gingers-writing-blog

[gingers-writing-blog]

Hi!

— Hey Writers!

About Me -

lexis, hey/they, 14 yo, bi

american ohioan

i not only write but i also draw and read (obv) an unhealthy amount

i’m very mentally ill so i probably won’t be able to post as much writing as other writeblrs

my hobbies include writing, reading, drawing, singing, obsessing over things for weeks at a time, listening to music, and trying to learn instruments! oh and making an absurd amount of ocs

My Stories -

fit in! | ya contemporary romance novel, in progress since around 2015, main project

ft. majority lgbt cast, found family, gay male character, majority poc, coming-of-age story, miscommunication, family, banter, friendship, mental illness, friends to lovers, self discovery. — A story of love and self discovery as a gay mixed boy in a town that doesn’t like it all too much.

I am only putting one because it is currently the only one I am actually working on and developing.

Reblog or smth if you’re also a writeblr!!

[gingers-writing-blog]

New York Bound

Chapter 7

This chapter will be upsetting, reader discretion is advised.

FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, LOOK AT THE TRIGGER

Triggers: Character death, Blood, Screaming, Grief, Solitary confinement, Mental breakdown, Planned murder, Hallucination, Mentions of deportation

New Words: /

Word Count: 2794

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Fletcher?" I whispered.

'Please...'

I shook his limp body.

"Fletcher?" My voice rose. "Fletcher?! No! Don't be...Fletcher wake up!"

I shook him again.

'No.'

I screamed.

'No.'

I screamed again.

'No!'

I screamed until my throat was raw.

Tears streamed down my face, but I didn't have the energy to wipe them away.

'I've failed you.'

They fell and mixed into his blood.

It dripped off his body, pooled on the floor and seeped into the floorboards.

'This is all my fault.'

"I told you to go back," I whispered.

I bowed my head over his cold body.

I heard heavy footsteps come towards me, but I didn't care.

All I cared about was Fletch.

'I'm so sorry.'

A pair of hands grabbed me, but I resisted when they tried to pull me up.

"No!" I screamed. "Get off me!"

They didn't get off me.

'If only he'd gone back.'

They tried to pull me up again, and this time they succeeded.

I didn't even know who it was.

Fletcher's body got further and further away from me, but the image would be forever burned into my memories.

'If only he'd listened to me.'

"Let go of me!" I shrieked.

"Take her down to the basement." I heard someone say.

I lifted my head and when I saw the Foreman, my blood boiled.

"You!" I yelled, hoarsely.

'You're a monster!'

"Me." He replied, dangerously calm.

"I'm gonna kill you!" I screamed again, strugglin' in the grip of the people restrainin' me.

I thrashed around, kickin' and fightin' to move my arms.

Then I felt the cold metal of handcuffs on my wrists.

That didn't stop me.

The Foreman walked towards me and punched me so hard I stopped fighting.

I hung my head, dazed.

"You kill me, and you will be just like your parents." He said in a low growl.

'I'm the monster.'

"Get her down there now." He ordered.

I let my legs go limp as the men dragged me through the workhouse and down, down, down into the basement.

I'd never been down here before, but I had a feelin' I would be here for a long time.

They dragged me through a corridor, my feet trailin' behind me and scrapin' on the floor.

They stopped in front of a heavy, metal door and opened it.

"No...please...don't put me in there..." I pleaded weakly.

I felt the cuffs bein' taken off.

"Please..." I cried.

They flung me into the cell and slammed the door shut, leavin' me in the dark.

They left me alone with my thoughts.

~ Meanwhile ~

"Good work, Dan." The Foreman commended Dan on his work and the man nodded in reply.

"What?" Joey looked to his brother. "This was your plan? You brought a knife to kill them? If you meant to kill Cat, you missed by the way!"

"I didn't miss."

Dan turned to his brother.

"I meant to kill Fletcher."

"Why though?"

"Because she deserves to feel the same pain that we feel every single day. Her family took something from us, so our family has taken something from her."

"You're insane." Joey spat, seething and disgusted at the level his brother was willing to stoop to. "You're fucking insane."

"I'm still your brother, Joe."

"No. You're not." Joey stormed down the hallway and all the way out of the Workhouse.

Dan started to go after him, but the Foreman stopped him.

"No. Stay. I have more work for you."

Dan wiped Fletcher's blood onto his trousers, cleaning the knife.

"Yes, sir."

"Send a message to my contacts on the deportation ship: 'Prepare for another load tonight. You have 2 hours.' "

"Anything else, sir?"

"Do you know which of those bastards are the girls' friends?"

Dan nodded.

"Good. Get them on that ship. We're going to leave the girl in solitary until she's too broken to fight."

"Very well sir." Dan nodded and left the workhouse to inform the captain and crew on the deportation ship of their plans.

~ Meanwhile ~

'You're a monster.'

'You should've died instead of Fletcher.'

'Fletcher?'

'I'm so sorry.'

'HE'S DEAD.'

'YOU KILLED HIM.'

My shallow breathin' didn't even begin to fill the void of the empty room.

Every thought screeched for attention and all I could do was cover my ears and shake my head.

"No," I whispered.

"Go away."

"Please just go away!"

The sounds of my voice were swallowed up in the silence.

It wasn't like anyone would be able to hear me anyways.

Tears rushed down my face like an unstoppable torrent.

They soaked my face and my shirt.

I cried and cried and cried until I was completely exhausted.

I lay there, in a crumpled heap on the floor, utterly defeated.

"Cat." My head snapped up when I heard a voice call my name.

It came from the darkness.

It sounded like Fletcher.

"Yes? Who are you? Show yourself." I ordered feebly.

I could faintly make out the silhouette of a person, but I couldn't work out who I was seeing.

"Fletcher?!" I said as he stepped forwards.

"That's right. It's me Cat." His voice was soft, calm, reassuring.

He seemed to glow in the dark and with each step he took, that glow got brighter and brighter...but that light didn't fall on my face...

"But you're....you're supposed to be..."

"Don't think about it."

I looked him over and saw that his shirt was clean, his flesh was unbroken and his face was unwounded, but his eyes were still cold and lifeless.

He knelt down next to me and gently stroked my hair.

I didn't sit up. I couldn't.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, until he leant over me and whispered.

"You know that it's your fault I'm dead, right?"

"What?" I replied, confused.

He stood up and I watched him rise above me.

He'd completely changed.

His shirt and trousers were ripped and torn, just as they had been when he died.

His face was bloody, battered and bruised, just as it had been when he died.

His blood was bloomin' from his chest and stomach like some sort of deadly, yet horrifying flower from the gates of hell...just as there had been when he died.

But his eyes were the worst.

His eyes were alight with such intense wrath that bore through my soul.

"It's all your fault!" He shouted. "It's all your fault I'm dead!"

The glow changed.

It became like the tiny hands of a shadow, reachin' out and coilin' around my body.

It wrapped around me tighter and I watched it snake up to and wrap itself around my neck; I felt it. I felt every little shadow wrap around me and almost squeeze the very life out of me. It hurt. It hurt and I just wanted it to stop.

"I know Fletcher! I know and I'm sorry! Please!" I begged. I didn't even know what I was beggin' for.

"No! That's not good enough!" He bellowed.

I flinched and he rushed up to me.

He fell to his knees and grabbed my chin to force me to look up at him.

"Look at me. Look at what you've done. You are responsible." He said, in a low voice.

Terror flowed through me, but I couldn't do anything.

I knew it was all in my head, but that didn't make it feel any less real.

"You are responsible." He repeated.

He leant back and straightened his back, starin' straight ahead.

He clutched his stomach and I saw blood plumin' from a few places on his body.

His eyes were full of fear and pain and horror and when he keeled forwards his body disintegrated and turned to dust.

The dust settled on me and frantically tried to wipe it off.

I screamed and scrambled away from where I lay.

I huddle into a corner and rocked back and forth, my head restin' on my knees, my arms wrapped around my legs.

I remained like that, rockin', shakin', cryin', until finally, my body gave in to exhaustion and I slumped over onto the floor.

~ Meanwhile ~

"You," Dan pointed to an orderly. "Get 27049924 and 25049907. You," He pointed to the second orderly, "Get 24049901 and 24049915. Get them ready to go on the ship."

"Yes, Mr Jordan." The orderlies said in unison, before advancing and grabbing the people whose numbers had been read out.

The children struggled as they knew nothing good would come of this.

"Let us go!"

"Get off me!"

"Go away!"

"Help!"

They cried to the other inmates, but none of them moved.

They were scared.

They were all scared.

"Take them to the courtyard and put them in the vans to the docks. Then put them on the ship and lock them down." Dan ordered, taking great pleasure in his new power.

"Yes, Mr Jordan." The orderlies replied, dragging the children down the stairs.

Dan followed them. He locked the door behind him and put the key in his pocket.

' 'Mr Jordan'. Damn it feels good to be respected.'

~ Down in the basement cell ~

I sat bolt upright, flingin' my arms up over my head and flinchin' away from nothing.

"Go away!" I said.

I didn't even remember what I was dreamin' about, but it can't have been good.

Lookin' around, I momentarily forgot where I was and half expected to see someone lyin' next to me.

I didn't see anyone and when I sighed, I saw my breath in the air and shivered.

The cold bit through my clothes.

'Its freezin' down here...'

I wrapped my arms around my freezin' body, shifted further back into the corner and rubbed my arms in a weak attempt to warm up.

It wasn't really working, so I stood up.

My body screamed at me to sit back down, but I needed to move.

I walked around the room three times, but I was basically blind so I felt my way around.

There wasn't anythin' in the room except for me and a bucket for the times I needed to throw up or relieve myself.

No blanket, no candle, no matches, no mattress.

"Great," I muttered sarcastically. "This is just great ain't it."

My eyes were beginnin' to adjust to the darkness and when I could see better, I made my way over to the door.

I looked up and down and ran my hands all over it, tryin' to feel if I could find the lock.

I needed to get out of there.

Bingo.

I felt the lock and went to grab the old lockpicks, the ones I used to get out of the attic and into the office.

They were gone.

"Goddamn it!" I shouted.

My voice reverberated around the cell.

They must've fallen out...

And now I'm stuck in here.

'Oh god...I'm goin' to go mad in here...'

~

As time went on, I started seein' things more and more. Sometimes I saw Fletcher...just sittin' by himself in the opposite corner of the room.

Other times I saw my parents, pale green, soakin' wet with rope marks on their wrists. They would stand in front of me, not sayin' a word, just starin' at me. They had the burlap sacks they'd drowned in over their shoulders.

As time went on, I felt myself losin' my grip. There was very little in the cell and I couldn't do anythin' about it.

The endless hours of boredom, interspersed with episodes of mindless panic and fear and screamin', took their toll.

As time went on, I realised there was a routine.

I couldn't see the sky, so I didn't know whether it was night or day, but I managed to work out a system.

Once a day, every day, a small tray of food and water was pushed through a small hatch at the base of the door.

It was usually bread, maybe some soup, they gave me some fruit sometimes. There was also water, a candle and 5 matches on the tray.

I used it not just see be able to see, but to feel like there was hope, however small the chances; but I could only think that when I managed to convince myself that I'd be ok.

The warm glow of the fire reminded me of the Lodging House. It reminded me of my friends. It reminded me of my life.

It was the one thing that stopped me from...

I barely felt anythin' anymore.

As the tray came through every day, I counted how many days I'd been stuck in the cell.

21 days.

3 weeks.

"3 WEEKS!!" I screamed in a vicious explosion of anger.

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!" I screamed, my head tilted up to the ceilin' and the rest of the Workhouse.

I hoped that The Foreman could hear me.

"Oh yes, he's very happy now." Someone said behind me.

While I was shoutin' I didn't hear the door open.

I turned around, ignorin' the constant gnawin' in my stomach and the constant fire ragin' in my heart.

"No. Go away!" I said as a couple of orderlies stalked towards me, batons in their hands and cuffs on their belts.

I stumbled back as fast as I could until my back hit the wall. I sank down to the floor, but they just hauled me back up and cuffed my hands behind my back.

I'd forgotten how they'd felt and the cold metal brought back memories I'd tried so hard to block out and forget.

Tears started to fall as images came floodin' back. I tried to get away from the men, but they held me tighter than before.

"No! Please let me go!" I cried.

My legs buckled beneath me and I shook my head, the screamin' inside my head completely overwhelmin' me.

I shook my head again.

"No!"

They started to pull me out of the cell and, if it was at all possible, I started to panic more.

"Where...where are you takin' me? Where are we going?" I asked.

No answer.

"Dan! Where are you takin' me?" I shouted at him.

He kept walking.

No answer.

They walked me through the corridor, past the other cells and to the stairs.

They walked me up the stairs, past the main room, classrooms and laundry room and to the front door.

They walked me out the front door, past the windows I'd stared out of for hours and to the van waitin' for me in the square.

"Get in. Don't fight." Dan whispered to me.

Lowerin' my head, I glanced down to see the knife in his belt. It looked familiar, but not in a good way.

I looked back up and saw a glint in Dan's eyes.

"Yes, that is what you think it is. It's the knife I got when we arrested you. It's also the one that I used to kill Fletcher. So, I'm guessing you know what that means." He said, not givin' me a chance to answer before I was pushed into the van with the door slammed and bolted behind me.

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I did know what it meant. It meant I killed Fletcher.

It was my knife.

I took it from the emergency room.

I lost it in the fight.

I let Dan have it.

I killed him.

~ In Manhattan ~

Tommy Boy and Smalls sat down on the small sofa in the middle of the room, Jack Kelly sitting on a chair in front of them, a soft smile on his face.

"What do you guys go by?" He asked.

"Smalls."

"Tommy Boy."

They replied with their respective names.

"Hey, I ain't never heard accents like yours before. Where ya from?" Jack asked.

Smalls and Tommy both thought that they hadn't ever heard an accent like his ever before.

"London," Smalls replied.

"Sydney, Australia...Then London...now here." Tommy added.

"That explains it..." Jack muttered. "How come you two's are in New York?"

"Long story. Not worth telling." Smalls stared Jack in the eyes, making it quite clear that they didn't want to tell the story.

Jack got the message loud and clear and didn't press them to say anything more about it.

"Fair enough. Right, we'll get you set up with a bed in the dorm, you can get washed up and there are some spare clothes and boots in the storeroom in the basement." Jack nodded, then got up off the chair.

"Right, thanks," Smalls said.

"Thanks, Jack," Tommy said, nodding back.

"Anytime. Anything you need just ask me or Race, the blond one with the smart mouth and cigar."

"Ok, will do," Tommy replied.

"Oh and, uhh...Welcome to the Manhattan Newsies.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N So...are you alive after that? Let me know if you liked it! Have a great day! I promise, it won’t get any worse than that. If you want me to trigger tag things, I will.

[gingers-writing-blog]

New York Bound

Chapter 6

This chapter will be upsetting, reader discretion is advised.

FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, LOOK AT THE TRIGGERS

Triggers: Character death, Blood, Stabbing, Swearing, Brief mentions of vomit, Overcrowded sleeping area

New Words: Skivvy - a maid

Word Count: 2558

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day was the same in the Workhouse. Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, clean the kitchens and be a skivvy for the mean, old cook. Then eat lunch and back to work in the laundry room. Some days, I would be with Ida and other days it was a girl named Freya.

Get up. Breakfast. Work. Lunch. Work. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. Every day.

While who I was workin' with was never consistent, one thing was...At the end of every day, my body ached and my hands were painful and cracked. It was back breakin' work, haulin' huge baskets of clean and dirty laundry around the Workhouse.

Every night, I was exhausted when I got back to the dormitory we shared with the boys. And by dormitory, I mean a dusty, dirty, overcrowded attic with a bucket at each end, a lock on the door, and no room for privacy or personal space. It was hell.

The attic reeked of sweat, vomit, anxiety and fear. There were a couple of tiny windows, but they had bars on them. If they didn't, I would've escaped with my friends by now.

I couldn't bear it anymore. I couldn't bear doin' the same menial, laborious tasks all day, every day. I couldn't bear bein' away from my friends and not bein' able to protect them.

I'd been there for a week and all the time I was tryin' to figure out how to get out. I was goin' to go to the police. I knew the Workhouses were crooked, I just needed proof.

So, one night, I got up off the floor I was tryin' to sleep on and crept over to the door, keepin' close to the floor. I had memorised all the creaky floorboards so I wouldn't wake anyone up.

I slipped my makeshift lock pickin' tools out of my trouser pocket and picked the lock as fast as I could, despite how much my hands hurt.

I tip-toed down the stairs and snuck down the dark corridor towards The Foreman's office.

I thought I got out without anyone knowing, but I was wrong. Someone followed me. They followed me down the steps. They followed me down the corridor. They always stayed 15 paces behind me.

They thought I didn't know.

So, when I came to a corner, I went around it and immediately pressed my back up against the wall. I forced my breathin' to slow down, but my muscles were still tense. It's like they were waitin' for a fight.

I heard their light footsteps come down the hallway. I felt the vibrations through the floor. I saw their shadow on the wall in front of me. It was cast from behind them from a dimly lit lantern on a sideboard we'd passed.

I clenched my fists and when they came around the corner, I jumped them. I forced them down on to one knee, got them into a headlock and heard them growl me to get off. Then I realised who it was.

"Fletcher?" I whispered, releasin' him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing? You're the one sneaking around in the dark!" He rubbed his neck and I apologised.

"I'm tryin' to find out what's goin' on and why..." I took a deep breath in as quietly as I could. "Just...just go back to the dorm...attic and for god's sake, stay out of this!"

"No. I'm staying here." He hissed back.

"Why? This is dangerous and I don't want you to get the punishment if I get caught. Like it or not, I'm goin' to find out what's goin' on, so you can go back to the dorm and stay out of trouble."

"How many times do I have to say no!?" He implored.

I let out a frustrated growl and clenched my jaw so I didn't do anythin' I would regret. I knew he would beat me in a fight if it came to it...

To be 100% sure I wouldn't so anythin' stupid...more stupid...I turned away from him and walked to The Foreman's office.

I heard him follow me and at the last moment, I whirled around and punched him in the jaw.

"Ow!" He cried out. "Shit..." He scolded himself for shoutin' and put a hand out to steady himself. His vision went blurry and sharp pain shot up his face.

"God, I hope no one heard that..." He whispered.

In the time it took him to recover, I ran away and knelt down to the lock on the office door. I picked the lock as fast as I could and opened the door.

"Woah..."

The office was a lot grander than I'd imagined. The desk in the centre had little gold details and so did the fireplace on one end of the room.

"Cat!" I heard Fletcher behind me.

I ignored him and walked to the desk, searchin' for any papers that might prove what was goin' on. Anythin' that might help. Anythin' at all.

~ Meanwhile ~

Mr Jenkins charged through the Workhouse, with two more orderlies and the Jordan brothers following behind him. There were on their way to The Foreman's office after receiving news from a nurse that two kids had broken into his office.

"Hey, Dan," Joey whispered to his brother.

"Yeah?" He replied.

"Maybe we should go and warn the kids. Cat's probably one of them and she doesn't deserve what's coming."

"And what do you think they'll do to us if they catch us helping them? Plus her parents killed our parents and the police did nothing about it. I think we have an obligation."

"What?! Do you hear yourself?" Joey stopped dead in the corridor and when Dan realised, he stopped too.

Dan sighed and rolled his eyes impatiently, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Look, I've been thinking a lot lately--"

"Well, obviously not," Joey interjected.

"I've been thinking a lot lately and I think that we're entitled to a little bit of revenge. Don't you?"

"No!" Joey had no idea why his brother would say such a thing. "No, of course not! Why are you saying this?"

"I just think that she deserves to feel the same pain we did...the same pain our father knew..." Dan ranted. Joey looked into his brothers' eyes and was terrified of what he saw. He saw pain, hatred, madness and...and fear...

"No! We cannot---" Joey started.

"You two! Hurry up." Mr Jenkins ordered from the end of the corridor.

~ Back in the Foreman's office with Cat and Fletcher ~

"Cat...please let's just go," Fletcher begged.

I didn't listen to him and kept searchin' through the desk, until...

"Hey, I've found something," I said, holdin' up a small, dark grey, metal key. "Where would it fit though? What does it unlock?"

"I don't know..."

"Well, we'd better get looking!" At my words, both of us got to searchin' the rest of the office, Fletcher takin' the left side, me takin' the desk and the right.

A few minutes later, I heard footsteps in the corridor outside the office and my searchin' got more and more rushed.

"Hey Fletcher, can you keep watch at the door? I think I can hear someone coming..." I asked, prayin' he'd say yes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, then agreeing.

"Thank you, so much. I really owe you one." He nodded and went to the door, openin' it just a bit and peerin' out.

I kept searchin' until I noticed a small paintin' on the wall. I hurried over to it and saw that it was on hinges.

"Cat! I can hear footsteps coming. Hurry up." Fletcher's voice grew more and more panicked as he whispered from the door.

I pried it open and gasped when I saw the safe in the wall behind.

I inserted the key into the lock and smiled when it turned. I opened the door and leafed through the papers for somethin' incriminating.

"Got it!" I said when I found what looked like the only papers the Foreman hadn't got rid of.

"Cat! Cat! Come on. They've just come around the corner..." Fletcher ran to me and grabbed my wrist. He pulled me out of the office and we went to run down the corridor.

"You! Stop!" A white-uniformed orderly shouted at us. There were two angry orderlies at the end of the corridor, blockin' our escape.

We froze.

"Shit."

"What do you think you're doing with those papers?" The orderly demanded.

"Uhhhh..." For once, I was at a complete loss for words. I scrambled to find words to explain what we were doing, but my mind was racin' too fast for me to grab anything.

"Well? Answer." Someone behind us said.

We span around and saw Mr Jenkins, Dan and Joey Jordan blockin' the other end of the corridor.

I looked at Fletcher to see if he had an answer.

Nothin' came.

'We are so fucked.' I thought.

"Why have you got those?" Dan stormed up to me, pure rage in his eyes. When I still didn't answer, he planted his hands on my chest and shoved me back as hard as he could.

I fell to the floor and pain shot through my entire body.

"Ahh!" I cried out. "Bloody hell!"

"Get off me!" Dan shouted when Fletcher jumped him, punchin' and kickin' as hard as he could.

He was pulled off by the two orderlies who were originally blockin' our escape. They grabbed him and twisted his arms behind his back, Dan not sparin' anythin' as he punched Fletcher.

I stood up, ignorin' the pain and started to go and help Fletcher, but before I could get to him, Joey stepped in front of me.

"Move Joey," I said, pain and adrenaline coursin' through my body. My voice shook slightly.

"No." He replied defiantly. "I don't want to hurt you Cat, but I love my brother and he comes first. I have to protect him, that's all he's ever done for me. I owe it to him."

I sighed, my insides churning. I pulled my arm back, balled my fists and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could.

He must've been expectin' the move because at the moment of impact he twisted and grabbed my arm. He punched me in the face and knocked me backwards.

I clenched my teeth as he punched me and, as I went down, I swung my leg out underneath him. He fell like a sack of potatoes and I grunted as I got on top of him to keep him down.

I sent punch after punch into his stomach and face and my fierce concentration didn't waver until his face was bloody.

Then I heard the knife.

The zing as it was unsheathed.

The grunts from the man who wielded it.

The cries from the boy it was plunged into.

"Fletcher!" I cried out, turnin' away from Joey.

I looked over, tryin' to find Fletcher, but my view of him was blocked by Dan.

Dan had his back to me and Fletcher was still bein' restrained by the two orderlies, but I saw his legs go weak and he cried out, over and over and over again.

I felt tears buildin' up at each pained yelp.

Suddenly, Joey's fist connected with the side of my head and my vision went dark.

I slumped to the floor and shook my head in an attempt to regain my vision. I lay on my back, my bloody and bruised hands coverin' my eyes, seein' stars.

Someone stamped on my ribs a couple of times and I swore I felt somethin' crack.

I couldn't fight back when I felt the papers I'd tried so hard to get were ripped from my grasp.

"No." I croaked out, my ribs were sore and popped when I breathed.

I coughed a couple of times and rolled over when I thought I would be able to stand again.

The heavy boot that pressed onto my back, pushed me down into the rough wooden floor and kept me there.

"Stay down." Dan's voice growled from somewhere above me.

I tried to push against the boot, but I couldn't.

I was weak from the fight and when I saw Fletcher fall to his knees beside me, I froze again.

"Fletch?" I whispered.

He clutched his stomach and I saw blood plumin' from a few places on his body.

His eyes were full of fear and pain and horror and when he keeled forwards the weight on my back eased off.

There was so much blood poolin' around him.

Too much blood.

I shuffled over to him and shook him.

'Please be alive. Don't die on me. Please!'

My thoughts became frantic and my heart pounded so hard I thought it was goin' to burst out of me.

He didn't move.

So, I grabbed him and usin' what little energy I had left, I managed to turn him over.

"Oh, God!" Tears started fallin' down my face when I really saw how much blood there was. I pressed my ear to his bloody chest and somehow heard a weak heartbeat.

I pushed myself up and crawled around to cradle his head and upper body in my lap.

My hands shook and my breath caught in my throat as I pushed his hair away from his eyes.

Vomit threatened to come up, but I forced it back down.

"Cat?" Fletcher said, his voice weak and strained.

"Fletcher? Fletcher, I'm here. I'm so sorry." I said, the tears streamin' down my face becomin' uncontrollable.

"It's alright Cat." He was worryingly calm. "Just promise me one thing? Please?"

"Yes, of course. Anything." I choked out.

"If you get out, if you survive...can you tell Alice I love her? Please?"

It was those words that broke me. I couldn't answer.

I bowed my head over his body.

All I could do was nod.

"Thank you."

'I've failed you, Fletcher. I promised I'd protect you! It's all my fault. I'm so sorry.'

As the true reality of the situation fully washed over him, Fletcher began to cry.

He trembled like a leaf and his eyes widened in terror.

He started to hyperventilate, but every time he breathed, more blood poured out of his chest and stomach.

We were both covered in his scarlet blood and it seeped through the floorboards.

It would never come out.

It would serve as a constant reminder of the horrors they were all witnessing.

It covered our hands, soaked into our shirts and my loose hair trailed in it.

"Cat! Cat, I don't want to die! Help! I don't want to die! Please!" He pleaded, flinchin' at every breath.

"I'm so sorry Fletcher. I told you to go back." My voice cracked and he grabbed my hand.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

I knew what he wanted to say.

"I promise I'll tell Alice you love her. I promise."

"Cat. I don't want to die...I want to stay...I can't! I was going to...I don't want to---"

Fletcher sighed his last breath.

His body went limp.

His eyes closed for the last time.

He died.

My scream echoed through the entire workhouse.

[gingers-writing-blog]

I was wondering if you could help me! Im writing this story about these 8 kids with superpowers but I'm having a lot of trouble finding the motivation for the main bad guy besides just "he wants to kill all supernaturals" and stuff on that line. Could you help me? Thanks!

The Villain’s Motivation

Your villain’s motivation will display what kind of person he truly is; whether he’s psychotic, hateful, or chaotic. If you did decide he wants to kill them all, there’s likely a reasoning behind that which will help you develop his character more. You have a few different options, such as:

1) The Emperor. This sort of villain’s primary focus is undisputed power. If he wants to rid of something, it’s because it could be a threat to his reign (be that over a city, a group of people, or something else). He wants to remove anything that could possibly be a threat or a nuisance. If that means killing a bunch of kids with superpowers, that’s fine with him.

2) The Paranoid. This sort of villain fears what may happen if the perceived threat stays around. He either fears being removed from power, the end of the world as he knows it, or something more. In order to cope with that fear, he decides that the removal of that fear is the only way to get past it. He’s hellbent on achieving his goal, because he only grows more paranoid when the longer the threat is still at large.

3) The Pure Evil. This sort of villain doesn’t really have a true motivation at all. This villain acts simply because he can and no one opposes him (or those who do are crushed mercilessly). He has little to no moral guard and is volatile and unpredictable. He wants to destroy for destruction’s sake, and finds joy in what he does.

[gingers-writing-blog]

Me_irl

[gingers-writing-blog]

hi writeblr!! i have been a silent stalker of this community for a while but i finally decided to make an account!

about me!!!

i’m knife! [a 16-yr old nb lesbian (they/she) who likes to write stuff]

english isn’t my first language but i try!! (my english is a horrid british & american english mixture)

i am pretty shy & awkward when it comes to tumblr but i am trying my best!!! i promise i love ur wip if i follow u i am just too shy to ask to be added to taglist ;w;

about my wip!!!

planning & brainstorming stage

 angels!! demons!! werewolves!! vampires!! & more!!

friendships are p big deal in this story!!! hug your friends!!!

a lot of nblw/wlw characters!! overall everyone is lgbtq+ pretty much!!

this came to be from me being very lonely - mc got a lot of my emotional baggage! hoohee!!

knowing the title and genre of your wip? not me!!!

[gingers-writing-blog]

Biggest Issues for Novice Writers

(And how to fix them)

I tried to have some fun with the titles. Please don’t make fun of me lol.

You Had Me at “Hello”… You Lost Me at the Second “Hello”

Unless there is subtext or fragments of important exposition in your small talk, no one wants to read the mundane small talk of the characters. The only small talk– or any conversation, really– should be for a purpose. Are you showing your readers there is underlying tension? Are you sprinkling in the fact that two characters used to date? What is the purpose not only of the conversation but of every single line spoken?

Even important dialogue shouldn’t drag on forever. Reading two characters ask each other how they are, only for both of them to say “good”, and have no subtext of exposition, is boring. Have them speak with purpose. You don’t have to include the niceties if they unfold over more than two lines. 

The Daenerys Problem

Inconsistent characterization is a big problem that I see in amateur writing and bad novels. You need to have a clear idea of who these people are, where they come from, and what they want. It’s also important to nail down their voice (both as speakers and narrators) and keep it consistent. Inconsistent characters lead to readers losing their investment in them– and ultimately, the story. Know these characters. 

Bad Dads

This is most common in fanfiction, but I’ve read it in original fiction, too. The teenage MC will have absent, neglectful, or abusive guardians SOLELY for the purpose of giving the MC free range to do whatever they want without parental repercussions.

If your story is about kids that come from these households, I don’t have a problem with you. Let’s be clear. It’s the stories where the only effect we see of these guardians is that the MC is allowed to do whatever they want– run away, break rules, spend nights outs, etc.

If your story isn’t about the other effects of neglect, absence, or abuse from guardians, then you should use present guardians for the MC for conflict in other places. They can still be dysfunctional or antagonistic people, but you don’t have to invoke the seriousness of abuse, neglect, and absence that you would otherwise (wherein you have to give the seriousness the attention it deserves, or end up falling into this trope).

If your MC has guardians who are “normal” people and notice when they’re gone, then you still have the option for conflict. Just in different ways.

Please stop including criminally-bad parents for the sole purpose of giving the teenage MC free run of the world. It’s disrespectful to those who actually went through this situation. Give the emotional trauma the actual attention it deserves in a narrative, or give them different parents. 

This applies to dead parents, too. Webeen knew about the overuse of the orphan cliche. 

Wow! This is Hard to Read!

Stilted syntax. This is when your actual writing, the words and sentences on the paper, don’t sound natural or become too much effort to read. Very long, winding sentences can do this, as can unvaried sentence length. Not only should a reader be able to say the sentence aloud without taking another breath, but they should also feel a melody to the sentences.

Imagine I write like this. I only use single-subject sentences. No commas or conjunctions in sight. Every paragraph is like this. Every sentence is like this. There is no melody here. There is rhythm. No melody. It’s boring. It’s repetitive. The reader is getting anxious.

But now, imagine that I write sentences that are very long and flowy, without a real sense of particular direction, or narrative purpose. It’s not just that these sentences usually break grammar rules, because let’s be honest, grammar doesn’t always matter when you have your own writing style, but it’s because there’s too much winding for these sentences and they require too much work from the reader in terms of reading- and literary-comprehension.

But what if we shorten those sentences and vary our sentence length? It has a melody. We’re here, we’re engaged, and we’re getting a melodic story. Right? The story doesn’t have to be beautiful in words, but it should be beautiful as a collection of sentences. Giving readers breaks. And breaths. The easiest way to accomplish this is not while you write. Though it is good to keep in mind as you write. However, it is best to just write and then come back during editing. Sentences are easy to rearrange to make it more varied. Word choice will also help. Some words are longer than others. Some words flow better. It’s all. about your gut-feeling.

Insta-Love

It doesn’t matter if you believe in love at first sight. Two characters who meet and immediately fall in love isn’t a super interesting trope to read on its own. There are two routes of fixing this.

First option, you avoid the L-O-V-E and start with more realistic feelings. Lust, infatuation, and attraction are all normal things for someone with romantic/sexual orientations to experience upon first meet. And those can grow into love. But it doesn’t start with the L-word. 

Second option, you keep the insta-love and subvert the trope. Two characters meet and feel like they’ve fallen in love. But instead of growing stronger, it deteriorates. They start in love and gradually fall out of love. Instead of the build up from Option 1, it’s a break down. Sad, but a subversion nonetheless.

I Can Practically See the Characters. But Where the Hell am I?

White Room Syndrome is a problem. You give beautiful, deep descriptions of the characters and the action, but you don’t describe the room they’re in enough. They could be practically anywhere and no one would be able to tell. Again, there are two easy ways to fix this.

A) You give a static description of the room. This is the basic description. What it looks like, what’s there, what feeling it invokes, etc. 

B) You let the setting be an active character. Active settings are intrusive. They continually affect the people in them. A very hot or very cold place that worsens a character’s comfort again and again is active. Being outside at night with a bunch of pesky mosquitoes is active. In comparison, a static setting would be a bedroom that doesn’t continually become invasive of the main storyline. If the bedroom has striped wallpaper that goes all different directions and makes a character nauseous (a la I Lovy Lucy), then it becomes active. 

Either option you take per setting is up to you, but hopefully it will aleviate the White Room Syndrome. 

Virgin Airlines

This mostly applies to YA, sci-fi, fantasy, and romance/erotica novels, but it’s worth thinking about no matter your genre. So often, I see either a whole plot or subplot that revolves around a heterosexual female character who is, obviously, a naive virgin. Maybe she’s not worldly naive, but she’s naive when it comes to romance, sex, and practically everything men do around her. 

It’s annoying. I’ve read it a million times. And their first partner is nearly ALWAYS an experienced dude. And some of these women have never even masturbated or felt arousal or thought about sex. 

It’s a tired trope that dismisses a female character’s agency. Especially when the man is NOT in the same boat. Are female virgin characters bad? No. But for God’s sake, their romantic plot does NOT need to revolve around the repeated detail that she is a virgin.

And not all virgins need to be naive about romance or sex. And… it’s definitely okay to have a good romantic subplot with a non-virgin female character. There can still be new feelings of intimacy! Gasp! Yes! There are different kinds of sexual encounters! Even if this isn’t the first man she’s slept with, this could still be the first man she’s felt intimate with. 

Food for thought. And again, for clarity, I have nothing against (naive) female virgin characters. But I do think there is more ground to cover. 

Let’s All Be Friends!

Please add conflict to your story at every chance you get. Is there such thing as TOO much conflict? Yes. But that shouldn’t stop you from experimenting with more conflict. It can be found anywhere. And it raises stakes, which increases suspense and reader investment. 

If you need brainstorming ideas, work backward from what they might lose (i.e. the stakes). This character is most afraid to lose _________. This character would be a wreck if they lost ________. Here is a list of things a character could have at stake.  Say, in the middle of your big plot, your character is relying upon their mentor. What if that mentor will move cities if the character doesn’t _________? What if that mentor will die unless the character ________. While knee-deep in the main conflict, they have to solve this or risk the main goal. Boom! More conflict, more stakes, more reader investment and suspense. 

People… Don’t Talk Like This?

Bad dialogue is a plague to read and plague for writers to figure out. Here’s the thing: good dialogue in books and films ISN’T 100% realistic. It just isn’t. Human speech is messy, unscripted, meandering, and confusing. We don’t say the perfect closing line for a scene because there are no scenes in life. We live continuously. 

However, it isn’t about realism. It’s about what sounds natural to us. Natural dialogue borrows from realism, but it doesn’t rely upon realism. It relies upon what carries the narrative along, what the FICTIONAL characters with FICTIONAl backgrounds would say, and what sounds natural to readers/viewers and writers alike. 

Think about the movie you think has the best dialogue. Now think about if it was a real story with real people. Would it be as articulate or well-paced or smooth? Chances are, you’d lose a lot of clarity and eloquence. 

Good dialogue isn’t necessarily about taking real words and putting them in. It’s about taking the natural feel and applying it to your fictional situations. 

Can there be good dialogue that is as true to realistic dialogue as possible? Yes, but my point is that it isn’t necessary or always the best option. 

When in doubt, go au naturel. 

Tokens are for Arcades, Not People

Don’t put all of your diverse traits into one character. You can have a character with multiple diverse traits, but they shouldn’t be the only diverse character. Especially within the pantheon of important main characters. 

Continue to include your deaf, lesbian Asian character, but you might want to check to see if they are the only important character that is part of the LGBTQ+ community, a person of color, or not completely able-bodied. They shouldn’t be a unicorn. 

This isn’t a call-out post for people who are against including diversity for some odd reason. I’m not here to argue with you on that. Because why argue with a rock? This is just food for thought. If you think including ONE diverse character is enough, then ask yourself why you’re including them at all. You should want diverse characters because it mirrors real life, not because you think it’s a modern-day quota. If you think it’s a quota, write your monolithic cast and do what you will. Don’t tokenize people. 

And don’t beat yourself up if you ACCIDENTALLY only included one diverse main character. It can happen. But if you want diversity and it was just an accident, then be mindful when planning later projects. It’s a learning curve, which no one wants to tell you. We consciously and unconsciously write stories about what we know and if we only know our little slice of the world, it can be hard to naturally cast characters unlike us. You’re probably not doing it maliciously, which means all you need is a little more mindfulness. 

Hope this was insightful!

Please don’t be mean if you disagree. This is just from my own perspective and I’d really like to not have nasty replies and reblogs. Civil disagreement is fine. But please don’t be mean! Let’s keep the writeblrcommunity friendly.

[gingers-writing-blog]

Masterlist

This includes writing from my old account (@pointe-anon) so no I have not stolen, I have stated on that account that I’ve moved to here

This is also a work in progress, I’m yet to place in links.

—

Newsies - 

Katherine Plumber Pulitzer content -

Head canons

She Used To Be Mine

Head canons (Appearance) - Katherine appreciation month 2020

Head canons (Fluff) - Katherine appreciation month 2020

Head canons (Angst) - Katherine appreciation month 2020

Friday Night Dinner AU content - 

Newsies as quotes

AU Series (Coming Soon), Parts: One - Two - Three - ect…

Ship/Relationships -

Datherine (David Jacobs X Katherine Pulitzer) -

Love Letters

Chapter One - Burnt Turkey and Love Letters.

Chapter Two - Carrot Sticks and Headphones.

Headcanons

Slightly Angstier Ship Meme

SEND ME A SHIP and i’ll tell you: (Fluff)

Crack -

Newsies as things said on our discord server [not cc] - 

Parts: One - Two - To be continued

Moodboards -

Main Characters - 

Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Hogwarts AU Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Ensemble Characters - 

JoJo De La Guerra

Mush Meyers

Buttons Davenport

Ships - 

Datherine (David Jacobs X Katherine Plumber Pulitzer)

[gingers-writing-blog]

Pen, novella, playlist? :)

Thanks for asking, anon! 💜

Pen: Do you prefer writing by hand or on a device? Why?

I 100% prefer writing on my laptop because it's super convenient. If I need to look something up, it's super quick; it's great to keep all my documents in one place, I use Google Drive so I don't have to worry about saving, and I'll always have music available!

However, if I don't have my laptop then I'll jot stuff down in the notes app on my phone or on a scrap of paper. Given the choice, I'll pick my laptop every time.

Novella: Do you prefer to write short stories, one-shots, or entire novels?

With this, it really depends, to be honest. With the short stories and one-shots, I think they're quite similar, but one-shots are for fanfic and short stories aren't. This is just my opinion and if yours is different then I totally respect that - this is just how I classify them on my Masterlist.

I really like writing short stories because I think they're a fun challenge and it tests my writing abilities: trying to fit a good story in under 1,000 words. 1,000 words is what I try and stick to, but Hero Nonetheless is just over 1,500 words because I had to adapt it for a competition I entered. My short story requests are closed right now, but if you see a prompt that you find interesting, feel free to send it to me and if I find it interesting too, it might pop up!

As for entire novels, I've never written one, but I have one 'in the works'. I wrote over 52,000 words of it for last November's (2019) NaNoWriMo and because I was so focused on that for a month, I haven't looked at it since. I think I'm going to look at it again soon though!

Playlist: What kind of music/songs help you write? Do you have a writing playlist?

Right...music...The main type of music that I listen to is Broadway, but if I find a song and it's good/fits the thing I want to write, then I'll listen to it. If it slaps, it slaps! I only have one writing playlist and it's full of sad/emotional songs that I used for Chapters 6 and 7 of New York Bound. They aren't currently uploaded, but if people show an interest, then I'll post them.

When I'm writing and I want to capture a specific emotion, then I'll find some music to reflect that. E.g. A happy playlist/song that'll make me happy and excited which will influence my writing, or songs that put me on edge for writing a scary scene.

I also love listening to Peter Hollens, Panic at the Disco, Little Mix, classic rock, generally the stuff that comes in the Spotify Daily Mixes is good!

Thanks again for asking, anon! Have a great day! 💜

[gingers-writing-blog]

characterization and ink for the writer asks!

Thanks so much for asking!

Characterization: Describe your favourite character you’ve written

I think that Cat from New York Bound is my favourite character because she’s brave, loyal and would fight to the ends of the earth for those she cares about; she usually puts on a confident, sure-of-herself face because she has to (being a borough leader an all), but she also lets herself be vulnerable and let’s other people see her softer side - only when she wants them to. 

I think that the journey she goes on throughout the story is quite special and even though I’m writing her and her story, it’s helping me, it’s giving me hope that things are going to improve and I hope it does the same for anyone who reads it and needs it.

(Click ‘New York Bound’ above to be taken to the New York Bound Masterlist)

Ink: What do you need to do to “set the mood” for writing?

Ok, so I do a couple of things to get into the right mindset for writing: 

1) I like to be warm and cosy, whether that’s sitting by a radiator, wearing a load of jumpers or just being in a warm room, I like being warm. I also have Raynaud’s Phenomenon so it’s easier to type when my hands are warm because it means they have sufficient blood flow.

2) I like to be sure I won’t get getting up every 5 seconds, for food or a charger or whatever

3) Music. If I’m writing a happy scene, I’ll find songs/a playlist that will make me happy or excited, and if I’m writing a particularly emotional scene or chapter, I’ll find sogs to suitably match what I want the reader to feel when they read it.

Having a fully charged laptop (or charger nearby) and my planning book are also quite useful!

@albertdoesnteatglass Thanks for asking!

[gingers-writing-blog]

writer asks 📃

send these to a writer you know or answer some yourself!

ink: what do you do to “set the mood” when writing?

pen and paper: do you prefer writing by hand or on a device? why?

diary: how many pieces have you written that are just for you or will never see the light of day?

journal: do you ever write just so you can enjoy something to read?

novella: do you prefer to write short stories, one-shots, or entire novels?

pulitzer: tell about/link a piece where you fielt your writing was the best.

genre: what genre do you prefer to write in?

narrator: what pov do you like writing in best?

backstory: how did you come to love writing?

time-lapse: how long have you been writing (as a hobby or for work)?

characterization: describe your favorite character(s) you’ve written.

carnegie: what authors and/or books/stories have inspired you to write or influenced your work?

faulkner: what tropes do you LOVE writing? which ones are your guilty pleasure?

o’connor: what tropes/genres do you dislike writing?

dickinson: what insecurities do you have about your own writing? what do you think you should improve on?

playlist: what kind of music/songs help you write? do you have a writing playlist?

record: have you written things based off of songs? do you like to?

nobel: have you published anything you’ve written? online or irl?

notepad: can you write anywhere or do you have to be in a specific place and mood to write?

parchment: how often do you or your personal life influence your writing?

dedication: if you were to publish a book or multiple, who would you dedicate the book(s) to?

trope: what’s a pet peeve you have about writing?

input: what’s something you hate that people say to you about writing/your writing?

critic: what’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received about writing?

mifflin: what do you feel is your strong suit in writing?

houghton: what’s something you love that people compliment your pieces on?

[gingers-writing-blog]

Fandom Works Masterlist

If I missed any triggers, please tell me and I’ll add them

Newsies

New York Bound

Synopsis: Caitlin Barnes is your typical London newsie. Known at Cat, Caitlin is the co-leader of the Mayfair London Newsies, until all that changes and she finds herself in the clutches of the evilest Workhouse owner in the city. After fighting to survive - and almost paying for it with her life - she ends up on a ship that is New York bound. Who knows what will happen when she gets there and who knows what she will encounter...

Genre: Fanfiction, Canon-Era

Triggers: Will be listed at the top of each chapter

Word Count: Will be listed at the top of each chapter

-----

Newsies’ Little Sister

Synopsis: This is the untold story of Mush Meyers and the little sister that no one knew about...Until. Now. Join Emmeline Meyers and she finds her way through life - dealing with home, love, life and most importantly...Strikes!

Genre: Fanfiction, Canon-Era

Triggers: Will be listed at the top of each chapter

Word Count: Will be listed at the top of each chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One-Shots, Prompts and Short Stories

What did he do this time?! - Racetrack/Spot (Sprace)

Synopsis: Race was only looking after the new kid...he didn’t want to get arrested. Spot certainly had a few things to say about it...

Genre: Fanfiction, Canon-Era, Hurt/Comfort

Triggers: Arrest, Stealing, The Refuge, Bruises

Word Count: 1,550

-----

Did you find it in the end? - Specs (No Ship)

Synopsis: The answer to the age-old question: Did Specs ever find his shoe?

Genre: Fanfiction, Canon-Era

Triggers: If you find any, let me know and I’ll add them

Word Count: 1383

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New York Bound - Other than the New York newsies (including Tommy Boy and Smalls) belong to me

Newsies’ Little Sister - All characters belong to Disney (apart from Emmeline)

One-Shots, Prompts and Short Stories - All characters belong to Disney

One-Shots, Prompts and Short Stories OPEN for requests (go to my Introduction for rules about requesting)

Click on the title to be taken to the stories

Thanks and have an awesome day!

[gingers-writing-blog]

Right Place, Right Time

Triggers: Mass Shooting Mention, Gunshot Wound, Blood, Stitches

Word Count: 1,050

Genre: Modern

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meg stood in front of a mirror in their room in the Union lodging house. She clutched her upper arm with her right hand and cocked her head to the side as she looked herself up and down.

"Hm. Well shit." Meg stated plainly. "I did not mean to get this much blood on me. Damn." She clicked her tongue and nodded her head slowly. The blood stood out on her white shirt and she doubted it would ever fully come out. Another shirt ruined.

She stared down at her arm and saw the blood trickling down and dripping off the ends of her fingers.

She heard footsteps out in the hallway and flicked her eyes over to the doorway where Cassie stood.

"Shit dude! What happened?" They stared at each other in the reflection.

Meg chuckled lightly, wincing at the jerking movement sending shooting pain up and down her arm.

"Bullet." She said. "You seen the news yet?"

"No? Why?" Cassie furrowed her eyebrows and followed Meg as she turned and walked out of the room.

They walked down a hallway with doors on each side, some open, but most of them closed. The paint on them was peeling off and there was dust everywhere, but everyone that lived there had grown used to it.

Meg and Cassie turned a corner and entered the communal living area in the building. There are about 15 people in there, playing card games at the tables, or sitting and chatting on the sofas and chairs dotted around. There are also a couple of TVs set up and Cassie picked up a remote and changed the channel to the news.

A couple of people turned to look at the TV.

'BREAKING NEWS

There has been another mass shooting in the city, this time on the west side of the Orchard Shopping Centre. The shooter entered the shopping centre at 27 minutes past 3 this afternoon. There were 2 fatalities and 3 casualties. Emergency Services were called to the scene, but the shooter had already been disarmed and killed by an unknown person who was injured in the process.'

"Where's your process?"

"Shut up and watch, Seamus."

'This is the fourth mass shooting in as many weeks and they could have all been much worse, had these people stepped forwards and put their lives on the line. Local residents are calling these people 'the heroes of the city'.'

"That was you?" Cassie asked, turning down the volume and putting down the remote.

Meg nodded, smiling and puffing out her chest slightly.

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Would you wipe that smirk off your face and save some for the rest of us?"

"You know I would if I could. Right place, right time." Meg replied. She wiped some of the blood off her hand, pushing the shirt around her waist away and swiping it onto her jeans. The blood not showing up that much on the black, but still seeping into the fabric.

"You know you're gonna have to wash those to get the stains out. Your t-shirt's ruined too."

"Yea, I know. I'll do it after I've stopped bleeding all over the floor." Cassie chuckled and walked over to the gigantic chalkboard on the back wall of the room. It was Meg's turn to follow and they searched for her name on the chart.

"Got it," Cassie said. She picked up the stick of chalk and added another line to the tally of disarmed shooters. She changed Meg's total, then the house total. "You've got us up to 75 disarmed shooters!"

"What can I say?" Meg shrugged, momentarily forgetting about her bloody arm and winced at the sharp pain, sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain. "I'm good at this; I've been doing this a lot longer than most people in this place."

"Hey, Meg!" She heard someone yell for her from across the room. She span around and saw the landlord-slash-leader leaning up against the doorframe of his office. 

"What's up, Jack?"

"You're bleeding on the floor." A few people glanced over at them, blood wasn't an unusual thing after a shooting, but it had started to pool on the floorboards and was probably going to permeate through the ceiling to floor beneath.

"Sorry, Jack! I'll get that cleaned up!" He nodded and retreated back into his office.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."

Cassie took Meg's right hand and lead her to the medical room.

"Sit down on that." She pointed over to the bench, it looked like it came straight out of a chiropractor's office. Except it had bloodstains on it.

Cassie fetched some supplies from one of the glass-fronted cupboards and pushed Meg down onto the bench. She put the supplies down next to Meg and started working on her arm.

She pushed up the short sleeve of Meg's shirt and didn't bat an eyelid. Cassie was used to patching up wounds, mostly Meg's...

"This is gonna need stitches."

"Yeah, I figured that." Meg grimaced, she'd never like needles, which was a bit ironic since she was always in need of stitches.

Cassie threaded the needle and Meg found herself subconsciously shuffling away. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. Cassie noticed this and put the needle down. She leant forwards and wrapped her arms around Meg's hips. She dragged Meg closer to her and picked up the needle again.

"Do you want me to stitch you up or not?" She asked, getting annoyed.

"Yes?" Meg replied reluctantly. 

As Cassie moved towards her with the needle, she squirmed but didn't move away.

"Hey."

Meg didn't hear her.

She was too busy hyperventilating.

Adrenaline coursed through her and her hands started to tremble a bit. She tried to calm herself down.

"Hey, look at me." Meg raised her head and before she could say anything, Cassie leant forwards and kissed her cheek.

Meg's face flushed and she stopped moving instantly.

"Do you think you could stay still for me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. It'll be over before you know it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N I hope y’all enjoyed that! Likes and reblogs would make my day. Have an ace day!

[gingers-writing-blog]

hello

Hiiiiiiiii!

[gingers-writing-blog]

Strange And Mystical Lands

Triggers: Not any that I can think of, but if you find one, please tell me and I’ll add it

Word Count: 1,000

Genre: Modern with Supernatural Elements

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sooo...do you remember that really old chest in the shed that we were explicitly told to never get too close to under any circumstances?” Nick sidled over to Brooke on the sofa.

“.....I don’t like where this is going,” she replied, sighing and rolling her eyes at him.

“C’mon. We could at least check it out!”

“But Leo said…”

“Forget what Leo said! When does he ever look out for us?” Brooke considered this fact for a few seconds, then caved, sighing again. She got up off the sofa and they both ran to the shed in the garden.

“Crap. It’s locked…” Brooke said, half-grateful that they couldn’t get in.

“When has a lock ever stopped me?” Nick said, Brooke already know that the answer was never.

Nick took out a couple of his lock picking tools and leant down. The lock sprung free in a matter of seconds. Brooke folded her arms and pursed her lips. There were times when she definitely wondered why she ever hung around Nick.

“You know you really shouldn’t go around announcing that you can do that.” Brooke berated Nick as he lifted the latch and opened the door triumphantly.

“Oh well...If you got it, show it off.”

“Is that what you say about everything?” Brooke retorted. They walked into the shed and waved away the dust hanging in the air. Despite there not being any light coming into the shed - Leo boarded up the windows without explanation - there seemed to be a strange glow being emitted from the old chest in the corner.

They looked at each other...waiting for the other to make a move...until Nick stepped forwards and grabbed the leather handle on the end and dragged it to the centre of the already cramped shed.

He straightened up again and they both stared at the chest. It was covered in dust and looked about 200-years-old. It was made of dark wood and there were metal details all over it, probably to keep it from falling apart.

“How long do you think it’s been here?” Nick whispered.

“No idea…” Brooke whispered back.

They circled the chest, slowly and moving in opposite directions, until they returned to their starting points.

“What’s that?” Nick asked, pointing to a small metal plate near the bottom.

“Dunno.” Brooke crouched down to inspect it.

It read, “All who open this chest shall be transported to strange and mystical lands. Heed these words.”

She stood up again and looked at Nick for some sort of answer.

When nothing came, she said, “We shouldn’t open it. Let’s just go back inside before we get caught. Remember what Leo--”

“When have I ever listened to what Leo - or anyone - has said?” he said.

“Never! And look what that got you!” Brooke thought that Nick was going to interrupt her, but when he didn’t even open his mouth, Brooke decided to continue.

“Six months in juvie, to be precise. We shouldn’t do it. I’m going back inside.” She shook her head.

“Fine! Go! I don’t care.”

Brooke clenched her jaw, balled her fists and strode out of the shed; but she whipped around again when she heard Nick hacking at the thick padlock with a spade.

“Nick!” She shouted. He stopped. They looked each other in the eye, a silent stand-off in the garden. 

Then, not breaking eye contact, he leant down and started hacking at the lock again.

She started to run back to Nick in the shed, but by the time she’d got to him, he’d broken the lock and pried the lid half-open. 

She tried the slam the lid back down, but it resisted her.

“What the…” She grunted, pushing down even harder, until it burst open and she jumped back.

They cried out when a column of bright white light exploded out of the chest and air swirled around the shed, despite there being no wind outside at all. The air picked up dust and a load of dry leaves and sent them whirling around.

“What the hell is that?” Nick yelled over the noise of the gale.

“I told you we shouldn’t open it! But did you listen? No! Because you never listen! And it always falls to me to make sure you don’t get caught and arrested over and over again!” Brooke yelled at Nick. She was always so frustrated at him, but she couldn’t stay angry at him, especially if this chest would be the end of them.

“Brooke?! What’s happening?” She’d heard him say something, but she was focused on the chest, so when she looked at him, she jumped.

He had been lifted a couple of inches in the air and was hovering next to her. Just floating.

She grabbed onto his arm to pull him back down, when she too lifted off the ground and they were pulled towards the chest.

“Nick!” Brooke shouted, she was petrified to her core.

Nick tried to reply, but his blood ran cold and his throat closed up with panic. This was completely different from anything he’d ever experienced before. He could handle fights. He could handle juvie. He could handle Leo yelling at him. But this...he couldn’t handle this.

They grabbed each other’s hands when they were sucked into the chest and plummeting out the other side.

They landed soft red grass and saw the light purple sky above them, three silver suns illuminating the land.

They’d landed somewhere completely different to the place they’d come from.

Nick stood up first and helped Brooke to her feet, checking each other for any injuries.

They were both fine, and when they looked around them, Brooke said, “So this is what it meant by strange and mystical lands…”

Nick nodded, breathing hard. He swallowed, looking around and not seeing anything familiar...They looked up and saw the tiny opening of the chest miles and miles above them.

“Do you think we can get out of here?”

“I have no idea…”

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A/N I hope you enjoyed that story! Please like and roblog, it would mean so much to me. Thank you and have a super day!

[gingers-writing-blog]

Did You Find It In The End? - Specs

Triggers: None that I can think of, but if you find any, please let me know and I’ll add them

Word Count: 1,383

Genre: Fanfiction, Canon-Era

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The sun was slowly rising above the stunning New York skyline, Manhattan to be precise. If you were up at that early hour, you would see all of the beautiful, old buildings were immersed in the golden rays of first light.

The brilliant golden sunshine streamed through the gap in the curtains where it fell upon the face of Specs. He was woken up by the light and knew that it was almost time to get out of bed and carry the banner. As he sat up and put his thick-rimmed glasses on, he, slowly and sleepily, looked around and saw most of the other boys who were bunking on his floor. He could see Jack and Crutchie in their respective beds; Albert and Jojo in theirs; Romeo and Mush, and Elmer and Blink, all in their own bunk beds. There were also bunks behind his one but as he couldn't see them at the time, he didn't think about them.

'It is so quiet in here!' He thought. All that Specs could hear at that particular moment was the sound of the boys breathing and the birds singing their morning songs on the fire escape and the roof above.

Then, like a stone being dropped into a calm pool, the quiet was shattered by Mr Kloppman opening the door and the sound of his heavy boots shuffling along the dusty wooden floor of the dorm.

"Come on, boys! You're still asleep? Wake up! Come on, you gotta wake up!" He said whilst going around each of the boys' bunks and using various different methods to get them awake.

For example, Elmer, Crutchie and Albert were particularly heavy sleepers and the only way to wake them up was to take their blankets off them and just let them freeze until they could be bothered to get up and put some proper clothes on! Romeo and Mush were incredibly light sleepers so all it took was the sound of Mr Kloppman opening the door to get them up.

Slowly, but surely, all of the boys in the slightly overcrowded room began to rise from their beds and begin to get ready for a day carrying the banner.

"Hey! That's my shirt! Give it back!"

"Pass the towel!"

"Albert DaSilva! Where is my cigar? I know you have it somewhere!"

'Oh great! The daily arguments have begun already.' Specs thought. 'And I almost thought we could last 5 minutes.' He laughed to himself and got up. Carefully looking upwards to see if Tommy Boy had risen yet. It was lucky he looked up, because, at that moment, a boy shaped mass jumped down and landed in front of him.

'I swear that kid's a Kangaroo or something! He is always jumping!' He thought as he narrowly missed being flattened by the kid who slept in the bunk above him! Again. He was used to it though. Although, the first few times, it really scared him!

Specs wondered if there was going to be a good headline today and he hoped so, because the day before had not been so good, and he was forced to eat his papes. Not good.

While he had been thinking, he had got dressed and put one of his shoes on. He reached to the end of his bed where he kept them and felt nothing. He belly-flopped down on to the bed so that his head was hanging over the end. He couldn't see his shoe.

"GGGUUUYYYYSSS!!! I CAN'T FIND MY SHOE! Which one of you'se idiots took it?" He yelled and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing and just stared at him like he was being stupid.

"I know one of you'se has it!"

"Specs...No one has your shoe. You must've lost it." Elmer told him, speaking for all of the Newsies in the room.

Specs searched high and low for that shoe, couldn't find it and ended up having to wear one of the spare ones that Kloppman always seemed to have in the storeroom. He was in quite a bad mood all day. You see, because those shoes were worn so much, they were somehow moulded to his feet and the new one was stiff and incredibly uncomfortable in comparison to the other one.

Throughout the day, the other Newsies kept telling him to lighten up a little, the shoe was bound to turn up soon enough. And luckily, his spirits were lifted very slightly at the end of the day when he sold his last pape.

He was selling in his usual spot when quite a pretty girl walked past him and looked his way. He smiled at her and he smiled back. He had never seen a prettier girl and he was stammering like an idiot for a few seconds before saying,

"Buy a pape miss?" He asked. "And may I say you look very pretty in that lovely dress!" She gave him a dime and in return, she got the pape and the comment that it was only a penny. I thought that she was giving me too much, and if her parents would mind.

"Take it. My parents won't mind, don't worry!" She said, reading his mind. She beamed at him again, then walked off, paper in hand. As she walked away, he scolded himself for not seizing the opportunity he saw and asking her out. He could see her smile, bright as the first light of dawn the woke him u that very morning. Her smile, it knocked him out and he fell apart whenever he pictured it. It was then, he vowed to find her and ask her out on a date.

He too turned and began to make his way back to the Lodging House, counting the days' earnings and attempting to figure out a way to find the girl as he went. He felt so stupid for not finding out her name.

Fast forward about an hour and Specs was knee-deep in a heated discussion with Davey about the correct spelling of auspicious. Specs knew he was right but Davey was stubborn as the best of times and he was refusing to admit he was wrong for once!

"No that's wrong! You spell it A-U-S-P-I-S-I-O-U-S!" Davey practically screamed in his face.

"When will you get it! You spell it this way! A-U-S-P-I-C-I-O-U-S!" Specs retorted with equal volume and energy.

"Ah, Katherine...How do spell auspicious?" Specs accosted Katherine for a definite answer.

"Oh hey, Specs. You spell it A-U-S-P-I-C-I-O-U-S. Why do you ask?"

"Because David Jacobs can't accept that he is wrong for once!" Specs exclaimed triumphantly. He said it a bit too loud because the entire room of Newsies was silenced in an instant and all that you could hear was Katherine laughing like there was no tomorrow! She would have great fun telling Jack all about it and Davey knew that he would never hear the end of it. Oh, how he was dreading the next few days!

"See, Jacobs! I was right!" He said, before smugly turning and walking up the many stairs to his floor's dorm room.

He opened the door and made his way over to his bed. Specs had never made this much money from a day's selling before and he just wanted to be sure that he had counted properly, you know just to check if he had counted anything twice.

He emptied his quite full pockets and as he did, a few small coins fell onto the floor. He got down onto his knees to reach under the bed to retrieve the pennies and that's when he saw it...

There it was, lurking in the darkness, peeking out at him like one of the many mice that lived in the Lodging House. As soon as he had a firm grasp on the object hiding under his bed and examined it meticulously, he came running down the stairs faster than the Racer himself. He burst into the very-almost-full room and yelled at the top of his lungs,

"GUYS...I FOUND MY SHOE!!!!!!!!"

And that night, his face was a vision of happiness and he knew that he could fall asleep safe in the knowledge that he would never have to wear Kloppman's old storeroom shoe again...

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A/N I hope that was adequate. Thanks for reading and have a great day!

[gingers-writing-blog]

Newsies’ Little Sister

Chapter 4 - Wait! You ran into Spot Conlon?!

Triggers: Not being able to swim, Hunger

Word Count: 1491

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Emmeline's POV

I turned, and I legged it as fast as I could. Away from Duane Street. Away from the lodging house. Away from Nick. I didn't want to leave, but...I don't know why I left.

I raced away, and I didn't stop sprinting until I, quite literally, ran into a boy.

"Hey! Watch it, kid!" Came the loud yell that I was expecting.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Who are you? And why are you trying to sell on my turf?" He asked forcefully.

"I don't know what you mean by selling on your turf," I replied. I looked him over; he was short and incredibly muscular. He was as tough as he was good-looking, and I didn't want to get on the wrong side of him. 'Be careful!' I thought.

"Yes, you do! You're one of Cowboy Jack's Newsies!" He practically shouted at me.

"No! I swear I have no idea who that is! I'm not a Newsie!" I said, starting to panic. He looked at me like he thought I was lying. But I wasn't. I looked down at myself and saw what I was wearing. I guess I did look like a Newsie. But I certainly wasn't one!

Then, without warning, I felt his strong fist make contact with my stomach, then my face. I fell to the hard pavement, winded.

I didn't know it, but I had bolted straight out of Manhattan, over the bridge, and into Brooklyn. And this boy that I had run into was the King of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon. Definitely not someone to get on the wrong side of, as I found out the hard way.

'Ow.' I thought, as he picked me up off the floor and started walking. I felt his strong arms grip me hard and then he threw me into the water by the docks. That shocked me out of my daze from being punched in the jaw. Twice.

"Come back, if you want another soaking!" He yelled down at me as my head came up and broke the surface of the water. 'Oh hell! I can't swim!' I thought as I shouted for someone to help me. But no one came. So, I just grabbed onto a piece of rope and tried to pull myself out of the water.

I had just started to haul myself over the top of the docks when a hand grabbed onto mine and another handsome face came into view.

"Hey! Are you ok there?" He said as he helped me up. I sat on the edge of the dock wall and he sat down beside me.

"My name's Elmer, by the way. Are you ok?" He asked me, a tone of concern in his calm and cheerful voice.

"Uhhh...yeah I'm fine and my name's Emmeline, but you can call me Em," I replied, half smiling at him. He looked friendly and he asked me if I was hungry, somewhat unexpectedly.

I nodded my head quickly to say yes, he stood up and held out his hand. I flinched slightly, thinking he was going to hit me, but then I realised that he wanted to help me up. He didn't say anything about it while we walked but I could tell that he wanted to ask me. I'm glad he didn't.

"So, who's Newsies are you in? I don't think I've ever seen you before." He asked while we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

Elmer's POV

"I'm not a Newsie." She said, shivering slightly. She was still wet, and she was a bit shaken up from being thrown in the water. I took my over-shirt off and put it around her shoulders. I could tell that she was a bit shocked, but she accepted it gratefully.

She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She had the most intense, fiery red hair that fell into a curly, flowing mane just below her shoulders. Her eyes were a beautiful, deep brown that you could get lost in and I didn't realise that I was staring at her, until I nearly walked into a lamp post!

She laughed at this and asked me where we were going.

"Well, you said you were hungry, so we are going to a place called Jacobi's Deli. The owner is really nice to us Newsies and it is really cheap there!" I told her, whilst pointing to tell her to go right at the bottom of the street.

"So, why were you in Brooklyn?" I asked. She hung her head slightly and didn't answer. I didn't blame her. I wouldn't want to explain to anyone why I was in Brooklyn. Especially not to Spot Conlon.

Before I know it, we are on Church Street and the sign for Jacobi's is right above us. I reach forwards and open the door for her, and she gladly went in. As I came up behind her, I heard the friendly, familiar voice of Mr Jacobi.

"Elmer! Hello! How are we?" He inquired with his usual happy tone and joyful appearance!

"Good thanks!" I replied before leading Em to the table that I usually sit at when the Newsies have meetings here.

"So, uhhh, what do you want to eat?" I asked her.

"Anything! Surprise me!" She replied, while looking hungrily down the list of what there was to eat. I asked for two of the cheapest things possible, because lord knows I don't have enough money to spare.

We talked for a little while and just as our food came, Em asked me what I was doing in Brooklyn.

"Oh, I was just sending a message to Spot Conlon. He is the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. Anyway, what were you doing in Brooklyn?"

"I...uhhh...I...went out for a walk and got lost. That's all." She replied. She didn't sound very certain of this and I had a feeling she was lying. I can always tell if someone is lying; I have 9 brothers and sisters, and believe me, they lie all the time!

She looked at what was on the plate in front of her like she had never seen anything like it. She asked me what it was, and I replied saying that it was a cheese sandwich. I told her to take a bite and her face immediately lit up. She was even prettier when she smiled.

Then, just my luck, I saw Race, Albert, Jojo, Crutchie and Romeo staring at me through the front window. They were laughing as they saw me sharply turn my head towards them.

"Hey, Elmer! Who's this!?" Albert asked, just as they walked in, still laughing.

"Yeah, Elmer! You never told us you had a girl!" Romeo exclaimed playfully.

"You know you're never going to live this one down Elmer!" Said Race, the cocky bastard, breaking the constant flow of teasing comments about Em being my girl.

Emmeline's POV

"Guys! She's not my girl! She ended up in the water by the Docks in Brooklyn!" Elmer replied, blushing slightly. He was even cuter when he embarrassed.

"What were you doing in Brooklyn? Really, I mean." He turned and addressed me. His face full of questioning and concern. He looked like he genuinely cared about me and I found that I couldn't lie to him.

"My parents sent me out at sunrise to go and make money. I didn't know where to go and I ended up walking down Duane Street, by the Newsboys' Lodging House and I saw someone that I had been told I shouldn't talk to, so I ran away. I legged it and ended up literally running into a short, muscular boy dressed in red. As it turned out, I was in Brooklyn." I explained.

"Wait! You ran into Spot Conlon!?" One of the boys exclaimed, almost shouting. He had red hair, like me, and he was wearing his cap backwards.

"Oh yeah, Em..." Elmer began to say, until he was interrupted by a boy who had a cigar in his mouth.

"Awww... he calls her Em!"

"Shuddup Race!" Elmer retorted. "Anyway! Em, this is Race, Albert, Jojo, Crutchie and Romeo." He said, introducing each of the boys standing in front of us.

Elmer's POV

Eventually, they left, but not before making fun of me for being around a girl and buying her food. Well...I guess they were right in thinking I like her, but not right in thinking that she was my girl.

Race's POV

"I think that we can all agree that we are NEVER going to let him live this down. And...we have to make sure that every Newsie in Manhattan knows." I said to the boys as soon as we had left the Deli.

They all nodded in agreement and Jojo said,

"We'll have to tell the Nuns too!"

All the way back to the Lodging House we were all thinking about different ways we could make sure poor Elmer never forgot this! Our plan was set.

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A/N Thanks for reading! Please like and reblog! Have a good day!