#those are my editorial notes on the matter

[xhxhxhx]

I am not particularly fit for this kind of work. Reading and writing, I mean.

I am not a practiced reader. I never learned to do the things you're supposed to do with books and papers.

I never learned note-taking. Never learned outlining. Never outlined. Never underlined. Never highlighted. Never earmarked. Never made cards and never read from them.

At some point, the amount of information I was meant to digest and recall was simply beyond me. Never learned.

I've carried those vices with me. I have no books marked with my own written notes or highlights. I have no outlines. There's only the printed page with someone else's text.

I still have trouble publishing anything but the first draft.

I have tried something different. I now have something like a vast index, alphabetically arranged, of cases and laws and names, proper and common, with references to the relevant material.

But no notes. I have given pointers and pin points, but no summaries or comments. In the index, my editorial intervention ends with the headings and cross-references. Even that makes me uneasy.

If I haven't learned to take notes, it's not for lack of trying. There are false starts here and there, if not on paper.

The trouble is that I have trouble getting anything out of my notes when I read them. They're verbose. They're wrong. They're inexact. They leave things out.

You can imagine a tradeoff between speed and depth, with less extensive notes summarizing the text and more extensive ones explaining it. But my notes couldn't do either.

I have trouble summarizing or explaining things to myself, to my future self. When I took notes, I left out what I understood too well or not at all. When I read them later, I found them incomplete.

I couldn't learn from my own notes, or recall from them. I couldn't trust them. I couldn't trust my past self to know what I now needed. No matter how much I read and revised, I couldn't get them right.

In the tradeoff between speed and depth, my notes were completely interior to the frontier defined by the original text. To the extent that I have notes now, they're pointers to those texts. Indexes.

That's what I have. Indexes. But indexes aren't notes, and they're poor substitutes for them.

To write, you have to take something from what you've read. That's what notes, I understand, are for: You take notes to preserve your reading for your future self. But not your self as reader, but as writer. They're there for your readers.

Your notes summarize and explain your reading, as you would explain your reading to others. Then you simply carry them forward. "Here," you tell your readers, "I have summarized it for you." Then you write out your notes again, tidied up a little.

I didn't understand any of this until recently. I had never needed to take notes for others before. When people asked for my lecture notes, I gave them what I had taken in class: verbatim transcripts of what the speaker had said. Those were the only ones I had.

I still don't really understand it. But I'm coming to realize how much extensive writing depends on it, or something like it.

To write, you have to take something from what you've read. It's easy to do that from notes. You don't have to read anything and you barely have to write anything. You just copy them down.

But to do it from an index, you have to do it all from scratch. Read again, then summarize and explain, as if for the first time. Because it is. It's the first time you're explaining it for someone besides yourself.

I still haven't learned how to take notes. But I suppose that's what I'm doing here. Trying to explain things, as if for the first time, to someone besides myself.

[basiatlu]

On Theft in Art

First: thank you to the anon here and the other many people who brought this to my attention! I know you did it out of support of me and I love you for it.

I was ready to keep it private as I didn’t want anything negative to come up and be associated with my art. But as I was asked across different platforms concerning the art in question I realized it really bummed me out. I’m here to have a good time in the fandom and create with you all. We have a good thing here in the community and I didn’t want any smoke with another artist - a mutual even.

So to help me feel a little better about it I want to turn this into an opportunity to teach others on the differences between Reference, Inspiration, Reinterpretation, and Theft

Reference: (usually) a visual source of information in order to better understand something. Example here is of my reference board and the art I am currently working on.

My favorite example of a professional using reference photos is by Hirohiko Araki (creator and artist of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure), who uses fashion editorials and photoshoots ALL the time it’s awesome - tysm @yumiaiyuma for showing me this goldmine

Study and Inspiration: here is a great example from the wonderful Stephanie Pepper. Notice the caption stating these are studies, the movie it is from, and I will even go on to say that this artist is influenced or inspired by the prolific works of J. C. Leyendecker (but what’s key is that Stephanie Pepper has developed and practiced to the point of deviating from his work and become a style of art completely her own - and she’s so recognizable in my opinion!)

Personal Example for Inspiration:

An Example of Reinterpretation: note - Both these classical artists whose works are being recycled are dead and no longer missing out on potential work and income. Where stealing ideas and art from current artists hurts them financially and mentally and emotionally. Howl as The Fallen Angel by _mimimaru on Instagram is an interpretation of a 1847 painting by Alexandre Cabanel and is now considered public domain // the Mickey Mouse self portrait was by Charles Boyer and is a parody of the famous illustration by Norman Rockwell and was commissioned by Walt Disney, himself.

Now here’s the part that is concerning to several people, myself included.

Recently, an artist found the reference I used, and decided to draw Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Regulus staring at Sirius getting supposedly punished by Walburga Black off screen.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a matter of tracing or claiming my image as their own. I do not mind at all if myself and another artist end up using the same reference. It happens all the time. Referencing and studying is not stealing. Reinterpretation is great for meme art challenges and paying respect to old classics. Even being inspired and doing one’s own version of another artist’s idea is totally cool, especially if you tag and/or shoutout the artist that inspired you.

I genuinely love and appreciate everyone who has brought this to my attention and who has been supportive and defensive of me with this. That reaction means more to me than anything else in this whole ordeal, if I’m being honest. So thank you all so much, with all my heart.

In closing: Do I hope this is all one gigantic coincidence? Absolutely. It’s one of those very uncool things that hurts my heart as an artist. I just want everyone to enjoy art and inspire each other so we can all grow. I do not want any malice to come from this either. I just wanted to inform everyone that I am aware of this, and give some of my thoughts on it. I also wanted to use this as a way to educate everyone on artistic process and why these things might happen sometimes.

Edit: me and the artist have chatted and we see it as a silly coincidence ♡ and honestly I'm happy and so relieved with that. But I think a lot of this info is still good to be mindful of in a creative community where we circulate ideas and content regularly.

[unicorncornflakes]

Wedding Dress - Modern AU! | Chapter 1

Prologue | Next Chapter 

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: You have always seemed happy. A perfect life: a good job, a good family... and a good boyfriend. Finally, you are going to marry Jace after three years of dating. Everything seems perfect, but you know it's not.

Everything falters the same night you meet Aemond Targaryen. You are no longer sure of your decisions... let alone about the wedding...

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Enemies to Friends to Lovers/ Emotional Hurt/ComfortDrama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Author´s note: Hi everyone! English is not my first language, sorry for any mistake! All of them are my fault! Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 2.9K

“Rhaenyra told me that today is your Dress Fitting” Daemon was still playing with his squeeze ball. You wondered why he has one. It wasn't like he could stress about anything. He gave you a sidelong glance with a terrible smirk. He continued playing with the toy, squeezed it one again before leaved it on the table. You have worked for him during the last three years, in the same moment that you started to date Jace. And you really knew when something crossed his head. And that time was going to be one of those times he wanted to be like a father for you. After your premature parents’ passing, he softness with you. It was an easier work then, but not fair if you compared yourself with the rest of the workers. However, Daemon didn’t care about what the others said, and you continued with your privileges in that editorial.

“Yeah, today It is” You smiled looking down. Your hands wrapped your bag just ready to leaving after a long day of job. You were a publisher at Daemon´s editorial. After you finished your degree in High Valyrian philology, you started to work there by Jace´s recommendation. It was a good job and it that moment you were revising a manuscript written by Daemon himself. For that reason, you spent most of your working day with him. However, you knew that he didn’t need a publisher for that. He was the senior editor. It was only a way for him to teach you the functions of his role there. He never said it out aloud, but, and only maybe, he wanted to allow his place to you in the correct moment. “I will pick this and I will continue at home” You smiled at him, catching the big manuscript.

“You don’t look excited” He commented, starting to play with his chair. You looked at him confused “By your Dress Fitting, I mean” He reclined in his chair. His condescended tone always affected your nerves. Your gaze met his; he knew in that moment that everything was not as fine as usual.

“Oh! Of course I am! It´s just a have a lot of work and…” You exclaimed, but your tone didn’t sound convince. You haven’t thought too much about the dress fitting these days. Not since what happened last weekend. Well, actually you only spent your time working and working, just not to thinking. Jace was on a business trip, so you have tried to stay calm. That was all. Your thoughts hardly encountered visions of that night. Well… not really… you tried to pretend that everything was right, but your mind couldn’t stop thinking about that guy… And, your brain started just to think about it. And the Dress Fitting didn’t help, You only felt guiltier.

“Really?” He asked raising one eyebrow “I´ve read your last chapter” At least, the topic had been switched. Yeah, the chapter. You had had been writing a book for the last three years. You really loved talk about that, and your last writing was sent as always on the Saturday night to your favorite publisher.

“Did you like it?” You smiled, forgetting all about Jace, that guy, the dress, the wedding… Normally, he never told to you anything about your writings. If he didn’t tell you anything, it was bad, really bad, so the both of you didn’t speak about the matter and you rewrited the chapter again to be sent the next week. It was your play, and you really appreciated that. It was enough living with your old grandmother and her bad mood.

“Yes, actually a lot, much more than the rest of the chapters… Something has changed, right?” He rose from his chair and he served a drink. The whiskey made a little sound when it found the ice in that so expensive glass. He dank it with a sneer “This is a cheap whiskey…”

“I-I…” Words couldn’t leave your lips. No, nothing had changed. Of course not. It was not like you just wrote that chapter after that night, just to stop thinking… Oh, maybe you wrote it after that night. You started to bite your lips, almost eat them… everything was your fault…

“I really liked how much your main character has changed. Before was a regular just guy with a big heart, now is a Cocky bastard who knows what he wants and he gets it” Daemon commented while was watching the now empty bottom glass. Perhaps, the whiskey was cheap, but he never denied one drink.

“I guess” you whispered. Yeah, a cocky bastard, a guy of few words and contained rage, just like…

“Rhaenyra would kill me if she knows that I´m telling you this, but…” Daemon´s voice waked you from your thought. Your eyes met his again, they show a tremendous sadness, mixed with guilty “Keep sleeping with the new one. It will be a great book if you do, much better than before”

“I´m not cheating on Jace” You tried to sound plausible, but that just made Daemon laugh out loud. You blushed so hard.

“Yeah… and I´ve never cheated on Rhaenyra… All of us have little dirty secrets, (Y/N), and if you don’t want to share it is perfect. However, try harder to be discreet” His tone was hard but confident. His laugh stopped and his eyes were on you. He really appreciated you, maybe like none did those days. He had never been a confidant for you, but with the entire wedding situation, he became a friend. At least, he was the only one who didn’t speak about it all the time “Anyways, I really liked it. Right now, I´m thinking to publish it” He said sincerely.

“W-what?” You couldn’t believe what was happening. He wanted to publish it. After years of hard work, he wanted to publish it. Your baby, your dream… For you, the book was more important than the wedding, then everything actually. You never said it out loud, but it was true.

“It´s the first time in three years that I really enjoyed something that you wrote” He walked to the door of his bureau and he turned to see you. It was a way to good bay like usual. Although, that day, it tasted bitter “And Don’t marry Jace, (Y/N). He deserves more, you deserve more. You will not be happy” He sighed while the door was opened “Have a good Dress Fitting” He wished you while you fled from there. You didn´t know what to think about that conversation. Maybe Daemon was as right as Alara.  

 Aemond rubbed his face jaded and tired. If that stupid power point had another slide, he would kill someone… and there it was another slide. All numbers, all graphics, all this accompanied by the irritating voice of Luke. Aegon was not better than him, looking to the ceiling of the office, ignoring to his nephew.

“So, in conclusion: We are fucked” Aegon made a perfect summary of the situation. Aemond would never told that, but ‘thanks, brother. You summarized all that stupid power point’. He started to laugh like a maniac “Unbelievable”. All the council remained in silence. Aemond get up from his chair and opened the window, he leant on it. “Even Aemond is going to throw himself by the window, and he is the clever one”

“I´m going to smoke” It was his only reply. With a cigarette between his lips, he lit it after he took out his Zippo of his pants pocket. “But, yeah, we are simply fucked” He expelled the smoke quickly, past a deep puff.

“No, if Jace gets the new contract…” Joffrey strated to speak only to be silenced by his older uncle.

“So, Do I have to sell the lamborghini?” Aegon bit his lip anxiously. His younger brother rolled his eye.

“I love your priorities, brother” Aemond patted his shoulder. The one-eye guy looked around to all attendees on that meeting: Luke continued with his slides, looking at his computer screen, Joffrey looked at him with a sneer. Corlys stared at her hands as she fiddled with them on the table, completely ignoring him. Tyland, the treasurer, was counting on a worn piece of paper... Aemond took another drag and blew smoke through his nose, looking at them all arrogantly. “We must to think in a B plan”

“And C, D, E, F…” Aegon added desperately. He was the one who was most concerned, and not for the possible fall of the company, but for the potential loss of his comfortable lifestyle.

“I trust Jace. He will get it. I´m sure” Corlys broke his silence, in a veiled threat to the youngest of the Targaryens present in the room. After all, he was the "grandfather" of those boys.

“We are in this situation because of the perfect and glorious administration of the Strong boys” Aemond informed him. This situation was like always… and he was getting angry about it.

“Velaryons” Corlys corrected him with a grim face.

“Oh, I almost forgot it” Aemond mocked still his cigarette in his lips.

“Faith is wonderful, but now we need something more realistic” Tyland Lannister broke his silence, looking at Corlys. “I suggest we listen to Aemond's proposal”

Aemond looked at them with supremacy and arrogance. It was his moment. But at that precise moment, everything went to shit again. Luke spoke quickly after looking at the screen of his phone "Jace has done it, we have closed the contract" he informed with a smile. All attendees breathed relief. Even Aegon seemed like a different person now, everyone but Aemond. Again, insulted and beaten by those brats.

“Perfect, let´s to have lunch, I´m starving” Aegon said happily leaving the office in a quick movement. Corlys and other assitans approached Luke and Joffrey to speak with them. And Aemond was forgotten newly. He only sighed.

“You know that this is not the final solution” Tyland whispered him while he was picking all his calculus books up. “We have to think long term”

“Well, it looks like it doesn’t matter” Aemond mouthed.

“Can we go to lunch tomorrow? We will be able to speak up…” Tyland asked him… and He only nodded.

“Just text me the place and hour” Aemond whispered in a arrogant tone, and left the room. He had had enough of those assholes for one day.

 He looked out the large window of his office. It had been a shitty week, and the city remained unalterable. The same sky, the same fucking perfect frame… like an ideal movie, where everything ends great. But, this was not the same situation for Aemond. He stood in front of the window, arms behind his back. Discipline was everything, and yet the strong boys got it all done without it. He only felt anger in that moment; however, his face was stoic. This whole situation about the bankruptcy of the family business was bringing him upside down. The new contract was just a bandage for a wound that was bleeding her dry. He had to do something. But, a small part of his mind reminded him of the girl from the bar. He regretted that she hadn't sucked him off with those pretty red lips. He regretted not messing with her in the shower, maybe that way she wouldn't have seen that bloody message that made her get out of. He regretted that she had not even wanted his number…

“Mom is going to text you” Aegon´s voice snapped him back to reality. Aemond turned to see Aegon hastily opening the door, closing it with a loud slam behind him. His older brother sited in the chair in front of his office desk. He started to typing really fast in his phone “If she asks you, I have a really busy afternoon at the office” He lied.

“Of course, working hard in some important project in between the legs of one of your whores” Aemond said jaded while he took the seat in front his brother, in his elegant leather chair. “How hard you work!” he exclaimed wryly “What mother wants now?”

“Well, now it´s your problem” Aegon killed himself laughing, waiting the reaction of Aemond for the petition of their mother. His younger brother picked up his phone, which had been remained in the table. At that moment, Aemond opened his one remaining eye in disbelief. One could see how his pupil had shrunk at what he was reading on his phone screen. Aegon couldn't stop laughing, “So… enjoy your wonderful afternoon”

“She must be joking” Aemond muttered to himself, looking for a good excuse in his mind.

“When have you seen mom joking, Aemond?” Aegon replied to the incredulity face of his brother “Daeron has to study, Helaena is not at the city, and I have a lot of work… There is only one available option” He raised his eyebrows with a sly smile. “What she is saying?” he asked trying to read his brother’s screen.

Aemond chuckled “That she knows that I have read the last message. Daeron explained her how works the blue check… Damnit…” He looked at Aegon who can´t help but laughing.

“I will punch Daeron when I arrive home, don´t you worry” he continued smiling like a maniac.

“But, is this true?” Aemond asked, picking his bridge nose with his thumb and his index. Her mother truly was asking him that…

“A Dress Fitting is something really serious, Aemond” Aegon pretended a serious sign in his face, and the he laughed again. Aemond looked at his brother as if he could kill him. He would have actually killed him if he could... Why was it his turn to go to that piece of shit? He was beginning to think that the universe wanted to make fun of him “When you come back, just tell me if she is ugly. If she sleeps with Jace, she can't be very pretty” Aegon stretched out lazily in his chair.

Her mother continued text him. That day Cole couldn't be her driver, his father had decided to go see some friends, and the bodyguard had accompanied him, leaving Alicent without a driver. That day was Jace's fiancée's dress fitting and Alicent wanted to go, in an attempt to win back her friendship with Rhaenyra. And where did Aemond fit into all this? Well, Alicent would go there with Rhaenyra, but then she couldn't bring her home... so "the best one of her children", just as her mother wrote, would go for her once she went to finish the test. Besides, Alicent didn't even ask anymore, it just sounded like an order. It was what Aemond had received after three refusals from his brothers to his mother. He pursed his lips and all he have could type was ‘OK’. ‘And please, try to be nice with OUR family. Love you’ Her mother text him after his reply. He didn´t text her back, only He left the phone at the table again. All his response was “Hmm”.

Aegon knew him, he was going to explode, but he was trying to contain a bigger rage. “I don´t envy you” Aegon looked away from his brother´s gaze. He got up from the chair, a sad smile painted in his face. Aegon and Aemond weren´t the best brothers in the world, but he knew what was happening in his younger brother´s head. He really hated their nephews…And it was understandable: Luke had attacked him as a child, leaving him without one of his eyes, his parents had not denounced him for the good of the 'family', and then there was Jace, who had taken the position within the company for the one Aemond had fought for all his life. Aemond felt like something broken within that set, while the people who had damaged him went on with their lives as if nothing had happened.

“I will tell you if she is ugly. I´m sure that she is” He sneered, lying on his chair. That was his Aemond again. An impertinent smile, a fake self-confidence, a huge ego… his lips curled in a sign of disdain…

“Of course, who if not is going to enjoy that Bastard?” Aegon took a look on his brother. Something was wrong. Aegon knew nothing about the romantic life of his brother but… He has a different gaze, like when he was at high school and started dating Alys. Aegon never was a great brother but in that moment looked to his feet… “Are you seeing someone?” He asked shrugging.

“Why?” Aemond looked at him in disbelief.

“You look pissed off” he replied, as he approached the door. “I will give an advice: Don´t let her play with you, because I know you” It was all, no more words; no need more information, no more brotherly love… He closed the door behind him.

Aemond stared across the window again. His stoic face changed to a shy smile. No, he didn´t know your name, But if asshole Jace was getting married, you'd accompany him to the wedding, wear red, draw all eyes, and he'd be the luckiest man alive… As for Jace's fiancée, that girl was going to find out who’s was he. He had set out to make her cry at her own dress fitting.

[fanfiction-she-wrote]

Pulitzer's Daughter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am. Those boys-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?” he asked, sounding quite amused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They are children-”

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

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

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

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

“No thanks to people like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know if he will-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you saying, Jack?”

“So what do we do, Jack?”

“Oh no…” Katherine mumbled to herself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Then how did he-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Jack, I didn’t mean-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

omg since you’re taking off todya from studying can we hear some of your beatle hottakes?

ughhhhhhh sorry, these are so hard to come up with these days

meta take: I sort of wish we could have a genuine conversation about the blurry line between wishful thinking/headcanon and more objective (or, aspiring to be objective) historical analysis – I get the headcanons, I really do! but just in the past year, there's been several instances of people in good faith asking about sources or questioning "fan favourite" anecdotes and being shouted down for "ruining people's fun". If you want to engage with this stuff in a more lighthearted way, that's fine! but accept that that's what you're doing. Being rude to people trying to get to the truth is not a good look. Your imagination can withstand it, I promise.

more people need to jump on the Day Tripper tinhatting train. shit's crazy up here

the more I listen to Double Fantasy the more I'm offended that a certain brand of John fan basically only names songs from 1970/71 as his best. ditto with Walls and Bridges…

Again And Again And Again: best Denny solo-written Wings song ( it's hard to gauge how much is him and how much is Paul for their collabs. Anyways, No Words my beloved)

Sexy Sadie is kind of perfect… The lyrics, the chords, the distorted doo-wop it all embodies that DISAPPOINTMENT so well. The guitar solo is great, the high-pitched oooooooooohs. No notes, underrated song for sure.

the Mind Games album cover is soooooo deranged but so fucking good. That and Ram might be the best post-Beatles album covers.

this isn't exactly a take but the SADDEST part of Hey Jude is when John harmonizes with Paul. I can't not hear all the unspoken pain.

I kind of hope we get versions of Free As A Bird and Real Love with cleaned up John vocals like Now And Then. I don't want to erase those originals because the audio quality tells a story of its own, but Real Love especially suffers so much from it. I listened to it earlier today and nearly got teary. "No need to be alone" kind of gives me goosebumps. There's something so raw and emotional about all three of these songs…

This is almost the opposite of a hottake, but it kind of Doesn't Matter To Me who Now And Then is about. It could be about Paul, it could pretty easily be about Yoko too, and a few people I've seen say they think it's about May, which could be too! It perhaps not being directed at Paul doesn't take away from the song for me, because the song feels bigger than just its direct inspiration.

On that note, I sort of think that sometimes people could stand to.... Die on fewer hills? Like, the notion that Now And Then could be about Yoko doesn't negate John and Paul's relationship or most things people theorize they may have gotten up to. Now And Then Release Week bonus round, cause it's been long enough to talk about it a bit:

Paul (and Ringo and George! they also have a writing credit, guys!) making editorial choices about John's unfinished song with the blessing of his widow is literally fine. "But John might not have approved–" yes, this is how death works. John also might have found the song embarrassing and not wanted it released at all. It wasn't on Double Fantasy after all! Or maybe he would have specifically wanted to remove the same bit! (which I maintain is musically strange and unfitting at worst and at best a still really rough idea that would probably require a lot of work in of itself – echoing the chord progression in the instrumental bit is the best compromise I could imagine)

I actually really get the George girls who were a bit bummed out by the rollout of the song. He DID get the short end in this situation! but… what would have been better? I saw some people say Paul isn't nearly as good a slide guitarist at George. Okay well then… So Paul should've hired a session musician? How does that makes sense? Paul should've asked Dhani to find some random guitar bit George recorded 25 years ago and frankensteined it onto this song? I'm asking this honestly: what should have been done instead? Because… I sort of got the feeling from some of the criticism that the only acceptable solution was to not release this song at all. And TBH I don't think George "getting the short end" is worse than not allowing Paul and Ringo the closure of completing this song. This wasn't perfect but again: yes, this is how death works.

[mariacallous]

If you’ve been paying even the slightest bit of attention, you know that the American Experiment took some gut punches over the last week.

Joe Biden – long considered the best hope for preventing another disastrous Donald Trump term – had a shockingly bad debate performance, looking and sounding every minute of his 81 years.

The tainted supreme court then declared, in essence, that a president is above the law, at least when acting in an official capacity. And that came on top of other high court decisions that have blasted away at the foundations of democracy in the United States.

And much of the mainstream news media continued their campaign of false equivalency – treating the president’s age as a worse problem than Trump’s criminality and authoritarian intentions.

But on this Fourth of July, I haven’t given up hope that we will right ourselves. And I’m far from alone.

There is encouraging news in every one of these troubled spheres – politics, justice and media.

I asked one of my favorite thinkers, the author and scholar Ruth Ben-Ghiat, an expert in how democracies can wither under authoritarian rule, for some help. I talked to others, too, especially those who are protecting the vote, fostering good journalism and working for justice.

Here’s what Ben-Ghiat told me: “Part of the reason for so much aggression from the GOP and the courts to take away our rights, including the right to free and fair elections, is because America is becoming more progressive, and Republicans cannot win without lies, threats and election interference, including assistance in that area from foreign powers.”

She sees the US participating in “the global renaissance of mass nonviolent protest against authoritarianism” and notes that, in 2017, we saw the biggest protest in the nation’s history – the Women’s March against Trump, which was then surpassed in 2020 by the Black Lives Matter protests, which involved more than 20 million people in multigenerational and multiracial demonstrations.

“These mass protest movements had electoral consequences in the 2018 and 2022 midterm elections,” she added, as many women, non-white and LGBTQ+ people were elected to office.

Ben-Ghiat is convinced that we are ripe for another round – and the stakes are higher than ever.

On the justice front, I’m not suggesting that we somehow set aside the terrible and hugely consequential decision that gives a president – guess who in particular? – immunity for his official acts.

But at the same time, the courts, including the jury system, are often functioning admirably, if not flawlessly. Just over a month ago, Trump became the first former US president convicted of felonies. Trump allies who wanted to charge that the courts have been weaponized found it harder to make that argument less than two weeks later when Hunter Biden, too, was convicted in a jury trial.

Mainstream journalism, as noted, often disappoints. The moderators of the CNN debate clearly should have been empowered by their network bosses to challenge Trump’s barrage of lies in real time. The stunning New York Times editorial calling for Biden to set aside his campaign for the good of the nation may have been well-reasoned, but it struck me as another example of targeting the president and letting Trump off the hook. To my knowledge, only the scrappy Philadelphia Inquirer has written a similar editorial about Trump.

Too much of the politics coverage is out of whack with reality. The media is baying for Biden’s head, but – with some exceptions – seems mostly bemused by Trump or at least habituated to how dangerous he is.

But there’s good news in journalism, too. Consider ProPublica’s essential reporting on Justice Clarence Thomas’s rotten ethics. Or the way many news outlets have revealed the threats of Project 2025 – the alarming and detailed plan by Trump allies to dismantle democratic norms should their leader win a second term.

I’m also heartened by young journalists who are making their way in a difficult career field.

“No matter what problem we’re talking about, good journalism is part of the solution,” said Jelani Cobb, the dean of Columbia Journalism School (where I run a journalism ethics center). “The young journalists whom we have the privilege to work with here are some of the sharpest, most committed and talented that I’ve ever seen.”

Their work “will be a ballast for democracy”, Cobb told me, “even amid the giant challenges in front of us right now”.

Most of all, I’m moved by the valiant efforts of many ordinary citizens. One friend, active in voter protection efforts, praised “all of the grassroots volunteers working to preserve democracy who I am sure will continue in all the ways possible if Trump wins”. She mentioned the flood of small-dollar donations that followed Biden’s debate debacle, and credited “the courageous judges, court personnel, jurors et al who are working, despite the risks to themselves, to see that justice is served in the cases against Trump”.

Will any of this matter when so much is going wrong and when the threats are so great? The screenwriter and former journalist David Simon offered a dour view this week: “Our American experiment is so over.”

More aligned with Ruth Ben-Ghiat’s big-picture view and the others quoted here, I remain hopeful, if not optimistic about the future of the United States.

On 4 July, at least, let’s remember that we’ve come a long way, and the journey isn’t yet complete.

[istherewifiinhell]

while im here, lets get this out the door. this one... is weird

[ID: An artificial life form that its in the shape of a large golden women's head declares herself. "...I am Auntie!" END]

tfuk arc Raiders of the Last Arc! getit? huh?? issues 18-21 early summer 1985.

Script: Simon Furman Art: Mike Collins and Jeff Anderson Colours: Gina Hart Letters: Richard Starkings (18,20,21) John Aldrich (19) Editor: Sheila Cranna Original Series Edits by Shelia Cranna and Ian Rimmer, Editorial notes and assistance by James Roberts, Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon, Collection Design by Shawn Lee

my eyes may be skimming the preambles at this point but i caught glimpse of something like "weird they never reprinted this one" bud. ill tell u why. its not very good. its not, horrid. its pretty much just. oh yeah. this is a marvel tf comic...

which, if you trying to make the argument that all tfuk are unique and sophisticated and BETTER than the US ones, or just tryna make a dollar on the iconic stories.... you skip this one!!!

but in this house, we support preservation and revisiting of ANY art. including if it flops. and today that means you'll get a few black and white panels. huh? isnt that neat. you excited???

we'll get to it all. But first. Lets check out the funny pages.

[ID: The back part of a panel with crudely drawn Autobots and Decepticons floating about, being restrained. Its charmingly goofy. END]

[ID: Jazz firing off his flamethrower and saying "Let's see if Jazz can make things hot for you Soundwave!" Soundwave, a little singed but unbothered replying "Very impressive,but my armour's more than a match for your weapon…a pity the same cannot be said of yours..!" END]

are you two... flirting?

anyway, ill bite. who's autie...

As her troops fell, the computerised brain of the Ark swung into operation… Auntie, as she had been nicknamed, evaluated internal defences, calculated probabilities and finally arrived at the only logical course of action…

oh...

[ID: Optimus looking towards an Ark security camera thinking "It would be another matter if the ark's defences were active, but Auntie controlled those directly…" He opens the door to a dark room, declaring to himself "Auntie! Of course! Until now, we've merely used the basic computer functions of the ark, but Auntie was far more than that… She was the Ark! If I can get her to even a fraction of her operational capacity… END]

oh. the space ship is a woman. right

[ID: Caption box: And if Windcharger could have seen the tableau unfolding in the nerve centre of the Ark, he might have felt his fears justified. Auntie, who in scale is at least twice the height of Optimus or Megatron, using an unseen force to hold them captive. Optimus pleads reason: You must believe me Auntie, you brought us here from Cybertron and you were damaged in the battle with those murderous Decepticons... Megatron lying: No! That isn't what happened. As I've already told you, we were on a mercy mission. The traitorous Autobots sabotaged it - Forced you to crash. END]

correction. the spaceship is now a crazy women who might kill them all. awesome. lol. THANKS TF <3 what i always wanted >_>... (even if i do like the chance to see my guy's rhetoric strategies)

anyway pause all that we have a buddy cop adventure (no 20)

[ID: Splash page that includes the arc title and creative credits. Windcharger and Ravage walking the halls of the arc, arguing. Caption boxes: Alone, Ravage And Windcharger Are unaffected by Auntie's magnetic force… They eye each other suspiciously, each suspecting treachery, each distrusting the other they are sworn enemies these two… But today they are Allies! Ravage: This goes against my every instinct! I dislike working with others at the best of times... But to have to fight alongside a puny Autobot..! Windcharger: Silence, you aggravating creature! I'm as unhappy with the situation as you… but for now it's unavoidable. Just keep those sensors of yours alert for… END]

they really like ravage in these comics lmao.

[ID: Ravage gloating, with destroyed machinery flaming and smoking in his mouth, one paw raised to hold it. He looks over his shoulder to Windcharger saying "There, impressed?" Windcharger looks aggravated. END]

SMUG BEAST. are YOU flirting.

[ID: B&W panel. Both reacting to something unseen, Ravage in a ready stance, possible aggressive or alarmed. Windcharger, slightly behind him looking scared/startled. END]

he said NO PICKLES!

okay back to the hostage situation

ID: B&W panels. Optimus and Megatron still surround by a field of energy restraining them. Optimus his eyes glowing, says "You fool, Megatron! Do you think for a moment that she'll let one of us just walk away? She's playing with us. Unless we break free she'll slaughter us all!" Megatron has a brow raised: Oh… I see. Yes, you could be right. Well, in that case… I may be able to set us free! END]

ACTUALLY. hysterical. sorry i see any extremely funny megs moments and im like. how beast wars of him. i like other meg's too but. fgsdj. well...

btw he has a connection to a black hole? always has?? its from the toy box or smth idk

[ID: In colour again. Caption boxes: Optimus Prime and Megatron await the judgement of Auntie. But, while she considers her verdict, Megatron concentrates... A strange, unearthly energy flows around him, threatening to engulf him... But he is Megatron, and he will make the power serve him! In full body, Megatron is tensed in effort, teeth grit. A dark and sparkling energy wreaths around him.

ENTER: his dark magical girl era....

[ID: Caption box: Megatron lands well, Optimus Prime does not! Smaller drawings, Megatron lands daintily on the point of one foot, his arms raised above his head, somewhat like a dancer. Optimus plummets like a heap, landing on his side, thigh and forearm slamming into the ground. END]

LOOK AT THIS SHIT. lol

[ID: Tiny drawing. Megatron hands still raised, gracefully. One hand wreathed in glowing energy, being directed near Prime, still on the ground. END]

hes a beauty, hes a grace, he wants... to melt your face.

oh yeah anyway ravage gets auntie

[ID: Caption box: But Ravage is faster... Ravage leaping passed or perhaps INTO Auntie's open mouth as she screams "Nooooo" Ravage tearing into whatever golden mechanical workings make up her physical being. Caption box: And Auntie 'dies' for a second time. END]

cool. i love what we did here today. really valuable addition to the lore. and a win for feminism

and then windcharger launched megatron out of the arc thru the volcano and into space. no yeah. he can do that i guess.

its dumb, tho also funny. it hates women. its comics. GOODBYE.

[ID: Tiny drawing of Ravage pouncing. END]

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hello. How are you?

My ask is around fashion, styling and BTS.

This ask stems from Tae’s recent shoots which seem to show him experimenting but to be honest, I liked his Veutiful shoot more. He has that Lord/Duke vibe and his face card is also apt for that sort of shoot. I didn’t like the blonde hair on him and find everything else quite on the nose. As if there’s a deliberate effort to show a different side. It seems uncomfortable and awkward.

So. Who has had the most amazing jaw dropping ‘glow up’ (it’s the only word that comes to mind but I mean in terms of style and fashion) according to you? And Sir Jung Hoseok is not an option. Jimin is also not an option 🤭 Though I am not a boba-min fan. I prefer his hair blonde/under cut/PTD Seoul era. His album shoot was something else. And the Tailor of Chaos shows what he can do. Now I want him to show us something edgier. I’m thinking paint and bare body.

***

You don’t like the blonde hair on Tae?

Really?

*

Well, I suppose that's just as well. I happen to love the blonde hair on him and think it suits him better now when his face structure is more defined than it was a couple years back. And rather than him looking uncomfortable or awkward in his recent styling, I think he photographs very well.

*

But that's the beauty of diverse opinion. Onto your main ask though... I can't mention Hoseok? Why?

And no Jimin?

Anon.... you're kinda taking the piss, aren't you?

But alright, I'll work within those parameters. Jin is out of the question since he's not really been around for much of Chapter 2 so far.

My first candidate for best glow up is Kim Taehyung.

I don't know if it's Jennie... toute la vitamine E qu'il a reçue en mangeant de la chatte the balmy summer weather but Tae in my opinion looks the best he's looked in years. I didn't really care for the suited-up preppy look he had in previous years so I'm loving that he's switched to more casual but fitted streetwear recently. In more editorial shoots, he's also styled very well. Seems like working with Celine has its perks in that sense. I understand we disagree on this note, but I do think Tae has had the best glow up.

After Tae, I have to say Namjoon. I mean...

Joon is very consistent in his styling so that's not where I'm seeing the glow up. It's in his build and carriage. I feel shorter hair suits him best and all the hours he's been spending in the gym are paying off handsomely.

I've also noticed his skin has cleared up in recent months too... so maybe he's changed his diet or something? Idk what it is but he looks so much more delicious now than just a few months ago. His campaign shoots for Bottega Veneta also suit him perfectly. I'm hoping we see more styling in this vein when he drops RM4.

Next up, Yoongi.

This Vouge shoot was both a plague and a godsend. Considered tying my tubes for fear I'd spontaneously get impregnated if I stared at his knees too long. The thing about Yoongi is, he knows what he's got. He knows that for regular people, knees are knees. But that for him, knees are pale, supple, sweet weapons of mass destruction. And he wields it without mercy. Not like his styling in Valentino has helped either. He's been on a mission to wreck balls and ovaries since Chapter 2 started and not even 6 ft tall NBA players are exempt. So yeah, A+ styling from Yoongi, but he's always had this edge so in terms of relative change a.k.a. glow up, he ranks behind the others.

And then there's Jungkook.

...I've been cautioned I'm too profane where baby star candy is involved so will just note that he's hot no matter what he wears and move on.

That's my view on their recent glow up in terms of fashion, styling and overall looks Anon.

[hergrandplan]

Hey Nina 💜,

1,4,5, 14 and 17 for the writers ask thingie

Gladly!!

The last sentence you wrote

Simon wishes he could do more for W., help him somehow. Refer him to another publisher, one who would see what he sees. But Simon doesn’t have those kind of connections.

Okay technically these are three sentences but otherwise it wouldn't make sense i hope you don't mind lol

4. A story idea you haven't written yet

Oh, I have many (too many, some would say) but I once had an idea where Party Prince Wille gets into big big trouble one night. He gets way too drunk at a club, and even gets photographed leaving with someone. The next morning, his mother shows him images of him leaving with none other than Simon Eriksson, Sweden's Sweetheart, hand fully on his ass in a definitely-not-friendly way. His mother is done with him ruining the image of the monarchy with all his fooling around. In order to straighten out his image, Wille and Simon have to pretend they're actually dating...

I'm not explaining this well but it's fun and messy I promise

5. First sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

"Plus, what right did they have to be there?"

14. Where do you get your inspiration?

I want to give the poetic answer and say shit like. All around me, the world, people on the train, but that's bullshit.

I get my inspiration from songs, a good 99% of the time (I stan very lyrical artists and that makes it so so easy)

17. Talk about your writing and editing process

Ooooh okay. Love this question!

Once I have an idea, like when that first flash hits me, I start writing immediately. Doesn't matter where I am; at home or at work or, once, literally walking the streets of New York. Cause once I have that idea, I usually at least have one or two fully fleshed out scenes in my head that I have to get out before I lose them.

After that, I usually let the stories marinate and sit and focus on other projects that are in a further stage of development. It's rare that I immediately write a whole story; editorial au really is the exception to anything really.

After that, I just pick up the story whenever I feel like it, but the beginning of writing is very much snippets in my notes, little random thoughts that hit me throughout the day.

When I sit down to write, depending on how fueled I am, I either write like 5k words in one go or 5. I try not to be too hard to myself during the writing stage; it doens't need to be good then (it really doesn't need to be good ever, but hey) it just needs to be Something. Words on a page. Any thoughts I have about the scene. Any time I get stuck, I write in a bracket what I want to do and move on. If I think about what I'm stuck on for too long I get stuck in writing and lose all motivation. It happens once or twice that I also don't have any ideas on what's supposed to happen after the scene I'm stuck on, but yeah, usually brackets.

I also talk to myself in the comments. If I'm hit with an idea about something I wrote earlier, the most I'll do is put a comment there about that idea, and go back to where I left off.

Sometimes I'll ask friends on opinions; discuss scenes or whether something a character does is actually in character. Talking really helps in working through hurdles, more so than I initially thought it would.

Often times when writing I think of my writing as too flat, but that's okay, because: editing is where I shine.

Now, given my profession this shouldn't have surprised me but I mean it that my best work is done in editing. That's where I get the sentences to flow, the pacing to work. I'll rewrite whole sections, and maybe it can seem like a waste of time, but those rewritings wouldn't be as good if there wasn't something that came before them. I take my time editing, making sure everything works, and then I send it off to my beta reader who reads it, works out those final kinks with me and then it's off to ao3!

(this all means it does take me ages to publish a story so thank you to everyone who's so patient with me lol)

Send me fic writer asks!

[polutrope]

15, 18, 19

Thank you for the ask! I hadn't forgotten this one, just got distracted.

15. A topic you never get tired of discussing

In-universe narrators (and translators!), and the historical traditions embedded in Tolkien's writings. Pengolodh. Ælfwine. Rúmil, Quennar Onotimo. The Numenóreans. Elemmíre, Maglor, Dírhavel. Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee. The Quenta, the Annals, the Lays. Laws and Customs of the Eldar (written by a Man btw!). The Anglo-Saxon translation of the Annals (not that I can read it). Who wrote them? Why? What are the differences between them? Why do they exist?

Just look at this passage from the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion!

Silmarillion  Ælfwine’s note These histories were written by Pengolod the Wise of Gondolin, both in that city before its fall, and afterwards at Tathrobel in the Lonely Isle, Toleressea, after the return unto the West. In their making he used much the writings of Rumil the Elfsage of Valinor, chiefly in the annals of Valinor and the account of tongues, and he used also the accounts that are preserved in the Golden Book. The work of Pengolod I learned much by heart, and turned into my tongue, some during my sojourn in the West, but most after my return to Britain. [Six lines of verse in Anglo-Saxon quoting Ælfwine] Translator’s note The histories are here given in English of this day, translated from the version of Eriol of Leithian, as the Gnomes called him, who was Ælfwine of Angelcynn. Such other matters as Ælfwine took direct from the Golden Book, together with his account of his voyage, and his sojourn in Toleressea, are given elsewhere.

Also: The out-of-universe textual history. Why did Tolkien write them? When? How has the posthumous Silmarillion been reconstructed from those pieces? How have Christopher Tolkien's editorial choices impacted how we read the Silmarillion?

Please, if you are also insane about this, DM me. I am desperate to talk about it more.

18. Something you initially did not like but came around to

Answered here (incest). Another one: Maedhros. Yes, just Maedhros as a character. Wouldn't say I actively disliked him, but I didn't get the hype. @melestasflight kept at me and changed my mind.

19. Give kudos to someone who leaves great comments

I can't not mention MoonLord, whose excitement is so infectious, whether it's on my fics or others'. But I really want to acknowledge @wanderer-on-the-steppe who gives the most thoughtful, insightful comments that are on the level of literary analysis.

I would also add you and @meadowlarkx in that same category.

[Spread Love Asks]

[cypress-punk]

Finished House of Leaves. Great book. Manages to be funny, terrifying, and deeply heartbreaking by turns. Poor Johnny Truant, if only he hadnt robbed his dead neighbors apartment. Then maybe he could have forgotten his mother.

I really loved the Navidson Record portions of the story. Really great imagery called up throughout. I especially enjoyed the relation of Exploration #5.

Truant's sections are more difficult because he's a fucking liar but I find that they echo a very specific theme: the man is lonely, deeply traumatized, and lacks control. He spins these tales of near nonsequitor sexual conquest and yet the woman he wants most he never has more than a cordial relationship with. She almost ends up mothering him. Which given what we learn of his relationship to his mother it makes sense the woman he's want most in the world would be a mother. Enigmatic on purpose. Whats true and what isn't? Does Zampano even exist or did Truant write all of this himself? How much of Zampono's story did he embellish and alter? How much of the book as we see it in our own hands can be taken as the manuscript he constructed from the notes in that trunk as opposed to the artifice of the actual real world author of the story?

Another thing I want to pull out of this book is this: authors. There are several authors behind each layer. Navidson creates the Navidson Record, which also contains two short sections created by Karen, his wife. Zampano creates his long treatise on the Navidson Record, and may have invented the Navidson Record whole cloth since it doesn't seem to exist in the layer of narrative reality he and Johnny share. Johnny creates the book we read, or so we are told. He edited it all together but given his propensity for complex and self contradicting lies he may very well have fabricated both Zampano and the Navidson Record himself. We can't even trust his autobiographical information. Even the primary documents about his own background are stated to have been edited, but could even have been forged. Did Truant fabricated his mother's letters? Its possible. We know he altered them at least to an unknown degree and end.

Then there are the two "silent" authors. Truant presents himself as the editor of the Zampano manuscript but ends up an author. He then passes it to unknown "editors" who appear in random footnotes. These editors are much more detached and professional providing basic framing and picking up Truant's pieces in places where his editing got incoherent or he gives up on a translation. Who are these guys? Are they actual editors or a persona Truant invented for himself? Have *they* altered this book in ways they don't admit and we can't detect?

The final layer is the layer of the real. House of Leaves as it sits on my shelf does not say "by Zampano, edited by Johnny Truant." It says "by Mark Z. Danielewski". And I mean, obviously. Obviously its all fiction and fabrication and concerns about what the editors or Truant did or did not do dont actually matter because this Swiss clock of a book is actually all fiction composed by one author. But it does a great job of making you forget that. Of letting you spin off into infinities about "truth" "editorial process" and "unreliable narrators" its designed to turn you into one of those nattering intellectuals that Zampano loves to cite and teaches you how to be one in the process of reading. The book is a trap, like the house was a trap. You have to find something to hold onto besides truth because, much as in Exploration #5, there isn't anything to stand on.

[hopeymchope]

But are you against the HP game in the end or getting annoyed with people arguing over it? People are only pleading that they boycott the game because jkr holds so much influence because of HP and is happily promoting a game that helps support her own bigotry. She herself is not a neutral figure on her stances her media she puts out takes, it banks on the hatred for several groups of people and funds the means to continuously endorse that hate to keep that ideology in power. There is no neutral side on this really. There are so many posts here that at the bare minimum to boycott the game altogether because in the end that's all those against her can do. And loudly being against it is to spread the word in refusal of being passively accepting of it. It's horrible feeling helpless against her so it's literally all that's being asked here and not to push the idea away that buying and 'just enjoying a game' is harmless thing to do.

Note: This is a response to this previous post.

Oy vey. I’m literally afraid to answer this ask, because if I say the wrong thing there’s a good chance people will label me an awful person. I’m gonna lose respect, care, and followers if I choose my words poorly. It is DANGEROUS to have an opinion on this shit right now. 

What I dislike is not only the pervasiveness of the intense arguing everywhere on the Internet, but also the extremism of the arguments. The calls of "you can't be trusted ever again/aren't my friend/aren't an ally if you don't share my position on this video game" is what I’m most particularly opposed to. 

When I made my attempt to summarize the argument, I didn’t want to take a side. But I do think that, at the very LEAST, we should be capable of saying “I can comprehend that other people interpret this situation differently than I do, and that doesn’t automatically make them a bad person and/or unworthy of my care.” ........... Weeellll, unless the other person’s argument is that they simply don’t care about trans people or how any of their actions may affect them. Or if their argument is that they actively want to support the game because they want to support hatred and TERFism. If that’s the argument, then obviously GTFO and do not pass ‘Go’ on your way. 

But I’m sure you can grok the gist of what I’m saying here — as long as you’re putting thought and good intentions into your stance, nobody should have to be instantly vilified or cut off because of said stance. Making such a declaration is a very extreme one. ... And yet it’s a declaration that seems to be weirdly common on this subject.

Furethermore, I also have to wonder: Why is THIS GAME the biggest, loudest hot-button issue on trans rights? SURE, I’ve seen some people say “Never buy anything Potter-related ever again and also trash everything based on HP that you currently own” in the past few years, but that’s been nowhere near as many people as I’ve seen calling to boycott this one game specifically. You don’t see this level of passion over every other piece of merch being shat out. Where’s the calls to make sure you avoid every year’s HP Hallmark ornaments or something... ? Why didn’t we hear this much uproar over skipping the movies when the last “Fantastic Beasts” came out? Though maybe the answer to that last one is obvious: Not that many people give a shit about “Fantastic Beasts” anymore. :P

Actually, a much bigger question: Why haven’t I ever seen or heard anyone say “Boycott all the Universal parks and resorts” given that Rowling is getting a percentage of every single goddamn ticket sold... ? That’s a HUGE influx of income for her. HUGE! It doesn’t matter if you don’t go to the Wizarding World section or don’t buy any of the related merch: Just going to Universal and buying a ticket to ride the Velocicoaster or whatever AUTOMATICALLY puts money in Rowling’s pocket. So where’s my editorials about that?

.......I swear, if we could mobilize even two-thirds as much rage and fury when parts of the country/world introduce new legislation to criminalize and/or forcibly detransition trans people, the trans community and its allies would become a force IMPOSSIBLE for any politician to ignore.

[hologramcowboy]

Well a lot of OG Boys fans who didn’t know who Jensen was before thought he did an amazing job as Soldier Boy and Karl Urban himself said he was extremely impressed by him so I think it’s a matter of opinion whether or not Jensen has the “acting chops” plus he just won an award for that role so again matter of opinion cause all the boys fans I know loved him and thought he did great

Why do you write "acting chops" in quotation marks? Do you know it's an actual craft with actual professional wo can actually define who does indeed have the chops? Is Jensen A list? I rest my case.

Let's learn to tell the difference between an average potrayal and a great actor and spread awareness about quality.

Depends on what sites you visit, the communities I'm a part of are industry centered and no one, I repeat, no one there praised Jensen. lol No talk about Soldier Boy being a life changing performance, however, Karl Urban does get praised.

Awards are mostly PR arrangements, you do know this, right? Also, who were the judges for the award he received? Because I didn't even hear about such award and, again, I'm on all the main industry channels.

I love that a lot of people according to you loved his performance but let's make an important observation: It's one thing what the GA perceives and another for an actor to actually reach success within his own industry and be praised by his peers.

To use an example, only another surgeon or people within the same industry can realistically appraise a colleague's work for it's true value, those on the outside who lack the knowledge can only make superficial considerations which may or may not be accurate because they don't experience what a certain procedure implies.

Another thing to note is people will praise this and that but unless they then BOOK said actor and ELEVATE him, it's all empty praise and 99% of the time fake. If people truly valued his performance then his SB role would have immediately lead to some meaty roles, plus magazine editorials, sponsorships, commercial deals and so on.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to burst your bubble but I think it's important to note that Jensen had a huge opportunity, he dilluted the character and failed to bank in on said opportunity because of this.

Also, sorry but no true TB fan will truly like SB as potrayed by Jensen because it's not faithful to the actual SB.

That being said, of course a lot of people will resonate with his portrayal simply because he is extremely photogenic, has a captivating presence and good comedic timing, also when he wants to, he can truly act effectively. But let's not confuse a generic tv performance for a stellar one because that's a disservice to all Actors who truly do put their soul into each role and it's also setting Jensen up for unrealistic expectations and hype that will make him look like a fraud in the eyes of his buyers that know full well how to measure his skill level and readiness for any tier.

[minorhoursmagazine]

Issue 29, containing: Housekeeping (Nondiagetic), An Interesting Method for Skimming Wax, Some Advice for Those Seeking the Northwest Passage, A Partial Guide to Avoiding Casual Poisonings, Letters, Commonplaces, &c.

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

SOME EDITORIAL NOTES

A new year, and here we are. Welcome. There's fresh bread from the oven, with which I have just eaten a slathering of local maple butter, and with which I will later make a deeply hedonistic grilled cheese.

I will attempt to keep my concentration on the writing of these articles, rather than the promise of dairy yet to come.

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

HOUSEKEEPING (NONDIAGETIC)

I sometimes think about the inaccuracy of the subtitle of this microzine-- which, if you'd rather not stare too closely at the miniature text in the header, reads in part:

"a newsletter of miscellany, fiction, and art"

(I am omitting my name from the subtitle, as, if I had my druthers, I would not list a name at all, but rather credit this whole venture to an anonymous collective of Editors bravely trying to rein in an errant essayist who seems hellbent on style over substance.)

(Also I have been reliably informed that I should, quote, "get over it.")

Of the numerous things currently annoying me about the subtitle, above and beyond naming conventions, there is also the use of the terms "newsletter," "fiction," and "art."

("Miscellany" may survive the cull, because it is both accurate and also a pleasant word to say.)

(Miscellany. Mys-cell-aye-nie. It looks like Arkham might loom behind it while the scent of salt and cold brine inexorably rises in a grey and creeping mist.)

"Newsletter" is doesn't feel right, though I haven't quite determined what might be closer. "Fiction," regardless of the actual content of some of these articles, doesn't feel accurate either. And "art," even assuming a gentle reader might deem my photographs as such, was always a stretch.

And so while the header remains as it is for the moment, a change is on the wind. I've been spending an even greater amount of time than usual reading through the older magazines and publications that The Minor Hours seeks to emulate, and, to the Editors' horror, I must confess that the feral urge to use the word "diuerse" grows stronger by the day.

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

AN INTERESTING METHOD FOR SKIMMING WAX

As long-time readers may recall, part of my overall journey toward kitchen witchery and experimental archaeology has involved finding and working out the recipes behind historical foods, cosmetics, and home goods.

The most recent of these that exist within the "fairly complete now, thank you" category is the recipe I've worked out for a pomatum suitable for the lips, variants of which I've found in several old scanned and OCR'd texts, with the mid-1600s being the earliest occurrence so far (and somehow involving-- grapes?) and the latest appearing in and around the 1710s.

I would share that recipe but, sadly, I have done so elsewhere; instead, let me share a stranger revelation: the matter of wax, and its cleanup.

One batch of this pomatum requires an ounce of beeswax. I have lately been made aware that beeswax is not a grease, and therefore dish soap has no power over it; it is also not a fat, but woe be to those who seek to pour it down a drain, lest it solidify just as much as a fat might when cooled.

Following the recommendations of those who have come before me in the modern age, I have instead tried to boil the wax off of whatever objects they come in contact with. This works-- to a degree. Since the wax does not magically disappear, I can at best only transfer the wax from one object (my pomatum-making tools) to another (the large pot I found at the thrift store and am sacrificing for the greater good to the wax gods).

There is, however, an intermediary step: skimming.

As the wax melts in the boiling pot, it leaves its moorings and floats to the top of the heated water. From there, a small mesh strainer, as one would use to hoist out a dumpling or, indeed, skim the top of some liquid creation, can be used in a nice repetitive manner to remove the majority of the melted wax.

--Or.

I found, as I skimmed, that I wasn't truly gathering everything. I knew this to be the case because using the strainer was actually my second attempt at collecting wax. The first was the slow but incredibly effective method I found while hunting around to begin with: that of the Cold Metal Spoon.

Take a metal spoon and, in its bowl, set an ice cube (or however many should fit in it). The metal now instantly chilled, draw the back of the spoon across the top of the hot, waxy water. The wax, hitting the cold spoon, will immediately cool and cling to the metal, allowing you to collect far more wax that the mesh strainer managed.

As a demonstration, behold:

Fig. 1. The back of an as-yet-unwaxed spoon.

Fig. 2. Spoon avec ice.

Fig. 3. Besmirched!

Fig. 4. The lady, half revealed.

I am, overall, extremely pleased with this method, and only seek now to find a significantly larger metal ladle.

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

SOME ADVICE FOR THOSE SEEKING THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE

Pack a compass.*

* While the pointing Hand of Franklin† has been listed under "Preferred Equipment," it will not be available for the foreseeable future.‡

† No note was made of the properties of the non-capitalized hand of Franklin, and it is therefore excluded from these pages.

‡ This is largely because the body of John Franklin§ is also not available for the foreseeable future.

§ Further, it should be made clear that the Hand of Franklin, regardless of its present location, would be contaminated with lead, botulism, and possibly toothmarks, none of which have been found to be reliable aids to navigation.

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

A PARTIAL GUIDE TO AVOIDING CASUAL POISONINGS

With the success of the lip pomatum, I've found myself eager to explore historical recipes further. This leads, unfortunately, to two additional concerns: (1) determining the modern-day equivalent of various ingredients, and (2) ensuring that those same ingredients are not, in fact, poisonous.

[Interestingly, the tertiary concern of "is it legal to seek out or possess these ingredients" does not appear to have made this list. -Eds.]

Even the pomatum itself required some of this research.

Fig. 5. A recipe containing two bad ideas and one very good way to explode a fine mist of wax over one's entire kitchen.

Of the bad ideas, let it be said that:

Fresh butter was an English addition to this receipt. The original French listed sweet almond oil, which contains significantly less likelihood of poisoning the users of the pomatum through molds, bacteria, and the general horror of applying butter to one's face.

Orcanet required some study, but revealed itself to be an older spelling of alkanet, or what we now might purchase under the name alkanet root, Alkanna tinctoria, or ratan jot. While it is a popular colorant for the makers of "natural" cosmetics, there is some concern regarding what happens to the livers of people who ingest it, and it therefore seems unwise to include in a lip balm.

(Hilariously, the receipt itself only lists orcanet as necessary for thickening-- and assuming that that was the case, I replaced it with powdered arrowroot and went about my business. However, in researching alkanet, I didn't see any particular mention of thickening properties... but I did see that while in alkaline solutions, alkanet turns blue, in acidic solutions -- such as any that might contain orange-flower water and sweet almond oil -- it turns a lovely shade of crimson.)

(But it was included in this receipt only, of course, for thickening.)

Of the good way to explode one's kitchen, let it be said:

An important lesson can be learned regarding the application of room-temperature hydrosols to a wax-and-oil mix heated to somewhere above 145 degrees Fahrenheit.

The lesson is "don't."

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

LETTERS

Received by the Magazine via a Dream, Probably, "On the Subject of Mountains":

To the Editors:

While we acknowledge your appropriate appreciation of our regality [Issue 28, "Regarding Mountains" - Eds.], we wish you to know that we of course hold a deep interest in the termination of human lives. We merely do not feel the need to be as obvious about it as our young neighbors to the east. Murder is folded into our orogeny. We cordially invite you to visit again any time to explore further.

Sincerely,

The White Mountains

******

From the Editors, to The White Mountains, "We Had to Look Up the Word 'Orogeny'":

The Editors would like to humbly, and from a distance, like to apologize for continuing to think of you as the Green Mountains, due to the unfortunate necessities of nomenclature and the observances of faith required by certain large and bloodthirsty deities previously referenced.

Having now completed the niceties, we would also like to relate that we have been reliably informed that our mountains are stronger, more shredded, and could kick all your asses if you were inclined to meet in the parking lot after school.

We trust that this letter meets you in good health and with kind regards, -The Editors

******

Received by the Magazine through Diuerse Worrying Methods, "As It Pertains to Sleeping in New Places":

Dear Editors:

Please accept our apologies re: the moving of everything to the Wrong Place. [Issue 28, "Sleeping in New Places" - Eds.] AirBnB guests keep moving things, and we hate it. Our malevolence is restricted only to them, not to guests of the family.

Telekinetically yours,

The Ghosts of the House

******

From the Editors, to The Ghosts of the House, "Ghost Are Often Memories, Accessed in Ways Both Strange and Humbling":

The Editors have cause to remember other guests in the House-- of which one, more kin to you than the others, decided to wander to the familial cemetery to visit a little while with the dead. It was dark out, and the land rolling underfoot, and they declined a lantern for the way.

Being of a narrative inclination, this struck the Editors unwise; being sadly entrenched in a world that rarely requires the services of the genre-savvy, we can only assume that that which returned from the graves matched in all particulars the person who had left.

It is wise, sometimes, to let the ghosts have their way with things, and to have a healthy respect for howsoever they might wish to conduct their business. To that end the Editors would like to assure the Ghosts of the House that they felt as welcome as any traveler could hope, and that they very definitely won't report any strange activities their Kin might engage in of a ghost-like or alternately-revenant nature.

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

COMMONPLACES

From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":

>>Woman: A LAKE OPENED UP INSIDE MY CHEST. >> Woman: I THOUGHT WOW, THAT'S NEW. NEVER HAD A BODY OF WATER IN ME BEFORE.

******

From Jessica Hayworth, "story about a lake I did recently":

>>Interviewer: DID YOU HAVE TO INVITE IT INSIDE? >>Woman: I DON'T THINK A LAKE ASKS PERMISSION. >>Interviewer: [laughing] NO. NO IT PROBABLY DOESN'T. >>Woman: [laughing] IMAGINE THAT. >>Both: "HELLO I AM YOUR LAKE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN YOUR LAKE. >>Both: "OPEN UP PLEASE. OPEN." >>Both: "OPEN SESAME."

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

ANNOUNCEMENTS

I'm going over-long as it is, but it should be noted that there are New Tiers on the Patreon, which I will probably talk about at some point. I make no promises as to when, however, because time is a lie.

Welcome to 2023. I'm going to go make a grilled cheese.

******

If you would like to write a letter to be produced/answered in the magazine, please email me at minor.hours.magazine@gmail.com with the subject line:

Letter to the Magazine: [subject of letter as you would like to see it printed]

If you wish the letter to be anonymous or under a nom de plume, please state so in the body of the email; similarly, if you'd rather not be printed at all, please also state so in the body of the email. It will otherwise be assumed that mail sent to that address is intended for print.

Alternately, commenting on the Patreon post will get you a similar result, with much less fuss.

******

As always, you can find me at my regular website, katherinecrighton.com, or sometimes via twitter, at @c_katherine.

To support the magazine and get it delivered directly to your inbox, join the Patreon.

-Until next week, be safe.

[in-collection]

Hi I'm 639 and sometimes I make typesets (ᐛ)

IN is a collection of those typesets. I make a copy for myself & you can do the same. I have the PDFs on a drive and a handy tutorial on this blog (both linked below) so you can download, print & bind 'em yourself if you so desire. You can also just download the typeset and simply view the whole thing on your screen instead of printing it.

The work here is in the text & the typography, meaning on the inside of the book. On the outside the cover is standardized to create a unified collection. This also means that you are free to take simply the inside, ditch my cover and make a different one if you want! Or a different binding, or whatever you want to do. Please just don't remove the credits that are inside somewhere! Enjoy.

Asks always open for printing/binding help, typesetting and editorial and graphic design matter, or any other questions.

Thanks to the authors for letting me typeset their work & thanks to @vitaminholland for the help with the gallery.

See the this post for the navigation which is also explained below:

GALLERY - the ultimate way to see the typesets do not miss it (but only on desktop)

DOWNLOAD THE TYPESETS - the drive. see what file to download for what purposes below

HOW TO PRINT & BIND / ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW - what the fuck are all these PDFs, which do I take & how do I print cut & bind them

RESSOURCES - references, inspirations, cool things in typography, book design, fanbinding and graphic design

BOOK DESIGN COMMISSION INFO - i do book design commissions. Note those commissions are not part of IN. can be for any kind of book.

[transienturl]

a few things from around the internet re: Palestine. first, from the international court of justice (most tumblr users, I imagine, will have seen this one):

second, a bit of reporting summarizing the statements made by US congresspeople; the numbers are spectacularly bad, but also underscore that things are substantially worse with republicans free to call the shots (and if you just read a few statements by typical republicans this is immediately backed up). note both the splits here and the "At odds with the public" section.

third, I made some attempts to find the unscripted statements of potential vice presidential candidates (or presidential, but it seems pretty clear that coalescing around Harris as the presidential candidate is the most likely successful path forward on that front). there isn't a ton. I don't think we can intuit a true commitment to Not Doing A Genocide from any of them given this political climate, but they do mostly sound like they fall slightly to the left of Biden?

example clip from 2019, from then-candidate Buttigieg. (aside: man, do you remember when politicians could speak off-the-cuff and sound like political leaders? there are better things they could sound like—hi, Sanders—but wow has it been proven that there are many worse.)

fourth, from last year: I was shocked to learn about this.

political litmus tests are bad if they don't lead to outcomes that are any more aligned with the moral reason behind the litmus test, but "not voting for this" sounds like the most basic of litmus tests that could possibly exist. the fact that this passed is an indictment of my country no matter what the history of the "from the river to the sea" phrase is. christ.

the fact that is passed is, though, notably, due to 212 republicans and 22 democrats. there is a huge difference here.

if I may editorialize: my read on the positions on Palestine of most democrats spans a spectrum between strategic weasel-wording for ultimately the right reasons, general spinelessness, and a lack of understanding. my read my read on the positions on Palestine of most republicans, somewhat to my surprise, hovers around "reveling in abject cruelty."

a huge amount, possibly the majority, of usamerican citizens, will be on the right side of history here. the UN will be. US politicians, on a whole, I'm not so sure of. but it doesn't sound to me like the left withdrawing from the elections as a protest to this will send the desired message; what it sounds like it'll do is get anyone who's left with the spine to stand up against genocide bullied out of their ability to speak.

this is not something I am particularly well-informed about, but based on those reads and the importance of all of this, I think it's extremely important that I vote for the democrats I have the ability to, and I think if you're usamerican, you should too.

fifth: we have got to keep her in congress.

(tell me what uspol keywords you filter and I'll add them to uspol posts)