#Jamie writes stuff

[jassandratrash]

Let’s Be Real Here

The beginning of tonight’s episode was like watching half of the Jassandra fanfiction come to life.

[heller-obama]

There’s Nothing Wrong With Me (This is How I’m Supposed to Be)

Wowww, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic directly onto tumblr. I actually posted this on ao3 like 3 months ago but I guess I just forgot to post it here lol. Well here y’all go, here’s that one merthur fic I wrote like 3.5 months ago! Ao3 link

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“Right, you filthy vermin.” The slave trader (Jarl, perhaps?) said, looking down at them in more ways than one. “Which one of you is ready to face my champion in the arena?” No one answered him immediately - and not that he gave them much time to.

“No volunteers?” the man asked again, as if that would prompt someone to step up. “Well, I shall have to choose one of you myself, then.” Arthur felt the man’s eyes drag across the small mass of men. “How about…” His stomach began to sink when his gaze landed in his direction. “You?” His finger stopped right next to Arthur, and his stomach plummeted. Like the rest of the prisoners, he looked for the man who was unfortunate enough to be picked - although he already knew who it was.

Merlin blinked at Jarl, as if he couldn’t believe he was chosen out of all the strong, warrior-type men he was surrounded by. “Me?”

Jarl put his hands on his hips. “Death or glory, boy? You should be honoured.”

“But, I—” He started before Arthur cut him off.

“I volunteer,” he yelled up at their captor, subconsciously placing himself in front of Merlin and in between his servant and the dangerous slave trader that was trying to put him into harm’s way - something that definitely did not escape the man’s notice.

“You volunteer?” he chuckled. “I’m sorry, it’s a little late for that.”

“Well, you wanted a volunteer, so here I am. Unless your idea of entertainment is your champion crushing nothing but weaklings like this?” He heard Merlin protest weakly behind him, and he stomped on his foot as discreetly as possible to shut him up. He hoped his face was his regular mask of arrogance and not the complete and utter panic he felt inside. He couldn’t let Merlin fight this “champion,” he just couldn’t—

Jarl squinted down at him. “You think you can offer a better contest?”

“I guarantee it.”

“Arthur, no,” Merlin said quietly behind him, as if Arthur was a dog - or that he'd actually listen.

The slave trade laughed again. “Very well. Your friend will not fight my champion today.” Arthur felt himself release the breath he didn’t know he'd been holding. “Instead, he will fight you.”

Rough hands unceremoniously threw Arthur and Merlin into the “arena,” which was really just a round area bordered by other men hungry to see the two prisoners fight. Arthur almost couldn’t hear himself think, the crowd was roaring and cheering so loud.

“Gentlemen,” Jarl said, rising from his throne and immediately quieting the roars from the men around them. “The rules are simple. One man lives, one man dies.” Loud, raucous cheering rose up from the crowd once more; ending as soon as it started. “If you cannot or will not off your opponent, I shall kill you both.” More cheers rang out across the room as Jarl tossed two (quite shoddily made, if Arthur did say so himself) swords in front of himself and Merlin.

Arthur looked at Merlin and saw the same fear and apprehension shown in his face as he felt himself, which was comforting, in some strange way. He then looked down at the swords and snatched one up for himself, delaying swinging at Merlin until he was sure that his servant could parry it.

Merlin did parry his strike, although it was rather slow and weak for his tastes, and he wasted as much time as he could before launching another strike, backhand this time, and then another one overhead as slow as he could without raising suspicion. His next strike caught Merlin’s blade so that he could pull Merlin towards himself.

“Take it easy, will you?” Merlin ground out as he was pulled against Arthur, trying to pull his blade out from under Arthur’s.

Arthur shot him a look that he hoped said, keep fighting, you arse. “It’s got to look real, hasn’t it?”

Merlin shot him a glare in return that he knew meant he understood, so he finally leveraged his sword so that Merlin was shoved away from him and into the vicious crowd. They shoved him back with an equal amount of aggressiveness, and Arthur attacked him with several strikes he knew Melin couldn’t keep blocking; his parries were already becoming progressively weaker.

Arthur let Merlin strike him this time, and when he did, he responded in another blow that pulled Merlin towards him.

“I refuse to kill you,” Arthur grumbled as Merlin’s elbow nearly caught him in the face.

“If you don’t, he’ll kill the both of us, clotpole,” Merlin shot back.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” Merlin fixed him with another snarky glare and attempted to move away from him so that he could launch another strike, but somehow, the bumbling idiot managed to trip over the flagstones, lose his sword, and trip Arthur in the progress.

Arthur thanked the gods that the way it happened looked as if Merlin lost his balance and that Arthur used the chance to try to pin him on the ground.

He landed on top of Merlin, both of them grasping at each other’s faces half-heartedly, trying to get the upper hand. The crowd went wild, rushing forwards to get as close to the two fighters as possible.

“What next?” asked Merlin.

“There was no ‘next,’” He scoffed, but before Merlin could respond, Jarl pushed through to the edge of the bloodthirsty crowd.

“Finish him!” Bellowed Jarl.

Merlin shot him a panicked look and a lightbulb seemingly went off in his head as it was replaced with a resigned expression. “Please don’t hate me,” He muttered, and before Arthur could say anything like I could never hate you or something monumentally stupid, like I couldn’t hate you, I love you, Merlin muttered something else, powerful, foreign words that automatically sent a spike of fear into his heart. “Forbærne æltæwelice!” Sure enough, his eyes glowed gold for a few seconds, and suddenly, the flames on the torches doubled and tripled in size, lighting the ropes hanging from the ceiling on fire.

The men in the crowd scattered, causing chaos to erupt in the room and giving them what would be the perfect chance to escape, had Arthur been able to do anything but stare at his manservant in complete and utter shock.

“Get up, you daft twat!” Merlin nearly yelled, rolling out from under Arthur and dragging him to his feet.

He let himself be dragged along and through the crowds, his mind still processing what had happened in the arena. Merlin has magic? Was just one of the many thoughts that were pressing against his head, desperate to escape. The only thought that was more pressing than that was Merlin lied to me, has been lying to me, for the whole time I’ve known him. And then: But did I ever really know him?

He must’ve been more lost in thought than he realized because soon he was running into the forest, Melin dragging him along, with Gwaine at his side, holding the swords they both dropped after their “fight.” They kept on going until Merlin was wheezing so hard he could barely go on, and Gwaine forced them to take a break.

Without waiting for any of their party to catch their breath (including himself), his anger overwhelmed him and he stalked over to Merlin and got into his face, nearly shoving him up against a tree. “What the bloody hell was that, Merlin?” He was so close to Merlin that he could see every single little microexpression on his face; from the total fear that flashed in his eyes like the gold that appeared when he did magic to the way his throat moved as he gulped heavily.

“Arthur, I—” Merlin started, his voice quiet and shaky, but Gwaine interrupted him.

“Arthur, I think you need to calm down. Whatever Merlin did, I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding.” Gwaine said behind him, his voice low and calming, as if he was trying to soothe a frightened horse.

Arthur whirled around to face him. “‘A big misunderstanding’? The fact that Merlin is a sorcerer is a little bit different from your bar brawls, Gwaine. Don’t try to involve yourself with things that don’t concern you.”

To his merit, Gwaine looked taken aback as well. “Merlin? A sorcerer?”

Before he could explode any further on the other man, Merlin interrupted them both. “I was born with it!” Yelled Merlin, the desperation and hurt coloring his words so much that Arthur pivoted back around and took a step back.

He said quietly, “What?”

“I never chose to practice magic,” Merlin tried again, his voice its usual level now. “I’ve been levitating things since I could walk. Before I even said my first words, I’d already nearly set my mother’s rocking chair on fire.”

“That’s not possible,” he muttered. All sorcerers chose to practice magic, and if not for evil purposes, they soon were corrupted by it anyways. If there was one thing his father taught him, that would be it. “Have you just been conning me all this time?” Making me fall madly in love with you? He refrained from adding. “What was your plan? To gain my trust until I became king and then manipulate me towards your own goals?”

“Are you kidding me?” His friend - no, the sorcerer - scoffed. “I’ve only ever used my magic to save your royal arse.”

“Bollocks. I would’ve known, I would’ve realized.”

Merlin let out a bitter laugh, one that was so different from the one that Arthur was used to hearing that he nearly couldn’t believe that Merlin could make that noise. “I’ve been saving your arse with magic since before I was your manservant.” He started counting names off on his hand. “Lady Helen, Sir Valiant, Sofia and Aulric, Nimueh - several times, mind you, Cornelius Sigan, Morgause - every single time she shows her face, the Great damned Dragon, just off the top of my head.”

Arthur’s jaw hung open. Not that it dropped open dramatically, like in the bard’s stories, but he opened it to ask a question or just to say anything, but nothing came out and it just opened wider and wider. He tried to say something several times, to no avail, before he finally managed to get a few words out. “You bloody idiot.”

“Excuse me?” Squawked Merlin indignantly.

“You blatantly used magic in Camelot, of all places, so close to the king, who executes anyone rumoured of consorting with a sorcerer?”

Merlin scratched the back of his head, an almost sheepish look crossing his face. “I—Yeah.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?” He took a step forward again, bringing him nearly nose-to-nose with Merlin.

“To protect you! Yeah, at first, it was because it was my destiny; I could never fathom how anyone could ever stand you, but then it was because I couldn’t bear you getting hurt when I could’ve protected you!” By the end of his tirade, he was nearly shouting and his breath was coming quicker - well, quicker than it was before, with the deep breaths they were still taking from their speedy exit from the decrepit castle.

Arthur chose to ignore the first half of Merlin’s rant, and he got a rather warm feeling in his chest from the second half. “Did you ever stop to think that I feel the same way? That if I had to stand and watch you get burnt on the pyre because my father executes everyone suspected of using sorcery that I would never forgive myself for not doing everything I could to protect you and that you got caught using sorcery because of me?”

Arthur watched as a myriad of emotions played out on Merlin’s face; first shock, then disbelief, and finally a look that was filled with such intense fondness that he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

Merlin’s voice was so quiet that he had to lean in a fraction more to hear him, enough so that their noses were touching, now, less than a hairbreadth of space between them. “You would?”

He let out a little huff of breath. “Yes. I thought I made that pretty damn clear—”

Apparently, Merlin had no intentions of letting him finish that sentence, as he moved his face forward a little bit more until their lips were touching and slotted together and suddenly Arthur was kissing back and he pushed his servant - no, Merlin wasn’t his servant right now, he was his best friend and (hopefully soon) his lover - against the tree. He’d be damned if he said this wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever had and nothing else mattered except the two of them - that is, until Gwaine let out a shrill wolf-whistle behind him.

He broke the kiss and let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Dear God, we forgot about Gwaine.”

Merlin let out a small laugh as well, and Gwaine’s wolf-whistle made way for cheering and laughing from the third man. “Oh, bugger off, Gwaine!” Merlin complained, somehow sounding both defeated and lighthearted at the same time. Gwaine - predictably - wasn’t deterred, and his laughter just grew louder.

“Just…go collect some firewood or something!” Arthur ordered him, not bothering to turn his face away from Merlin’s.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Gwaine drawled, and though Arthur couldn’t see him, he was positive that the man added a mocking bow to punctuate his statement before stalking off into the woods. Once he was sure that Gwaine was definitely out of earshot, he leaned his forehead into Merlin’s and started laughing, with Merlin soon joining him.

“Where did we manage to find him again?” He muttered.

“He saved your sorry arse, as I remember it,” Merlin retorted playfully.

“My arse did not need saving!”

“Oh, it most definitely—”

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” Arthur almost didn’t let him finish that one word by resuming their kiss, relishing in the fact that he’d finally figured out a reliable way to shut his best friend up.

*^*^*^*

Well there y’all go! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!!

[crimesofadeadpool]

Wad up man! Number 16 with the couple i'm sure you can absolutely guess from me :D *cough cough*spideypool*cough cough* Thank you!

Spideypool?? Dammit I could’ve sworn you were Deadpool/Outlaw shipper“I did a pregnancy test.”Wade was standing in the middle of the room as Peter entered, a strangled look on his face. Peter blinked at him. Walked over to the counter and dropped the shopping bags down. Started unpacking. “Didn’t you hear me?” Wade almost shrieked. Peter took a deep breath, leant against the counter. “Wade.”Wade was pleading him with his eyes. “Please don’t leave me.” Peter gave him a skeptical look. “You’re....’pregnant’.” Wade nodded, wringing his hands. Peter looked him over and sighed, crossing the room to give him a hug. “You’re not pregnant,” he told him softly. “I am,” Wade told him. “I did like fifty pregnancy tests.”“You’re a guy.” “Backaches,” Deadpool started listing. “Headaches, tender breasts. Morning sickness.”“You’re not pregnant.” Peter’s face scrunched up. That list sounded- “Are you quoting Jake and Amir.”Wade blinked at him. “Well yes,” he told him, “when I figured out I could be pregnant I went to a reliable source-”“A comedic webseries for college students.”Wade nodded as if Peter wasn’t pointing out a huge flaw in his plan. “But I did the pregnancy tests correctly,” he informed Peter. “I’ve watched too many dramas to mess up that part.”“I’m going to strangle you.”“The mother of your unborn child?”  Peter groaned and grabbed his hands. “Have you been in contact with any weird magic lately.”Wade shook his head. “Have you switched genders or anything?” Wade shook his head again.“Wade, you are male. You don’t have a womb.”“We have room.”Peter glared at him. “Now you’re quoting Big Train.” “I can’t help it,” Wade wailed. “I’m scared.” Peter closed his eyes and opened them again. “How far along do you think you are?” “I don’t know, a few weeks?” “Right.” Peter disappeared into the bedroom. “Please don’t be packing your things, please don’t be packing your things.”Peter came back with an instrument in hand. “This is basically a life form scanner,” he told Wade. “Stay still.” He pressed the button. A few seconds later it beeped. “Well??” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’re not pregnant. And just for kicks,” he pressed another button, and it beeped again. “Yeah, no womb, you’re physically incapable of getting pregnant.” Wad clasped his hands together in silence.Then he jumped into Peter’s arms. “We’re not pregnant!” he squealed. Peter rolled his eyes.“You won’t have to get a second job, I won’t have to quit mine, we won’t have to quit our deviant ways.”“That wasn’t going to happen anyway.”“Oooh, Peter,” he swooned. “I need you to be gentle, this pregnancy scare has really taken it out of me.”Peter sighed and kissed the top of his head.*snort* Poor Wade. Haha, I couldn’t find a link to the Big Train scene, since Big Train wasn’t that popular or something and there’s only really the full episodes on YouTube, and I don’t know what ep it was. But the Jake and Amir scene is hereSo yeah~ Send me two or more characters and a number and I’ll write a drabble / ficlet.

[geekygothgirl]

Soooo I lost my job on Monday because my company overhired and they started their cuts with people on working holiday visas. Which means until I find another job, I'm gonna have time to write. Anybody up to beta read a novel about lady superheroes in the 1940s? It will involve queerness and a racially and physically diverse cast of chicks, so if that's not your thing you might want to decline, but this was supposed to be my NaNoWriMo before November became super duper crazy at work and if I'm gonna be funemployed I want to make the best of it and I need victims to foist my stuff on. PM me if you're interested, reblog if you aren't but think your followers might be. Thanks, darlings! 

[ghost-matter]

-aggressively creates huge playlist of obsessive love songs to assist with writing freakishly dark unhealthy relationship saga -

[heller-obama]

Coming Out

So this is my submission for the 2019 Fic Exchange that @b99fandomevents organized so amazingly. The prompt was Rosa’s POV for coming out for @yaboring-yabasic!

Okay so this is almost late, but seeing as it’s 10 pm, I still make the deadline? Not really sure. I’m sorry this is short and almost late and probably shitty but the fic I was writing was awful and last night I just /scrapped\ the entire thing and wrote this in two nights because this idea was much better. And, of course, I just happened to be busy for like the past month straight and now I’m on a family vacation with like two dozen other relatives, and I could barely find time to write. EXCUSES!

I hope you enjoy your fic!

Words—1,100

Warnings—none really but there’s a lot of alcohol and Hitchcock is an asshole for about .5 seconds

Rating—T(I think—it’s just slight swearing and alcohol)

Editing—minimal, I’m so sorry

***

I was talking on the phone with Lexa, my current girlfriend, when Boyle interrupted. “I got to go.”

“Love you, Rose. Bye.” Lexa said over the line.

Boyle was staring at me, waiting for me to finish my call, and I coughed awkwardly. “Yeah, uh, me, too. Bye, Lex.”

Boyle stared at me, a knowing smirk growing on his face. “Ooh, who’s ‘Lex’, Rosa?”

I shoved my phone in my pocket, avoiding his stare. “Just a friend, Boyle.”

“A friend? A guy friend?”

“They’re not a ‘guy friend’.” At least that’s not a lie, I thought guiltily.

Boyle crossed his arms in that almost sassy way he does. “Totally. Lex is just your friend. Nothing else.”

I stood up and pushed past Boyle, a bit harsher than normal. “That is what I said.”

***

Boyle did not stop bugging me for the entire trip.

At his cousins’ house, the RV, the car, there was always the “so tell me about Lex, Rosa”, “did you talk to Lex today?”, and the absolute worst, “you and Lex should come on a double date with Genevieve and I one time, Rosa! It’d be so much fun!”.

Finally, the trip was over and I thought I was free at last. But no. The topic of Lexa came up every few hours, each phrased a little differently.

“So when are we going to meet Lex, Rosa?” Boyle asked as I made my coffee in the break room one day.

I’d had enough. “You and me. Drinks tonight at Shaw’s. I’ll tell you all about Lex.”

Boyle looked taken aback, like he didn’t actually expect me to respond like that. Or at all, really. “Sounds great!”

***

“Barkeep, some whiskey, no ice.” I asked the bartender behind the bar, a girl—probably a college student—with tan skin and jet-black hair tied back in a tight ponytail.

“Of course. That’s a strong drink, Detective. Big night?” She said cheerfully. She walked over to the bottles and poured me the drink, one leg making a thumping noise on the ground. A leg brace, maybe? I thought as she handed me the glass.

“Nope. Just drinks with a friend.” I raised the glass. “Thanks…?”

She smiled. “Raven.”

“Rosa.”

Just then, Boyle burst in, sliding in the barstool next to me. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

“It’s whiskey, Boyle.” I pointed out innocently.

“Oh, I’ll just have a beer, then.” He said, flustered, and I saw Raven’s lips quirk up in a slight smile.

“No problem, Detective.” Raven walked away to serve some other customers.

“So, spill, Rosa.” Boyle said excitedly, taking a sip of his beer. “Tell me about Lex.”

I gulped down the entire glass. “Lex’s name is actually Lexa.”

Boyle’s glass froze next to his mouth. “What?”

Thankfully, Raven came back and slid me another glass. I stalled, taking a long sip. “I’m bisexual.”

“Oh.” He stretched the word out a little too long.

The unwelcome silence stretched on for a few beats.

“When do we get to meet her?” Boyle said suddenly, his terrifying ever-present cheerfulness back.

“What?” That was completely unexpected.

“Lex or Lexa, I still want to meet her!” He nearly squealed.

I fought to keep the huge smile off my face. “Oh, shut up, Boyle.”

We finished our drinks and bought some more. We played darts and talked about pretty celebrities. At the end of the night, Boyle was nearly falling over drunk.

“Bye, Rosa.” He mumbled. “I mean, not bi Rosa. Like ‘bye, Rosa!’ Or ‘goodbye, Rosa!’”

I rolled my eyes sarcastically. “See you tomorrow, Boyle.”

“That’s a good friend you have there,” Raven pointed out as Boyle stumbled out of Shaw’s.

“I guess it’s true, what they say about partners,” I said, “they’ll stick by you no matter what.”

“I have some friends like that,” Raven sighed. “Two of them, nothing short of murdering the other will stop them being the best of friends. Although, they’ve both come scarily close to death by each other—indirectly, of course— multiple times, so…” she trailed off, and then smiled. “I’m trusting that you won’t try to arrest my friends because of an out-of-context, vague story, will you?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I promised, “as long as you pour me some more alcohol.”

Raven chuckled. “That, I most definitely can do.”

***

Somehow, just telling one person felt like taking a weight off my chest.

I’m gonna do it, I thought as I walked into work the next day. I’ll tell the rest of the Nine-Nine. It’s not like they can fire me.

The only people I had to worry about were Hitchcock and Scully, really. They were like the last of the “old school” breed of cops, but they were also pretty oblivious, so it could work out? Who knows, really? I thought.

I wrung my hands together, the only sign of my anxiety as I walked into the briefing room.

“Get back to work, everyone,” Captain Holt said, picking his papers off his podium.

I stood up, straightening my jacket. “I actually have an announcement, Captain, if that’s alright.”

Captain Holt stepped aside. “Of course, Detective Diaz.”

I saw Boyle give me a thumbs up from the crowd.

“I—” I cleared my throat—“I’m bisexual.”

I saw Jake give me a look, a mixture of wonder and understanding and admiration. Amy and Terry were smiling proudly while Hitchcock and Scully were giving me a blank stare with Boyle giving me another thumbs up from between their heads.

“I will take exactly two questions,” I said, with much more confidence than I felt.

Scully raised his hand immediately. “You’re what?”

I decided to dumb it down for him. “I like girls and boys.”

Hitchcock leaned into Scully. “That would make for a great threesome.”

“Dammit, Hitchcock.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I will murder you if say that again.”

Hitchcock looked terrified.

“She means in a non-criminal way, Detective,” Holt assured him.

“I meant that in a completely criminal way,” I responded, glaring at Hitchcock. “Next?”

Jake, predictably, shot his hand up like a rowdy student. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“What’s her name?”

“That’s three questions, Peralta,” I smirked while he pouted.

I stepped back from the podium and Captain Holt stepped forward. “Well, thank you for that, Detective Diaz. I hope the officers in this precinct will be nothing but accepting towards you.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“All right,” he clapped, “now you all should go back to work.”

I walked out of the squad room with my head held high and my heart lighter than it had been since the seventh grade.

***

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, things are heating up in this fic

It’s still smol but plot development *jazz hands*

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 3

Warnings: still nothing except Race smoking a cigar (things heat up next chapter I promise)

Words: 1,187

Editing: a lot plus grammarly (I got 20 newsies slang words marked grammatically incorrect this time)

***#***

When Jack came to, he was sitting against the wall, his bag of newspapers on his lap.

“Hey. Hey. Are you awake?” A kid was standing in front of Jack. The kid was wearing hand-me-down-looking clothes. Jack groaned. “Oh, you’re awake!” He said. He offered a hand to pull Jack up, and Jack took it, standing up and groaning.

“Aw, feels like a herd of horses been tramplin’ my head,” Jack muttered.

The kid smiled. “I know what that feels like.”

“Who-who is ya?” Jack stumbled, and the kid put Jack’s arm around his shoulder.

“I’m Wally,” the kid, Wally, said.

“I’m Jack.” Wally bit back the urge to say ‘I know.’

“Do you have a place to go? A home, or—”

“The only home I’s got is the Lodge.”

“Can you give me directions?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The two boys kept walking down the street, Jack stumbling every so often.

Finally, they made it to a building with a sign that said ‘Newsboy Lodging House’ in large letters.

“This is it,” Jack said. Wally unhooked Jack from around his shoulder, then opened the door. Before Jack went inside the Lodge door completely, he turned to Wally. “Hey, do youse got a place to sleep?”

“Uh, does the park count?”

“No. Come in. We’s got a bed for ya. I think.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Wally said. He didn't think it'd actually be that easy to get an in with the newsies, but here he was. They went inside, trying to find a bed for Wally. It was relatively easy, considering the rest of the boys were still out there selling papers.

“Eh, no problem. Ey, how’s ‘bout you come with me, tomorrow, to sell the papes? Unless you’s got a job.”

“I don’t have a job, but I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Eh, no trouble! Weasel makes more money the more papes he sells to the newsies.” The two boys stopped near a clean bed. “Ah, here’s a bed for youse. It’s next to the door to the roof, but—”

“It’s a bed. Better than where I thought I’d be sleeping tonight.” Secretly, Wally was ecstatic. He knew that Jack slept on the roof, and this was as close as he could get.

“Good. Youse got anything to put down? Somethin’ to mark ya spot?” Jack asked.

“I-I got my hat.” He said. It was just a newsie cap.

“Yeah, no, that’s gonna get stolen.”

“You steal each others’ stuff?” Wally asked in disbelief.

“Mostly for jokes or somethin’. The boys always gives it back. Usually.” He added quietly.

Suddenly, the door banged open. “Is anyone here?” Someone called.

“Crutchie!” Jack called. “We’s up here!”

After a few minutes, and a few muffled thumps, a kid of about fifteen with shaggy blond hair and a crutch staggered up the stairs.

“Hey, Jack!” The blond boy, Crutchie, said. “Who’s the new kid?”

“This is Wally. He needs a spot to sleep. And work.” Jack said. “Oh, yeah, Crutchie!” He said like he was just remembering something. “Today, when I's was sellin’ papes, two random guys came up to me to buy a paper!”

“That’s your job, Jack.” Crutchie teased him, his face deadpan.

“Yeah, but the first guy gave me a quarter! All I’s did was hawk the headline!”

“No way!” Crutchie breathed, his eyes as big as, well, quarters.

“Yeah! And the second man, he gaves me a dollar! A dollar!” Wally could guess at who the two guys were.

“Aw, Jack, it’s just you’s pale, pitiful mug that sells all the papes,” Crutchie said teasingly, and they gave each other a high five.

After a few minutes of joking about the people they conned, Crutchie stood up. “Hey, the boys said they was goin’ to Jacobi’s afta sellin’. You comin’?”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Who’s Jacobi?” Wally asked.

“Oh, Mr. Jacobi runs the deli. He lets us hang out there before he lets his customers in.”

“Cool. What d’you do, perform large dance numbers or something?” Wally meant it as a joke, and then quickly realized he was being too proper. “I mean, like, dance crazy dances?”

Jack and Crutchie shared a look. “Eh, occasionally.”

Wally was gaping at them. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Lead the way, Captain Jack,” Wally said.

***#*** Wally watched, trailing a bit behind Crutchie, Jack as pushed the door open to Jacobi’s Deli, where a few of the newsies were already waiting.

“Afternoon, gents!” A tall kid with blonde hair and a cigar sticking out of his mouth called. “Who’s the new kid?”

Wally raised his hand in a small wave. “I’m, uh, Wally.” Truthfully, he was a bit put out with the fact that a teen-aged kid just had a giant cigar in his mouth.

The kid smirked. “What’s the matter? Ain’t youse sure?”

“I—” Wally began, but Jack saved him from complete embarrassment.

“Ah, Race, lay offa’ ‘im. Your ugly mug is enough to scare anyone.”

The kid, Race, put an exaggerated hand over his heart. “Why, Jack, youse say that to all the fellas, don’tcha?”

“Just for youse, Race,” Jack replied.

Crutchie limped off somewhere, talking to some other boys.

The boys stayed there for hours, joking, teasing, and yes, even a dance or two. More kids showed up and introduced themselves to Wally, who amazed them all with the fact that he actually had an education.

When the little party ended, and the boys walked in a large gaggle back to the lodging house. The newsies were laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, but Wally couldn’t shake the feeling that someone--or something--was watching them, but every time he turned around, nothing was there.

They all arrived at the Lodging House with no incident, and they were settled in their beds when a bright yellow and red flash illuminated the window.

Wally jumped up, whacking his head on the upper bunk above him, which was occupied by Romeo, one of the boys he met at the deli earlier.

“Wally?” The groggy voice of Romeo popped up from above. “What’re youse doin’?”

Wally didn’t answer, just ran out the door as fast as he possibly could without doing his “lightning thing”.

Not a second later, Race spoke up. “Romeo, youse owes me a nickel. I’s told youse that he’d do somethin’ weird before the night’s over.”

***#***

As soon as the door closed, Wally raced after the flash of red light. The Particle Accelerator doesn’t explode for the first time in 115 years, he thought. This is worth checking out, even if it’s not my time assassin. Then that really annoying, small voice in the back of his head whispered, what if it’s a diversion? A diversion to get you away from Jack and your friendly neighborhood time assassin knows who you are, waiting for the right moment to—

“Shut up!” He yelled loudly, in an attempt to quell the voices in his head.

The guy he was chasing stopped whirled around, his feet sliding on the pavement. Wally stopped just in time to avoid barreling over the other speedster.

“Wally?” A familiar voice said, pulling off the cowl over his face.

“Barry?”

***#***

Yeah no regrets here sorry fam

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

I totally didn’t have time to publish this last night or this morning so I just decided to post both this chapter and the next one tonight. Also I start school tomorrow so these might be the last of the regular updates.

Oh, and when I was writing this story, the POV kinda sorta just changed from third person to first person and??? I think it works better??? So yeah sorry about that I was not about to rewrite the whole first part in first person.

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, and chapter four if you hadn’t read them

Chapter Five

Words: 2,086

Warnings: the author is a lazy little shit, no others really (just wait till the next chapter)

Editing: the usual grammarly and read-through combo

***#***

The day went on. No (possibly) magical time assassins trying to murder a kid. Nothing that special happened.

Except for the fact that I was really hungry. By the time all of the papers were sold, I was nearly swaying on my feet like I was tipsy.

I was standing with Davey, Les, and Jack, and the latter was trying to make plans for the brothers.

Honestly, I was completely spaced out, trying to figure out how to cover all the boys tomorrow during the strike. I overheard Jack’s voice, sounding slightly uncomfortable, surprised, and off-put. “Oh, youse got folks, huh?” I could tell he thought they were orphans.

Les, innocent Les, spoke next. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I saw Jack shift nervously, and Davey said something quietly to his little brother.

Davey looked at me and Jack, with something between pity and uncertainty. Of course, he thought I was an orphan because no one told him I wasn’t. Heck, I hadn’t told anyone anything, so I could say I never lied. I just omitted stuff that was semi-important.

“Our dad tangled with the delivery truck on the job. Messed up his leg bad, so they laid him off. That’s how come we had to find work.” Davey explained, with his specialty mixture of pity and uncertainty clear.

Jack looked uncomfortable, like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, ye-yeah, that makes sense. To-too bad about your dad, though.”

Davey had that look in his eyes that I was sure Jack saw a lot: the oh-you’re-poor-lemme-help-you look. “Look, why don’t you come home with us for dinner? Both of you. Our folks’ll be happy to have you.”

“Mom’s a great cook!” Les blurted.

I wouldn’t have minded it at all, especially if it involved food, but Jack looked like a deer in headlights.

“Ah, thanks for the invite. But I-I just remembered, I got plans with a fella! He’s probably waitin’ on me right now.” He looked at me, and it was as if his entire body screamed HELP!

I, stupidly, wasn’t looking for anyone suspicious. The only few minutes out of the day I wasn’t looking…

“Is that the guy you’re meeting?” Les yelled.

I looked to where the kid was pointing, and my (empty) stomach plummeted. There was a suspicious-looking guy, slightly resembling a mean pitbull with a mustache who was out looking for blood.

“Kelly!” Pitbull growled. Well, that rules out some anonymous time assassin, at least, I thought. It’s just your friendly neighborhood…pitbull…thug.

Jack’s face turned to one of terror. “Run for it!” He said to me and the two brothers.

We ran, me trailing behind to protect the boys who were so important to history. Sure, they might’ve gotten away originally, but with two time travelers on the table, all bets were off.

We kept on it, ducking and dodging through streets and alleyways, the early evening punctured with the Pitbull’s distant calls of “This way, officer!”, “Get him!”, or the insanely common “Jack Kelly!”

Finally, after ducking through a back door, Wally found himself in what appeared to be the backstage of a theatre.

“Slow down, I think we lost them.” Jack heaved. Davey and Les looked totally out of breath as well. I wasn’t that out of breath, because of my speedster reasons, but I pretended not to be that out of breath as to not raise any red flags.

“Does someone want to tell me why I’m running?” Davey protested, glaring at me. “I got no one chasing me. Who was that guy, anyway?” I shrugged. I mean, I honestly didn’t know.

“That there was Snyder the Spider. A real sweetie,” Jack said, with a level of disgust he didn’t think was possible.

“I thought he was more of a pitbull,” I said. Les smiled, but Jack wasn’t having it.

“He runs a jail for underage kids called The Refuge. The more kids he brings in, the more the city pays him. The problem is, all of that money goes straight into his own pocket. Just do yourself a favor. Stay clear of him and The Refuge.” Jack looked almost haunted as well as disgusted, and I wondered if he had spent time there.

A lady walked by below us. “Hey, you up there! Shoo! No kids allowed in the theatre!” I thought we were busted before Jack spoke up, all hints of Snyder and his unpleasantness gone from his face.

“Not even me, Ms. Medda?” He called charmingly.

She put her hands on her hips. “Jack Kelly?”

“Yeah!”

“Man of mystery! Come down here and give me a hug!” She called, clearly happy to see Jack.

He ran down and gave the lady, Ms. Medda, a hug. I made a mental note that, when he wanted, Jack could be really charming, inspiring, or threatening, depending on the person. You did not want to be on any side but his good side. Jack kept talking to Ms. Medda, charming her.

“Boys!” Jack said. “May I present to you Ms. Medda Larkin, the greatest star on the Bowery today. She also owns the joint.”

“The only thing I own is the mortgage,” she joked.

When I turned around, I saw Les, bent over double, gaping at two of the dancers.

Davey tapped Les on the back. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you blind?” Les retorted. “She got no clothes on!”

I hid a smile. I mean, I knew that 1899 fashion was a bit--scratch that, a lot--more conservative than 2018 fashion, but little Les was just so dumbstruck at the fact that the ladies were wearing just leggings and some kind of leotard. Oh, God, I thought, if only he walked around in the 21st century for even an hour…

“That’s her costume.”

“But I can see her legs!” Les sounded like he’d never seen a lady’s leg before. Although, in all honesty, he probably hadn’t.

“Well, step out of his way so’s he can get a better look.” Ms. Medda said. The performers struck a pose, revealing more of the tight leggings. Ms. Medda continued to say something about theatre being educational, but I wasn’t really listening, making sure no one was watching us.

Suddenly, a man with a mustache came running in. “Ms. Medda! You’re on!” He shouted.

“I am?” Ms. Medda said. “How am I doing?” She looked at the mustache guy, and then scoffed, and then looked at us, and we started laughing. “Boys, lock the door and stay all night. You’re with Ms. Medda now.”

We followed her to the curtains, Les and Davey watching from behind the curtain, but Jack and I snagged two seats. Ms. Medda continued to sing about being rich, but I wasn’t paying much attention to the words. Again. Oh, us millennials and our attention spans, I thought jokingly. But it was because Ms. Medda had an amazing voice. When the song was over, Jack gave a standing ovation, and I did, too. I mean, she did hide us from the cops. Well, I guess they weren’t cops. Abusive prison wardens?

“And now, gents,” she called, “let’s have a big hand for the Bowery Beauties!”

“Hey, Wally,” Jack said, poking me. “Look who’s here.” He pointed up to what looked like a theatre balcony.

I looked up and saw a lady sitting inside. “Wasn’t that the girl you were hitting on earlier?”

“Oh, yeah.” He had a stupid grin on his face. He ran up to Ms. Medda, who was now off-stage. They conversed quietly, and then Jack ran up to the ladder to the little balcony and climbed in.

I couldn’t hear them, but as they talked, Jack’s face varied from cheeky to downright flirty, and the girl mostly looked either uncomfortable or mocking. I smiled. She’s gonna have fun with Jack, I thought.

I watched the two of them, not exactly sure how it was going to play out. Well, until the girl yelled: “Do you mind?”

Some guy in the audience rapped his cane on the structure. “Pipe down up there!”

“You got in for free!” Ms. Medda called. “At least pay attention!”

Jack whisper-shouted something down, probably something along the lines of I’m sorry.

And then he, of course, started serenading her. Of course, he did. And…was he drawing something, too? I shook my head. Jack Kelly, the romantic. Who’d have thunk?

The song went along…and so did my attention. I have issues, I thought.

When the song(both Jack’s and the ladies’) Jack snuck down the ladder, not before leaving something on a chair.

He practically skipped over to Davey, Les, and I. After the brothers left, on our way back to the Lodge, then he started to boast about his serenading epicness.

“Did’ya see that? I’s got her hooked!” Jack whooped.

“You sure did, pal,” I said. Suddenly, the smell of a bakery wafted into my nose. “Hey, Jack? What’s that smell?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, that’s the Cooks’. Yep, they’s called the Cooks and they cook. If you’re hungry”--I could’ve sworn he heard my stomach growling--“they sometimes gives us a loaf of bread.”

“Well, I think you know the answer to that question, Jack,” I said. I fingered the dollars I took from the Waverider before dragging Jack to the street. There was about $20, which was a lot in this era, especially for the newsies. It was for an emergency, but if this wasn’t, I didn’t know what would constitute an emergency anymore. Jack started moving into the store, but I put a hand out in front of him. “Lemme try. They don’t know me.”

Jack shrugged. “Have at ‘em.”

I walked into the store, slipping my cap into my bag. A newsie with 20 bucks would raise all kinds of alarms. I walked up to the front, where a young girl was sitting, looking quite bored.

“How can I help you today?” She asked, looking like I was the most interesting thing that had happened to her all day.

I looked behind her at the vast shelves of baked goods, breads and pastries galore. “Uh, can I have ten loaves of bread? And one of the pumpkin loaves?”

The girl’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You got money to pay for it?”

“Yeah.” She gave me a once-over, like ‘why can this kid afford ten loaves of bread?’ Then she shrugged. Business was business.

“$2.50.” She said, gathering the load of loaves.

I pulled out some money and gave it to her.

I just really hoped she didn’t pay much attention to the dates on the bills.

She handed me the loaves, and I put each in my bag. “Thanks,” I said, and flashed a smile at the girl. She just nodded.

I walked outside to where Jack was waiting. He looked at me and only saw the emptiness of my hands.

“Ah, youse struck out, huh? Well, sometimes they’s just want the Jack…” He trailed off when I patted my bulging bag. “No way.”

I smirked. “Yes, way. Ten loaves of bread, and one pumpkin loaf.”

“How’d you…?”

“She just was begging for business. I don’t think they sold a thing all day.”

“Good on youse! We’s’ll eat good tonight!” Jack whooped, patting me on the back.

We walked back to the Lodge, Jack’s arm around my shoulder. By the time we got back, the sun was nearly set. As soon as we opened the door, the newsies were on us.

“Where were youse?”

“We’s been waitin’!”

“We’s thought Snyder got youse!”

Jack held up his hands, and they all quieted down. “Now, me and Speedy was busy.” He took my bag of bread from my hands. “Seems ol’ Speedy ‘ere has got a bit of charm!” The shouts rang out again.

“Is that bread?”

“WOAH!”

“Did’ya steal that?”

“FOOD!”

“A’IGHT!” Jack yelled. “All of youse get some! Obviously!”

Jack and I distributed the some of the bread to the newsies, and only after we finished did Jack take any. I assumed that was normal, knowing Jack.

The boys all got a large chunk of bread, and against Jack and I’s protests, the boys insisted we share a whole loaf.

That night, all of the newsboys at the Newsboy Lodging House went to bed with full stomachs.

I hope that doesn’t screw with the timeline.

You know what? Screw the timeline. Just seeing the joy on those kids’ faces when they realized they didn’t have to go to sleep hungry was enough.

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

And this is the chapter that was originally planned to be posted last night, but I just barely didn’t have enough time, so I’m posting this at 7 am before I get ready for the first day of school. Fun!

I also made a tag for what I write and a tag for this specific story (they’re the first two tags at the bottom)

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, and chapter five if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 6

Words: 1,207

Warnings: uhhh blood(not graphic), injuries, swearing(idk if y’all care about that), horrible jokes

Editing: grammarly + read throughs

I shifted awake in my bed, the boys getting ready around me.

“C’mon, Speedy, get up!” Race whacked me in the face with his hat.

I groaned. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

Sara’s voice crackled in my ear. “Wally, this is your complimentary 5:00 AM get-your-ass-out-of-bed call. Please get your ass out of bed.”

I activated my comms, and for the sake of Race and Sara, I said “I’m up!” really loudly.

“Good for you,” Race and Sara said, almost simultaneously.

I subtly switched my comms off.

As usual, we got ready to go out and sell papers.

“‘Ey, Jack! We is leavin’!” Elmer called.

“Go on without me!” Jack yelled.

Elmer looked at me. “You comin’, Speedy?”

“Nah. I’ll wait for Jack.”

”A’ight.” I saw them disappear down the stairs, then heard the tell-tale whoops and yells that meant that the newsies were up and ready for work.

Barely two minutes later, and Jack came down the stairs. “‘Ey, is you waitin’ for me, Speedy?”

“Yeah, just finished getting up, figured I’d wait.” I lied. But how do you say, ‘hey, I’m waiting for you so you don’t get brutally murdered in the street by some magical time assassin’? Well, I could say that, but I might sound a tad crazy. Okay, I’d sound a lot crazy.

Jack clapped my shoulder. “Aw, I’m touched.”

* * * # * * *

We were close, maybe a mile away from the distribution square, when stuff went down.

Jack was talking about the girl he met yesterday, in the theater and on the street, when I got this feeling that someone was following us. I whipped my head around, but no one was there.

“What’s with you?” Jack chuckled.

I shook my head. “I--it’s nothing.” I don’t know who I was trying to convince--me or Jack. “I thought I heard someone behind us.”

Jack looked behind us. “Well, there’s no one there. We’s are all safe—” An abnormally loud sound exploded somewhere off to the side of us, and I whipped my head around, the world slowing down around me. In the alleyway next to us, on the other side of Jack, I saw a dark figure holding what looked like a modern-age gun. There was a flash of light around the muzzle, and there was a bullet flying out of it. But something was wrong. The bullet was flying fast, faster than what should’ve been possible. It wasn’t a gun from my time; this was a gun from the future. Far into the future. I cursed the people who thought they needed to make guns with faster bullets. There was no time to try and grab it, it would just shred my hand. I dashed in front of Jack, and the bullet meant for his throat made its way into my shoulder. Who knew being tall saved history?

Time unfroze, and I stumbled, the force of the bullet knocking me back as it tore through my flesh and muscle. And it burned. Damn, it hurt. “What was that?” Jack asked, and I leaned on him to catch my balance. “Woah there, Speedy.” Jack chuckled and then frowned. “Wait. Weren’t you just—” He pointed to the other side of him.

“Ow.” I groaned.

Jack finally noticed the blood streaming out of my shoulder. “HOLY SHIT!” He leaned me against the side of a building and leaned over me.

“Ow.”

“When the hell did that happen?” At least he lowered his voice.

“Goddamn interdimensional time assassins with futuristic guns,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What do I do?”

“Stopping the bleeding would help.”

“Wally, you’s got a hole in your shoulder and you’s still being a smart-ass?”

“Pain sharpens my tongue.”

“You’re delusional.”

“No, I’m dying of blood loss.”

“Wally, since I’s don’t want you to die, I’mma let that slide.”

“Gee, I’m touched. Can I stop the bleeding now?” Somehow, I wrangled the vest off my chest and ripped a long strip off. I stood up, definitely with a struggle, and tied my makeshift bandage around my shoulder. My shoulder still felt like it was being melted in a forge, but it wasn’t streaming out anymore. It was less like a river and more like a creek. And then I crouched slightly, making sure my hat and bandage were securely fastened.

“What is you doin’?” Jack asked.

“Something I might regret,” I sighed. “Hop on.”

“Youse is delusional!” Jack protested. “You just got shot. I’s should be carryin’ you!”

“Jack,” I said sternly. “Get on my back before I pick you up and carry you like a bride on her honeymoon.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why we’s call you ‘Speedy’,” he grumbled. “we’s shoulda called youse Stubborn.” He hopped on my back anyway.

“Hold on tight,” I warned him.

“I ain’t grabbin’ your wound!”

“Then hold on to my neck!” Jack muttered something about me dying of strangulation before the blood loss killed me.

“Get ready,” I said, shifting my body.

“For what?”

“This.” I took off running, as fast as I could go with the shooting pain in my arm and the pain in the ass on my back.

The aforementioned pain in the ass starting yelling, swatting at the lighting around me.

In seconds, we made it to the park where we hid the Waverider. I stopped and let Jack off my back. He stumbled and threw up in a bush. “Yeah, get it out, bud.” I patted his back as he upchucked his breakfast and dinner in the bush.

“WHAT THE SHITTIN’ HOLY HELL WAS THAT?” He cried, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Science.”

“That ain’t no science! That’s like that book Frankenstein!”

I was expecting some comic book reference or something. And then it dawned on me. I “Damn, you don’t have superheroes?”

“What?”

“Long story.”

Jack opened his mouth to say something when a bay door on the Waverider opened. Sara and Mick came out, her bo staff and his heat gun pointed directly at us.

“Wally, why the hell are you here? And why’d you bring him?” Sara yelled, lowering her staff. Mick, predictably, didn’t lower his gun.

Poor Jack was just too overwhelmed. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Thankfully, I caught him before he fell.

“Now look what you’ve done!” I cried mockingly. “He’s out cold!” Sara and Mick just glared at me. “Can I come inside, at least?”

“We aren’t stopping you,” Sara said.

“Can you at least help me carry him inside, Mick?” I asked.

“Can’t you do it?” Mick growled.

“I would, but my arm hurts.” I motioned to the blood seeping through my makeshift vest bandage.

“Damn it, West, how’d you manage to get yourself shot?” Sara cried.

“That goddamn time assassin.”

“Care to elaborate?” Sara said, her hands on her hips.

“As long as Gideon stitches me up.”

“Of course she’s gonna—” She trailed off and sighed. “Rory, grab the kid.”

“Which one?”

“The one that’s passed out cold, genius.” While Mick grabbed the unconscious Jack, I walked into the Waverider, the pain in my shoulder slowly coming back as the adrenaline faded.

“I might need an Advil, too.” I joked.

Sara glanced at me, then at my wound. “Wally, you’re gonna need the whole damn bottle.”

[heller-obama]

I posted a fic of mine on here and apparently people liked it??? And some people started following me because of it??? So I decided to post one of my other fics I’ve worked on and I’m starting to work on again.

I’ll probably post this chapter and chapter one today because the prologue is really short but after that maybe one chapter a day? All bets are off for a regular posting schedule when I start school in like a week so yeah.

This is a crossover, by the way. Newsies and the tv show Legends of Tomorrow, but you don’t have to watch the show to understand the fic (Not really).

Operation Newsboy

Prologue

Words: 234

Warnings: legit nothing happens here it’s just a prologue

Rating: idrk fam there’s an assassin?? trying to kill children??

Editing: a lot actually because I’ve worked on this a lot and also grammarly which hates me because of this story by the way

**#**

Manhattan, New York

July 13, 1899

The man sat, undetected, near the rooftop where his target lived. He could hear his target, along with someone else, actually singing.

The man shook his head. He was on a mission, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

After all, he had 500,000 reasons to be at the height of his game.

“Work the land! Chase the sun! Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fu-u-un!” He could still hear the two kids, singing about their hopes and dreams.

And he’d be the one to take it all away.

Snap out of it, Helix! He thought, shaking his head vigorously. Of course, Helix wasn’t his real name. Just a codename The Corporation gave him for this mission. People like him didn’t keep their names for very long.

A bell rang, somewhere in the distance.

Helix knew what he had to do.

He knew when he’d do it.

He waited in the shadows as the two kids made their way off the roof, down to their jobs.

Helix followed them at a distance, staying in the shadows. It was what he did best.

He looked down at the paper he was holding once more. It was a picture of a boy with curly black hair. At the bottom, in large block letters, the boy’s name, along with the deadline for the job.

Jack Kelly. 7/14/1899.

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

I’ve had the first like eight chapters written out since January don’t expect regular updates after that

Here’s the prologue if you haven’t read it

Chapter 1

Words: 856

Warnings: nothing still we’re just getting started

Rating: even less happens in this one compared to the prologue in terms of needing a warning

Editing: grammarly hates me and a decent amount of editing

***#***

Sara and the Legends sauntered back into the control room of the Waverider, victorious after a rather weird mission. They hadn’t encountered any magic so far, despite Constantine’s multiple warnings.

Suddenly, a large time quake shook the ship, nearly knocking over its occupants.

“Gideon?” Sara asked. “What was that?”

“It appears to be a time quake, Captain, Gideon replied.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Sara warned.

“Where did it originate?” Nate asked.

“Manhattan, New York, on July 13, 1899.”

“No way!” Nate gasped.

“Who screwed with what this time?” Sara asked, exasperated.

“New York in July, 1899?” Nate asked. “C’mon, it’s like the most important strike ever.”

“Nate, pretend I don’t know what happened then.”

“That was the Newsboy Strike of 1899! A bunch of boys—newsies— led a strike against the two biggest newspaper-owners in New York—Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst!”

“Why does time care so much about that?”

“It played a huge part in later strikes, the treatment of newsboys, and child labor!”

“So, like, they got better pay?”

“That was when people started paying attention to child labor. Like, actually noticing it.”

“Why do people have to screw up time this much?” Sara cried.

“Well—”

“That was rhetorical, Nate.” She stopped. “Gideon, can you please call the rest of the crew in here?”

“Of course, Captain Lance.”

After a few minutes, Mick, Zari, Ray, and Wally walked in to the control room, where Nate and Sara were waiting.

“Sara?” Wally asked. “Does this have to do with why the ship was shaking a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, and it’s called a time quake.” Sara replied.

“A ‘time quake’? What, are we on some sort of temporal fault line?”

“A time quake is when some time traveler messes up something something big or important, like changing an important historical event.”

“So...we screwed something up on our mission?”

“Hey, we didn’t screw up. Not this time, at least.” Sara said defensively. “Someone else did. Gideon?”

“According to my historical records, in 1899 New York, a boy, Jack Kelly, was murdered on July 13, one day before he launched the 1899 New York Newsie Strike. The police investigated but never found his killer.”

“So...that’s bad?”

“Jack Kelly’s strike went on to inspire multiple others, starting a movement for fair working conditions for child laborers across the United States. Without him, the strike is never launched, and...oh, dear.”

“What?” Sara almost looked afraid to ask.

“Without that strike, multiple others don’t occur, and child labor is never outlawed.”

“That sucks,” Mick grunted.

Sara shot a pointed glance at him. “Alright, Gideon, set a course for Manhattan, New York, July 12, 1899.”

“But the kid isn’t killed until the next day, and the strike happens on the next!” Zari protested.

“A) the kid is killed in the early morning, and B) this isn’t just some fluke. Some time traveler has deliberately killed this kid, and something tells me they’re gonna make sure he’s dead, whether it’s the thirteenth or the fourteenth or any day after that.” Sara said. “Go strap in. We’re going to go save New York’s little guys.”

***#***

Manhattan, New York

7/12/1899

Once the Legends landed the Waverider in some empty space, they gathered around to make a plan.

“So, how’re we gonna make sure this little punk doesn’t get dropped?” Mick asked.

“Why don’t we just remove him from the timeline?” Zari asked.

“That could work,” Ray said. “Sara?”

“Let’s do it.” Sara decided. “Hey Gideon, can you manufacture some clothes for this time period?” She called up to the AI.

“Of course, Captain.”

***#***

The Legends walked out of the Waverider, clad in their new 1899 fashion.

“So, what now, Sara?” Nate asked.

“Split up. Gideon said that there were three possible spots this kid could be selling at. Zari and Nate’ll take Houston and 152nd street, Ray and I’ll get Maiden Lane and Utopia Parkway, and Mick, you get Wall Street and Broadway.”

“What about me?” Wally complained.

“You do your thing. Run around, see if this kid—”

“His name’s Jack Kelly,” Nate interrupted.

Sara shot him a glance. “Fine. Check and see if Jack is somewhere else, like his house, or a restaurant or something. Just...make sure no one sees you...do your...lightning thing.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He saluted.

“And stay on comms. You find him, you call us. And don’t let that kid out of your sight.”

“How’re we going to get there?” Zari asked.

“Take a Hansom Cab,” Nate said. “Or a taxi.”

“Nate, you’re such history nerd,” Zari replied as they walked into the streets of Manhattan.

“I like to think of myself as more of a history buff.” He retorted.

“Nate…” Zari began, but they walked out of earshot.

“Hey, Mick, do you want a ride?” Wally asked mischievously.

“Not—” Mick began, but Wally whisked him off anyway.

“Come on, Sara,” Ray held out his arm, “let’s take a stroll.”

“Ray, you do realize that I’m not some damsel who needs help walking, right?”

He pulled his arm away. “Please don’t kill me.” He looked down at the dress she was wearing. “But that dress looks awfully heavy.”

Sara laughed as they started to make their way into the streets of Manhattan.

“Oh, my God, Ray, you have no idea.”

[heller-obama]

I just answered like 6 comments from my fics from like a month ago and sorry if I rambled on about something from my fic you only half mentioned, my serotonin is HIGH rn and I love talking about my fics with people

[heller-obama]

listen I know this has been said before but writing a scene between my gay characters requires so much more work

like if its some m/f relationship you can say shit like ‘he pulled her along with him’ and not sounding like shit

but when theyre gay it comes out as ‘he pulled him along with him’ and not only is it awkward it feels repetitive and theyre both bad

asdkjdshkashfk

[heller-obama]

Y’all

I haven’t written a word of any creative writing whatsoever in like 6 months but last night I couldn’t sleep and I wrote for 2.5 hours straight?? Like I wrote the majority of a fic??

So uh yeah I might actually a fic for once for y’all soon even though I haven’t written anything since November and I haven’t posted a fic since like?? September??

[heller-obama]

I know I haven’t posted something I’ve written for a while because writers block and a distinct lack of inspiration but it’s nanowrimo and I might have a the 100 fic in the works

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

It’s getting more newsie-ish so yay(?)

I almost forgot to post this but in my defense I just drove the length of California so \_( “/ )_/

Here’s the prologue and chapter one if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: do you really think I own newsies or legends of tomorrow??

Warnings: still nothing really this story is pretty tame until a certain chapter and then it’s tame again, also Zari is the sarcastic one this time

Words: 1,021

Editing: quite a bit plus y’know grammarly

***#***

Jack Kelly was busy hawking papers somewhere in between Jacobi’s Deli and the Newsboy Lodge when he noticed someone watching him.

He walked over to the area where he thought saw his stalker lurking and pretended to be hollering headlines.

“Extra! Extra! ‘Dozens Injured in Train Accident’! Youse heard it ‘ere!” That wasn’t the actual headline. The headline was actually ‘Trolley Strike Drags On’, but they’d had the same headline for weeks. Hey, the kid’s got to eat. Plus he said he heard it there. Any potential customer did hear it there.

As Jack had hoped, the guy watching him, a man, came up to buy a paper.

“Uh...how much for a paper?” The man asked. His accent was well-educated, and definitely not from New York. His clothes were nice and fresh, and they looked brand-new. Ohhhh, Jack was gonna have so much fun with this guy. But the guy kept talking and gave Jack a con on a silver platter. “What is it? Like, 25 cents?”

Jack’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. This guy may have had a school education; but in street matters? He was a novice. Jack tried to hide the contempt and amazement out of his voice. “Yessir, just a quarter for the evenin’ pape.”

“Alrighty,” the guy said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright, shiny quarter and plopped it into Jack’s hand. Jack eagerly fumbled out a paper from his bag. Oh, wait ‘til the boys hear ‘bout this! He thought.

“Thank you, Mr.…?” He asked.

The guy wasn’t expecting that. “Uh, Palmer. Ray Palmer.”

“Thank youse, Mr. Palmer!” Jack said, beaming. A quarter! That could be worth two days of food, easy!

“See you around, kid,” Ray said, looking slightly pleased that he made this kid’s day.

“See youse around, Mr. Palmer,” Jack said.

Jack had just moved to a new vantage point when another guy came up to him. He looked gruff, with a buzz cut and clothes that uncannily reminded Jack of Mr. Palmer’s clothes. It was one of those guys Jack was wary about conning.

“You got a paper for me?” The man asked gruffly. It seemed to Jack that was the only way he did things.

“Ahh, yessir. The…” Jack had barely taken the paper from his bag when the gruff man shoved a dollar bill in Jack’s hand and walked away without a word. “Bless youse, sir!” Jack called after him. A dollar! He thought. Boy, I’s gettin’ lucky today! Aw, I can’t wait—

Jack’s thoughts were interrupted when a weird-smelling cloth started smothering him. He tried to yell, scream for help, from his brothers, from anyone…

But his world went black.

##*##

“Mick!” Sara cried when he arrived back at the Waverider with Jack Kelly slung over his shoulders, thoroughly unconscious. “I told you to bring him here, not knock him out!”

“I didn’t feel like getting a black eye,” Mick grunted. “The kid looked like he could hold himself in a fight.”

“He’s just a kid!” Sara protested. Mick just grunted, and she sighed. “At least take him to the infirmary.”

Once Mick roughly laid the kid in an infirmary bed, everyone gathered back in the control room.

“So, Gideon,” Sara started. “Did we fix the anachronism?”

“It appears not, Captain,” Gideon replied.

“What? How? We removed the kid from the timeline!” Sara complained.

“It appears that once Mr. Kelly’s friends discovered he was missing, and the price of their papers was raised a few days later, they launched the strike in his name.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ray asked. “We want the strike to happen.”

“It also appears that once our assassin discovered that Mr. Kelly was missing, he killed different boys, warning the rest to call off the strike or he’d kill more boys.”

“Damn it!” Sara yelled, whacking the controls.

“What do we do now?” Zari asked.

“I’ve got an idea!” Wally said.

Everyone looked at Wally, even the floating holographic head of Gideon.

“Would you care to tell us this brilliant idea?” Zari asked, her usual sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Wally’s cheeks pinkened. “We-we put someone undercover with the newsboys, one of us, to keep them safe. Therefore, Jack Kelly starts his strike, and no one else gets killed.”

“That’s a great idea!” Zari said, and Wally felt pretty good about himself. “That is if any of us could pass for newsboys. Sara and I aren’t even boys, and you boys can’t pass for teenagers.”

Wally’s hopes dropped.

“You forgot about Wally,” Sara said. “He actually is a teenager.”

Before any of them could make any more plans, a bleary Jack Kelly stumbled in, carrying a giant syringe threateningly. “Who the hell are youse?” He yelled and looked around. “And where the hell are we?”

“Oops.” They all muttered. Well, Mick and Sara muttered a few expletives.

“Hey! Youse are the guys that paid for the overpriced papes!” He yelled.

“This isn’t what you think,” Wally said.

Jack scoffed. “This is why I don’t drink no Coca-Cola. My brother tried it one time. Said he was seein’ weird stuff.” He stopped. “Youse didn’t give me no Coca-Cola, did youse?”

“You have a brother?” Ray asked, stalling for time.

“Whatsit to ya?” Jack growled back.

Most of the Legends were hiding grins until Zari leaned over to Nate. “Does he think he’s high on soda?” She whispered.

“In the early versions of Cokes, they put cocaine as a ‘secret ingredient’,” Nate whispered back.

Zari snorted in disbelief.

“Hey!” Jack yelled. “I’s talkin’ to youse!”

“You know what, Jack? We’re sorry. And we’ll also take you back to your house.” Sara said.

Jack’s syringe hand faltered. “You-youse will?”

“Yeah. Just give us the syringe.”

“Don’t try no funny business,” He warned. He chucked the syringe at the Legends. Sara slowly walked towards Jack and picked up the needle. Then, swiftly, she pulled out her stolen--sorry, borrowed-- Time Bureau memory flasher.

“Sorry, Jack,” she said softly and pulled the trigger. She then turned to Wally. “Go get dirtied up,” She said. “You have a band of newsboys to join.”