions. She continued working on your neck, fingers meeting your center with a swipe, spreading your wetness onto your clit. You can’t help the moan that rips from your throat, a little too loud for a public setting. “Gotta stay quiet for me ma.” You nod your head. Paige pushes her fingers into you, but not moving them. Your hips start to buck, searching for relief between your legs. 

“Imma be nice to you, since we don’t got a lotta time.” Still, she starts slowly, massaging her fingers into you, hitting your spot before starting to pull her fingers in and out. “Paige please-” You whine out, Paige cutting you off with a quiet “Shhhh.” Her other hand found home over your mouth, pressing against it. You felt your core clench at the idea of it all, moans muffled into Paige’s hand now. “S’good for me baby, know you want it,” Paige whispers into your ear. Her hand pulls out on occasion to rub your clit, quickly circling it before being pushed inside you again.

Paige keeps going, just enough to rile you up to the edge, dropping to her knees now. “Needa taste you.” Her hands push your knees up, “Lemme see those pretty tits ma.” She looks up at you, eyes glazed over, from the alcohol, and the high off of being with you. You fumble with the straps of your tank top, pushing each one down your arms, unhooking your bra, and slinging it over onto the floor.

Paige blew onto your clit, your hips jumping at the cool air. She licked her lips in preparation. Her tongue licked from your entrance to your clit, sucking in the bud with a low hum. “Fuck Paige.” Paige pulls away from your clit with a kiss, looking up at you, “Jus’ can’t stay quiet, huh?” 

You don’t say anything, just push her head back into you. Paige accepts happily, lapping the wetness that gushed from you consistently. Your back arches, stomach tightening with each stroke of her tongue.

“Paige-” You mutter, she pulls her head back for a second, “I know baby, give it to me.” You whine, letting the knot in your stomach unravel.

-

Paige stands up, tending to you after with kisses on your face, “Ms. Bueckers! We’re leaving for the afterparty now!” Someone says from the other side of the door. “Gimme a sec!” She responds, wiping your pussy with the sleeve of her flannel.

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 2

summary: Months after Venturer's official approval, Declan O’Hara's latest broadcast takes center stage, his incisive interview style sparking reactions from viewers—and Cassie Jones. Spending the evening at Baz’s bar, Cassie finds herself caught between reluctant admiration and lingering resentment for Declan’s relentless drive.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Alcohol Use, Realism in Media Industry, Cassie is always in distress mode

w.c: 7k

[prologue], [chapter one], [here], [chapter three], [chapter four]

o2. But I can't get her outta my sight

Declan sat in his study, a sanctuary of muted tones and understated elegance. The polished surface of his mahogany desk reflected the faint glow of the desk lamp, its circle of light casting the rest of the room into a warm shadow. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of knowledge and ambition accumulated over the years.

A hint of cigar smoke clung to the air.

A stack of notes lay before him, meticulously organized yet untouched. He had intended to review them for tonight’s show on Venturer, he has studied and written everything down for the past week. Yet his pen had stilled, his attention wandering far from the political breakdowns and exposés he usually found energizing.

Instead, his mind was tangled in thoughts of Cassie Jones.

The doubt in her eyes was striking—not just a fleeting hesitation, but something deeper, a quiet war between uncertainty and conviction. Yet, it was that same doubt that seemed to amplify the glow of her fierce determination, as if her fears only highlighted the brilliance of her resolve.

Her gaze, dark and willful, resisted him, darting away like a bird wary of being caught.

But in those few moments when their eyes met… It was impossible to look away. There was a rhythm to her words, calculated and unhurried, as though each syllable carried a secret she was daring him to uncover. Her voice was a melody he couldn’t quite place—familiar enough to draw him in, yet distant enough to leave him looking for more.

Her lips parted and closed with the precision of a storyteller, shaping each word in a way that made even the most banal details sound extraordinary. There was a magnetism to her presence, an energy that turned a simple conversation into something unforgettable.

Not that he stared at her lips. He hadn't. If someone asked him about them, he wouldn't know what color they were. A shade somewhere between the warmth of a dusky rose and the faint blush of autumn’s last leaves.

In short, the conversation between them that early afternoon lingered—not as a memory, but as a sensation, persistent and impossible to ignore.

It felt foolish , truly. That was the best word to describe the whole situation.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more: the fact that his thoughts were so easily hijacked or that he had let them linger. There were always more pressing matters to deal with—scripts to finalize, segments to tighten, the never-ending negotiations with sponsors… Venturer wasn’t just a television station; it was a warfront, the last bastion of independent media in Rutshire.

And yet, here he was , caught up in the memory of a single conversation.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a conversation that should have stood out. He’d met people with stronger résumés, sharper tongues, and more experience in front of a microphone.

But Cassie... She wasn’t polished , and that was the very thing that stayed with him. Her honesty felt raw, untamed—a blade still learning the strength of its edge.

Foolish. The word echoed in his head.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What was it about her that unsettled him?

Was it her conviction? The quiet courage hidden beneath layers of uncertainty? Or perhaps it was the vulnerability she carried so openly? The kind that didn’t ask for pity but challenged you to see it and still believe in her strength.

And yet, her resistance baffled him. How could someone so driven, so clearly destined for something bigger, shy away from a platform?

His fingers tapped absently against the desk as he tried to reconcile her fear of the screen with what he had seen in her.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture her features perfectly—the elegant line of her jaw, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes when she spoke about what mattered. He could see how the camera would frame her, how the lights would catch the warm tones in her hair, and how her expressions, so honest and unguarded, would translate to the audience.

She didn’t see it, but he did .

Her face was made for the screen, not because of perfection, but because of its authenticity. It would draw people in, hold them captive. She didn’t need to be polished; she was already compelling in a way that made the camera irrelevant.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice steady despite the jumble in his head.

The door creaked open, and Taggie stepped inside, her auburn hair catching the soft light from the lamp. She was dressed casually, her apron dusted with flour, a reminder of the event she was catering later.

“Still brooding?” she teased gently, holding a letter in one hand while absently smoothing her apron with the other.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her tone carried genuine concern.

“Brooding?” Declan repeated, his voice amused, “I prefer ‘preparing.’ ”

“For the show or something else?” she countered, stepping closer. Her gaze landed briefly on the untouched notes before flicking back to him, “You look... Distracted.”

Declan exhales, leaning back in his chair, “I visited Cassie Jones today.”

Taggie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Cassie Jones? The Cassie Jones? You mean the one from the radio?”

She stepped closer, as though proximity would confirm his words. Her tone changed, and her thoughts flickered back to the previous morning.

Yesterday, the kitchen had been filled with the sound of Cassie’s fiery monologue, her unrelenting voice cutting through the room like a razor. Rupert had leaned in, more amused than anything else, but her father—she remembered her father: he’d been completely still , eyes fixed on the radio with an intensity she hadn’t seen in months.

That explains why he hadn’t had dinner last night , Taggie wondered.

Declan nodded, his expression contemplative.

“She has potential, Taggie,” he paused, searching for the right words, “Raw, unpolished, but it’s there. I want her on Venturer.”

“You’re recruiting her?” she asked, her voice with a hint of curiosity and excitement, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d bring someone like her in. Isn’t she— well , shy?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he admitted, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge, “She’s terrified of being seen, but she’s brilliant. The way she speaks... It’s not just reporting. It’s storytelling. She makes people care.”

Taggie studied him for a moment, her head tilting as she considered his words. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but charged with energy, a drive that hadn’t been there in a while…

Her father had always been passionate, but this was different. There was a spark, something that reminded her of the early days of Venturer, when everything was just a shot in the dark.

“You’re really invested in this,” Taggie lifted a brow, “Aren’t you?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to the scattered notes on his desk, their edges curling slightly under the soft glow of the desk lamp. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

 “Let’s just say,” he murmured, “It’s been a while since someone reminded me why we started Venturer in the first place.”

“It’s good to see you like this again,” Taggie’s smile widened, “You’ve never been so focused, so determined since we won the franchise approval—it’s like you’ve finally found something that excites you again.”

Declan chuckled, though the sound was tinged with self-awareness, “Don’t read too much into it, Taggie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are,” she said, a touch of mischief in her tone, “But I’m not complaining. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you looking this... Alive.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you think she’ll accept?”

Declan’s expression grew thoughtful, his gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Freddie’s been trying to bring her on board since we got the franchise approval. She’s always said no. But today…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he thought back to their conversation.

“But today?” Taggie prompted, stepping closer, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“She seemed... Torn ,” Declan replied, “Like part of her wanted to say yes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’s hesitant, scared even, but she’s not someone who backs down easily. If she sees what we see in her... She’ll come around.”

Taggie studied her father again, a knowing expression in the way she furrowed her brows, “You’re really invested in this, aren’t you?”

Declan met her gaze, a flicker of something undefinable in his expression—determination, perhaps, or something even deeper.

“It’s not just about her, Taggie,” he said after a moment, “It’s about what she represents. Venturer was supposed to be about giving people like her a voice, wasn’t it? People who can make others listen, who can make them care.

“Well, I hope she sees that”, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Taggie’s lips, “And I hope she knows how lucky she’d be to work with someone like you.”

Declan chuckled again, though it was quieter this time, tinged with something almost self-deprecating.

“Don’t go turning me into a saint, Taggie. I’m just trying to do what’s right—for Venturer and for her.”

Taggie hesitated, watching him for a moment before stepping forward and placing the envelope on his desk.

“Just don’t let this drive of yours keep you from dealing with this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the edge of the envelope.

Declan’s gaze followed her gesture, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the crumpled edges and the weight it seemed to carry. How it quickly changed his daughter’s humor.

“What is it?” he asked, though something in the pit of his stomach already knew the answer.

“It’s from Mum’s lawyer,” Taggie replied quietly, “The final papers.”

Declan’s breath caught, the words dripping between them like a heavy curtain. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out to take the envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, as though the culmination of everything—months of silence, arguments, the growing distance—was contained within it.

How could she not answer any of his letters and the first one she sent to them, her family, was the divorce papers?

“I see,” he said in the silence, almost whispering, his grip on the envelope tightened.

Taggie hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though trying to gauge his reaction, “Are you okay?”

Declan chuckled, but it was devoid of humor.

“That’s a loaded question.”

The corner of her lips twitched, but her attempt at a smile faded just as quickly.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, Dad. I know how hard you tried to hold things together.”

“Did I?” Declan asked, almost to himself. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling to the envelope in his hands, “Or did I just try to hold on to the idea of us? To what I thought we were supposed to be, instead of what we actually were?”

Taggie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was loaded as the question of before. There was a shared grief for something that had been unraveling for longer than either of them cared to admit.

“She made her choice,” Declan continued, his tone low, “And maybe... Maybe it’s for the best. For her. For both of us.”

“Maybe,” Taggie said softly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Declan glanced at her, his expression softening.

“What about you? How are you handling all this?”

Taggie bit her lip, clearly taken aback by her father’s question. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering downward as though the answer might somehow be hidden in the floorboards.

“I’ve had time to process it, I guess,” she responded, her voice quieter than before. She shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her apron, “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but... I’m not angry anymore. Just… S-S—”

Her voice faltered, the word slipping from her grasp.

“Sad?” Declan offered gently, watching as her jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said, nodding a bit too quickly, “ Sad. ”

Her struggle with the word wasn’t lost on him. It was a passing moment, brief but telling. Declan knew how Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes crept into her life in ways she didn’t expect—moments of hesitation or the occasional stumble over a word when emotions ran high.

It wasn’t something she let define her, but it was always there.

Over the past months, with Maud gone and Taggie stepping up beside him, Declan had seen more of it than he ever had before. At first, he had felt like the worst father in the world for not noticing sooner, for letting the chaos of his own life distract him from hers. It took him some time to understand—not just how it was for her, but the quiet strength with which she handled them.

It humbled him, this quiet resilience of hers.

You’ve handled it well, he wanted to say, but instead, he offered her a smile.

She looked at him, surprised by the sudden gesture. But the small, appreciative smile she gave in return told him he had done the right thing. He was still trying, and that was enough.

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of wind and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Declan found himself studying her expression, the way her eyes mirrored his own weariness but had a resilience that was unmistakably hers.

“I suppose sadness is easier to live with than resentment,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Taggie nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, I should get back to work. The buffet for Mrs. Spencer’s gala won’t prepare itself.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, “A gala? And they’ve roped you into catering for it?”

“Not roped,” she corrected, “I volunteered . Keeps me busy.”

He gave her a look, one that carried both fondness and a hint of fatherly skepticism.

“Just don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Taggie laughed softly, the sound warm but subdued.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle Mrs. Spencer.”

She turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him. Her expression softened, the hint of concern in her eyes mirroring the quiet care she always tried to mask with humor.

“And you? Will you be okay?”

Declan offered a faint smile, “I’ve got notes to review and a show to prepare for. I’ll manage.”

Taggie nodded, staying for a moment longer before slipping out of the room.

The silence that followed her departure wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echoes of their conversation, the unspoken words that always seemed to hover between them. Declan’s gaze fell to the envelope on his desk, its stark presence a reminder of what had already unraveled. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the sharp edges, the sensation grounding him in the heaviness of the moment.

The ache in his chest deepened, not sharp but persistent, like a bruise that refused to fade. Maud’s absence wasn’t new; it had been a constant shadow for months, haunting him at the edges of every room, every thought. He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, see her smile in the periphery of his mind.

They had tried, hadn’t they ? Yet, here it was—the finality of a marriage reduced to paper and ink.

Declan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping slightly as he closed his eyes. The memories pressed in, uninvited but relentless. The laughter they had shared, the fights that had grown sharper over time, the silences that had said more than words ever could. He wondered, not for the first time, if there had been a point where they could have turned it around—if he could have been someone different, better , for her.

The ache tightened, and he exhaled slowly, as if trying to release it. But as his thoughts circled Maud and the void her absence left, another voice crept into his mind.

Cassie .

Her words reverberated in his memory, not as a balm to the pain but something else. The raw honesty in her tone, the conviction laced with doubt, had a way of unsettling him, of pulling his focus from the ache of what was lost to the possibilities of what could be.

That's what she usually talked about in her past broadcasts, right? In the projects she had done in Chicago? How there was always a possibility, a light in the end of the tunnel, despite people locking all your windows and doors?

He sat up straighter, his gaze falling to the notes scattered before him again. The words blurred for a moment, stubbornly refusing to take shape. But as he thought of Cassie—her eyes, her words, her fear—it was as though something clicked into place.

It wasn’t just about giving people a platform , he remembered, it was about finding the voices that mattered, the ones that could cut through the noise and make people listen.

Declan’s lips quirked into a smile, the kind that came unbidden, as he turned his attention back to his notes. The spark of inspiration she had ignited within him was enough to push the rest aside, at least for now.

There was a show to prepare for, and tonight, he felt ready.

The bar was alive in its muted way—a quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glassware against polished wood. It wasn’t the raucous energy of a weekend crowd but the steady rhythm of regulars, the kind of people who found comfort in routine. Cassie sat at her usual corner, her drink untouched, save for the condensation slipping down its sides.

The golden light from the overhead fixtures cast a soft glow on the surface of the bar, making everything look warmer than it felt.

Bas moved with the practiced ease of someone who had owned this space for years. His motions were fluid, as though the rhythm of tending bar wasn’t a job but an extension of himself.

His dark hair, perpetually tousled in a way that suggested he didn’t care—or maybe cared too much—caught the light whenever he turned. His eyes scanned the room, but they kept returning to Cassie, watching the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on her glass.

“Alright, Jones,” he said, leaning over the counter with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You’re quieter than usual. Either someone’s died, or you’re brooding about something big… Again .”

Cassie shot him a look, one that was stabbing but softened by the weak tug at the corner of her lips.

“Always with the optimism, Bas.”

“It’s my charm,” he quipped. But the teasing in his tone didn’t mask the concern that was beneath it.

She sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the bar’s surface, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”

Bas’s eyebrow arched as he slid a pint across the bar to a waiting regular, his movements unhurried but precise. His attention, however, was fixed on Cassie, the practiced ease in his gaze giving way to a flicker of curiosity. The murmured conversations, the muted clatter of glasses—seemed distant, a backdrop to the conversation they were having.

“A day, huh?” Bas leaned a little closer, his lips drawing into an amused smile, “Sounds vague,” he added, lifting an eyebrow in mock challenge, “Care to elaborate, or should I start guessing?”

“You’d only guess wrong,” she replied almost immediately, a smirk curling at her lips before she took a long sip from her drink.

Bas didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the counter, the polished wood cool beneath his hands. His teasing expression softened just a bit, the shift subtle but perceptible.

“Enlighten me, then,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Cassie hesitated, her gaze dropping to her glass. But her grip on the glass hardened, her thumb tracing absent patterns against the condensation. She inhaled quietly through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line as if bracing herself.

“Declan O’Hara showed up at my door this morning.”

The words landed heavily, drawing Bas’s full attention. His playful demeanor faltered, his brow knitting together in thought.

Cassie could see the gears turning behind his eyes, his indissoluble wit piecing together implications faster than he let on. He blinked once, his lips parting as if to speak, but then he let out a low whistle, a sound of disbelief mingled with admiration.

“Well, that’s not nothing,” he said, straightening as his grin returned, this time full of intrigue, “What did the Irish Wolfhound want with you?”

Cassie’s lips twisted into a wry smile, though there was no humor in it. She shrugged, her voice tinged with weariness.

“He wants me on Venturer . Just like you and my uncle.”

Bas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his head tilting as he considered her words.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent. He reached for a cloth, wiping down an already spotless section of the counter as though the action would help him process the news, “One thing’s for sure—it’s not every day Declan O’Hara comes knocking at your door, specifically your door . I mean, me and Freddie? Sure. But him ?” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, “That’s big.”

He set the cloth down, his gaze steady on her, “What did you say?”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders hunching slightly.

“That I’d think about it,” she admitted, the words clipped as though they’d been dragged out of her.

Bas studied her in silence, his expression unreadable, though his brow furrowed as he watched her fidget with her glass. After a long pause, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You never seem thrilled about this,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral, “Most people would jump at the chance of joining Venturer—especially if it was me inviting them.” His lips drawn into a lopsided grin, a flash of his usual humor breaking through.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people,” Cassie replied, her voice sharp, the words a defensive barb.

Bas’s grin softened, the teasing edge fading as he regarded her more closely. He reached for a glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate calm.

“Alright,” he said, his tone quieter but no less insistent, “Let’s hear it. What’s holding you back?”

Cassie’s fingers stilled on the rim of her glass. For a moment, she seemed to shrink into herself, her expression tightening. Her eyes darted to the counter as she wrestled with words that didn’t want to come.

“It’s not that simple,” she muttered finally, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Bas countered.

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass again.

“I just… I don’t think it’s for me.”

Bas’s laugh was short and dry, a single puff of air that carried no mirth.

“You don’t think it’s for you? Come on, Cass. That’s not an answer. You’ve got a voice people listen to—even when they don’t want to. Hell, you made headlines just by opening your mouth. And now you’re telling me you can’t see yourself in a chair next to Declan?”

Cassie clenched her jaw, the muscles tensing in her neck. The words were there, but they felt too heavy, too real to say out loud.

Her thoughts spiraled, never giving her a rest— Could I? Be in a chair next to him?

What if I say yes and ruin everything?

The offer, the screen, the lights… It was all too much.

What if they really do see something in me that I don’t see in myself?

But that wasn’t the real issue, was it?

“I can’t do it, Bas,” she whispered, as if saying the words could keep the fear at bay.

The issue was if they saw all the mistakes that she knew that was beneath her skin, her choices and her attempts.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, leaning her elbows against the edge of the counter, her head hanging low.

It wasn’t the stage, or the lights. It wasn’t even the fear of failure.

Her mind raced with the images— the screen, the questions, the voices of people in her head, judging, scrutinizing, always waiting for her to slip.

“Why not?” he pressed, not giving up so soon over this subject.

Cassie’s breath caught, she had hoped that he would drop it , as he usually did.

Her pulse quickened, the discomfort twisting in her stomach like a knot pulling tighter with every passing second. She knew what was coming, and still, she couldn’t find the strength to articulate it.

To say the words that circled her thoughts.

Why not? Her mind repeated the question and, as if it was a broken record, it started to repeat again and again., why not? Why not?

What was holding her back?

“Cass—”

Why not?

“I can’t even look you in the eye while we’re talking, Bas,” she snapped, her voice trembling, “How the hell am I supposed to talk to a camera? To an audience?”

There it was—the rawness of the truth.

Her fear wasn’t just about the screen. It was about her inability to stand in front of anyone and not feel exposed, vulnerable. She wasn’t ready to show that side of herself, not to millions of strangers, not when she could barely face the people she cared about.

Bas’s reaction was immediate. The mischief that usually animated his features vanished and turned into something quieter, more serious. He straightened slightly, as though anchoring himself to the counter while Cassie’s turmoil unfolded in front of him.

The ambient noise of the bar—a murmur of laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded into a distant sound, no longer relevant in the charged space between them.

For a moment, Bas said nothing. His gaze held her frame—not in judgment, but in understanding. He wasn’t a man who filled silences lightly, and Cassie had come to appreciate that about him.

The absence of his voice gave hers the room to breathe, even as it quaked under the weight of her uncertainty.

“You’ve always been harder on yourself than anyone else,” he interrupted the silence once he noticed she was more at ease, “You don’t trust what people see in you, Cass, and maybe that’s part of the problem. You think you’ve got to hide everything, like people can’t handle the real you.”

She winced, her fingers hurting against the edges of her glass. Bas had an infuriating way of hitting nerves she hadn’t realized were exposed.

Her eyes flicked to the countertop, the wood grain blurring as a knot tightened in her chest.

“It’s not about hiding,” she muttered, “It’s about… Not giving them the ammunition. You don’t get it, people don’t just listen. They dissect. They pick you apart until there’s nothing left, I’ve seen it.”

“You’re right. I don’t get it—not in the way you do,” He let out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw, “But I’ve been in enough storms to know that people don’t waste their time picking apart someone who doesn’t matter. The fact that they’re looking at you? It means you’re already doing something worth their attention.”

Cassie shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re staring at right now.”

“No,” Bas agreed, his tone too calm, “But I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to stand up because they’re scared of the fallout. It doesn’t stop the storm—it just leaves someone else to clean up the mess.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his figure, a spark of indignation flaring in her chest.

“So what?” she wondered, “You think I owe it to the world to put myself out there? To be ripped apart just because I have something to say?”

Bas leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder—not heavy, but firm enough to anchor her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, steady as ever, but there was something deeper in his expression now. Not pity, not even frustration. Just belief.

This time, Cassie tried to force herself to stare at him back, to see what he was gonna say.

“No,” he said, “I think you owe it to yourself.”

Cassie froze, his words cutting through the haze of her spiraling thoughts. They weren’t flashy or grand, but they had a quiet truth that she couldn’t ignore. For a moment, the emotions that were pressing down on her chest lightened, replaced by something that felt disarmingly close to hope.

She couldn’t stop herself before a smile creeped out of her teeth.

Cassie wanted to believe in him, she truly wanted to. Perhaps, that time she would.

Bas’s hand lingered a moment longer before he stepped back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in response to hers.

“Now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual easy warmth, “don’t make me pull out a soapbox, Cass. We’ve got a show to watch.”

She managed a weak laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slowly as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast filled the room.

Declan O’Hara’s face appeared on the screen, his sharp, commanding presence filling the bar as the opening notes of Venturer’s broadcast faded. The backdrop was strikingly simple—sleek, modern lines contrasting with a warm palette that suggested approachability. The kind of visual balance that made the show feel personal without losing its gravitas.

Cassie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t say a word, but Bas caught the way her fingers tapped lightly against her arm in a rhythm too calculated to be unconscious.

“You good?” he asked, keeping his tone light, though his eyes didn’t leave her face.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen, “Just... Curious to see how he spins it.”

Declan’s voice came into the segment seamlessly—a live interview with a city council member who had been at the center of recent housing debates. The guest looked composed, but there was a tension in his smile, the kind that came from knowing you were about to face someone who wouldn’t let a single inconsistency slide.

He was the Irish Wolfhound , after all.

“Here we go,” Bas muttered, leaning in his seat, clearly expecting fireworks.

Cassie didn’t respond, her focus on the screen unbroken. Declan’s approach was surgical, every question calibrated to draw out information without tipping into outright confrontation. His tone remained calm, professional, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

He was peeling back the layers of the council member’s carefully rehearsed answers, pushing him to explain vague statements and sidestep slippery rhetoric.

“Man’s a scalpel,” Bas said under his breath, shaking his head, “Doesn’t let up, does he?”

“It’s effective,” Cassie admitted, her tone grudging. There was something fascinating about watching Declan work—how he managed to command the room without ever raising his voice, how he drew the audience into the conversation without alienating his guest.

It was a skill she recognized, even admired, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Her attention was drawn even further as Declan leaned forward, his next question landing with deliberate weight.

“As Cassie Jones accused in Dan Murphy’s broadcast at Crawford’s FM yesterday,” Declan glanced down at a note in his hand, the movement unhurried, “there are claims that the council’s housing allocations lack transparency. Specifically, that contracts were awarded to developers with personal ties to sitting council members. What’s your response?”

Cassie blinked, her body instinctively leaning a fraction closer to the screen, as though the words might hit differently if she were nearer. Hearing her name roll off his tongue in that voice—the cadence carefully deliberate, each word with the precision of a blade—was something she hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t just that he repeated her accusations; it was the way he positioned them as essential to the conversation, stripping away any lingering doubts about their importance.

But then there was the other thing— the truth of it all . What truly shook her in her seat.

She hadn’t been the one to say those words during Dan’s broadcast.

The story, the study, the facts—they were hers, yes . Yet Dan had been the one to voice them, stealing her moment before she arrived at the station to reclaim it. By the time she had taken control of the broadcast, the opportunity to lay out her findings in full had slipped through her fingers. All she could do then was pivot, focus on the other truth she’d uncovered.

And now? Declan O’Hara, of all people, was giving her story back to her.

Bas’s head whipped toward her, his expression part shock, part amusement.

“He’s quoting you ?”

“Looks like it,” Cassie muttered, her voice faint as her gaze remained fixed on the screen. Her chest felt a lot heavier, a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to brush it off.

On screen, the council member’s practiced composure faltered before he recovered.

“I’m not aware of any evidence to support those claims,” he said, his tone clipped, “And I think it’s reckless to give air to accusations of a—”

“It’s not about recklessness,” Declan interrupted him, as calm as he was since the beginning of the show, “It’s about accountability. Jones provided specifics—figures, dates, patterns. If they’re inaccurate, wouldn’t it benefit the council to set the record straight?”

Cassie bit her lip, fighting back the urge to grin. For the first time in weeks, it felt like her work wasn’t just hers—just something she could keep on her shelf. No, it was out there , undeniable .

Different from Dan and Crawford, Declan O’Hara wasn’t stealing it. He was amplifying it.

Declan gave my story back to me , Cassie repeated again, as to remind herself that this day wasn’t a dream.

Bas snorted, “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

“Shut up, Bas,” Cassie muttered, her voice threatening but there was no bite. Still, she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks, a flush she didn’t dare acknowledge.

Did Bas mean that she was Declan’s fan or Declan who was her fan. Either way, both made her blush even more.

She folded her arms tighter across her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The council member stumbled over his response, scrambling to reframe the narrative, but Declan was relentless, pressing for specifics with a calm determination that left no room for evasion. When the segment ended, Declan delivered a closing remark that felt both pointed and perfectly impartial, a masterful capstone to the exchange.

The screen transitioned to a softer feature—a local artist creating murals across the city. The shift in tone was smooth, offering viewers a reprieve from the tension.

Cassie exhaled, her eyes fixed on the screen after a beat.

“He’s good,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

Good as a presenter or a good person? Her mind asked her and, well , Cassie didn’t have an answer for that.

Bas chuckled, “That sounded dangerously close to actual praise.”

“Don’t push it,” Cassie warned, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The bar’s energy had shifted as the night deepened.

Voices softened into murmurs, glasses clinked with lazy rhythm, and the warm glow of the overhead fixtures seemed to dim ever so vaguely, making the room feel closer, cozier. Cassie and Bas were still at their corner, both a little slouched, their earlier sharpness dulled by the hour and the lingering warmth of their drinks.

From an outsider's perspective, they might have appeared as companions deep into their cups, the way Bas’s posture had relaxed, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his grin loose and easy. Cassie, by contrast, seemed more guarded, though the light flush across her cheeks and the way she covered her mouth mid-laugh betrayed a rare moment of vulnerability.

A laughing fit took over Cassie as Bas told her a story about a patron mistaking a bottle of soy sauce for whiskey last week. She was shaking her head, trying to compose herself, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the residual embarrassment of the earlier show.

Bas placed a hand dramatically on his chest, “I swear on King’s Ransom,” his grin wide and unapologetic.

Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tug of a smile.

“Right, because your horse makes you credible.”

“Don’t disrespect King’s Ransom,” Bas shot back with mock indignation, “He’s got more class than you’ll ever have.”

Cassie leaned forward, her elbow propped on the table as she took a sip of her drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass, and she watched Bas with a bemused expression, her free hand lightly tracing a circle on the tabletop.

“You know,” she said, setting the glass down, “you’d make a terrible lawyer. Your evidence is a horse , and your defense strategy is sarcasm .”

Bas grinned, leaning back in his chair as though settling into the role of a court jester.

“A lawyer? Please . Too much paperwork. I’d rather keep slinging drinks, making people laugh and playing polo.”

“Ah, here we go to the noble profession of bartending again ,” Cassie teased, raising her glass slightly in a mock toast, “Defender of soy sauce incidents and peddler of questionable anecdotes.”

“Questionable?” Bas raised an eyebrow, his hand dramatically clutching his chest again, “That story was the highlight of my week.”

“Well,” Cassie replied, her lips twitching as though fighting a laugh, “your weeks must be very uneventful .”

Bas opened his mouth to retort, but his attention shifted mid-thought. His expression stilled for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his grin returned—sharper now, edged with mischief. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes drifting past her shoulder.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, amused.

Cassie frowned, following his gaze halfway before stopping herself. The bar was quieter now, the conversation muted, the warm light softening the lines of every figure in the room.

She turned back to Bas, raising an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half- suspicious .

Because everything that made Bas grin was suspicious.

Yet, he didn’t answer immediately, his smirk widening as though he were savoring the moment before delivering a punchline.

“Oh,” a voice behind her said, smooth and far too familiar, “I thought Rupert would be here already.”

Cassie froze, every thought in her head stalling at once. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, the earlier warmth of laughter fleeing in the face of a sudden, overpowering heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s cozy atmosphere.

Her pulse kicked up, erratic and insistent. She didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. That deliberate cadence, the trace of an accent—it was as unmistakable as it was infuriating.

Declan O’Hara.

Bas, unbothered and clearly enjoying himself, leaned back further in his chair.

“Rupert’s at Mrs. Spencer’s gala,” Bas replied easily, his tone almost conversational, “Something about giving someone a ride.”

“Hm,” Declan mused, the sound more thoughtful than dismissive, “Taggie’s doing their buffet, isn’t she?”

Bas hummed in confirmation, the sound low and knowing. His smirk teetered on the edge of outright glee, and Cassie could feel it radiating off him like heat.

Cassie still couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her earlier humor had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of Declan’s proximity. She could almost feel his breath against her neck, irrational as it was—however, she was sitting and he was standing .

Images flashed in her mind—his piercing gaze earlier that day, his voice echoing through her living room as he made a case for Venturer, and the way her name had rolled off his tongue during his broadcast.

In the end, what did he want with her? Truly? He had already done so much tonight—repeating her accusations, giving her the credit Dan Murphy had stolen, framing her work in a way that no one could ignore. And now, here he was, unbidden and unexpected.

A sharp thought pierced through her tangled emotions: All of this... Was it just to get her attention? For her to finally accept his offer?

If yes, then...

She swallowed hard, trying to force the thought away, but it was already there, fully formed and impossible to ignore:

Bloody hell, he was good.

Her thoughts spiraled, and though she wanted to blame it on the warmth of the room or the residual adrenaline from the broadcast, she knew better. Declan O’Hara didn’t just walk into places—he arrived , every movement perfectly calculated, every word perfectly placed.

And then, the moment she’d dreaded :

“Hi, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “I imagine you saw my show tonight?”

The words were delivered almost as a challenge. And, unfortunately , for some reason, her brain was built to never ignore a challenge—so, Cassie, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain frozen, finally turned.

Her movement was hesitant, as if her body was testing each muscle before committing fully to the action. She didn’t know what she expected to see—something intimidating, perhaps, or something too familiar to handle—but the reality was worse.

Declan stood there, relaxed in a way that was almost infuriating, his suit still immaculate from the broadcast, the crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to suggest he’d taken the edge off a long day but hadn’t fully unwound. The muted lighting of the bar softened the sharpness of his features, but his presence remained undiminished.

His dark eyes found hers immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wide smile. It wasn’t a smirk, not exactly—it lacked the arrogance she might have expected—but there was something inherently self-assured about it. Like he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

The kind of effect that made her unable to look away when he looked at her.

Her lungs burned from the effort of keeping her composure, but Declan didn’t press. He simply smiled, the gesture disarming in its simplicity, and waited .

[mousathe14]

So as I mentioned before, Young Justice was interrupted by a whole “Sins of Youth” event where everyone’s ages were screwed up

So here we are in Wonder Girl’s story co-starring Wonder Woman.

And I gotta say, while the Superman story was why having multiple artists is a bad idea, the Wonder Woman segment is the reason why it’s a great idea. Each story’s style in the saga can be, in some ways, reflective of its starring characters comics.

I think there was a Justice League episode that started almost exactly like this: Diana misunderstanding war games as war. Or maybe it was that 2009 movie… I don’t know, I just know that I saw it happen somewhere else in a cartoon!

Her face in the bottom left is priceless, btw. Younger Woman is such a scamp. Definitely has that young princess attitude of “I can do what I want” that teen Starfire had only not nearly as uh… well… Teen Starfire is a lot. Like, she was so much a lot.

Also look at the suns out guns out on grown up Cassie, she has the right to bare arms and could probably shoot a whole army with them.

Hey, question:

Why did Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl give each other their outfits?

I didn’t question it with Bruce and Tim because Batman has an image to maintain.

So why are Cassie and Diana doing… this?

It definitely isn’t for image purposes otherwise Cassie would be wearing that awful wig again.

Ah, it was Cassie’s idea. For… weird reasons.

Wait, did Wonder Woman’s costume not change with her?

It’s actually kind of ambiguous. I don’t even know if her arm guards are too big for or if they were always like that.

Is this like Dr. Fate’s helmet where the magic involved in its existence is under rules that prevent them from being altered like that?

Welp, time to go home for a change of clothes!

Also I’m starting to realize that the problem with Cassie’s wig wasn’t because it was a bad wig (though it was bad), it was because the colors weren’t working. The whole black on black on yellow on black wasn’t really doing it, so having her natural hair out helps break up the colors.

I wonder what Tim and Kon’s rooms are like.

Actually no, maybe I don’t want to know what Kon’s room is like.

I don’t gotta ask about Bart, I read his comic.

Mind, Cassie’s room isn’t like this to prove a point about the minds of youth vs maturity. We are in her room a lot in Young Justice and it is always like this.

It is a genuine miracle her mom lets her out with her room looking like that.

Ignore the bottom panel, this is actually a really sweet moment. A forever ago The Titans dropped by and Donna Troy, the previous Wonder Girl, gave Cassie her old costume. A cute little passing of the torch. Donna’s more of a “black leotard reflecting the stars of the night sky” kind of gal these days.

Cassie, the fangirl, of course kept the costume in her closet to be kept in mint condition because she was scared if she wore it she might ruin it or something.

It’s a nice costume but honestly I prefer the black tank, goggles, and leather jacket.

I don’t think the standard Young Justice art, color, and shading style would be able to properly convey the terror of Cassie’s mom pointing a gun right in her face. Not knocking on the art of YJ, but I think that this scene shows off the strengths of having different artists working different parts of this ongoing event.

Like, they do a really good job with the emotion on Cassie’s face on that second page. and these scenes with her and her mom are great in general. It’s nice to have them have a conversation like this. It’s always felt more fraught when Cassie was a teenager having to deal with her mother semi-approving of her actions. But we all know it’s because she worries.

What an adorable new look, Diana. That even has her original logo on it before modern artists started doing the stylized “WW+Eagle” thing which was honestly a stroke of design genius that allows Wondy to have an iconic crest that isn’t too complex but also isn’t too simple.

The idea of going to Zeus is kind of crazy to me, but I know that back at the beginning of Young Justice when Cassie was heavily embellishing her origin story, she came to Zeus asking for a favor.

Which is… a funny concept if one knows anything about mythological Zeus. And, like, obviously the dialogue did not happen this way, Cassie is really playing up how cool she is.

I think one of the disappointing things about Wonder Woman not having the amount of adaptations Superman and Batman do is that we don’t get a pop culture distillation of her relationship to the gods. One of the MANY great things the DCAU was able to do was take what worked, ignored what didn’t, and built an iconic pure essence of a character and their mythology. But Wonder Woman, her hero origin story is the first episode of Justice League. So we don’t get as much history out of her and it’s pretty disappointing.

And in most of the adaptations it’s the same boring antagonistic relationship with Hades and Ares. Because these Christian raised westerners can’t conceive of a lead god as anything other than the Christian God of Good and can’t conceive of a good of the dead and the underworld as anything other than The Devil and EVIL.

And Ares of course because war is bad and Diana is for peace

It’s very rote. We can do better.

Uh, anyhow, on to the god summoning.

Apparently Diana knows Cassie’s mom so causally because they worked together at a museum. That’s cool.

And explains why Helena is coming along. Someone’s gotta open the museum so they can use the magical pot.

Look at these wyrd sisters bubble bubble, toil and trouble.

New phone, who dis?

Why it’s Mr. Blue Sky.

Here Comes The Sun… and I say, it’s not alright

Let the Sunshine In? Nah, we probably shouldn’t.

Look, I could keep referencing songs all day but I think you get the point. It’s the one and only capricious.

And like a lot of Greek gods, he’s a bit of an ass.

And if you know your Greek myth I think we all know what “fraternizing” means, especially when it comes to Zeus.

I like that teen Diana can never seem to shut up. If there is a hole she will talk her way down it.

Helena is right, this is a bad idea

Allow me to spoil the ending for you: Apollo is an ass.

So it’s up to Wonder Girl Woman and Wonder Woman Girl to go fight the offspring of Medusa and The Cyclops to get some stupid helmet for a capricious god.

It goes about as well as you’d think given these ladies’ penchant for violence.

Thankfully, Cassie reminds Diana that she can speak Greek.

My girlfriend feels the same about trying to remember her native language, ewe.

So surprise, surprise, turns out violence wasn’t the answer!

This was literally a test set by Apollo to have people do this exact thing. So it’s weird that he created a scenario designed to reward patience, kindness, and diplomacy, and yet he’s such a huge jerk about it.

At least Cyclon is cool but I don’t feel great about Medusa and Cyclops kicking him out because he wasn’t evil enough.

Turns out the most evil person here was Apollo.

He turned in the Wonders into the Agenda.

Because he’s an ass.

So yeah, much like how Superboy surrendered for Superman’s sake, Wonder Girl makes the executive decision to surrender for Superboy’s sake.

A real conga line of self-sacrifice.

But Teen Diana here is like “How dare? I would never? LET’S KICK THEIR ASSES!” Oh right, and the chance for Apollo to turn them back is important too but I highly doubt he’d honor it even if they did get the helmet back to him.

So yeah, good art, good character, good emotion, good action, good resolution, this was a pretty strong segment actually.

Now on to the least likely pairing of Secret and Deadman.

[mdhwrites]

Thank you for defending Amphibia S3A!!! You don't know how many times I've had to read people saying that Anne should've had an angst arc like Luz did in TOH over what happened in True Colors. That kind of take completely ignores that a.) Anne is her own character who responds to things differently (by compartmentalizing and trying to fix what she can), b.) Amphibia was trying to preserve its essential Amphibia-ness and not become a dreary angst-fest, and c.) Luz's arc wasn't even good lol so why compare it to that? I think there are a couple story things that could've been streamlined in 3A but overall it is a perfectly good entry into Amphibia canon and it wasn't "filler" or "pointless" by any means. (P.S. I would love to hear your thoughts on Commander Anne since I also think that's a really strong episode!)🦎

Send me another ask about Commander Anne because that is one of the episode fragments in Amphibia actually dense enough for me to talk about on its own. For now, I'm actually carjacking this ask to talk about trauma reaction in fiction using Anne, Sasha, HOP POP and Luz with Hop Pop and Luz being the extremes you need to avoid and then talking about both where Anne falls and why she's so good.

Though with any discussion of this, I do actually just want to quickly mention that I did a whole teaching blog a good long while back about Fantasy Trauma and why Luz's just plain sucks. I'm not going to talk about the event here but more the reaction but I still think it's worth mentioning that fantasy trauma like what happens to these characters is a trope in and of itself.

Also, welcome Amphibia fans, I like to use asks as a way to teach and your show lets me be POSITIVE while teaching for once which is a nice change of pace... But let's start with the bad.

Or let's start with some defining. See whenever you have a major event happen in your story, there's a pendulum of reaction. On both ends of the pendulum, you have equally bad reactions to it but in different ways. Those ends where either:

A: You don't react at all. Despite the fact that the event should have had an effect on you, you're seeming to be mostly fine and yourself. It often can make the character come off as callous or stunted in some way if they just don't even seem to be needing to cope with it in someway. Stuff like Sprig focusing on being a part of the family and Polly focusing on Frobo stop them from quite getting to this extreme because they're more genuinely interacting with the new world they're in and their problems. Hop Pop is the problem one here but we'll get to it.

B: You ONLY react to the ONE event. The rest of the story and your character DON'T MATTER now. You are only your angst arc. This actually works well for VILLAINS because the single minded obsession and refusal of logic is actually usually useful for justifying them going to such extremes. The problem comes when a character should theoretically know better, the level of reaction is unwarranted or you can point out that they're just wangsting (whine/angsting) because they have sunshine and rainbows around them they're blatantly ignoring. This is Luz's side of the problem.

This is technically an Amphibia ask though so let's start with Hop Pop. For some very, very minor proof I'm not a contrarian: Hollywood Hop Pop is easily the worst half episode in S3A. There's something to be said about there being about two episodes before the mid-season finale that are kind of janky. The problem isn't just with Hollywood Hop Pop.

Hop Pop has a lot of internal issues with danger, change and worry. A new world should panic him in some way. This is actually the greatest sin of Hollywood Hop Pop because the lesson from that one feels at best like an over correction to... The majority of S2A's characterization of Hop Pop. Similarly goes to him just enjoying being a house guest. Even if yes, this is his adopted daughter, he should have an episode segment dedicated to being worried about the new world they're in, trying to protect Polly and Spring, etc. like that, especially since his old world just turned inside out. SOME sort of reaction would be warranted... And we don't get it.

Instead we get him being overly trusting and thus getting scammed, his stuff about making the Boonchuys hating him is good but it's entirely disconnected from the trauma you would expect of the character and then he honestly takes the BIGGEST risk of them all, even using his actual name instead of a codename like Sprig does for Spider Sprig.

It genuinely feels like he is treating coming here like a vacation, not helped by that explicitly being a part of one of his episode segments and that's bad.

So what's the good version of this side of the pendulum? Well, if this side represents underselling the reaction to trauma, the good version is subtlety and that's what we get with Anne and it's done really well. It mostly is in the first couple episodes in S3A when the wounds are most fresh which makes sense. As she processes it privately, she can return more and more to who she was.

The biggest thing here is that Anne is overloading herself. She is burning out from the second Andrias stabs Marcy. Not even once she's home, but even by the final trauma having just been overloaded. She's 13 after all. 15 if you want to go off of what seems to have been the original intent for her and the rumors that Disney forced the trio to be younger.

A 13 year old CAN handle death. They CAN'T handle seeing one of their BEST FRIENDS die and the other one likely doing so too, let alone right after she assumed her third best friend also died, even if he didn't. True Colors is a TIME for Anne. Anne is a very simple girl after all. Stakes like these are not what she is capable of even processing at that point. She's never seen anything that bad.

And her trying to recap and summarize it shows it EXPERTLY. Even trying to actually think about what just happened tires her out and has her constantly having to correct herself because she doesn't want to admit that not only is she powerless, it's also too much for her to handle on her own. And that's WITHOUT acknowledging the high probability of her friends being dead, something that was on her mind since her reaction to seeing Sasha is disbelief/relief that she's ALIVE.

Then there's the other elements where Anne is the one pushing research the hardest, the fact that she's brushing other things off to find answers that will make her less powerless, her protectiveness of those around her and then yeah, the one episode segment that has her burnt out and dead tired because she's working herself to the bone.

And this is all in character with Anne's arc. She's grown to do things. To want to help. To not just coast through life and just as she was getting used to the idea of that... She now can't do anything. So we see her doing what she can which is just not a lot.

Alright, let's move on to the other side of the pendulum though. I often talk about Luz in the second half of The Owl House as "In her angst arc" because that's how it feels. She may as well have put on a dark brown hoodie, flattened her hair and declared everything sucked. None of her optimism, none of her enthusiasm, little of her care and complete distrust of EVERYONE.

OH WAIT THEY DID THAT! They made her as close to her BETA design for S3 Ep1 as possible to finish out that miserable attitude for her. And I'm not going to say all of it is unwarranted. Just like Hop Pop caring about being a good house guest is in character, Luz getting more serious to match the stakes of the show is theoretically a good thing. It needed more of a real transition (Hi Commander Anne as a good example of this) but there is a nugget of a good concept in it.

One that's stabbed repeatedly by never letting it end or be affected by anything. Stuff she'll say to Eda and King she will act like will kill her if she tells literally anyone else no matter how much more justified it is for her to be honest to them, she CONSTANTLY lies to the point where she breaks her word several times and part of why Amity theoretically likes her is just GONE and then we get the theoretical conclusion to it which is "I want to be understood."

When the fuck haven't you been? This is the true crime of this side of the pendulum. Part of the reaction requires the character to entirely forget and actively ignore the actions around her. Those friends who have constantly forgiven you and backed you up? Didn't understand. That supposed found family who constantly told you you weren't at fault and to take care of yourself? Didn't understand. Your mom, who supported your interested until you backed her into a corner by accidentally assaulting people, including your principal, with wild animals? Never. Understood. You.

And even then, she still doesn't break out of it after the first TWO times in S3 where she is forgiven and she makes a statement about moving on. She just throws a dreamstate pity party and doubts herself until GOD tells her she has never done anything wrong in her life.

It's too long, the resolutions are too contrite or eye rolling for the amount of time and pain spent with it and they also rarely have anything to actually do with the trauma itself. It feels like the character is reacting to something BAD rather than something SPECIFIC which robs it of its bite just as badly as not reacting to it at all. And that's if it even feels like the character and Luz in the second half of TOH, especially S3, just doesn't feel like Luz. Period.

You know who does feel like herself? Sasha. By the time S3B comes around, she's had to deal with too much to really still be dealing with the trauma (and she still is to some extent with her constantly worrying about her relationship with Anne, obsession with second chances, etc. like that but that's more rounding out her arc to me) so it's really just her one segment in S3A that needs to be examined.

Except we actually have to roll back first. All the way back to Reunion. Sasha's reaction to this all starts with the end of Reunion. That moment when, just for a second, she decides Anne is worth more than herself. That "maybe you'd be better off without me," and letting go. S2 handles the fact that Sasha dying actually made a REALLY bad inner conflict for her, let alone once news of Marcy being fine without her too got to her, but that's the fun of character arcs. They SHOULDN'T be a smooth curve. *coughs at Amity and Hunter*

Keeping on track though, we have Sasha not only facing the end of her at her most powerful but also the potential end of her friendships. She betrayed Anne again and while they fought together, that was for survival, where are they now? Worse yet, Marcy almost died in front of her and she was POWERLESS. All that talk of trying to do things so they all could be happy, that she knew best... It was all ash.

So she at first doesn't know what she's doing. She emotional and ready to lash out but she doesn't know what her target is. She just knows part of it is her fault and unlike in S2, she can't ignore it now. It haunts her until Anne shows Sasha what having been a good friend could have gotten her. What they could have been.

And so now, it's time to make good on her word. To become a protector and try to see a bit more in people than she assumes. This is ALL a reaction to True Colors primarily. It is addressing it all VERY bluntly minus Marcy's lie (I have complicated feelings on Marcy at this point) but it's still working within the frame of the character. This is still Sasha and we know enough about her to genuinely follow her train of thought while also getting to enjoy the character we have grown attached to. She isn't gone... But she's changing and if this side of the pendulum represents replacement as its bad extreme, change and introspection like what Sasha goes through is the good medium ground.

I want to finish this by saying that you CAN use the extremes well. Someone reacting to a teammate's death with indifference can genuinely turn a character who seemed a little cold to being seen as callous or like they believe the ends justify the means, no matter the sacrifice. Someone letting an event consume them can actually be a great start to an arc where the point is to criticize their reaction, instead of trying to invoke sympathy through it. That they are going too far and letting this be too much of who they and they need to find balance. They need to properly introspect. These are not hard rules by any means but there is a spectrum. A pendulum.

And as always, the best thing a writer can do is recognize where on that pendulum they're writing and use it as best as they can.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[stripedsunhat]

Random collection of things I noticed and immediately overthought while watching Coraline

I got to see Coraline in theatres for its 15th anniversary. It was amazing, if you can find a theatre near you that's playing it Go Watch It IT DESERVES THE BIG SCREEN SO MUCH. But anyway while I was watching it my little hamster brain kept noticing things and then ran around in circles on the drive home. So have some random observations.

I Cannot Eat and I Must Cook

The Other Mother is always cooking.  3 out of the 4 times Coraline goes to the Other world Other Mother is shown actively cooking.  Including after she’s gone full hangry and lost the plot.  The only time she’s not waiting for Coraline is her 3rd visit, and even then there’s a full spread of food waiting for her instead.  By this point my brain was fully spinning in little hamster ball circles thinking about idealized caricatures of mothers always cooking and the traditional jobs a mother’s ‘supposed’ to do.  But then on the drive home, I realized it was way simpler.  Coraline directly asks her real mom why she never cooks right in front of Little Me.  It’s literally just a direct response.

(Also, Other Wybie doesn't eat either, but that's cause his mouth literally can't open.)

Little Me's Fashion Choice

The Little Me doll wears a skirt!  When we first see real Coraline she’s in jeans.  The movie opens with them moving in and Wybie drops off the Little Me doll the next day, so there was no chance to see Coraline in anything other than jeans.  In fact we only see her in a skirt once, and that’s halfway through the movie in the clothes shopping scene.  But the Other Mother still puts Little Me in a skirt.  There’s this cool anniversary segment after the movie, and they showed some of the concept sketches for Coraline and she’s in a skirt in them, so that might be part of why Little Me’s in one, either as a nod or because the doll’s design was finalized before the costumes.  But looking at it through a strictly Watsonian reading, it makes sense that the Other Mother’s idea of proper clothes is more traditional.  She clearly adapts though, since Coraline’s star outfit has pants.

EYES

One of Wybie’s eye’s is bigger than the others.  This is mirrored in Other Wybie.

One of Charlie’s eye’s is higher than the other.  This is not mirrored in Other Father as far as I could tell.

I’ve seen others point out that Other Spink and Other Forcible have white buttons when they’re old and black buttons once they shed their skin and become young, as a reference to how the real Spink and Forcible can’t see well anymore.  But while the Others both get white buttons, only the real Miss Forcible has clouded eyes; Miss Spink’s eyes are still brown.

Coraline and Colors

Coraline’s favorite color is blue.  It’s the color of her hair, her fingernail polish, her comforter, her cyclops squid toy… But despite all this that’s not the color the movie associates with Coraline.  The movie actually associates Coraline with a whole bunch of warm, natural colors, mainly pinkish oranges.  Beyond that, there’s of course her iconic bright yellow rain coat of course, and a large spattering of mossy green.  Literally, the only time we don’t see her in warm colors is when she’s in the outfit Other Mother made her.  (Sidenote, what happened to her original clothes she changed out of?  Are they just gone forever in the Other world?).  To go full pretentious analysist, Coraline does seem to get a color for when she’s particularly closed off or guarded of this really desaturated grey tinged navy which is the color of both her jacket in the shopping scene and her vest when she’s squaring off.

Other Father’s smoking jacket/house coat is a red-orange, a little darker than most of Coraline’s clothes, fully falling in line with her colors rather than Other Mother’s pure red.  This doesn’t come from Charlie either, he’s in a green Michigan State sweatshirt pretty much the whole movie.  It’s a nice way to show his loyalty early (I know I’m not the first one to notice this, but it’s still neat.) The picture frame in her room of the goodbye picture is notably in Coraline’s orange with some kind of swirly pattern. The picture in the Other world has a different gold metal looking frame. Fancier, but more importantly not in Coraline’s colors anymore. Despite being copies of her friends the Other friends pressure Coraline to stay while she’s having her realization freak out. (Mention to young Other Spink and Other Forcible whose outfits are technically pink and green but slightly off from Coraline’s and by the time we see them again during the scavenger hunt the colors have shifted to really cold undertoned, almost unnatural shades of them.)

Mel is pretty much exclusively in cream to beige.  The only real color we see for her is her bag and jacket first seen in the shopping scene, both of which are in Coraline’s colors, if significantly more desaturated to fit her look better.  The car scene became really interesting to look at because Mel’s in Coraline’s colors while Coraline, in her dark jacket is visibly not for the first time in the movie.  Wybie’s grandma at the end of the movie is in a really soft yellow dress with an orange sash, neatly aligning her Coraline too, which is also really fun!

But the most interesting person, color wise is actually Wybie.  I’m serious, it’s really cool!  Wybie’s big color, is obviously black, and slivery-white as thanks to his helmet, gloves, and reflective patches.  Meanwhile Other Wybie is only associated with black since Other Mother’s ‘improvements’ sort of boy-next-doorified his grunge look.  He and Other Mother are really the only ones whose outfits (originally) mirror their counterparts.  What really makes it fun is Wybie’s secondary color.  Wybie’s bike, which makes two very memorable appearances, is bright red.  There is next to no true red in the real world until the ending scene.  Wybie’s colors are the exact same as the Other Mother’s.  And the only other color he has?  The creepy green light from his helmet, the same as the final fight with the Other Mother the mirror into the prison room makes when Other Mother (and Other Wybie) yank Coraline through it.

[lynaferns]

Had a weird dream last night where I was playing this game that was kind of a walking sim mixed with a platformer (I think the name of it was "IM4"). I was just walking and jumping around this HUGE building that was pretty empty. There wasn't really any plot to it, but there were characters scattered around that if you found them, you'd get information on their stories.

At one point I found a room that had a bunch of either stained glass art or paintings that showed all the characters that could be interacted with. Some of the art was blocked by colorful bricks (some were a single color, others a mix of multiple colors). There were also a few that were scribbled out with spraypaint.

Most of the characters were ones just made up by my dream subconscious, but I do remember that Sun was in one of the pictures. I think Dogday and Catnap from Poppy Playtime were in the pictures right next to him (Catnap's was scribbled out in red). Funnily enough, I'm not really all that into Poppy Playtime lol.

Anyway, I went off to try and find Sun to figure out what story was in this game. I think I ended up finding him? But after I went back to the room with all the artwork. He ended up popping out of his picture, but only his torso (which was connected to a metal rod). He talked to me for a moment before something started to pull him back into the picture he came from. Pretty sure he started yelling "No!" and "Help!" or something like that before he was fully pulled back inside.

The art had turned into a dark red hallway after that.

After that I decided to look around the room a bit more. I figured if there was a Sun picture, there had to have been a Moon one, too. I did find it after a bit. When I got close to it, I heard Moon's laugh. The image itself was...kind of silly to be honest. It was Moon dressed in a long navy-blue double button coat wearing a breton hat (had to look the name up) if the same color that covered his eyes. 90% sure he also had on a fake beard. The whole look had a sort of nautical vibe to it. He was also holding a small doll or plush of himself (normally) that was wrapped in a blanket (I forget what color it was).

I then set off down a path that was more stealth-based. There were people patrolling around with flashlights, all of which looked exactly the same. The lights in the halls were all on, but the guards couldn't see anywhere that their flashlights weren't shining.

I did get chased by a few, which ended up resetting my progress, even though they didn't actually catch me?

I eventually made it through that segment and ended up in this room that was kind of like an auditorium of sorts with multiple levels of seating areas. It was mostly empty aside from a young man, an elderly woman, and some people who I assumed were the man's employees. They were rearranging the room a bit. The man said it was to prepare for the arrival of the Daycare Attendant (that was the title he used to address them). Sadly, I woke up not long after I got there.

Now that I think about it, Sun really got a Luigi-style subplot.

Sun knew too much and was scooped back to the picture. he was put on time out corridor 😔

Idk why, it doesn't have to do with anything in the dream, but I first imagined Moon like sans Undertale.

Also the whole thing made me remember a game, I don't remember the name of it but the MC was called ib I think, and there was something about keeping a red rose with all its petals or she would die, other characters had their own rose that worked the same way too. I think they were in a haunted museum or something.

[dreamy-tvs]

I wanna ramble about my TADC OC bc god damn I'm seeing too many lovely ones and I get FOMO.

Sadly I own no references of the character itself but alas, I wanna make use of this blog ahead of time and lay out ideas I've had before writing the main Google Doc of this character as the bio, since I tend to look to solidly form the OC before writing its bio as a sort of 'finalized version'.

I'll be adding pics of things described when needed since it'll be more fun in that way.

Ladies and Gents!

Say hello to my TADC OC:

Timberly, the puppeteer, puppet and ventriloquist!

I'll start off saying that I wanted to make a clown, since I love clowns, but since Pomni is the protagonist and Kaufmo exists as well- So that's off the table. Following those very rules over no clowns I decided to do the same for the general cast, aka to vary and try not to lean too much on just one aspect, so Abstract (Zooble), animals (Jax duh) Animate inanimate (Gangle, Kinger and Ragatha) had to be only minor showings in the OC itself. So I experimented a little

Something suggested by a friend is to look up 90's toys, which I did try out to gather inspiration. At some point I reached the idea of a puppet, a sort of wooden and yarn style of doll that then shifted to actual wood body, yarn joints and lastly strings to hold up.

This is where the main body of the OC would go, Timberly was the name of the puppet, bottom heavy, rough wood shapes and long arms made to imitate something I kind of wanted to have fun with...

This smug fuck, why? His arms! The idea of wide colorful cylinders for arms, connected with strands of yarn in between down to a pair of simple pointed stubs for hands at the ends made me pretty happy to imagine. Timberly's clothing choice is still undefined but would most likely have either a long dress with puffy shoulders or even suspenders! Overall to not interrupt with the colorful segmented arms using sleeves. Hair? Not sure what it'd be like YET but I am working on it, though it might not be yarn so it isn't like Ragatha's.

Timberly as a name comes from Kimberly, but with Timber.

Second part of the character came off due to the idea of the main body being a puppet, and frankly was too amusing of a concept not to include, to which I want to introduce the puppeteer, Hans!

Hans... Is clearly meant to be like Hands, because it is in fact a giant, hovering toony white glove that handles a wood X made to carry around Timberly. Hans is essentially the movement for Timberly, while she is the physical expressions and body function such as touching objects and possessing some of the core senses. Hans is pretty simple in design due to not being the expressive one- try answering the questions:

'How are you?'

'Where does it hurt?' and

'Where is the heart?'

Without using your body EXCEPT your hand. That's Hans, it can do wavy motion to respond the first one but not much else- you don't need a reference to imagine what Hans looks like.

Lastly is one of the more personally formed parts, third "member" of those that form Timberly as a whole: Gogo!

Brandishing the same name as the character, Gogos are made by Panini, cool little plastic collectibles I remember gathering when I was smoler. Yes some of them look quite weird in shape don't ask- But the point is that Gogo is meant to imitate one of these, and Gogos are tiny, like roughly 5-8 cm or so (Look up how much that's in inches lol) and generally had varying designs, from alien to robotic to animal of all sorts. Gogo is mostly a simple big lower base with small middle body and a big head that imitates the look of a simplified Talkboy, all with a robotic appearance.

Now why would Gogo have a head like this? Simple! Gogo is the voice of the group! But since Gogo is quite small (10 cm tall) and usually sits on Timberly's head and speaks for the other two!

Now that we defined who makes up the character, there's one thing I intentionally made in a way, which was having Hans, Timberly and Gogo be almost impossible to tell if they were separate entities or a single one since in their story, all of them arrived together in one go and appeared to fall in love with the Digital Circus itself in mere moments of appearing.

Sometimes they'd behave like three people, with arguments looking like Timberly making annoyed gestures, Hans shaking either of the two and Gogo being vocal and loud- While other times they all act in one way together, Gogo speaking, Timberly gesturing and Hans keeping them on the move if needed.

Who knows what these three are, if not a single mind that fell into what felt like a dreamy blessing, or three individuals shackled to live as one?

First post using this account again, fun stuff, sorry about the text wall but if you did reach this, hope you liked the concept of the character!

I'll uh... Learn how to segment posts better soon.

[blogger360ncislarules]

Marriage is a delicate dance, but Georgie and Mandy seem to have all the right moves.

Like its predecessor, Young Sheldon — and before it, The Big Bang Theory — Georgie & Mandy’s First Marriage delivers a main title sequence to remember. Not three minutes into its series premiere, the CBS comedy unveils an elaborate opening wherein series stars Montana Jordan and Emily Osment engage in a provocative tango — which, according to series co-creator Steve Holland, is meant to represent the “push-pull dance” of their fiery relationship.

“We were looking for something that would be interesting and eye catching — especially coming off of Big Bang and Young Sheldon, where the main title segments were always a big, identifiable piece of those shows,” Holland tells TVLine. His fellow co-creator (and BBT franchise veteran) Steve Molaro “came up with the idea for the tango, and it just felt perfect in that, at the core of this relationship, there’s a lot of passion… but there’s also a lot of struggle, and there’s fire, and there’s fighting…. It seemed like it would be unexpected, and unique, and we started to get excited about that.” Then came “the fun of getting to go to Emily and Montana and saying, ‘Hey, we’ve got this idea.'”

Osment admits that it was “slightly terrifying” when Molaro sat them down and explained the concept. “There’s the immediate reaction of fear,” she says with a laugh, “and then you get excited about it. Montana and I worked with [Jonathan and Oksana Platero], two incredible choreographers from Dancing With the Stars, and we just had the best time.”

Jordan, meanwhile, had no idea what he was in for, telling TVLine, “We might have done a little bit of two-stepping down in Texas, but that’s about it. We definitely weren’t doing no tangoing. It wasn’t on my bucket list, but I’m glad I know it now. And I feel a whole lot looser now that I’ve done those moves.” 

The choreography, of course, was only one piece of the puzzle. “We put a lot of thought into how it would look and where it should take place,” Holland explains. He and his fellow producers asked themselves, “Should it take place on a ballroom stage or on a dark set? And we thought it was better that it was on our set. There’s something more interesting about all of this happening in the kitchen, and in the living room, with this domestic background [that is] stylistically heightened. And our [director of photography] Buzz [Feitshans IV], who was our DP on Young Sheldon… did a really great job. We smoked the stage, we had different colored lights coming through the windows… it just looks amazing.”

Last but not least was wardrobe — and it was Jordan’s footwear that ultimately caused the most debate. “We were going back and forth because they didn’t know if they wanted me in cowboy boots, or if they wanted me in dance shoes,” Jordan recalls. “Because in Young Sheldon, I was in Converses all the time, you know? But I was fighting for some cowboy boots… and they finally give into me.”

[wolfisblank]

Okay I want to share thoughts on the new routes. This got long

Spoilers for all new routes in Slay the Princess - The Pristine Cut

First I just need to say The Princess and the Dragon was so fucking fantastic holy shit I literally can't stop thinking about it. Definitely my new favorite route, Razor shunted FIRMLY into second. It really reframes how I view the chapter 1 Princess and her psychology in general. I was so on-edge the whole time. The Long Quiet is SCARY (and awesome-looking I <3 monsters). And also I love that Princess. The banter you have with her while you share a mind is honestly adorable, and she's so forgiving if you are kind to her in turn. I've always been fond of Spectre as a character because, despite being dealt an awful hand and killed so readily, she has the potential to be so kind. If you treat her with kindness she treats you kindly in turn, and it's sweet. Same goes for this Princess. Also I thought that sequence where Nightmare removes her mask and the flashes of the Princesses' perspectives in the Shifting Mound segment were aesthetic but this route implies that the princess just. doesn't see as much color as us? Or well, "color". What's up with that... And iirc this Route is the only route in which The Princess directly refers to herself as "Princess". Not like the ch1 "you can call me Princess" if you ask her name. Not a title of "The Princess" like how The Narrator refers to her. She thinks something to herself like "okay Princess, you can do this," like "Princess" is her name. Which I think is neat.

Happily Ever After fucked me UP- There was always this. undertone. in The Damsel. The way Smitten talked about her and the way The Narrator and Hero became annoyed and mildly unsettled by the fact that he's thinking this way about someone he doesn't really know. And the way he tried to talk to her directly a few times, despite knowing she couldn't hear, was interesting. I wanna clarify that it was not an overwhelmingly present undertone, and it was mostly just for jokes in paths outside Deconstructed Damsel. It didn't ruin the route or clash with the tone or anything. I already really liked The Damsel route and Princess pre-update, it was one of my favorites. It's kinda the point of the route that you don't really know her, which makes for a good parallel to Thorn, and that could be its own post. But the undertone was there, particularly in the Deconstructed Damsel path. They didn't need to expand on it to "fix" anything. But I'm SO GLAD THEY DID IT because it was SO GOOD. Moment of Clarity is still the route that fucked me up the most for DID-related reasons (could also be its own post tbh. Moment of Clarity analysis from the perspective of a system host. but anyway) but Happily Ever After is a solid second in which route unsettled me the most personally. Smitten's behavior in the lead-up and the third chapter(/"epilogue") itself was super unnerving and definitely made me view him differently. The way the Princess talks, tries to make peace, tries to do as she's told, scrambles to apologize and fix things at the slightest sign of upset from Smitten, is so... familiar as an abuse survivor. I haven't fully explored the route yet because tbh it's a bit heavy for me. She's just like me fr and so on. I got the good ending first - the one where you get her out of there and you dance and it's wonderful - and I loved it. But I'll probably save exploring that route for a particularly good mental health day because it's a little too good (not a criticism). It's so thematically interesting. It's really well-written, the way a toxic relationship is portrayed as a perpetual state of playing house, trying to find things to do in ways that don't upset your partner and scrambling to fix it when things inevitably do... and the subtle ways the Princess shows her fatigue and unhappiness without allowing herself to truly process and feel it, the emptiness and longing she feels upon the last torch going out... Also the small things, like when you leave with her, you can offer her agency. Ask her what SHE wants, OFFER your hand (and by extension the CHOICE on whether or not to take it). Good stuff. Also the way The Narrator shuts down and resigns Himself upon seeing what a world of stagnation would look like is really interesting (and funny tbh. love to hate that guy). You can talk to the version of Him in the mirror and tell Him about having seen a world where He saw stagnation and gave up and He's just like Well of course there's one version of me among the millions that is delusional. Like okay dude

I don't have quite as many thoughts on The Cage. Which is a shame because it's cool and interesting. The other new and updated routes were just SO GOOD that I haven't dedicated as much time to thinking about it, and I should. The way Paranoid and Skeptic negotiate with each other and The Narrator about trying to find a way to make cutting the chains make sense is interesting. Paranoid was like... incidentally very right about how this place works and how the world and Princess are warped around our perspective of her, but Skeptic calls him stupid for it. And he does sound kinda sound really off the mark unless you have context from the ending of the game. The way The Cage Princess thinks about the world is very interesting, and it makes sense. Because every chapter up until this point has followed a similar pattern, she's resigned herself into believing this is a perfect time loop, where everything always plays out the same (with only minor differences). Even when you try to prove her wrong, she warps it into something that fits her perspective. It's interesting how she's given up like this. It parallels Happily Ever After in a lot of ways too. You deny The Princess her freedom after it seemed so close, and the route has themes of feeling a lack of agency in a seemingly stagnant world and what that can do to someone. Also Cage's design is just cool.

Pristine Cut is really good 👍

[kyuuppi]

“You lie to your best friend/crush that you have an OnlyFans just to see their reaction”

Ft. Sugawara; Nishinoya; Tsukishima; Oikawa; Kenma

Pt. 2

A/N: My bias is so obvious here LOL

KARASUNO

↳ Sugawara

➣  You are over at his house, the two of you idly watching a sitcom while browsing your phones and chatting in between; it’s comfortable, as times with Sugawara usually are.

➣  Every time Suga leans in to show you a funny meme on his phone or throws his head back in laughter at a joke from the show, you find your heart skipping a beat.

➣  He is beautiful, basically an angel in your eyes, but he is also your best friend and you don’t think he has any interest in you like that. Not in the way you do. 

➣  That’s how you get the idea to test his feelings. 

➣  Being the troublemaker you are (how else would you and Suga get along so well?) you decide to shake things up by casually mentioning you’re interested in starting an OnlyFans and asking if he thinks its a good idea. 

➣  You expect either of two reactions: either he’ll be as supportive as usual, possibly advising you to be cautious with strangers online like the mother hen he is, proving he only sees you as a friend—or he’ll tell you not to, possible evidence that likes you.

➣  The response you receive is not quite what you were expecting...

➣  Once the words leave your lips his head immediately whips around in your direction, light brown eyes looking at you with a serious expression on his face, something you’d never really seen before. It makes you uncomfortable and you begin to regret all of your life decisions.

➣  Suddenly though, he is leaning into you, his arms coming up to trap you against the couch as you try to back away. Your eyes are as wide as saucers and face completely flushed as he continues to stare you down before speaking.

➣  “Even though I’m your best friend, I’m still a man, you know. You’re being awfully cruel right now.”

➣ You audibly gulp, suddenly feeling light-headed but he keeps speaking, close enough that you can feel his hot breath fan across your cheeks.

➣ “Asking me to watch the person I like show off in front of thousands of other men? Even I have my limits.”

➣ And that marks the day of you and Sugawara’s first kiss. ♡

↳ Nishinoya

➣  Your best friend, Nishinoya Yuu, is notoriously unabashed with his affections. 

➣ The two of you have an interesting relationship—Noya has no qualms with expressing how pretty he thinks you are, borderline flirting with you at times, and you frequently return the favor. 

➣  But you don’t take any of it seriously, of course, regardless of how much you secretly wish it were real. Everyone at Karasuno knows about Noya’s undying dedication to the volleyball club manager, Shimizu Kiyoko, and he confesses his love to her at least twice a day. 

➣ Unbeknownst to you those professions became less and less frequent after he met you and now most of Karasuno thinks the two of you are basically dating

➣ The two of you are at the mall, a frequent hang out place where Noya can look at volleyball gear and you can browse manga at the bookstore, when you get the idea to prank your friend.

➣ “Hey, Noya? I’ve been thinking about finding a way to make more money but I don’t have time for a part-time job so I decided to make an OnlyFans—I already have a few subscribers.”

➣ Nishinoya nearly trips and falls flat on his face. You would have laughed if it weren’t for how he immediately grabs at your shoulders, staring at you with a mix of anger and fear. 

➣ “Absolutely not! No one should be allowed to see your beautiful body like that but me!”

➣ You immediately fluster at his loud declaration, acutely aware of how other customers in the mall are giving the two of your strange looks as they walk by. 

➣ “B-but Noya, we aren’t even dating—”

➣ “Then let’s start dating!” 

➣ And what are you gonna do? Say no?

↳ Tsukishima

➣ Being friends with Tsukishima could be frustrating at times—a sentiment you and Yamaguchi frequently discuss when the blond isn’t around. 

➣ Tsukishima likes to think most things are beneath him and he’s too cool to find enjoyment in activities most other friends enjoy, ranging from mini golf to video games. The man seems content to waste his life away studying and listening to music if it weren’t for you and Yamaguchi forcing him out of his room. 

➣ Naturally, something like a prank war would be something Tsukishima would want no part of—not that that has ever stopped you. 

➣ Usually, your pranks are failures. Either Tsukishima easily figures out what you’re doing before it can happen or he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a reaction, chastising you for wasting your time pulling pranks when you have a failing grade in mathematics you’ll later beg him to help you study for.

➣ He still helps you though, he’s whipped

➣ Your newest prank however, you feel exceptionally confident in. Not only is it simple to pull off, only relying on your acting kills, but it also might answer your curiosity on whether you have a chance in getting your dearest Tsukki to see you as more than just a friend.

➣ The day you decide to do it the three of you are hanging out in Tsukishima’s bedroom as usual, you working on the math homework Tsukishima forced you to study while he reads a book and Yamaguchi sits in the corner reading a book.

➣ You had already discussed your plans with Yama beforehand, to which his expression looked suspiciously devious, like he knew something you didn’t know, as he proclaimed his support. 

➣ You hear Tsukishima turning a page and decide to speak up. 

➣ “Hey, Tsukki, have you heard of OnlyFans?”

➣ You hold back a snicker as you see Tsukishima visibly tense, his eyes widening behind his glasses for a moment before he relaxes. From the corner of your eyes you can see Yamaguchi smirking behind his comic, watching the blond closely. 

➣ “...yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Tsukishima simply replies. 

➣ “I’ve been thinking about making more money but I don’t have time for a part-time job so my friend suggested it. She said I could make over ten thousand yen a month.”

➣ “I think only the really attractive ones make that much.”

➣ You gasp, thoroughly offended, and Yamaguchi looks mildly annoyed by his friend’s response, already opening his mouth to chastise him for being so mean—but before he can say anything, Tsukishima is speaking again, still looking down at the book in his lap. 

➣ “Don’t do it though.” 

➣ “Why not?” You pout, refusing to look up at him when you speak. 

➣ “...I don’t want the person I like to do those types of things.” 

➣ You nearly choke on your own saliva, head darting up to stare at him in disbelief. Yamaguchi, for some reason, only smiles softly, looking unsurprised by the admission. 

➣ “W-what? You...like me?”

➣ “Oi, shouldn’t you be studying? One more F and you’re gonna flunk out of the class, dummy.”

➣ You’re slightly disappointed by the change of subject but when you notice the soft pink on Tsukishima’s cheeks you can’t help but to smile the whole time you finish your homework.

AOBA JOUSAI

↳ Oikawa

➣ Oikawa is a busy guy.

➣ You were well aware of that before the two of you happened to be paired up for an assignment and got to know each other, eventually becoming close friends. 

➣ Between volleyball practices, tournaments, magazine interviews, and appeasing a passionate fan club, Oikawa rarely has time for himself, let alone another person. 

➣ Despite all of that, you could tell he always made sure to spend time with you, dedicating a few weekends a month to hanging out, just the two of you, and constantly texting you in the times the two of you couldn’t physically be together. 

➣ From an outsider’s perspective, it was almost like the two of you were dating. 

➣ But alas, you know the sad reality is that Oikawa is most certainly not your boyfriend and you have no idea if he has any interest in your like that…

➣ ...Which is why you decide to try to make him jealous one day to push him towards confessing his feelings, if they exist. 

➣ The two of you are at a café, sipping lattes and gossiping about other students when you bring it up. 

➣ “Y’know...I’ve been thinking of making an OnlyFans.”

➣ To your surprise, Oikawa’s eyes seem to light up, his lips curving into a smile of excitement. 

➣ “Wow, really? Maybe I should make one too!”

➣ Oikawa immediately pulls out his cell phone and the color drains from your face as you realize your plan has completely backfired. 

➣ “My fans are going to love this—hey do you think we can do a collab? The two of us in one pic would make us top creators for sure.”

➣ You can only nod numbly with a fake smile at Oikawa’s enthusiasm.

➣ Oh god, you’ve created a monster…

NEKOMA

↳ Kozume

➣ Unless you’re Kuroo, becoming friends with Kenma is a nearly impossible feat. Actually making him want to spend time with you alone, even more so. 

➣ But somehow, you managed to work your way into Kenma’s tightly knit social circle more like a two point line segment of him and Kuroo and your evenings after his volleyball practice are usually spent in one of your bedrooms, playing Splatoon and Animal Crossing until your Switches die or your parents force you to come home for dinner—whichever comes first. 

➣ You love spending time with Kenma, his quiet presence somehow making you feel comfortable—but over time those feelings of ease have shifted into something more akin to nervousness and excitement as you’ve come to develop a crush on the setter.

➣ Every moment with him, watching the small smiles tug at his lips when he wins a match or his cute, frustrated pout when he can’t figure out how to defeat a boss makes your heart flutter and it’s becoming more and more painful to idly sit by without expressing your feelings.

➣ A direct confession, especially to a boy with nearly 0 social skills, is scary, so you want to be sure your feelings are returned before you even attempt to share them. 

➣ Thus, you’ve decided to take Kuroo’s advice.

➣ “Push him into a corner. Kenma will only act when he thinks he has to.” 

➣ You take a deep breath to steel your nerves before you speak, eying him sneakily from behind your Switch. 

➣ “Gamer girls and boys are kind of trendy these days; I’m thinking about starting an OnlyFans to make money to buy more games.”

➣ The only visible response you receive is a slow blink as Kenma continues to play his game, fingers tapping furiously on the keys. 

➣ “Ah...I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

➣ “Why not?”

➣ There are a few moments of silence between you two, the room only filled with the SFX of your games as Kenma seems to finish his round. You recognize the victory music as Kenma pauses to finally raise his gaze to meet your own. 

➣ “It's your body so I can’t tell you what to do but...I would feel really jealous of all your subscribers.”

➣ And just like that, Kenma returns his attention to the video game, unpausing and starting a new match, blissfully unaware of you struggling to calm your racing heart and flushed cheeks. 

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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[jadelotusflower]

It’s Cold in that Fridge: The Case of Nakari Kelen

Since The Case of Mara Jade has been doing the rounds again, I’ve finally gone back to this post that has been sitting in my drafts for literally years. So let’s honour this absolute badass who deserved better:

Once upon a time, the Star Wars universe was but six films (and a tv series) in the story of the Skywalker family. But beyond George Lucas’ story was an absolute boatload of books, comics, games, and other materials that made up the Expanded Universe. When Disney purchased Lucasfilm and the rights to the Star Wars saga, everything in this universe was decanonised and deemed “Legends” - some aspects of this universe were retained or re-purposed, others sit in Disney’s figurative vault and will likely never see the light of day (and seeing how the ST turned out, maybe that’s for the best).

But this transition between Legends canon and Disney canon was not so simple, because the nature of publishing meant that there were novels approved during the time of Legends canon that would be released in the time of Disney canon. In particular, there had been the planned trilogy “Empire and Rebellion���, set between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, with each novel from the perspective of one of The Big Three.  

Razor’s Edge (Leia) and Honor Among Thieves (Han) were released prior to the Great Canon Split of 2014.  But while the Luke-centric novel had been planned, it was not due to be released until well after the Split. So Heir to the Jedi (so called as an homage to the Legends progenitor Heir to the Empire) became one of the first books of the Disney canon.

What does this background have to do with Nakari Kelen?  Perhaps nothing, but I do wonder how the writing process was affected by the shift from Legends to Disney - was the novel a relic of the old EU with any reference the LFL storygroup didn’t like excised during editing, or was it a trendsetter for the new EU, a Sign of Things to Come?  

The most salient point being, of course, that Nakari Kelen - like so many love interests before her - was not allowed to go along her merry way at the conclusion of the novel, but was shoved into the fridge.

If there was one constant of the Legends EU, it was that Luke Skywalker’s love interests couldn’t catch a break. Mara Jade naturally lasted the longest relationship-wise, with almost twenty years of marriage to Luke before some bright spark decided she had to go (as per the aforementioned case study). But before Mara there was Jem, Shira Brie, and Gaeriel Captison (who came close to escaping the curse), and in the Legacy of the Force series they brought back sole survivors Akanah and Callista, only to kill them off for good too (and rather brutally, if I may add).

So perhaps when Kevin Hearne began writing HttJ within the confines of the Legends continuity, he was merely sticking to the status quo, or perhaps once subsumed by Disney they needed to make sure Luke's slate was clean (so to speak).  And I can’t put all the blame on Hearne since I don’t know whether it was his idea, or LFL mandated - but regardless it was a poor decision.

The root cause of fridging, imo, is limited imagination.  How best to cause your male protagonist pain if not kill off someone they love, or at least have strong feelings for? The answer is of course, easily. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Luke Skywalker of HttJ is fresh from his victory in ANH, a lieutenant in the Rebellion: young, not dumb, and full of...

Nakari Kalen is an absolute Queen a civilian volunteer and crack-shot sniper who loans her ship Desert Jewel to the Alliance. Luke is immediately attracted to her, they bond over a mutual love of fast ships and leaving behind desert home planets, and engage in the inexpert flirting of two nineteen year olds while also risking their lives several times over.

I want to make it clear: I actually really like this book. It's a breezy read, almost serialised as The Early Adventures of Luke Skywalker, and is ofttimes genuinely funny. And credit where it’s due to Hearne, many of of the supporting roles in the novel are female. Other than Nakari, there's Soonta, the Rodian who gives Luke her uncle’s lightsaber, Sakhet the Kupohan spy, and the Givin cryptographer/math genius Drusil Bephorin. In a genre where male characters are often the default for these kind of roles, it was nice to see, but makes the regressive fridging of Nakari even more egregious.

Luke and Nakari make a good team fighting brain-sucking monsters and Imperials, but more importantly they have fun together - she encourages him to work on his Force skills, and he successfully moves objects with his mind for the first time (leading to Nakari adorably dub him "a little noddle scooter"). It's a very sweet, if brief, relationship, and a respite from the danger of the mission. They spend the night together (leaving the reader to decide exactly what happened behind closed doors), and share a kiss before splitting up to try and escape bounty hunters. No prizes for guessing what happens to Nakari immediately after she received the Skywalker Kiss of Death.

I assume there were two motivating factors for why Hearne and/or LFL couldn't let Nakari live:

1. If she survived, fans would wonder why she doesn't appear in ESB/subsequent material.

I recall this bandied about on forums back at the time of the book's release, and to that I say - so what? Fans are always going to wonder, and try to paper over the gaps in canon, to make up their own headcanons to explain any any perceived inconsistencies. It's certainly no reason to kill someone off.

It is in fact possible for two young people to have a romance that just fizzles, or doesn’t work out for whatever reason - it should not require great maneuvering or explanation. If Nakari doesn’t show up in the next book in the timeline, what about it? The reader is smart enough to assume she and Luke broke up, decided to just remain friends, whatever. But it seems that the only way for a female character to exit stage left is for her to die, which is bullshit.

And actually, there's no reason why she couldn't have shown up again. ESB and RoTJ cover a month and a few days, respectively, of Luke's life - just because there was no mention of Nakari doesn't mean she didn't exist at that time, whether or not she and Luke were an item. She could have made an appearance in a subsequent novel, or Rebels, or the comics - she could have become a recurring character, showing up when the Rebellion needed her, or - heaven forbid - even have her own comic/book/show! Her existence in Star Wars canon didn't need to begin and end with Luke Skywalker, merely to service his plotline and backstory and abandoning the richness of her own.

No, the only reason Nakari had to die was to facilitate this:

It was a blow to the gut, realizing what that sudden absence meant. I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but I had felt Nakari's life snuffed out through the Force, and into that void where she had shone anger rushed in - anger, and a cold sense of raw power and invincibility...I took a step to join in the hunt but stopped, breathing heavily, unaccountably sweating even though I felt so cold inside and the power of the Force roiled within me... I shook with emotion and power, and none of it felt the way the Force had before...I saw what kind of space it was , a black hole that would always be hungry no matter how much I fed it. I might never feel warm again if I didn't get myself under control.

Luke feels the dark side and is tempted by the boost of power it offers him, but immediately identifies it as dangerous and unnatural. I can understand why Hearne wanted to include this - it is a book of firsts after all: Luke's first solo mission, his first time using telekenisis, and ending with story with his first experience of the dark side makes sense. But it wasn't necessary, which leads to:

2. How to push Luke to touch the dark side without killing someone he has romantic feelings for?

Also, obviously, shite of the bull (or nerf, if you prefer). Even if this brush with the dark side was absolutely necessary for the novel's climax, there's any number of ways it could be achieved. At this point, Luke is fresh from losing important people in his life - Owen and Beru, Ben, and Biggs - lumping another death on top of that a narrative trick for Luke to react not only to losing Nakari, but the others as well. But it's cheap, the first card in the deck, and why not show a bit of imagination? Luke is young and inexperienced enough at this point that any number of things could be the catalyst - the whole book he's struggling with his growing powers, why not try and reach too far in the firefight with the bounty hunters, his anger and frustration with himself in not doing enough trigger the dark side temptation? It would work thematically and doesn't involve a fridging that ultimately has very little payoff.

Because Nakari is killed less than ten pages from the end of the book - afterwards Luke grieves, but ultimately chooses to honour her memory and be grateful for what he learned with her, recommitting to becoming a Jedi. It's all very surface level, and once again a female character's death facilitates a male character's development. Was it so imperative that Luke lost someone he cared about as part of this story? Sure, this was a time of galactic civil war, and it's far from unrealistic that these stories have a high body count, but who to make collateral damage remains an authorial choice, and in this case Nakari Kelen was (a) a female character of color, (b) a love interest of the protagonist - not just of this book, but the entire Original Trilogy.

I don't know to what extent (if any) race had to play in the decision. I'm sure there was a segment of the fandom absolutely livid that Luke Skywalker kissed (and maybe had sex with) a black woman. Was her death LFL hedging its bets, or demonstrative of the general lack of attention/respect they show their characters of colour?

In any case this was a chance to stand out from the old EU and it's fridge full of Luke's dead girlfriends, but instead they chose to introduce and kill off Nakari for the sole purpose of Luke's manpain and character development, and that's gross.

And then there's this:

A grisly yet reliable fact about custom bounty hunter ships is that you can always count on them to have body bags stashed somewhere for the easy transport of their kills. They often have built-in refrigerated storage, too.

NAKARI IS KILLED AND LITERALLY STORED IN THE FUCKING FRIDGE I COULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT I WAS READING.

I really hope this was unintentional on Hearne's part, because yikes. He was halfway there, this book was full of interesting female characters who had agency - Drusil in particular was a delight with her super math and inability to understand human interaction. Nakari was full of life and fun - capable but relatable, showing a different side of the Rebellion and those that suffered under the Empire's rule. Fridging her in her first appearance is considerably more vile, because it reduces her to a footnote of Luke's story, a plot device to Help Him Grow, rather than a springboard to tell more of her own story.

Because Nakari was a compelling character ripe for spinoff potential. I would absolutely have read or watched her continued adventures, juggling missions for her father's Biolabs company and trying to aid the Rebellion, shooting her slug rifle and cracking wise, maybe even finding a way to amplify her mother's song Vader's Many Prosthetic Parts to really stick it to the Empire, or try and free the political prisoners on Kessel.

The old EU was made great by allies and enemies of Our Heroes showing up again to help or hinder them, and/or branching out into their own material. We fell in love with them, and followed their stories even as they diverged from the main saga, eager to read more about their lives.

Nakari Kelen never got that chance. In many ways, she exemplified what Disney Star Wars was to become: an exercise in wasted potential.

[orangepanic]

October 26th: Stalk & Nightmares (Tenzin, Koh)

At first, the trip to the Spirit World was a dream come true. Tenzin had spent decades attempting to achieve the stillness of mind and connection to the spirits necessary to make the transition. He'd failed every time. He hadn't been worthy. Arguably he wasn't now, either, but with the portals opened he hoped he could at least arrive as an ambassador of sorts. The leader of the Air Nation, no matter how spiritually inept, must set an example for his people.

Tenzin traveled through each improbable landscape in hopes of befriending a spirit like his brother had done, but none came. The mountains and fields were silent. Every once in a while he caught a flash of movement or burst of color, but frustratingly they only fled at his approach. Hurt and ashamed, Tenzin continued on, making his way over the rolling hills to the edge of a dark forest. Inside the air was cool and humid. The dense trees almost seemed to part for him, and for lack of a better idea Tenzin followed their path. Perhaps at the end of the trail, finally, a spirit would seek his acquaintance.

A shifting darkness out of the corner of his eye slowed his steps. "Hello?" Tenzin called. A few twigs cracked. Then nothing. Tenzin called out again and heard only his own echo. His shoulders slumped. A failure yet again.

"I was wondering when you'd come," said a soft voice behind him. Tenzin whirled and nearly tripped over his own robes at the sight of the enormous segmented body topped by a the pale visage of a Fire Nation woman. Koh. Tenzin immediately let his face go slack to hide any emotion.

"Oh, I've already been admonished for that," said Koh the Face Stealer. "Your father told my mother all about my little game. I don't take faces anymore, Tenzin son of Aang. I give them. Just like she does."

"I did not come for favors," said Tenzin clearly. "The Mother of Faces grants faces only to those who ask it. I did not come here asking for a new face."

"Didn't you?" The Fire Nation woman's face melted into that of a dark-haired teen. One of its many jointed legs gestured to a puddle on the forest floor. "Why don't you come and see?"

Fear settled into the pit of Tenzin's stomach as he approached the pool. Careful to keep his face neutral he knelt in front of the water. At first in the dark he thought nothing had changed and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed the beard. His hands flew to his face, or what had once been his face. He started to scream.

"You have wanted to be your father your whole life, Tenzin son of Aang," cooed Koh behind him. "Show some respect and say thank you. You finally got your wish."

31 Days of Whumptloktober

What is Whumptloktober, you ask? Well, nothing, because I made it up through the art of shameless theft. There's a TLOKtober event on twitter/x/elon musk's wanksite that has rules I can't follow, and there's an interesting set of Whumptober prompts this year, so I decided to do my own mashup and create 31 days of absolute nonsense short fics for tumblr. No rules besides having to address both prompts and involving Legend of Korra. Crack encouraged.

To give credit where it's due, the original prompt lists/event pages are here and here.

[mdhwrites]

Amphibia Meeting the Human Realm is My Favorite Half Season of the Show So Far

And it's because it managed to push into new territory that expanded its themes harder through contrast and parallels, never forgot its stakes while keeping its identity, and yet still managed to give us a new vibrant cast of supporting characters so as to bring together an exceedingly satisfying half season. Not a perfect one but one that never quite felt as awkward as the low points of other seasons and is DRIPPING with good characterization, morals, ideas, etc.

One of the big things I think a lot of fans of the series miss by calling it filler, the same fans who I assume likely skipped S1 because they saw it as filler, is actually the importance of swinging back around to S1's concepts but with the Plantars. We get to see the changes to how things go because of how much Anne has changed, how much Anne has affected the Plantars but also how little Anne has changed. It makes it so that while we do keep getting told Anne is more responsible, we can see it more clearly than during any other part of the series.

But we can also see the seeds being set for why the ending will be what it will be (because there's no way I don't know how the series ends). Both Sprig's Birthday and You Give a Frog a Cookie show that while Anne is doing it for better people... She's still a people pleaser to her friends. She still has growth she needs to do. Growth that might require some amount of time away from those she's closest to to achieve because she needs time to invest in herself.

Not to say the half season is perfect. I can see a lot of reasons why some dislike Spider-Sprig even if I like the segment, Thai Feud has good character reasoning behind it even if I think it goes beyond just childish selfishness which is the saving grace for Anne during a lot of S1 and Hollywood Hop Pop is a good use of the fact that Anne lives in Los Angeles but it still doesn't change that it's awkward and clunky in the same ways that some Hop Pop focused episodes tend to be when he needs to act like an idiot. All three of these though have reasonable justifications, good lessons, are trying to put closure to things or say something about the characters... There's a point to all of them existing, regardless of if they're executed on the best. And even at its worst execution, each one probably still has at least one heartwarming moment and/or one real good joke, like Sprig breaking down about getting yelled at.

And that's one thing I do ADORE: Amphibia is still Amphibia. Despite True Colors, it did not abandon its own identity. It's still funny and over the top and kind of crazy and it's willing to let the human realm be its own sort of crazy to reflect that. I don't think people are right in saying it just forgot about True Colors though. Even while keeping this identity, you have them worrying about getting caught, Anne working herself to death, the weight of lies, etc. like that. It backs off a bit in the second half of the mid-season but only once it has gotten Anne and others to a healthier mindset and even then, no one except whoever is fucking up in a given episode is entirely forgetting what the final goal is. Hell, anyone who claims the show just forgets about True Colors isn't recognizing that this thirteen year old, multiple times, overloads herself by trying to trivialize all that happened. Anne's whole scope of conflict she's EVER been a part of increased a hundred times fold over the course of a single day so her not directly addressing it besides the one part she actually can do something about is GREAT. All the rest of the whispers are part of what's torturing her until finally she knows progress is being made by people like Doctor Jan and she starts breathing again once she tells herself she can trust others with the problem.

It's just... REALLY FUCKING GOOD. And that's without getting into the fact that despite most of the side characters like the IT Girls and Doctor Jan only actually getting like two minutes of screen time each before the last two episodes, they are wonderful additions to the cast and work great. Oum and Bee, Anne's parents, are the only real protagonist additions and the closest they get to a dedicated episode is when Anne goes to the movies. Otherwise, they're always supporting characters to the character drama or themes going on with Anne and the Plantars. And anyone who claims the Plantars are not main characters WILL BE BONKED. Sprig is literally the secondary main character people.

For new antagonists, we have Cloakbot who is a great way to introduce a new threat that goes well with the early focus of trying to adapt and hide on Earth like the Plantars are before then swapping to Mr. X who is SO full of personality and does well to prod the cast forward as they think they're ready to settle in for however long this takes. Cloakbot actually takes up way more time than Mr. X though as Mr. X only shows up like three times before the final episode and while he is the primary threat in each, he's not nearly as involved as Cloakbot was during their appearance. It serves well to build up Mr. X though before finally we see the FBI triumphant... Briefly. But triumphant nonetheless.

The last thing I'll touch on is Sasha and Marcy. Marcy... Marcy is the one part of the half season where I suspect rewatching makes it worse. Knowing this is effectively the final outing for Marcy and even Olivia and Yunan are treating her as just a brain and less as a character (I'm sorry but Marcy really doesn't have a found family) is ROUGH. Marcy has always been only kind of half a character with how she's written though and if I have one big complaint of Amphibia as a whole/so far, it's that Marcy so obviously is tailored for plot purposes more than she is to actually be a part of the show. The episode itself is enjoyable, the two newts have a GREAT dynamic and it sets up the terrifying might of Andrias and what is to come well but... It still is a real shame for the character.

Sasha on the other hand is great, as she commonly is. She genuinely has to ask if she is a conqueror or a protector. She has always seen herself as on the side of right after all. That she controls others for the sake of protecting them. It's part of why Reunion is so effective. Getting to see her at her lowest cause her to decide that and how it inspires Grime is great. Also seeing another big city slicker underestimating the townies and their capabilities is great, not only just a nice hurrah for anyone who loves Wartwood but a nice reminder of why Anne has so much adjusting to do because she underestimated all of this so much. It sets her up VERY well for what will make up the bulk of S3B, at least from my understanding.

So yeah, Amphibia keeps being fucking amazing and yet I STILL have hot takes that go against the opinions of the fandom. Go figure. XD

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I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

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[xenosagaepisodeone]

ok 3.0+1.0 longpost -_-

it’s difficult for me to describe how I feel about 3.0+1.0 as a film because it’s artistic vision is just a 25 year cultivated response to the otaku fixation on nge. this film hardly feels like it can stand on it’s own feet as a coherent story -- it’s constantly introducing and reinterpreting symbols, contexts and concepts in order to lay down some kind of grounded world while also wanting to be evocative of the freeform flow of feelings occurring in EoE/Ep25/26. if this movie was it’s own thing and just living in the shadow of it’s predecessor, I could probably live with it and maybe even say that I liked it, but it’s flip flopping on if it wants the metanarrative to drive the story or if it wants to erect a new mythology of Eva altogether completely squanders maximizing the potential of doing either. what were left with is a very cowardly iteration of the message at the end of nge -- “human connections are important, even if they can be painful” becomes “ if we show you what you wanted to see for the past nearly 30 years, will you grow up now?”

"Defeated" feels like how I would describe the ethos of this film.

reiQ’s farmer adventures were cute, but in a way that felt bittersweet- because this character is not actually rei. not simply because she is not ayanami, but because she carries no actual development from her previous iterations like the other characters of rebuild. reiQ answers the question of “what if rei was actually as moe as she looks in official art” but forgets to pull the rug out from beneath you to unveil the depths of her turmoil. while Ayanami would say “I am not your doll to control”, reiQ has almost every aspect of her character dictated to her by other people - and this is depicted as fulfilling and human (because Anno wants you to get a job and have kids). not even her name is her choice. her sudden death only exists to serve as a motivator for shinji. I wanted to believe that this was some commentary on how a relationship without pain and loss cant exist, but it seems unlikely as rei (1, 2, 3, Q, Ayanami, lilith, etc) does not have an arc in this film. also the TV production quality of the village segment made it feel like I was watching a 12 episode sol as opposed to an actual film.

funnily enough, my feeling towards reiQ made me feel retroactive distaste towards 1.0 and 2.22. I’ve never thought rebuild was good, that much has never been a secret. 1.0 and 2.22 however carried enough over from the original series that it felt like the original characters were picking themselves up and getting better. I was happy seeing asuka, who had previously spent 26 episodes and a movie being miserable, open herself up to happiness. I was happy seeing rei connect more with shinji. even if the characters had to become simplified versions of themselves to find their own peace, it didnt feel thatbad. I didn’t realize until 3.0 came out how little this tetralogy had to it beyond puppeteering iconography and hoping that fans find meaning in it. 3.0 and 3.0+1.0 carried the same conviction of 1.0 and 2.22 of showing you characters you like doing things you wished they did, but with the support of the original series environment withering away to unveil half baked ideas, convoluted plots and meaningless regurgitation of every meaningful image this series has produced. seeing rei stripped even farther than her bare bones as reiQ put into focus what I thought I appreciated about 1.0 and 2.22.

there were a few times throughout this movie where I was trying to figure out what it was that anno was trying to say. as stated in my op paragraph, the film does carry it’s own simplified message about how important it is to grow up and face the real world, but this message largely betrays the framing. its cowardly. the pain that shinji experience does not come from the Other anymore, it is all self inflicted. learning to endure hardship simply became a matter of overcoming your own feelings, because now everyone else in your life effortlessly accepts you. there are 3 girls with who dont have any problems anymore and a solarpunk empire that would be all over you if you simply stood on your own two feet. there is no asuka experiencing hedgehog dilemma with shinji, there’s only asuka who exists so shinji can learn how to confess to a girl. there is no misato constantly subjecting shinji to a interplay of projecting her issues onto him and attempting to mother him (with varying degrees of success), there’s just shinjis step mom who accepts that she is responsible for him (which feels GREAT to see but feels bad when you think about what it sacrificed to get there). for a guy whose complicated relationship with otaku culture has bled into his work, you would think that idealistic fantasy of the real world wouldnt be the crutch of the delivering his message. when I say that “defeated” is the ethos of this film, I mean that it is so lacking in purpose compared to its predecessors that it wears itself thin trying to superficially have something for every conceivable audience while throwing out the meat of why people liked those things in the first point.

I was surprised to see that it was gendo who survived as the most introspective part of the film. i’m conflicted towards how I feel about a gendo redemption arc, but I feel as if his instrumentality sequence itself was decently shot (I hate having to compare it to ep 25/26 but it lacks the artistic flare for such a big budget film) and very well articulated. there’s a beautiful story in here about realizing your parents are people and parents realizing the responsibility they owe to their children, but I wish it could have been explored in a different film where characters are less held back by their established canon. honestly watching this whole sequence made me wonder if anno is still friendly with goro miyazaki LMAO

I was largely uninterested in the fight scenes, I think the only one that genuinely made me feel something was the one towards the end where asuka turns into an angel. the poor fight choreography coupled with weird shot composition and the overbearing usage of cg makes fight sequences overbearing and kind of difficult to decipher. cg fights are largely 1 eva vs a swarm of enemies that take up the screen, all of them having the same line weight which just ends up making all parties involved look like a mesh of colors. there arent real stakes for the most part either, asuka and mari tear through waves of enemies with effortless precision accuracy in a way that isnt visually or technically impressive.

believe it or not, I don’t actually dislike Mari. Mari enacts what Anno sought to do with the Rebuilds -- to destroy Evangelion. Mari (literally!) falls out of the sky into the story and is not gripped by the pain of the hedgehog’s dilemma as she exhibits her adoration for most things. her romance with shinji is intentionally analogous to how anno perceives his relationship with his wife -- that she saved him by encouraging him to live in the real world. the actual, textual ridiculousness in her character is softened when you realize that she’s just another component of his 4 movie long exhibition of telling everyone his life is better now that he’s successful and has a hot and talented wife.

is it worth complaining about all the crotch or ass shots. i think we all feel the same way about it. anyway i have more thoughts but these are my loose ones.