#i am once again hating the delancey brothers

[jack-kellys]

so i am gonna talk abt the delanceys. and i don’t want that to make you scroll away at the speed of light. i want to talk about them in a broader sense, view them in a broader sense, in the way that we talk about jack and his existential need to leave where he is for the west- and, further, going into analysis, like how “the west” in america in the 1890s is a capitalist venture that is sold to jack as this idea of a new home, a better way to live, something that he needs, when the real home is new york with his chosen family and where no one needs to call him “son”.

i think what matters most in the world of the delanceys, and what puts them into a nuanced political stance as well as a personal one, is their father, the striking trolley worker.

i think it’s fair to assume that as a striking worker demanding better wages, as a union member, he deserves those wages. it’s good that he’s striking, that he’s demanding what he’s owed and doing so with his fellow workers. strikers are the right people to support especially based on the historical context of the trolley strike.

but this guy is… an asshole. he dumped these two children into the refuge and left them there to rot, presumably. there’s a possibility he didn’t know about how abusive snyder is, sure, but he knew it was a detention center and that’s not… where u put ur kids when u care abt them lmao.

so this man is a striking trolley worker who doesn’t give a shit about his own children. he’s an underpaid union member who deserves his dues but also lets his two sons suffer for years alone in a children’s jail. he fights the system to his benefit while submitting his two kids into a different one. the dichotomy is important here- it’s essential to the foil the delanceys are for the newsies.

the delanceys are strike breakers. strike breakers are, obviously, paid under the table to disperse union-led strikes and protests to uphold a system that benefits the rich- who of course will always benefit from underpaid work. the delanceys take money from this upheld system when they get the opportunity and beat strikers bloody who don't get to benefit from this system like they do. because they do benefit from that elitist system, since they are choosing to make money off of it outside of their usual job. right.

but within those strikers is their father. the father who left them to rot, who let wiesel scrape them out of that jail and enlist them at a dead-end newspaper gig. so the brothers hate this father, this striker, this piece of family. and this father is making all this noise with these other people- these people who support their father as his coworkers and fellow union members, and the delancey brothers' leave that strike with their fists red with more blood than solely their father's, since they're angry and good at it and the money is hefty.

and their childhood is semi-revenged, but at what ethical cost? they've served broken bones to plenty of workers just trying to fight for their fair pay- something that the delanceys can relate to, by the way, since it isn't like their wages are too stellar for how many hours they're forced to put in. but they put down these people--innocent sans their father--because they have the opportunity. opportunity for them is bringing others down, and when they have the choice, they take it. gladly. "it's honest work" is shrugged off and believed. "i take care of the guy who takes care of me" is snide. uk costuming has them wearing nicer work coats over their newsie-like attire, concealing their similarities and choosing to align themselves more with the elite, since that's...the only protection they can turn to besides each other. the elite gets them extra pay, and keeps them one rung above the newsies to sneer down at them from. they fight via using the system, since systems are all they've ever been apart of, and when they see one that might benefit them for once, they latch onto it.

and, of course, they're strike breaking again, with adult men and their uncle at their side, against their personal foils- the newsies.

the newsies either don't have family like the delanceys, or frequently have to be apart from theirs. lots of them don't have a sibling they can return to daily, or any at all. most don't have parents or family members. or homes to go back to after work. the system they are stuck in is one that does not work for them unless they make it work, making their own numbers and cash by gambling how many papers they can sell in a day to earn every cent back and then some. creating a system within a system--whereas the delanceys mold themselves into one that exists, again, to the elite's benefit--to survive.

and then, the newsies and their chosen family of brothers choose to revolt against their system in an attempt to dismantle it, or at the very least negotiate it.

and the delanceys' reaction to this, to another strike, to a group of kids going against their system (of which would benefit oscar and morris to join, tbh, unless they don't classify as "working kids" of the city, perhaps putting them at around 18 years old...)?

disdain and more snide comments! "not that i'm complaining, my skull busting arm could use a day of rest" "you working, or trespassing?/what's your pleasure?" and putting pressure on scabs to keep with the system- specifically more with uksies, oscar and morris are sort of dusting tommy boy off and whispering to him. trying to split apart the family the newsies have made with each other. and then ofc they beat the actual shit out of the newsies and in uk they have bats they are full on swinging, whole shoulder into it. you did not uphold this system, and it will destroy you for it.

and it nearly does, because then jack scabs, right? and oscar and morris are in pulitzer's office as the man talks jack through the deal, through the cash. as he must've to oscar and morris earlier that week about strike breaking the newsies. and all three of them all have these nearly matching bruises and cuts on their faces.

and then all three of them go to the cellar, the lowest floor of the elite. together the three of them are in this location with this context. two strikebreakers and a scab. taking the elite's money for their benefit, be it in a moment of fear, resignation, or greed. all the oldest kids in the play, the three who've seen the scars and rips and tears in this world more than any of the others. and for like twenty seconds of stage time jack oscar and morris are the same brand. until of course oscar and morris punch into jack's gut--since they're only "given discretion to handle him as they see fit" if he misbehaves, which jack hasn't, so they punch where people won't see/check--and remind him that he's still below them (literally shoving him to the floor ofc), that they're still closer to the elite.

and yeah, they are, because later, jack again refuses the system, and tosses the money back on the table after rebelling against his terms. in true foil fashion, once jack recognizes that his actions align that which he needs to destroy, he renounces them, while the delanceys remain on the other side of the coin they share with jack.

the delanceys, as a storytelling device, right, are meant to represent what the newsies could fall to, seen with the three initial scabs and then jack in act ii. they are this constant threat of sort of equal size to the newsies through the whole show, always kinda lurking. always being a possibility to become if the newsies ever forget what they fight for and against.

also, jack is....kind of.... like their dad, in their perspective. he's parental with the newsies, he leads them, guides them, and protects them, as well as constantly getting the better of the delanceys. why should someone like a father get to fight the system again? not on their fucking watch.

i think it's pretty clear that oscar and morris are meant to represent corruption on the small scale, thematically, while pulitzer is corruption at the top- since it all trickles down. and i think it's really important that this motif is consistently upheld within the brothers, since it sort of alters the message of the show to at least drastically change that abt them. they are the nearest branch of corruption to the newsies guys. that is so fucking cool

[i-didnt-do-1t]

(Part 2) of ‘Walk you Home’

Morris kicked the dirt and then gestured forward, his shirt was rolled up to his elbows and it was hard not to notice the bruise that coloured the length of the inside of his arm.

Usually she would ask. She should ask. But she’d learnt recently that sometimes asking made people uncomfortable, drew attention to something they would rather forget. She hated the way a question about the bruise that had appeared on Romeo’s cheek had made him avoid her for the rest of the day, or the way her concern at the deep looking cut on Finch’s arm had his gaze darken and a somewhat snapped ‘not really any of your business’ thrown at her. And Morris, the Delancey’s in general, were hardly known for their pacifism. If Morris Delancey wanted to get bruises by fighting dirty with newsboys in the street then it wasn’t her place to comment on it.

“Ladies first.” He said, an edge to his voice, and it was only when she was knocked out of her reverie that she realised she’d been staring.

“Right.” She muttered and started walking in the direction of home, morris trailing along beside her, maybe one or two steps behind which would’ve been uncomfortable if he wasn’t whistling one of Medda’s tunes to himself.

She had told herself she was going to walk in silence, that any conversation would be awkward but Katherine had always been impulsive and had a harder time keeping her mouth shut. It was five minutes later that the question had been asked before she was even finished thinking it.

“You go to Medda’s shows?”

His whistling stopped, but he was still following her, the question hadn’t scared him off based of the sound of footsteps on gravel.

“Course we do.”

“She’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, she is.”

They fell into silence again, except this time he was walking next to her, hands shoved deep in his pockets hat tipped slightly to the side and she found herself staring again.

This was confusing. And weird.

She didn’t like the silence.

“Where’s your brother tonight?” She paused, “Oscar?”

Morris shot her a look. “You think I keep track of him?”

“No. I’ve just never seen you without him before, you’re practically joined at the hip.”

His jaw tensed. “He’s out somewhere. What’s it to you?”

She frowned. “Nothing, I’m just making conversation. Why did you stay home?”

“Jesus what is this? a damn interview?” His tone was harsh and she could see his hands squeezed into fists in his pockets.

Maybe she had too much pride for her own good.

“I was just curious.” He scoffed, she felt her frown deepen. “You’re the one who offered to walk me home.”

“God a guy wants to do something proper for once and this is what he gets.”

“Don’t fool yourself you’ve never done anything nice without strings attached.”

“And so what huh?” He looked at her again. “Miss Pulitzer who lives of daddies money judging the rest of us like she’s some saint.” His voice was bitter, the words spits of acid.

“I’m not some saint but I’ve never beat up on some defenceless kids, and I’ve never hurt a boy on crutches.”

“Yeah, you ain’t getting paid to.” His mouth twisted up into something like a smile but there was no humour behind it. “And Kelly’s crip is fine ain’t he? Got the refuge shut up n everything.”

“Crutchie is his own person.”

He laughed, something quick and harsh and mean. “Sure, n’ so are you.”

She could practically physically feel the way he was worming under her skin with every apathetic, sarcastic jab. She knew he was trying to rile her up, it was obvious. But it was also working.

It was a small mercy that the last turn they took brought them to the end of her street. She’s be safe from here to the front door and she turned and told Morris as much.

He shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

She turned to leave, shoulders back, head tilted up and a glare in her eyes but she stopped before she got further than a step, and spoke without turning around. Preceded by a deep sigh.

“Thank you. For walking me back.”

She glanced over her shoulder, he tipped his hat and then was gone. Back around the corner, back into the dark.

And when Katherine arrived at her front door she was glad it was to her doorman, who had been watching from down the street and could confirm to her dad that she had an escort home, and avoid the reprimand she would’ve received otherwise.

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back ch. 3

First  -  Previous  -  Read on AO3!

When I tell you I have never been more mad at one of my characters

cw: blood, violence, injuries

~

As the week cycled past, Jack fell into a kind of routine. He hated to leave Crutchie alone for any amount of time, but he had things to do. He made the decision to accept the cartoonist job, so that he could get away with selling less papers and still afford rent and food for both him and Crutchie.

Same as every other morning, Jack climbed down from the roof and got the boys up and getting ready with as little noise as possible--he didn’t want to wake Crutchie prematurely, especially if the kid had been having nightmares like he suspected. A quick trip to the convent and back, leaving Specs to get the troupe to the Delanceys’, which he handled easily. This morning, Jack took the coffee and apple that the nuns had given him and set them on the chair beside Crutchie, who was just beginning to stir. Jack felt immense relief--he couldn’t stay, he really couldn’t, but waking alone had sent Crutchie spiraling into a panic attack more than once in the past few days.

“Hey Crutch, breakfast,” Jack announced, cringing inwardly as he saw Crutchie flinch. The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes with his good hand--most of the bandages on that hand had been removed, excepting two fingers that were wrapped together to make them heal straight. Crutchie had had to let Katherine do that, even though he’d been changing his own bandages for the past three days. Katherine wasn’t too happy with this arrangement, but Jack knew that Crutchie was uncomfortable with letting someone--especially a girl--patch him up. When the two had approached him for a tie-breaker to this argument, he had easily sided with Crutchie. The look of gratitude and relief on Crutchie’s face had been worth Katherine’s disapproval.

Crutchie took the apple and frowned, then put it back down in favor of the coffee. Jack raised a brow at that as he hopped from one foot to the other, trying to stall his departure. “Somethin’ wrong with it?” he asked. Crutchie shrugged.

His silence wasn’t strange, really. For Crutchie it was far from the norm--sure, he usually hid pain from everyone, but he liked to talk. It was part of who he was. Crutchie had barely spoken a sentence strung together in the past week. Kids who came from the Refuge were always quiet, though. Jack himself had never really talked about his time there, just bottled it up until it exploded onto the paper. He’d gotten better, it had just taken some time. Same for any of the others who had been in there. Crutchie would be better in no time.

“D’ya need anything else?”

Crutchie took another sip of coffee. He glanced around, eyes wide and sad. For a moment, Jack saw not his fifteen year old brother, but a child. Eight years old, like he was when they found him. Shivering from the cold, face all bruised up, hiding in a back alley as snow swirled around and attempted to bury him.

Then Jack blinked, and Crutchie looked--well, not fifteen (he’d always passed for younger, useful on the streets), but like himself. Sort of. He was bruised up, of course--his entire face was a mottled green and purple as it began to heal--and hadn’t really done much smiling lately. It was still Crutchie, though. As tired as he looked now, Jack knew it wouldn’t be long before he was raring to go, grinning that bright grin of his, his eyes sparkling as he ribbed good-naturedly with the other boys.

“Open the window?” Crutchie whispered, and Jack nearly ran to do so. There were a few windows in the room, but Crutchie hadn’t specified which one, so he threw open each of them. As he was getting the one next to Crutchie, the boy looked up at him. “Don’t ya have work?” he asked, a bit louder.

“Ye-es?”

Crutchie rolled his eyes, and Jack mentally celebrated. Every time Crutchie rolled his eyes or quirked a brow, Jack gained more hope that his recovery was going well. “Get outta here, Jack.”

Jack lingered a few moments longer, but only long enough for Crutchie to glare at him. “All right, all right, I’m headin’ out,” he said, hands in the air. “I’ll be back in a few hours. That apple better be ate by the time I’m back.”

With the windows open, he could hear the first calls of the street vendors. He really did need to leg it. Jack adjusted his hat and made off, the door swinging shut behind him.

Crutchie winced, then watched it for a few moments. Apparently assured that Jack was not going to return, he traded the cup for the apple and chucked the fruit out the window beside him.

-

Too much time that Crutchie didn’t have had passed. A whole week of being laid up in someone else’s bed, letting them pay his rent and bring him food. He had to get back out there, and soon.

Crutchie wasn’t stupid. He knew how he looked--he’d know even if Albert didn’t insist on telling him every day “Get healed, Crutchie, ‘cuz nobody’s hankerin’ ta buy papes from that ugly mug”. He also knew that he had been perhaps hours away from death when Katherine rescued him, and that took time to get over.

But Crutchie wasn’t a normal kid. He didn’t have a pa with a job, or a mother who was supposed to take care of him, or money just lying around. He had a job, and he took care of himself, and his money went toward survival. Recovery just wasn’t an option for a kid who had to work every day of the year.

He supposed that, in some respect, that was what the union had been formed for. Davey’s dad had been laid off because he got hurt on the job, and unions were supposed to stop that from happening. The newsies weren’t officially hired, though, were they? Were they going to have to be listed as part of the company now? Would there be contracts to sign for everyone? But newsies came and went, it had to be more cumbersome to keep track of everyone involved. The whole affair made his head hurt.

Union benefits or not, Crutchie didn’t have the money to spend many more days in bed, and he wasn’t about to let Jack waste his savings on him when he was capable of making money. Jack was going to be tough to get through to on this issue, but Crutchie was pretty sure he had Racetrack on his side. Race was popular enough that others would back him, and he would stand up to Jack. As long as Crutchie could prove that he could go back to selling, Jack would be forced to let him.

So. Now he had to work on actually being capable.

Crutchie hadn’t walked anywhere himself in the past days--there was always an abundance of newsies to help him to the washroom, practically carrying him there and definitely carrying him back to bed. It was honestly getting to be pretty annoying--maybe he could start by making it to the washroom by himself.

Standing up would’ve been easier had he eaten that apple, but Crutchie was fairly certain that he had a tooth or two loose and wasn’t in a big hurry to have them drop out. That was the only reason, he told himself. He was fine, just needed to see if those teeth would settle back into place. He didn’t have a problem with food.

His crutch had been propped up against the wall beside the bed for days, cleaned as best as possible but still with a small crack near the end of it. The cushioning had been mostly replaced, the old cloth having come apart completely. Crutchie wasn’t sure who had fixed and cleaned it, and he didn’t much feel like asking. It was selfish, but he didn’t want another person to be indebted to.

Crutchie slid the crutch over to himself and used it to pull himself up, which he soon discovered was exactly what it sounded like: a bad decision. His knees buckled instantly and he couldn’t catch himself before he was lying on the floor, hip and side smarting from the impact.

He took a moment to breathe, clenching and unclenching his fists despite the ache in his fingers. He could do this. He had to do this. Crutchie steeled himself, then used his crutch one-handedly to bring himself to his knees, pushing himself from there up onto a wobbly foot.

His leg was sore from disuse (and probably from that dislocation and various other beatings), but it wasn’t nearly as bad as his chest and back. In fact, now that he was standing even his head felt worse. There was a pounding behind his eyes that made him want to vomit, but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t.

Crutchie propped the crutch under his left arm, biting his lip to stop a noise from escaping as it rubbed against a cut (and so many bruises) on his ribcage. He could do this. If the Refuge hadn’t been shut down, he would still be there, right? He would still be working right now, digging holes or polishing stairs or something equally as gruelling. If he would be doing it in that situation, he should be able to do it here.

Moving the crutch forward made the pain worse, and his side began to sting--it might have split open that cut. Still, Crutchie let it swing forward, then put as much of his weight as he dared on it and hopped.

Sure, it hurt--the padded underarm rest of the crutch dug into the cut and now Crutchie was certain it was bleeding--but he hadn’t fallen. He’d taken a full step with his crutch, all by himself.

Crutchie couldn’t find it within himself to be proud.

Slower than the first, Crutchie took another step, then another. By this point his chest was screaming for proper air, head pounding with each shuffle forward. It was time to turn back, before his brain decided that he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to stand upright. It really did hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. Everything hurt, so very very much.

Three more hops and he was back by the bed. He wanted to just collapse into it, fall face-first onto the blankets, but he knew that would be more pain than it was worth.

Never mind, he was just too tired. Crutchie faceplanted into the bed, screaming through gritted teeth as it jostled his various injuries. He lay there for a few moments, knowing he needed to turn over in order to feel less pressure on his lungs and breathe properly, but not yet wanting to lie on his twinging back.

He’d made six steps, he added up as he situated himself. Six measly steps. It had been about a week since he left the Refuge. A whole week of rest and he could still barely stand, let alone walk. He had to get back out there, pay his way, provide for himself. He hadn’t asked who was paying for his rent and food, but he had a strong notion it was coming from someone whose name sounded a lot like Kack Jelly. 

Jack wasn’t selling near as many papes as he used to, not with the amount of time he was spending back here. According to Katherine, he was getting a job with Pulitzer as an artist of some kind? Crutchie wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was--he’d been pretty feverish at the time--but it probably didn’t pay much, and Jack hadn’t even started the job yet.

Whatever Jack couldn’t come up with, the others would be pooling to make up for. Elmer was probably budgeting it, Crutchie thought absently as he fiddled with the bracelet on his wrist. Elmer was one of the younger kids, but surprisingly good with numbers and calculations and things like that. Elmer working out the money, Race encouraging the others to contribute, Specs and Mush talking Jack into letting them help--Crutchie could see the whole ordeal playing out in his mind’s eye. Jack wouldn’t have been happy, but he also probably was getting low on spare change. They’d all lost a decent bit just by not selling for the few days (or day singular, in Crutchie’s case) that the strike had lasted. If he could get back to work soon, he could stop taking their hard-earned money.

Tomorrow morning, he decided. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t walk today, he would have to tomorrow. He would get up early and make it out of the room before Jack even came down through the window to check on him. That would prove it to everyone that he could at least sell five papers. He was even willing to let Jack go pick them up for him, as long as he could sell.

Before any of that happened, though, Crutchie needed to check up on his bandages. Katherine would kill him if he had bled through them while trying to walk alone. Maybe not yet, though. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a second.

-

Something was . . . off.

Jack hadn’t made it in time to see the headline since before the strike, and in the past week, he’d ran up to Wiesel’s only for Specs to hand him his papers. The nervous looks the boys had shot him each morning should have been enough to tip him off that something wasn't right.

He’d ignored them though, assumed they had to do with his tardiness or the headlines. Now that he knew better, now that he knew something was up, Jack was torn between wishing he’d been on time every other morning and wishing that he’d been late this morning. Despite stopping back at the lodging house to bring Crutchie breakfast, though, he had somehow made it back before Wiesel even started selling.

Today the looks he was getting were downright panicked as the newsies lined up, watching him carefully. The air felt tense, even heavier than normal. Jack got in line with the rest of them, not pushing his way to the front like he normally did. Something was off.

“Jojo,” he said slowly, turning to the kid behind him, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Whaddya mean, Jack?” Jojo replied, false cheer coloring his voice. Jack narrowed his eyes at him. Jojo didn’t waver. Good for him.

Jack looked back to the front, trying to not fidget. He was supposed to be meeting with Pulitzer today, right about the time that he usually checked on Crutchie. Maybe if he bought fewer papes, he could skip over to the lodging house before hiking to Pulitzer’s office? He was supposed to be bringing some examples of his art, so he’d have to stop by the lodging house anyway. He also was supposed to meet with Spot Conlon even later, who was currently handling union business over at The Journal. The eventual hope was that Jack, Davey, and Spot would become a team, three appendages of the same purpose, who could all visit any one of the newspapers and discuss rights and the like. Right now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure what Spot had been telling The Journal. Their meeting this evening would hopefully remedy that.

“Hey, Jack! You’re here early!”

Jack looked up from his thoughts to see Davey grinning as he joined the line, followed by a waving Les. Jack nodded back to them.

“Thought I’d see how badly Race is swindlin’ Snyder,” he said, and a couple of the boys gave forced chuckles. Okay. That was odd.

“Papes for the newsies! Come on, I ain’t got all day!”

Jack began to step forward in line, only for Mush to come out of nowhere and grab him by the arm.

“Hey, whatever happens, I gotcha back,” Mush said. Jack frowned. What was he talking about? “Jus’-- jus’ don’ fight if you can help it.”

Fight?

Jack was beginning to feel like he wasn’t going to like this at all.

As always, his intuition was correct. It wasn’t hard to laugh off Weasel’s snide comments about where he had been and their union, but then Morris Delancey opened his stupid mouth as he was handing Jack his papers.

“Where’s the crip, huh? We was hoping we killed him when Snyder let us at him. You been out mournin’ him?”

All background chatter faltered. At first Jack thought it was just his senses tuning in to Morris and Morris alone, but he realized vaguely that everyone was watching this interaction. The smile slipped from his face as for once, he was speechless. His teeth grounded together as the image of Crutchie screaming, crying for help while the Delanceys beat him into the ground was forced into his head.

Morris noticed, as did Oscar, who stepped forward with a grin. “What?” Oscar asked. “Tough Jack Kelly, gonna cry because the mean Delanceys bashed a poor cripple’s head in?”

Those were fighting words. Oscar knew it, and Jack knew it, and Oscar knew Jack knew it, and Jack knew Oscar knew Jack knew it. Jack couldn’t find it in him to care that he was being goaded--he was seething. Crutchie had come back to the lodging house unconscious and nearly dead, almost unrecognizable and the Delancey brothers had been a part of that. They might have been the ones who made it so painful for Crutchie to breathe, or the ones who hit his head so hard he couldn’t see straight, or the ones who broke his arm, or the ones who left the handprint-shaped bruise on his throat that still hadn’t faded completely--

They were laughing now, saying more vile things that reached Jack’s ears muffled, as if he was underwater. Someone else said something, gripping his arm, but Jack wrenched away from them. He grabbed Morris’s collar, drawing him close.

“You two wanna take that back?” he growled. Morris bared his teeth in a dumb grin.

“Maybe we oughtta go find him, in whatever corner the rat’s crept to ta lick his wounds. Bet he’d squeal just at the sight o’ us. Bet he’d try ta drag himself away. Bet he--”

Jack socked him square in the jaw. There was noise, lots of it, but all he could focus on was pummeling Morris until his now-shocked face was covered in blood. Hands pulled at him, but Jack dove over the counter, papers flying, to land on top of Morris, slamming fist after fist into him. Oscar kicked him hard in the side and Jack took that opportunity to latch onto his leg, pulling him down too. Before he could do any real damage, though, two strong sets of arms were prying him away and pulling him through the mess of newspapers.

“Jackie, Jack, please, let’s just go--”

Jack shoved Davey off of him, trying to shake the others off his back.

“You scared, Morris?” he shouted, voice cracking, struggling with the increasing amount of arms holding him back. “Only brave ‘nough to pick on thems as can’t fight back, huh? Huh!?”

Oscar was helping Morris up, the latter holding a hand to his own nose as it spurted blood. Everyone was yelling, screaming, shoving one another, and Jack found himself being dragged away, even though he was still trying to throw punches and kick out. “Let me go!” he gasped, face burning as red as his sight. “Let me at ‘im--he can’t--he said--!”

Mush and Tommy Boy ignored him, not letting him go until they had gotten him into an alley, surrounded by what seemed like every Manhattan newsie. There they loosened their hold, and Jack jerked away, dragging a hand under his nose as he glared at them all. Some of them had the decency to look ashamed, but most looked completely unrepentant, a few glaring right back.

“Lemme guess, you all’s known about this?” Jack said loudly, glancing from Specs to Race, from Buttons to Elmer. Les looked away.

“Don’t feel bad, Jack,” Jojo pleaded. Jack didn’t even look at him. “Albert tried ta do the same the other day.”

“I ain’t feelin’ bad,” Jack practically bellowed. He kicked the wall of the alley angrily. Still no one looked away. What was wrong with them? Why were they staring at him, some with pity, some with defiance? Why couldn’t they just go about their business and leave him to his?

“Look, Jack--”

“No! No, Racer!” Jack fell to his knees, tearing at his hair. He choked on a lump in his throat and realized there were hot tears rolling down his face. “It ain’t--he--” he took a shuddering breath, his voice cracking-- “why do they gotta hate him so much?”

No one answered. Jack stayed like that for a while, his knees digging into the dirt of the alley, frequently sniffing and rubbing at his face. How could someone be so terrible, that all they lived for was hurting kids who already had it hard enough? They had literally threatened to kill Crutchie, had faked remorse at not finishing him off the first time--

Jack was going to be sick. His stomach flip-flopped, reminding him of how he hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. How could the others just stand there, while the Delanceys made vile threats toward one of their own, toward Crutchie? They had even known already--why hadn’t they told Jack?

Jack’s stomach twisted again, but before he could toss anything up, there was someone kneeling before him.

Davey wrapped his arms around Jack, pulling him into an awkward, stilted hug. Jack collapsed into the contact, shaking uncontrollably. He just wished everyone else would go. He just wanted everyone to stop staring at him. Davey ran gentle fingers through his hair, hushing him with little “Sh, sh,” noises.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Davey murmured. “Crutchie’s gonna be okay, Jackie. We’re gonna get through this.”

Jack almost choked out a laugh. David’s naivety couldn’t be helped--Crutchie had spent time in the Refuge, days where he was without help or support, growing weaker and weaker with every beating. It had been a good three years since Jack had been in there, and he wasn’t recovered. He wasn’t ever going to recover. How could David say with such certainty that Crutchie would be okay?

“I hope you’re right, Dave,” Jack said instead, voice thick with emotion. He curled his fingers into the stiff fabric of Davey’s vest, swallowing back another round of tears. “I hope you’re right.”

[all-theimaginess]

We’re Inevitable - Part Four

Fandom: Newsies Pairing: eventual Davey x reader Word Count: ~1,500 Tag List: @races-cigar @theresagoodchanceicouldfly  @the-navistar-carol @tillthyendofthyline  A/N: Hey everyone! I’m back from the void. I hope you all like this new chapter. Please let me know what you think. I would love to hear it. Sorry for its delay 

Part One + Part Two + Part Three  

The world seemed to freeze in the time that it took you to comprehend what Race said. Composing yourself, you spoke with a slight sense of urgency, “What do you need me to do? How are we gettin’ him out?”

Race took the cigar out of his mouth and fidgeted with it for a moment. “There ain’t nothin’ we can do right now. With the strike started, Synder’s on alert. He’ll be waitin’ for one of us to spring Crutchie.” With his free hand, he adjusted his hat. Visibly conflicted, Race pursed his lips before putting his cigar back in his mouth.“I hate it, but we needs to lay low. The safest place for him is the refuge.”

“Does Jack know?” Your mind was running a million miles a minute. If Jack knew, then he would more than likely be making a plan to save Crutchie.

You could see the feeling of defeat flood his expression. “I’m not for sure, but I think so,” he said with a frown, “There’s another thing I had to tell ya. I tried to find Jack, with no luck.. He wasn’t at his penthouse or the lodging house. I thought he might be here, but...”

Davey’s back straightened and you wiped your clammy hands on your skirt. Jack wouldn’t just disappear without making sure that you were alright, you were sure of it. “You woulda heard if he was taken, right?”

Race nodded, “Yeah, but I ain’t heard nothin’.”

You looked over at Davey to see how he was taking things. It looked like things were stewing in his mind while he stayed calm and connected. “If he knows and hasn’t been caught, maybe he just needs some time to cool off,” you suggested, glancing around the space the three of you were occupying. “He’ll come around, just give him a little time to think.”

“I’ll let you know if I smell smoke.” Race retorted

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

“Morning Gentlemen,” Katherine greeted, “Would you get a load of these glum mugs... Could these really be the same boys who made front page of the New York Sun?”

All of the boys jumped out of their seats to see the proof. You slowly stood with a genuine smile, and walked over to the side of the center table. ‘Newsies Stop the World,’ You heard Mush proclaim. It’s a catchy title, and Katherine had made good on her promise just like she said she would. The boys’ exclamations all made you smile even bigger.

Racetrack eagerly showed you the paper when he got his hands back on it. They really made the front page, and above the fold. You smiled down at the photo which had you between Davey and Racetrack. Your smile lessened when your gaze fell on the Jack in the picture.

‘Just give him a little time.’ That was what you told Davey and Race before they left Medda’s the day before. You wished that Jack could be here to revel in this with the rest of the newsies of Lower Manhattan. He would’ve loved it. You smiled back at Race, not wanting to spoil anyone’s moment.

You made your way next to Davey as you heard Albert telling Katherine what he heard. “Ah the Delanceys are spreadin a story, that he took it on the lam first sight of the cops.”

You openly frowned at this, of course that’s what the Delancey’s would do. Anything to discredit the cause.Then you saw Les dart forward, “Jack don’t run from no fight.” The confidence that Les had in Jack made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help the smile that you gave Les as you and Davey gently usher him away from Albert.

After a few minutes, Race strutted over to you. Davey and Les were animatedly talking to other newsies while you sat on one of the tables taking everything in.Your focus quickly turned to the overly confident Racetrack Higgins.You smirked, “Well, well, well, if it ain't one of the Kings of New York himself. I’m honored.”

Racetrack chuckled warmly, “The honor is truly mine,” he then paused to give an over the top bow. “I just came to see what a lovely girl like you is doin’ sitting by her lonesome. And, to see if I could offer you some company.”

“How noble,” you smiled and patted the spot next to you on the table.

Race smiled and hopped up onto the table, positioning himself very close to you. As he turned his gaze to you, he noticed that your attention was across the deli, on Davey. Race pondered this, his eyebrows furrowing for a second. He then trained his expression to one of nonchalance and  took the cigar from the corner of his mouth. “Davey, huh?” He asked, leaning into you slightly.

You froze, “I got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh, sure. I saw you two at Medda’s. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. I’ve known you a long time, and you’se gonna have to lie better than that if you wanna keep this from your brother, assuming he don’t already know,” he replied knowingly. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t place.

You shook your head. “He doesn’t. To be fair though, things have been a little crazy around here.. I thought I’d tell him after the strike, or when I figured out my feelings and Davey’s, but now no one knows where Jack is.”

Race put his arm around you. “I know, It’s been a crazy time for all of us. Things are changing, possibly in our favor. We’ll find Jack, it’ll all work out,” he reassured. There was a momentary pause before Race continued,“You deserve to be happy Thimble, and he would be lucky to have you as his girl. Any of us would.” Race looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to you. “Besides, I’m almost certain Davey-boy over there has been watching us,” he gave you a knowing smile. “Or more likely, you.” His grip around your shoulders tightened slightly.

You smiled and leaned into him more. “Thanks Race.”

“You’se welcome.” Race said with a bright smile, pulling you into a hug and putting the cigar back in the corner of his mouth with a smirk. He leaned back slightly, bracing himself on his hands. “Well, are you’se gonna go talk to him?”

You started to maneuver yourself off of the table. “Actually, I should probably get back to the theater. I have some costumes that need mending.”

Race nodded, “See ya later, Thimble.”

As you said goodbye to the other newsies, Davey politely excused himself from a conversation with Finch with a, ‘meet you there,’ and made his way to you. “On your way to Medda’s?” He asked, continuing after you nod, “The circulation gate’s gonna be opening soon. I think the fellas and I are gonna go down there and see what’s goin’ on. Wanna take a detour? And then of course, I could walk you to Medda’s."

You thought for a moment, “I would like that,” you grinned. A little detour wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you would take all of the time with Davey that you could. Davey seemed to relax with your answer.

It was a short amount of time before Davey spoke again, “So, I got a question for you.”

Your heartbeat raced with the possibilities and you tried to remain calm. “And what would that be?”

Davey looked across the street, avoiding your eye contact for a moment. “I’m curious, and you can tell me that it’s none of my business, but.. Uhm, what’s the story between you and Race?”

You blinked at him in non comprehension for a few seconds. Your brain scrambled for information as you and Davey continued to walk. How could you explain your relationship with Race to him? Racetrack was one of your best friends, who had also been your first crush, and your first kiss but that was half a year ago. It didn’t end up changing anything, so what’s past is past.

“Race and I?” You pause for a second, “We’re just close friends who have known each other a long time.. Why?”

Davey shrugged and looked away, “I was just curious, like I said. He heard anything about Jack?” His facial expressions were still partially guarded.

You shook your head as the “The World” gate soon came into view. “I’ll wait by the gate for you,” you said right before you reached it.

Davey turned to you once more and leaned in slightly. “I won’t be too long, alright?” You nodded and leaned against the gate,watching as Davey and the other newsies lined up for papers.

Davey ended up being close to the front of the line. His expression was serious as he eyed Wiesel. Many of the boys were waiting in anticipation to see what would happen next. As Davey drew closer to Wiesel, you noticed Davey and Wiesel’s expressions both change slightly. Then, Davey nodded defiantly to the other newsies and walked away, not looking behind to see a lot of newsies follow him.

[raointean]

Refuge at Last : Chap 4

Warnings: Nightmare, panic attack, anxiety, ptsd, implied/referenced child abuse, hurt/comfort feels

He was back at the Refuge. So much pain he could barely move. A hand grabbed his arm and dragged him from his bunk. He hit the ground. The Delancey brothers leered at him. Bigger and somehow uglier than last time. They kicked him. Again and again, jeering all the while. He curled up and covered his ears. He wished himself far away.

Suddenly, they stopped. He looked up. He was alone. Still at the Refuge. Nauseating hunger washed over him. The pain in his stomach grew worse and worse. It was unbearable. He began to cry.

The Delanceys were back. The Spider was with them. They had his crutch. The Spider raised it over his head. What goes up must come down. Again, again, again. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. One more hit. A loud ‘crack’. The crutch was broken in two. The Spider dropped it. The Delanceys walked away with the Spider. Laughter rang in his ears.

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

Miles sat up on his mat, wondering what had woken him up. He listened for a moment before realizing. Jesse was tossing and turning on the mat next to his, mumbling occasionally. Miles rolled his eyes. Of course, Jesse was an infamous sleeptalker. He rolled over, trying to go back to sleep when he listened more closely.

“No, not the crutch, please, stop.” Miles had only heard Jesse that desperate once before and that was when he was bargaining for Winnie’s life. Immediately, he sat up, determined to wake his brother. He reached out and shook Jesse’s shoulder.

Jesse shot up, looking around wildly. The moment he caught sight of Miles, he scrambled to get as far away as he could. His back hit the wall and he curled up, shaking, with his head in his arms.

Miles was frozen in shock. The Jesse he knew was hardly afraid of anything. Even before they learned that they couldn’t die, Jesse was always the one to play chicken with a charging bull or do a backflip off the roof of the henhouse.

Miles crawled across the floor to Jesse, who didn’t seem to notice anything around him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. It was big brother time. He moved so that he was sitting right beside Jesse so as not to scare him more and reached out to put a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder.

That was the wrong thing to do. Jesse froze and his breathing quickened, if such a thing were possible. Miles hastily removed his hand and switched tactics.

“Jesse, it’s alright. Look at me. You’re safe, it was just a dream.” After a few minutes of Miles’ coaxing, Jesse finally started to relax. His breathing slowed and he stopped shaking as much.

“Good, look at me. Do you know where you are?” he asked. He had known a few people who, when they had nightmares, wouldn’t know where they were.

Jesse peeked out from his arms and looked around the room with wide, panicked eyes, searching for something familiar. “I’m... I’m at home.” he said breathlessly.

“That’s right. And is there anything here that will hurt you?”

“No” Jesse sighed. He slumped against Miles, drained. They sat in silence for a while, Miles gently rubbing his back.

“You know what we need?” Miles asked quietly. “Hot chocolate. How’s that sound?” Jesse only nodded in response.

“Aaaaaallllllllright, up we get.” he grunted after Jesse made no move to get up. He helped him limp over to and down the ladder, grabbed the crutch, and climbed down himself. They snuck into the kitchen and Miles put a pot of milk on the stove.

While it was heating, Miles observed his brother. He was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over and his eyes darting every which way. He looked nervous and paranoid. That wouldn’t do at all. The Jesse he knew was loud and obnoxious at all times and was never nervous about anything.

Miles had a sinking feeling he knew what was wrong. He had seen it in his father after he had fought in the Revolutionary War and in his mother after she killed the Man in the Yellow Suit. He had even seen it in himself after 1812, the Civil War, and the Mexican-American War. Jesse had clearly been through Hell and back and had no idea how to deal with it. Well, he knew from experience, the best way to start fixing yourself was to let others help you. And that meant talking... to people. Oh joy.

He took the milk off of the burner before it could boil over. He mixed up the two mugs of fragrant, steaming nectar from heaven and brought them over to the table. Setting one down in front of himself and the other in front of Jesse, he sat down and looked his brother in the eye.

“We need to talk,” he said, getting right to the point. “It’s kinda obvious to everyone that you’ve had something of a rough decade.” Jesse snorted at this. “And that you’ve developed some issues because of it. I just want you to know that everyone in this house has had similar issues and we want to help you. We can’t help you if you don’t talk to us though. I know it’s hard but you need to trust me on this.”

Jesse sat for a minute, stirring his cocoa and thinking. On the one hand, he trusted Miles and knew that he knew what he was talking about, remembering what his brother was like just after his first battle. The nightmares and anxiety were eating him alive and Miles had dealt with all of that before.

On the other hand, the Refuge was not the same as a battlefield. Fighting a battle was scary and horrible but it was also honorable and proved one to be strong. The Refuge was just a place where one got picked on for any misdeed. The only way to get out was to survive and not fight back. There was no honor or strength or glory in that, only cowardice.

Eventually though, he decided that if he was going to live forever, he didn’t want to carry his baggage around for all eternity. He could prove himself later.

They ended up talking until the early hours of the morning, just before their mother got up. Jesse told Miles all about the Refuge. The beatings, the lack of food, the vermin, the close quarters.

He also talked about the strike and his newsie friends. Jack, Davey, Les, Race, Albert. And the hijinx they got up to. Like throwing rotten fruit at mean cops and seeing how many ladies they could flirt with every day.

Miles gave Jesse tips on how to cope with his nightmares and curb his anxiety. He also constantly reinforced the notion that he could go to anyone in their family for advice or even just to vent.

Jesse hated reliving the abuse he endured, feeling that it was cowardly and pathetic, but Miles threw that notion right out of the window. He told him that endurance was one of the hardest things to do, especially in conditions where there is a clear person in charge to fight against.

After all was said and done, Jesse was surprised to find that he felt a little bit lighter. He knew that he would never be the same again, but for the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful. He had found refuge, real refuge, at last.

————————————————————

AN: WOOOO! It’s finally done! I kind of experimented with a different writing style for the nightmare that I found on Pinterest like, a gazillion years ago. Short and fragmented sentences to convey a sense of surrealism and horror. I think it worked pretty well.

I’m done with this story. It took me like, three years and as good as it turned out, I. Am. Done. Hope you enjoyed!

[felix-loves-albert-and-ralb-blog]

Losing My Mind Part Twelve: Albert

all previous chapters are tagged under “losing my mind” pairings: crack (jackcrutchie for all you nonbelievers), ralbert, spromeo, blush, newsbians, davey/happiness friendships: crutchie and albert, specs and albert and crutchie, albert and les, specs and crutchie, mush and henry, race and crutchie, specs and katherine warnings: all previous warnings, alcoholism, alcohol abuse, a glass bottle used as a weapon, drinking, racism, violence, blood, self-hatred, burns, abuse, swearing, homophobia, panic attacks, a bunch of other horrible shit, uh albert low-key hates himself, ableism, lots of characters have depression, and quite a few have anxiety editing: nope pov: albert

WARNING: THE F SLUR IS USED IN THIS CHAPTER. I STAR IT OUT TO CENSOR IT, BUT I AM WARNING YOU PRIOR TO READING.

(stuff in italics is flashback)

As soon as the door slams, I’m grabbed by one of the guards. He pushes me along the hallway behind Snyder, and whenever I slow down too much the guard smacks me on the back of my head. It seems almost like a game to him. We eventually arrive in front of Snyder’s office, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve been in this room only once, when I was 13 and had to sign the papers, but that was the only time. Jack was just in here, in a closet, and Race told me once about a time he snuck in to steal cigars. Snyder also usually has a boy bring him his supper in his office, but I’ve never been chosen for that unpleasant task. But now I’m sitting in the hard-backed chair, dreading the punishment that is sure to come.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Snyder asks, leaning back in his desk chair, his hands steepled together like the roof of a church.

“Blah blah respect, blah blah f*g, blah blah blah.” I say, trying to sound bored.

“I brought you here because I’m pissed off and you’re expendable.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I can kill you and no one would care.”

“So you’re gonna kill me?”

"Get me a drink.”

“What?”

“Get me a drink, Pretty Boy, I’ll only ask once.” Snyder points to a glass cabinet along the side wall, the shelves filled with bottles.

I get up slowly and walk over to the cabinet. I turn the handle and carefully open the glass door, revealing the stockade of bottles.

“Hurry up!” Snyder snaps.

I look at the array of bottles, scanning the labels. They’re all high in alcohol content, and they all look expensive. I grab a shiny green bottle from the shelf and close the cabinet again. I bring it over to Snyder’s desk and place it on the hard wood.

Snyder grabs the bottle, tears off the top, and downs it.

I’ve seen people drink before. My mom used to drink a bottle a night before I left. I’ve seen people drink, but no one drinks like Snyder. He finishes the entire bottle at once and then throws the empty bottle at me.

I don’t duck away fast enough; the glass shatters against my forehead.

Blood and pain, my head feels like it’s on fire. Cold liquid dripping down my face, a mix of alcohol and blood. My vision is blurry, but I manage to lift a hand to my head. The gash stings painfully, and now my hand is bloody too.

I try not to scream, I really do, but Snyder is shouting again and it doesn’t help the pain in my head at all.

The scream burns my throat and blurs my vision. I lean against the nearest wall to steady myself, gasping for air. I feel like I might throw up.

“Get me another drink.” Snyder orders.

“Why?” I ask. I’m surprised I can even form the word at all.

“Because I asked you to, boy.” Snyder says harshly.

“Why me?” My voice is hoarse. “Why waste your time on me if you keep insisting on how useless I am?”

“You’re stupid too, apparently. Higgins seems to think you’re a nice pet, and the only way to get to Sullivan is through his friends. The cr*p is tougher than I thought, but Higgins’ll break easily. Need I make it more plain?”

I want to make a snarky comeback, but I can’t. What can I say?

I know his plan. He’s going to torture me to get to Race to get to Jack. Kind of indirect, if you ask me.

“Kinda indirect, if ya ask me.”

“Another drink, Pretty Boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t call me that, Spider.”

“I’ll call you what I want, now shut up and get me another drink.”

“No.”

I know this isn’t going to end well. There’s no way it can end well.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

“Make me.”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to-

“Fine.” Snyder says tightly, opening a drawer in his desk. He makes a big show of pulling the wad of fabric out of the drawer and waving it in the air.

I back up across the room, I can’t help it.

I’m an idiot, I should’ve just shut up and grabbed another bottle.

My back slams against the door, and Snyder is still advancing on me, grinning. I pull on the handle, but to no avail. It’s locked as always.

“Please.” I choke out.

Snyder only smiles and presses my arms against the wood of the door. I try to push away, but he’s stronger and healthier.

I scream, but then realize my mistake.

Snyder shoves the gag into my open mouth and ties the fabric around the back of my head to secure it.

I scream through the rough fabric, I scream as loud as I can, but the sound is muffled and pathetic.

Snyder leans in close to me and whispers in my ear.

“Another drink.”

He’s already sitting back down behind his desk by the time I come to my senses enough to register his order.

So I do as he says.

I silently walk to the cabinet, select a bottle, and place it on the desk. I duck away when Snyder throws it, leaving it to slam against the far wall instead of against me. After downing his third bottle is when Snyder finally gives me a break.

“Sit.” He directs.

He doesn’t sound nearly as scary when he’s drunk, but I know he’s still dangerous.

“You’re a problem, ya know that?” He says, his words slurring together. “All you newsies are troublemakers. Need ta learn the rules.”

I look anywhere but his eyes. I can’t make eye contact, especially not while he’s talking about his rules.

“Ya need ta learn a lesson, all of ya. But I suppose for taday we can start with you.”

Seemingly endless hits, pain that never wants to end. I grow to hate the wood planking of the floor of Snyder’s office, it only adds more discomfort. The beating is the worst I’ve ever received in my life, I just want an end to the pain.

But an end seems to be the one thing I won’t get, because Snyder’s drunken mind seems to be fueled by my pain, thus creating an endless cycle.

It must be two in the morning when Snyder finally finishes with me. He drags me out of his office and into a relatively small room down the hallway.

The room is empty, except for a horizontal bar placed a few feet from the ground stretching across the back wall of the room.

Snyder takes me to the back wall, and then proceeds to not only cuff my wrists together, but secure them so my arms are looped around the bar.

After securing me, he just stares at me for a moment.

“Do you want me to ungag you?” He asks suddenly. His voice is nice, it’s strangely off putting. Should I trust him? No. Do I have a choice? Probably not.

I hesitate for a moment before nodding.

“Good. All you have ta do is say a few words. You can do that, can’t you?”

I nod again, only because I hate being silenced.

“Good.” Snyder loosens the gag, and it falls around my neck. “Now there’s five rules you gotta say. Can you repeat after me?”

I nod.

Snyder’s smile grows.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Fuck you.”

The gag is back in my mouth and my head wound feels like it’s on fire.

Oh, that’s because of Snyder’s knuckles, three of which don sharp rings, have made contact with the gash and are trying to split my head open.

“Shall we try again?” Snyder asks, examining his bloody fist.

He uses his left hand, the not bloody one, to loosen my gag yet again.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Go to hell.”

My screams fill the room as Snyder’s fist strikes my head wound again, I start to wonder if this is going to be a pattern.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“I heard ya the first time.”

“I can do this all night, don’t test me.” Snyder growls, and I can feel the glass shards cutting even deeper into my flesh.

“Please…” I gasp, the pain overwhelming me.

“All of this can end if you simply recite the rules for me. Easy as that.”

Snyder’s hand retreats, and the pain subsides slightly.

I can’t give in, I can’t.

Giving in is giving up, and I can’t give up.

I can’t be obedient and well-mannered.

I’m Albert DaSilva, I’m loud and rude and I definitely don’t follow the rules.

I’m not useless, I’m not someone’s object, I’m not going to give up everything I believe in just because some asshole wants to torture me and my friends.

In the Refuge it’s easy to lose yourself, on the streets it’s easy to lose yourself, and I really can’t afford to lose myself.

I can’t.

I won’t.

“I ain’t playin’ your game.” I choke out.

“We’ll see what you have to say about that in the morning.” Snyder grunts, and the gag is once again shoved into my mouth and fastened in tightly. “Sleep tight.” Snyder says sarcastically, and then he’s gone.

I’m left alone in a locked room, gagged, arms held above me by tight metal handcuffs.

Alone.

It’s a strange word, alone.

Jack always said he could be alone but not lonely.

Sometimes I feel lonely when I’m not alone.

Well right now I’m alone, and I don’t know how to feel.

A lot of times my own thoughts can be too much to handle.

And my thoughts are what keep me from sleeping.

I spend the whole night staring at the door opposite me, letting all of my thoughts and worries and ideas swarm my brain.

I guess I fell asleep eventually though, because it’s the slam of the opening door that wakes me up, and I instinctively try to move my arms before remembering the events of the previous night.

“Lookie here, Morris, he’s awake!” A voice croons.

I blink my eyes a few times to clear my sleep blurred vision, and see none other than the Delancey brothers. Great.

“How’d ya sleep?” Morris asks tauntingly.

I’m gagged, can’t he see that?

“Looks like Red’s finally gonna get what he deserves.” Oscar says, stepping closer. He looks me over for a second, and for a second I think I can see a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“Let ‘im breathe, Mo. I wanna be able ta hear ‘im scream.” Oscar says next, almost casually.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Oscar Delancey?

He’s a manipulative piece of shit, he’s always been.

When we first met, I was 9 and Oscar was 10. Morris was 9 too, but I never knew him as well as I knew Oscar.

Oscar always called himself the brains, he would do most of the talking. Morris was shy, and he still is. He doesn’t talk much, he uses his fists instead of his mouth. I know why, it was because of the shit hand that life dealt him, but I always can’t help but wonder.

What would’ve happened if the three of us had stayed friends?

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t become a newsie, hadn’t met Race?

Or what if they had said yes? What if they had become newsies with me, learned that they didn’t deserve all of the shit their uncle gave them?

But that’s not what happened.

I became a newsie.

I met Race.

Oscar and Morris took the jobs their uncle offered.

I grew closer together with Oscar, and then we grew apart.

I tried to reach out to Morris, and he found out my secret.

I lost my friends and I lost myself.

I got kicked out of my house and taken straight to the Refuge.

Things were never the same.

Things will never be the same.

Morris throws my gag on the floor with disgust, and I take a breath.

“Why’re ya doin’ this?” I ask.

“It pays.” Oscar says simply.

“It pays.” I roll my eyes. “Always about the goddamn money.”

“Enough talking, Red. Morris, I think he’s a bit too comfortable.”

A boot smashes into my ribs, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying out.

I don’t want to have to deal with this again.

I spent all of last night trying to deal with hits and kicks and insults, and now I have to wake up and deal with it all over again?

I tune out the brothers as they take turns punching me and throwing insults in my face.

Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious they’ll leave me alone?

Crutchie said it worked for him, why shouldn’t it work for me?

I let my body go limp and let my eyes fall shut. I try not to flinch as Morris’s brass knuckles graze the open wound on my head.

“He’s unconscious, Os.” I hear Morris say in his low tone. “The boss won’t know if we lay off him. I don’t wanna hit ‘im when he’s out.”

“Yeah, we’ll jus’ sit an’ play cards or somethin’ ‘til he wakes up again.” Oscar agrees.

I hear footsteps moving away, and I’m assuming the brothers have moved to a spot on the opposite side of the room.

So now I get to sit with my thoughts for a while. Yay.

“I don’t like that we’se doin’ this.” I hear Morris say. “It’s jus’ beatin’ on folks that’re already hurt. Folks who deserve it, but c’mon, Os. Look at ‘im. I hate his guts, but he ain’t even fightin’ back or nothin’.”

That’s probably the most I’ve ever heard Morris talk.

He’s never liked me, he never has, so he never talked to me as much as Oscar did when we were friends.

“I know, but it pays an’ we could use the money. ‘Sides, this is what he deserves, right? For what he did.” Oscar comments.

So Oscar is still living that lie.

What I did.

It wasn’t me.

It was Oscar’s fault.

The events play back in my head, clouding my worry filled mind.

“Red, I gotta tell ya a secret.” Oscar whispers.

“Ya can tell me anythin’, Os. We’se best friends.” I whisper back. “I won’t tell no one, I promise.”

“Okay.”

A breeze passes over us, and I look over side of the roof while Oscar composed himself. I can see people bustling around the sidewalk, and carriages trotting by below.

“I’se a f*g.” Oscar says quickly. “Ya can’t tell Morris, ya can’t tell my uncle, an’ ya can’t tell Higgins.”

“I ain’t gonna tell!” I insist. “But… why’d ya tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know who else ta tell. Ya can’t hate me, please. I know I’se wrong, an’ I didn’t wanna be this way, but it jus’ happened. I feel gross, but I still wanna be best friends. It don’t matter that you’se normal an’ I’se not, right? I mean, I get if ya hate me-”

“I don’t hate ya, Os.”

“Really, Red?”

“Of course not.”

Should I tell him?

No, I shouldn’t.

I’ll tell him later, right now it’s his time.

If I had told him then things would’ve turned out very different.

Or would they have?

Wouldn’t the same thing have happened, just sooner?

I didn’t feel the same as he did about me, I only understood how he felt.

I know that doesn’t make sense, but it does.

Although it didn’t matter whether or not I told him then because it happened a few weeks after, we were in an alley, smoking and talking.

“Os, what’re you-”

I’m cut off by his lips on mine, and I’m too shocked to pull away.

What is he doing?

“DaSilva!”

I wrench myself away from Oscar, but the damage has been done.

There’s Morris, standing at the front of the alley, eyes alight with anger.

“What the hell, Red! You’se a f*g!” Oscar shouts, and I want to protest, but Morris is charging towards me, his fists clenched, and I’m suddenly on the floor.

What happened?

Oscar tried to kiss me, it’s a misunderstanding!

But I can’t very well say that when my mouth is full of blood.

My mom found out about it the next day. I got kicked out.

The day after that Race got taken to the Refuge.

And then I got sent there too.

And Snyder seemed to know, how did he know?

Race got out before me, Jack broke him out before Snyder hurt him really bad.

But it took longer for Jack to get me out.

I was there for weeks, subject to beatings and slurs and the curse of loneliness.

Things were never the same.

I knew what society saw me as, still sees me as.

I learned my place.

I know my place but I refuse to stay in it.

I refuse to give in.

The strike is about standing up and fighting, and that is exactly what I intend to do.

“You’re fuckin’ assholes, both of ya.” I shout across the room.

“Oh, so you is awake!” Oscar exclaims gleefully.

“Os-”

“Mo, he’s gettin’ what he deserves.”

“He ain’t even fightin’ or nothin’! He’s jus’ sittin’ there.” Morris says, crossing his arms.

Now this is a situation I never thought I’d see. Morris Delancey avoiding a fight? This is a perfect opportunity for me to open my big mouth again and fuck things up!

“Aw, is little Morris afraid of a scary f*g like me?” I ask tauntingly. “The only reason I ain’t fightin’ back is ‘cause ya got me all chained up like this! If ya wanna play, boys, jus’ lemme go!”

Somehow I’m smiling, laughing, even.

Have I gone insane?

Probably.

“You deserve this, Red.” Oscar sneers, strolling towards me.

“Do I now?” I say. “Because-”

I’m cut off my Oscar’s brass knuckles slamming into my jaw.

And then my shoulder.

My stomach.

Jaw again.

Stomach.

Stomach.

Shoulder.

Stomach.

Head wound.

“Stop!” The plea comes out of my mouth purely from instinct, muscle memory, but I can’t take the scream back now.

“You want me to stop, Red?” Oscar’s face is too close to mine, and his thick fingers are wrapped around my wrist.

I don’t say anything.

“I said do you want me to stop?” Oscar asks again, twisting my wrist. My nerves are howling and I can feel my bone bending.

“Yes.” I choke out.

“Beg me.” Oscar spits.

“Please, stop.”

“Sir.”

“Sir, please stop.”

“No.”

Oscar yanks his hand away, still holding my wrist, and I can hear the crack as the bone splinters and breaks.

I’m screaming, my whole body is on fire, and it seems like the pain will never end.

Once more blows rain down and I am powerless to stop them. More skin will fade to purple in the upcoming hours. I'm sure my screams can be heard by the boys but I can't stop. As soon as I can take a breath another blow has whisked it away.

I vaguely remember begging once more, not caring at how fucking pitiful I must sound.

Me, cowering in fear, begging for mercy, being struck by the ones I had called friends many years ago.

I’m a disappointment.

I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t be.

But I have to be!

Jack is counting on me, the newsies are counting on me.

I close my eyes and let myself sleep.

*****

A sharp blow to my jaw brings me back to reality.

“Wake up.”

I blearily open my eyes and see Snyder leering in my face.

“Gettin’ right ta the point, I see.” I say, practically coughing out the words. “Miss me more than Jack?”

“I just saw him actually.

“Our money, sir?” Oscar asks pointedly, holding out an open palm.

Snyder hands Oscar a wad of cash, and the two brothers leave the room, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“What did Race say?” I blurt out suddenly, not able to stop myself.

“Oh, so the dog misses his owner?” Snyder taunts.

“I-”

“He was on his hands and knees begging for me to let you go.”

“Yeah, right.”

I can’t believe that Race would do that.

“In fact, he offered to put himself in your place.” Snyder chuckles.

That I can believe Race did.

“But I think I’m too close to cracking you to let you go so soon.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I think I might need to shut you up by force again.”

“Try me.”

“Fine.”

When am I going to learn when to stop?

Never, apparently.

And now Snyder is holding up a rope and he’s tying it around my neck and he’s pulling it tight and I can’t breathe and my brain is working a mile a minute and why do I taste blood and I can’t take this anymore I don’t want more pain I don’t want to be locked in this room I don’t want to be silenced I’m not strong like Jack I can’t handle a beating a day I can’t handle losing this much blood I think my brain is about to explode.

“All of this can end.” Snyder says simply, and even though I’m not looking at him I know he’s smirking.

He’s won.

I can feel tears start to stream down my face, and I manage to choke out a sob.

I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to give up so quickly, but I have no other choice. I can’t take any more of this.

I’m not strong.

I’m 16, barely 16, I only turned 16 last month, and 16 is too young.

Too young for jail, too young for blood, too young for beatings, too young for torture, too young for all of this goddamn pain.

But Jack was here when he was 16, wasn’t he?

He was 16 the last time he was here, if he can survive I can.

“Fuck. You.”

Because I’m a stubborn piece of shit.

Because I don’t know when to shut up.

Because I don’t care if he kills me.

Because-

His fist is pounding into my skull and my vision disappears.

hope you enjoyed!

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[sparkle-heart-anon]

Secret Love : Crutchie Morris x Reader

Warnings: sex mentions, slut shaming, calling people a bitch and cripple, and the Delanceys being dicks

Word count : 3k

So I had this idea during swim practice today sorry if it’s shitty

The not so subtle glances, the meeting of eyes for a moment then looking back down blush spreading to the faces, the nervous ticks saved only for each other. This continued for far too long between you and the impossibly adorable Crutchie Morris, until finally, one day, exactly two years, four months, and three days ago, you and Crutchie were hanging out, walking back to the Lodge House from a long day of selling. You were both talking about stupid things, the crappiness of the headline that day, you were pretty sure, both trying to repress the obvious feelings you had for each other, when the topic changed. You were close to the Lodge House, it sat at the end of the street.

“So, uh, (Y/N),” his voice was shaking.

“Yeah?” you hummed your voice sweet and kind and only made Crutchie more nervous.

“I, uh, I was wondering,” his accent was thick. It always got thicker when he was nervous. “Do you maybe wanna go out on a date with me? And uh, youse can totally say no if ya wanna but I uh just wanted ta…”

You cut him off. “I would love to.”

That day he smiled so wide, and so brightly. But then, because you were both worried about the other newsies finding out (it was more you really) you agreed to date in private until you both felt ready to tell the others.

Your first date was amazing you were complete struck in love. He was so kind and such a gentleman taking you down to a little restaurant which you insisted was far too much. You walked back to the Lodge House discreetly holding hands.

The next date you went on, he kissed you. It was your first kiss. It was his third. But still, it was awkward. Neither of you was quite sure when to put your hands or how to tilt your head. But still, it was perfect basking in its imperfectness. You still hid this from the others, worried that they might judge you for dating someone.

You and Crutchie took it slow together. You weren’t affectionate in public ever, the closest thing being shy, secret kisses when Crutchie pulled you into an alleyway after being sure that no one else was around.

Six months on the dot into your relationship, on a romantic date in Central Park, Crutchie told you he loved you. He also told you that he wanted everyone to know that he loved you, or at the very least, he was ready for everyone to know. You loved him back. You loved him so deeply and passionately that when you looked at him, your heart swelled so large you sometimes thought it might break. But no matter how much you loved him, you still didn’t really want the others to know. He understood. He was kind. You were worried that the others would tease you for dating someone, or turn on you, pick sides. You were mostly worried about the Delancy’s. They always hit in you, made some shitty sly comments that you tried to brush off. You didn’t want Crutchie to have to endure this either.

Then, after a year, six months, and eight days since Crutchie first asked you out, you two had sex for the first time. You were kissing passionately in an alleyway a few streets away from the Lodge House, getting friskier as your hands roamed his chest and back, and his free hand held you tighter by the small of your back. You snuck back into Crutchie’s room at the very top of the Lodge House without being noticed, and made your way over to his bed. He checked with you a million times that night, making sure you wanted it, making sure you were okay with everything he was going to do. Again, that night was so perfect in its imperfectness. He was worried about you seeing his bum leg for the first time, you were worried about him seeing your body for the first time. But it was all so sweet and so perfect.

He held you afterwards. Held you tight in his arms, professing his love over and over again, you repeating the same feelings. There you laid, facing each other, under the thin blankets, as the moon streamed into Crutchie’s shoebox of a room, and you held hands, noses almost touching.

“I love you so much, Crutchie,” you whispered, kissing him sweetly.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said, slinging his hand over your bare waist and pulling you closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then, it got quiet for a moment as you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Can we, uh, we not tell anyone about this.”

“Yeah.” He understood why this had to remain unspoken. Rules were different for girls, he knew that. Relationships were scandalous enough, but to have sex before you were married, women could have been banished and socially destroyed. So those moments, laying together as he traced patterns into your skin and you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, became sacred secrets held between the two of you, and you wanted it to remain that way. But of course, life could never be that easy.

Every time you snuck up to his room, sometimes to talk and cuddle innocently, other times to do something much less innocent, but you would always made sure to sneak back down to your room by 2 am. No one would hear you, no one would see you, and no one would know. Except for the first time you screwed up. You and Crutchie had had a rough night, and you were both exhausted and wanted to cuddle. You rested your head on his chest as he held you close. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head. Slowly, you both drifted off, not bothering to put back in your clothes, not bothering to put away the things you were using.

The next morning you awoke to the bell and the pounding of Newsie feet around the Lodge House. But more frighteningly, you heard someone knocking on the door. “Hey, Crutch, you ready?” You bolted up straight, his eyes widened.

“Hide,” he mouthed. You nodded, and dove under the bed, pulling down a sheet to wrap yourself in.

“Yeah, uh, one sec…” he said nervously, grabbing his crutch and putting on his boxers.

“C’mon Crutch,” Jack said opening the door, “we gotta get ready to go. . . Woah.” You hid underneath the bed, looking out towards the scene through a small gap between the blanket that had been draped over the side and the wall. “Looks like somebody had some fun last night.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “So who’s the lucky gal?” You couldn’t see Crutchie’s face, only his bare legs and his crutch, but you knew that it was bright red.

“I, uh, I don’t know what youse talking about Jack,” he lied, and bad

Jack’s smirk grew wider. “You’ve got dirty clothes strewn across the room, youse only in your boxers, and uh, over there,” he pointed to the corner, “is a pile of a goirl’s clothes, so I do assume that you had a special lady here last night.”

“What, uh, well. . .” he began to stammer, drumming his nails on his wooden crutch. You smirked, running your fingers on the marks that Crutchie made on your back from his nails last night.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Jack teased. “But you hafta get ready to sell some papes.”

Jack walked out of the room and shut the door. You waited one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, before you got out from under the bed, and turned to Crutchie who looked very embarrassed and ashamed even.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry, I guess we fell asleep and Jack barely even knocks I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, placing your hand on him. “Don’t be. He didn’t see me, we’re good. We just need to be more careful next time.” You gave him a brief kiss. “We should go get ready or else we’s gonna be late.”

You both got changed, and left after the flurry of Newsies had already gone to line up. When the Delancey brothers so rudely commented that “the bitch” was late, and pressed as to why. While the boys that over heard nearly rioted at the nickname they had unceremoniously given you, they wanted to know why you were late. You were never late.

“Uhhhhhh,” you paused and thought for a moment, making eye contact with Crutchie. “I had some lady problems.” You hoped that this would get them to stop asking questions, and once their faces turned bright red, and Crutchie was laughing with a smirk that covered his face, they did.

You grabbed your papes for the day, and was thankful that Jack didn’t find out about you and Crutchie.

The next incident happened two years and three days after Crutchie had asked you out for the first time. This time, you were just cuddling, your hands intertwined, your lips mashed together. You were laughing quietly about stupid little jokes you had, he was adorning your face with kisses. You reciprocated them, peppering kisses along his face and neck, and chest. The night was giggly and happy, curled up together. But then, at 12:37, someone opened the door. While your back was to the door, and you were wearing Crutchie’s clothes, your hair was unmistakable. And, well, it didn’t help when you turned to look at the door, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Davey stood there, his eyes wide. “Crutch, I was coming to get yeah top let you know that Jack is completely shit faced, but, uh, I can see that you’re, uh, busy, so I will leave.”

Davey closed the door, but instantly you jumped up to talk to him. The hallway was empty, thank goodness. “You can’t tell anyone about this please, Davey,” you whispered. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Okay. But uh, why not? Crutchie’s a great guy.”

“I know. I love him a lot, but. . . I’m just worried about everyone else, hating me for dating him, the Delancey’s being jerks and stuff, ya know, the like.”

Davey nodded. “I don’t think the other newsies would hate ya for dating him. I can’t argue with the Delancey stuff, though.” You nodded silently, toying with with the edge of your, well, Crutchie’s shirt.

“I just still worry.”

“How long have you guys been dating?”

“A little over two years.”

“Two years!” he exclaimed loudly. You shushed him and he lowered his voice. “You’ve been dating for two years. Who knows?”

“Me, Crutchie,” you paused, “and you.”

“That’s it?” he whisper-screamed.

“Yeah. . .”

“I wanna know all about it, but I think you have yourself a man to get back to.” You blushed.

“You promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise. But, (Y/N), the guys won’t hate you or nothing of you tell them you’re dating Crutch.”

“Thanks, Davey.” You gave him a small smile, and went back into Crutchie’s room. He sat on the bed, wringing his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), is he gonna tell anyone?”

“No, Davey’s good. He said he won’t.” He smiled and kissed you sweetly, pulling you close into his lap.

Then, there was the final time. Two years, four months, and three days after Crutchie had asked you out, it was the final night before you were discovered. Clothes were strewn across the room, moonlight basked your bodies. It was all so sweet and gentle as you tried to get as close to each other as possible, to express your love. That night you curled together, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he traced little designs into your hip.

“I love you, darling,” he whispered. It sounded like he wanted to say something more, but you just sat there, so content just to be with the other. Then, you drifted off to sleep in his arms. He was going to wake you, he really was, but you just looked so peaceful. Your hair tickled his shoulder, your skin was soft, you looked so perfect asleep there in his arms. He wished so desperately that he could do this every night without you worrying that people would find out and judge you for “having extramarital relations with a man” or whatever.

He drifted off to sleep a bit later, not really meaning to, but at the same time, he didn’t really fight it off. When you woke up it was to the sound of a loud gasp, and someone yelling “Crutchie? (Y/N)?” You bolted up and saw that Jack and Romeo were standing in the doorway. Then you realized that you weren’t wearing a shirt and that the white sheet that covered you had fallen to your waist. Instantly, you moved towards covering yourself, and waking up Crutchie. Romeo had fled from the doorway, but Jack turned around but stood there, clearly in shock.

“Go get decent y’all, I have questions.” Your face was bright red as you leapt out of bed after the door was closed. You threw on the same dress you were wearing yesterday, and got ready. Crutchie hobbled over to get ready, and you helped him, trying to go faster to do damage control. It took you 4 minutes to both get ready, which was record time.

You then threw open the door, and instantly pleaded Jack to not let everyone know. He agreed, and started asking questions when Race raced up the stairs, his feet pounding on every step. “(Y/N), you and Crutchie?” You didn’t realize it was possible for your face to get redder, but it did.

“How did you—“ then you remembered. Romeo. He had probably gone and told everyone. So you did the thing that you felt most reasonable. You raced down the stairs, outside into the cobblestone streets, sobbing. Your feet pounded against the pavement over and over again, but despite all the city noise, the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your heart.

You finally stopped at an alleyway, sinking down and burying your face into your skirt, sobbing. Then, because you’re day hadn’t been shitty enough, you hear the familiar voices of the Delancey brothers.

“My, my, my, now Oscar what do we have here?” You looked up and were struck with fear.

“Leave me alone, please.”

“I think we have ourselves the papah bitch. . . Well, actually Morris, did ya hear? Our paper bitch really is more of a paper slut.” You cringed, knowing what you had predicted had happened. You stood up and went to walk away, but Oscar grabbed your hand.

“Do you think the paper slut has enough to go around.”

“Leave me alone,” you said more forcefully, but your voice cracked, making them laugh in your “pathetic face”.

Then you heard Crutchie yell, “Hey Morris, Oscar! Leave her alone.”

“Oh look Oscar,” Morris said laughing. “We’ve got the cripple defending the slut. How wonderful.”

“Shut up and leave him alone.”

They laughed, but when Oscar turned his face to look at Crutchie, your fist collided with his cheek. He was pissed off and wanted to retaliate, but when Jack threatened him, the boys left, and Crutchie rushed over to you.

He kissed you first, but he noticed you were upset, shaking with tears. “(Y/N), I know it sucks that they found out like that, but at least now we can be with each other in public.”

You shook your head. “(Y/N), what’s wrong? Do you not want to be with me? Why don’t you want to people to know?”

“No, Crutchie I love you. I love you so much, and I want to be with you.”

“Then why don’t you want people to know?” He was more upset this time, nervously tapping his nails against his crutch.

“B-b-because of what they might think.”

“Because you don’t want to be known as the girl who slept with a cripple?” His voice was sharp but he was going to cry.

“No! Because I love you so damn much, but you’re too good for me, and you’re gonna realize that and leave me and then I’ll be stuck for the rest of my life alone because I placed everything on you and you’re gonna leave!” You were crying now.

“What?” he asked, his voice softer. He touched your elbow. “You think I’m gonna leave you?”

“Yeah. You’re so much better than me in every way. And one day you’re gonna wake up and see that.”

“(Y/N), I love you. I love you more than anything and you’re all I want.”

“No I’m not. . .”

He reached in his pocket and grabbed out a small, plain black box. “Yes, you are. . .” He opened the box, revealing a small silver band sitting in the center. “I know it ain’t much, but I love you (Y/N), you’re the only one I ever want. . . Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You cried, smiling widely. You didn’t even realize the crowd of Newsies that had begun to gather. You could only focus on him. “A thousand million times yes.” He places the ring on your finger, and kissed you in front of everyone.

But before he did, he asked, “Are you okay with me kissing you in front of everyone?”

“Yeah, Yeah,” your voice was so happy. He kissed you, pulling you in tightly, so proud that he could finally show you off as his.

“No more secrets anymore, right? I now get to show you off to everyone and anyone I want to?”

“Right,” you laughed. Instantly, he turned to face the Newsies.

“Look at my wonderful fiancée!” he smiled, before turning back and kissing you once more, holding you as tight as he could, never wanting to let you go.

[kittyjoestar]

Santa Fe Part 2

i honestly don’t care if this doesn’t do well, i would love to get feedback on my writing but oh well. i like writing so i’m gonna keep doing it.

summary: the strike is over, but nothing has gotten better. jack is in santa fe, reader is in charge of manhattan newsies. manhattan newsies have made the news for how violent they are, so much fighting. reader is a bad ass

requests are open!

tw? swearing, fighting, jack kelly is an asshole

fic under link :)

Two and a half months ago Jack left. 

Two months ago you stopped loving Jack.

One month ago you started a rivalry between the newsies of New York.

Last week you almost got beaten up by the Delancey’s.

Today you were in bed, you got sick from being awake for so long. The boys were trying to take care of you. 

“Guys cut it out I’m fine.” You said trying to push Albert and Buttons away, they pushed you back down. 

“You aren’t though. Plus if you go out there, you’re gonna get killed.” Buttons said, putting a wet cloth on your forehead. You sighed and let them take care of you.

“How has Crutchie been? Still miss Jack?” Albert asked you, you shrugged. Crutchie didn’t really have any reaction to Jack leaving. It kind of worried you since they were so close.

“I’ve been meaning to ask him about it but I haven’t had the time.” Buttons took the cloth off of your head and got up.

“Go up and ask him, he’s here right now. When is the last time any of sold anything? We aren’t getting any money, might as well save what we have.”  Buttons said, you were worried about all of them. You haven’t seen a lot of them eating recently.

You sat up and went up the ladder to see Crutchie sitting and watching the sunset, “hey Crutch, how you doing?” You walked over and sat next to him.

“I’m fine, I just keep thinking about how Jack left. How did you find out that he was leaving? It was early in the morning when you got back.” Crutchie asked, looking over at you,

“I didn’t know that he was leaving,” you took a deep breath, you haven’t told anyone this yet, “I felt someone moving around and I got up and saw Jack picking his stuff up. I said his name and he turned around and saw me, just staring at him. I asked him ‘what are you doing?’ and he told me to come with him. I had no idea what that meant so I decided just to follow him. I didn’t realize where we were going, then all of the sudden we were at the train station,” You felt your eyes well up with tears, Crutchie scooted closer to you and put a reassuring hand on your leg, you smiled and continued, “I looked at him, I was in shock. He told me that he was going to Santa Fe. What hurt me most is that he wasn’t even going to say goodbye to me. The last thing he said to me was ‘I’m sorry’. He kissed me then left me standing there. I don’t know why he did it. I thought everything was fine. I don’t even love that son of a bitch anymore, what asshole leaves his girlfriend and all his friends to go somewhere he hasn’t even gone before.”

You were angry again. Crutchie didn’t know what to do so he just gave you a small hug. It was enough to make you smile. Sometimes you let your mind wander and you think about what it would be like if Jack didn’t leave. But you knew that he wasn’t coming back, so you had to get over him.

Crutchie was about to say something when Mush popped up, “y/n you need to get down here.” You and Crutchie looked and each other and quickly got up so you could see what’s wrong.

“What’s going on?” You asked when you got downstairs. Davey walked up to you and gave you a letter, you looked up at him.

“The hell is this for?” You asked, not opening it.

“Open it, it’s from Jack. It’s to you.” The second you heard Jack’s name you took the letter and ripped it up, everyone was confused. You dropped the ripped up letter on the ground and walked out of the lodging house, ignoring the yelling.

-

Jack was sitting in his room, knowing that he shouldn’t have sent that letter. He knew that he wasn’t going to get a response. Wilson noticed a light on in his room and walked in.

“Jack why are you still up?” Wilson asked him, sitting down on the bed.

“I regret sending that letter to her, I’m not getting anything back. They all probably hate me.” Jack sighed and fell back onto the bed. 

“Jack, do you still love her?” Wilson asked, Jack immediately shot up.

“No. I just wanted to know if they were all okay.” Jack lied, he still loved you. He hated himself for leaving, but he knows he can’t go back.

-

You were calmed down now, you haven’t gone back to the lodging house yet. You cannot believe that Jack had the nerves to send a letter. ‘Asshole’ you thought to yourself. 

It was starting to get a lot darker so you decided to go back home. As you were walking you felt like someone was following so you walked faster.

“Hey Oscar, isn’t that Kelly’s girl?” You heard the one and only Morris Delancey say to his brother.

“Not his girl anymore, since he left for Santa Fe. Shame, would’ve loved to show him my new brass knuckles.” You started running and you heard them following. You saw the lodging house but decided to take a turn, you were far enough ahead of them so they didn’t notice you slipping away. Once you knew that they were gone you walked out of the alley and walked up to the lodging house. 

You opened the door and all the boys jumped up, rushing over to you and making sure that you weren’t hurt. 

“Guys what the hell? I’m fine calm down.” You laughed at their behavior towards you. 

“We were worried about you y/n” Blink said to you. You smiled at them.

“I’m alright, no problems. Now I am going to bed. It’s late and I’m tired for once. Goodnight.” They all said goodnight and you climbed up the ladder to go to bed.

-

You woke up earlier than you normally do because you heard someone rustling around, you sat up and saw Crutchie leaning against the railing. 

“Crutch, why are you up so early?” You asked walking over to him. 

“I wanted to watch the sunrise. I haven’t done that in a long time.” He said looking out at the sky. You decided to watch it with him.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you. Crutchie was the one to break the silence.

“I miss him.” You knew who he was talking about.

“I don’t, he left me. I never want to see him again. If he shows up here I’m gonna punch him, right in his stupid pretty face.” You were mad again. 

“You seem like you do want to see him. I mean, you called him pretty.” Crutchie said, nudging your side.

“I’m not stupid, anyone who looks at him would call him pretty. I sure as hell do not miss him.” You said, but then you thought about it for a second. Did you miss Jack? No way, he left you and everyone else. You were sure that you hated him.

“Hm, okay y/n.” He said and went back to his bed to grab his hat.

You turned around and looked at him, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, you said it yourself. You don’t miss him.” Crutchie turned around and smiled at you, then went down the ladder without needing your help.

You stood there for a few minutes thinking to yourself. About Jack and the other newsies. You had no idea what to do now.

[racetraxk-higgins]

Bruises - Sprace

Soulmate au- spot hates the whole soulmate thing that is until he meets the cute guy who just so happens to be in detention with him and just so happens to have the same bruises as spot does.

- first ever time writing on tumblr so sorry if it’s bad?? also i’ve never written a newsies fic before so probably ooc.

- if you want a next part lemme know i guess???

—-

“This whole soulmate thing is fucking bullshit.”

Jack looked up from the sketch he was working on for art class to see his foster brother, Spot, burst into his room. Spot, who had been hiding in his room all day, seemed to have a very impressive bruise on his cheek.

Jack whistled as he put down his pencil, “That’s some bruise you have there. Who’d ya get in a fight with this time?” He asked.

Spot only groaned as he flopped down on Jacks bed, “That’s the problem. No one. Instead my soulmate decided it would be fucking perfect to get into a fight and get as many bruises as possible.” Spot grumbled as he crossed his arms.

Jack sighed and closed his sketchbook, already knowing that a rant was about to come, “So there’s more than just one?”

“There’s so fucking many, Jack! Like yeah, I get into fights but I’m never fucking stupid enough to get this beat up! It’s all over my fucking ribs, I honestly think whoever it is has their fucking ribs broke it’s that bad. Not to mention either that there’s fucking hickeys on my neck that definitely came from my soulmate because lord knows I haven’t hooked up with anyone lately.” Spot took a breath before continuing, “I don’t even understand why the hell we have soulmates. Sure, you and David turned out lucky. But do you know how many turn sour? I mean just look at my parents, that was all messed up. I don’t understand why we can’t just choose our own damn partners. What if I wanted to be alone for the rest of my life? I wouldn’t be able to because this whole soulmate shit won’t allow it. And who in the fuck thought it was a good idea to have it so when your soulmate gets all fucked up you do too? Now Medda is gonna think I’m off causin’ trouble again!” Spot finished his rant, his Brooklyn accent becoming thicker as he got even more pissed off.

Jack just rolled his eyes, “Spot calm down. Yes, okay it is stupid that when your soulmate gets hurt you get the marks too but at least you can tell who you were destined to be with. And yes, maybe your parents relationship did turn sour but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to you,” Jack paused, “You’re a good guy, Spot. You deserve to be with someone who will stick with you. And concerning the Medda thing, if you explain to her that it was your soulmate she’ll be fine with it. She knows you weren’t out today, so you won’t get her mad or anything.”

Spot, who was taken aback by the sudden niceness of Jack, sighed and stood up, “Oh fuck off with all that nice shit. I just wanted to rant. Besides, I don’t care if I ever meet my soulmate. Hell, they could die for all I care.”

Spot was about to leave the room when Jack spoke up. 

“Spot, just don’t give up, okay? Maybe this soulmate thing won’t be so bad after all.”

Spot just mumbled a “Whatever you say, Kelly.” in response and walked out of Jack’s room to go out onto the fire escape to have a smoke.

——

That Monday Spot was sat down in the school’s cafeteria with a pissed off look on his face, his now bruised knuckles now gripping onto the table.

Jack, David, and all his other friends all made their way over to Spot’s table. Everyone was talking about different things as they sat down but once they noticed Spot’s expression they all quieted down.

“Woah, you looked more pissed off than usual, Spot.” Elmer exclaimed.

“Your knuckles are bruised and bleeding.” Blink joined in.

“Who’d you soak?” Asked Romeo.

“What the hell happened this time?” That was David, or as Spot liked to call him ‘Mouth’. He was the responsible one out of them all and sometimes pissed Spot off, but he was Jack’s soulmate and Spot’s kind of friend, so he didn’t mind him all that much.

Spot rolled his eyes, “The Delancey’s. Fucking assholes think they own this damn school, someone had to knock them down a peg.”

Crutchie, who was quietly sat down next to Finch, spoke up “You get in any trouble?”

“Of course I did. Weasel hates me, loves the Delanceys. Got detention for two whole weeks.” Spot snapped as he gripped the table tighter.

Jack let out a laugh, “Well hey, I’ll be happy to report you’re not the only one in detention today.”

“What? Jack, what did you do?” David asked as he looked at Jack who just chuckled again.

“Oh chill out, Davey.” He said as he wrapped his arms around David’s waist, “It wasn’t me. There’s this new kid in the school and he’s in my English class. So Mr. Pulitzer was going on one of his famous rants about how the gays shouldn’t be allowed to get married and that it was a sin. Along with something about not drinking that tap water because the gay’s put chemicals in it to make all the straight who drank it turn gay? Anyways so this kid right, his name is like Tony or something, he went off on Mr. Pulitzer. Callin’ him all these names, at one point he even grabbed the kid next to him, another new kid, and kissed him. They seemed to know each other so it was fine but still. And now, because Mr. Pulitzer is a homophobic piece of literal shit he’s got detention for god knows how long.” Jack finished his story with a small laugh, “Guy’s got balls.”

“Damn, Spot he seems as bad as you!” Finch said as he stabbed at the cafeteria food with his fork.

Spot just shook his head with a small smirk, “No one is as bad as me, Finch.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I’d love to see him try to beat the number of days you’ve been in detention with Denton!”

Spot just chuckled in response as David cut into the conversation once again.

“Alright enough about Spot’s habits. Everyone eat or you’ll start complaining halfway through fourth period that you’se hungry.”

——

Spot walked into the detention room and greeted Denton who was sat at the desk.

“Hey Denton. How was your day?” Spot asked as he took his normal seat down in the back.

Denton laughed, “In again, Spot? Whatcha do this time? Terrorize some freshmen? My day was shit, as usual.” He replied as he pulled out Spot’s “Days in Detention with Denton” sheet and put down a tally mark before putting it back in his desk.

Spot just shook his head, “Nah. Beat up the Delanceys. You know they really don’t pay you enough.”

Denton was about to answer when the door to the classroom opened. In stepped the new guy, at least that’s what Spot assumed. He never seen him before, and Spot knew almost everyone.

The new guy looked around before deciding on the seat right next to Spot in the corner. Spot watched him quietly. The guy had blond hair and bright blue eyes, his skinny jeans were tighter than Finch’s and he was about half an inch taller than Spot. He walked with confidence and sat down in the seat, kicking his feet up onto the desk.

Denton didn’t care, never did. The sooner he could get out the sooner he would be less miserable.

“Alright, boys. Spot, you know the rules. Tony, no talking, no texting, basically just sit there for an hour and reflect on what you’ve done. Or don’t. Not like it makes any difference to me.” Denton said then got up to leave the class room, Spot knew he’d be gone for at least ten minutes, Denton always went on a few smoke breaks during detentions.

Spot turned towards the new guys, “So, Tony, huh? Little rumour going around school that you told Mr. Pulitzer where to go.”

Tony, who didn’t bother looking at Spot, just replied coldly, “Yeah, what’s it matter to you? And it ain’t Tony, it’s Race.”

“Ah so you don’t know who I am.” Spot said. Tony, or Race, just shrugged.

“Oh I’m sorry, your highness. Forgot there was such thing as royalty in this goddamn school.”

Spot just rolled his eyes, “The names Spot Conlon. That ring any bells?”

Race looked over at Spot and raised an eyebrow, “So you’re the famous Spot Conlon, huh? I was told to watch out for you.” He scoffed, “I thought you’d be taller. How does someone so small win a fight?”

Spot wanted to choke the guy. Race was only like half an inch taller than him and a lot skinnier too. Not to mention the bruise that was on his cheek was a dead give away that he probably lost a fight, or at least got the shit beat out of him before he could stop the person.

Spot gritted his teeth, “You can’t say anything either, asshole. That bruise you got on there is pretty nasty. Did you loose a fight?”

Race just clenched his jaw in response, deciding that someone like Spot wasn’t worth wasting his breath on. Instead he took out a cigarette from his pocket and started to chew on it, praying to Jesus that the hour will go by quick. If he had to deal with that asshole for even another five minutes he was going to out right kill him.

Spot was sat back in his desk, staring at the white board in front of him. He turned, looking over at Race who was now completely zoned out and that’s when he payed more attention,

The bruise was the same size, colour, and in the same exact spot as Spot’s was. Believing it to be a coincidence Spot let his eyes trail towards Race’s neck and almost straight up left the room when he seen the three hickeys that was on Race’s neck, once again in the same place as Spot’s.

Holy shit.

Placing a hand over his own neck where the hickeys were he quickly pulled out his phone and texted Jack.

To: Annoying Brother (jack kelly)

   jack holy shit i think i just found my soulmate??

Needless to say Spot was not ready for what was about to come next.

—

part two now up!

[safarikalamari]

burning the candle at both ends - chapter 1

Next

Summary: From his dating-obsessed brother to the new guy he can't figure out, senior year is everything Racetrack hadn't prepared for

Rating: T

Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You AU 

Words: 1047

A/N: hey remember that edit i made a little bit ago??? welp here we are

i won’t be posting another chapter until February but that’s because i’m doing a 30-day newsies prompt thing next month. the story is finished with just some minor editing left, so no worries about it being a forever WIP!!!

(special thanks to @blinkandmush for beta-ing!!!)

-

AO3

or

Being a teenager was overrated.

From the cliques and rumors to the raging hormones, Racetrack was ready to be rid of the stain that was high school. With his final year well under way, the end was in sight and if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing, Race was ready to challenge anyone that said he was wrong.

Just drifting out of his dreamless state, Race let out a small groan as he burrowed into his blankets. If there was one thing he hated more than his current state of life, it was the mornings that forced him to face the world before he was ready.

Slamming his alarm off, Race pushed himself out of bed and prepared for the morning quickly so he wouldn’t have to deal with false politeness or even the occasional rough-housing. Yet, when he came downstairs, house quiet, he wasn’t surprised.

Guessing his mother was already at work and Blink probably on his way to school, Race grinned to himself knowing he had just enough time to catch up with his brother. Jumping into his car, Race blasted his music, racing along the road until he spotted Blink’s car.

Pulling up alongside Blink’s car, Race could see Blink enjoying himself in the company of his friends but his expression dropped immediately when Race’s thrashing music overtook everything.

“Fucker,” Blink mouthed at Race, who shrugged with a wide grin and shot off as soon as the light turned green.

Whether Blink meant it or not, it didn’t really matter to Race. Getting a rise out of Blink was the best thing that had happened to him that morning and he slid into a parking spot, ignoring the students that yelled at him.

“You could’ve hurt someone you know,” his friend, Sarah, approached the car with a hand on her hip.

“Yeah, whatever,” Race sighed as he climbed out of the car. Grabbing his backpack he marched towards the school, Sarah in tow.

“Too bad. I’ve been meaning to get back at Tracy for weeks.”

Race’s laughter rang through the campus and he wrapped an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “This is why we’re friends, I’m telling you.”

As they walked through the campus, Race paid no mind to the faces. The class sizes had grown through the years and now a senior, it was all a guessing game for Race as to whom was who. Either way, none of them mattered besides Sarah.

If only Race had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed the boy who locked eyes on him and how that gaze never left Race until he was far out of sight. More pressing matters were on Race’s mind like the new kid who gaped at his brother as Blink shoved past Race with his fans trailing after him.

Mush Meyers, the gaping boy, was just trying to finish his education. With his family constantly moving around, school was often left in the dust let alone any form of a social life. Now finally settled down, all Mush wanted was to finish one school year and seeing the blond boy walk past him added yet another small hope to his growing list.

“If you’re not going to pay attention to the tour, why am I leading you around?” Katherine Plumber, president of the student body, poked at Mush. She adjusted her books in her hands, finally following Mush’s gaze over to Blink.

“Oh no,” she laughed, shaking your head. “Not a chance, buddy. He’s head over heels for Jerkface Delancey. Plus, everyone knows he can’t date until his brother does.”

“What? Who? I mean…” Mush blinked, his mind rolling around all Katherine had said and she let out an audible sigh.

“Ryan’s his name, but we all call him Blink. He and his brother were adopted by one of the area’s best doctors.” Katherine paused, thinking over just how much Mush really needed to know about the brothers and added a quick, “Because his brother is a year older, their mom has this whole ‘not until he does’ rule with Blink.”

Seeing Mush’s face fall was a little disheartening. Katherine had hoped he wouldn’t have given up that quickly and nudged Mush’s shoulder.

“Hey, maybe you can start with being friends? Or like a tutor? I don’t know,” she suggested, biting her lip to avoid from breaking her poker face.

“You think?” Mush’s face lit up as if he had never felt sadness before in his life. “I’m...I’m decent at French, maybe I could help him in that?”

“Perfect!” Katherine patted Mush on the back. “Now, I’m sure we can come up with another plan so when you woo him, you can actually be his boyfriend.”

Katherine’s plotting continued on as she finished off the tour with Mush, the boy wide-eyed and struggling to keep up with her whirling mind. After all, Mush had just seen Blink. The creeping fear that their personalities would be wildly different had snuck up on him, leaving Mush to wonder if this all was such a good idea.

“What’s wrong?” Katherine asked as she escorted him into the classroom.

“I just…” Mush hesitated. “I don’t know. Are we moving too quickly? I just met you earlier this week, just saw Blink for the first time ever. This could be a big mistake.”

Katherine pondered over Mush’s words, tapping her chin in thought. “I mean, it could. But how can we know for sure until we try? I’d like to believe that some people can just have that spark. An instant connection in whatever form that may be.”

Finding some empty seats, Mush rested his arms on the desk, his head placed on top of them. “I guess.”

A somber smile formed on Katherine’s face and she poked Mush again. “Blink’s a nice guy. I think at the very least, you two will hit it off as friends.”

Mush turned his face to her, the corners of his mouth twitching. “...I hope so. It’d be nice, for something like that to work out for once.”

Sympathizing with Mush’s situation, Katherine gave his arm a squeeze before the bell rang, floods of students pouring into the classroom. The previous conversation was cut short and the school day began as everyone went to deal with their own lives.

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

can you do 147 from the prompts ask thingy pls!? (for jackcrutchie because they the best lol)

Once again, we find ourselves with a far too long, 6,000+ word fic. I highly recommend listening to Sara Bareilles’ “Manhattan” for the final section, which you’ll recognize by the tense shift. Anyway, it’s been fun to write, and I hope it’s fun to read.

TW: blood, violence (there’s some fighting between the Delanceys and newsboys)

147: “I can take care of myself just fine.”

Rolling, booming thunder practically shook the walls of the newsboy’s Lodging House. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the newsies curled into bed in various positions. Race had fallen asleep, both his legs dangling over the edge of the top bunk. Romeo was curled up, his face pressed into Race’s hip. Specs was spread out, taking up nearly the entire bunk, with Jojo curled into a tight ball at the edge. Mush had an arm slung over Blink, as the latter boy shifted in his sleep, pulling himself closer to the other.

Jack gripped at his pencil with its rubbed-raw eraser, trying to focus on the old newspaper on his lap. He carefully added another line to his sketch, checking the shading, before starting on the next part of his drawing. Carefully round out the chin, make sure the neck isn’t too long, check the curls that bounced down the forehead. The eyes sparkled with a joke. Jack grinned wryly, pleased that the sketch was actually turning out to look like–

A forked lightning bolt split across the darkened Manhattan sky, followed immediately by shaking thunder. Jack’s hand jerked, the lead slashing across his friend’s face. In frustration, he shoved the drawing away, stuffing the pencil behind his ear. He hugged his arms around himself, glaring at the night sky. Jack hated thunderstorms. He didn’t mind the way thunder growled across the sky, or how lightning would shine, bright-white, even in the darkest alley. But, he absolutely loathed the unpredictability of it. Jack could never tell when the lightning would strike, when the thunder would roar. And, each time it managed to startle him, no matter how much he steeled himself for the flash and noise that were sure to come.

The newsboys continued to snore, shifting ever so slightly. Jack watched them with envy. He used to try to sleep through thunderstorms, but the constant noise and flashing lights kept him awake. Jack sighed, before jumping down from his top bunk. Even the slight thud of his feet on the cold, wooden ground did not awake the sleeping newsies. Not that Jack expected it to. If those boys could sleep through ear-cracking thunder, then a small thump wouldn’t interrupt their dreams. He silently padded out of the room, making his way out into the main room. If he couldn’t sleep, Jack figured that he might as well do something productive.

Jack grabbed one of the old, ratty coats that hung on small hooks beside the door, slipping his arms into the sleeves. He had grown, Jack realized with dismay. The coat’s sleeves only extended three inches above his wrist. No matter, it would have to do. There just weren’t enough funds to go around to provide new coats for all the boys, and the nuns hadn’t been able to give them clothing lately. Jack pulled the door open, shutting it quietly behind him as he stepped out onto the small porch of the Lodging House.

Rain pounded down, nearly thick enough to obscure Jack’s view from the end of the street. If he were smart, he’d just turn back into the Lodging House and curl up into his blanket and pretend to sleep until the bell rang. But, a storm such as this would be the perfect cover for Jack. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather.

Ducking his head, Jack started forward. He stuck to the edge of the street, trying to gain at least some cover from the buildings he crept beside. They offered no shelter. Within the first few minutes, he was soaked through, but Jack kept plodding forward. He was nearing the small marketplace, where he could manage to get enough food for his boys. Only a few blocks more.

Once Jack reached the group of stores, he checked his surroundings for any unwanted witnesses. None. He quickly picked the lock for the bakery, and let himself into the empty store. Jack only took a moment to grab a couple day-old loaves of bread, stuffing them into his jacket, where he could protect them from the worst of the rain. Once he was sure the bread wouldn’t be soaked through by the time he got back to the Lodging House, he set off, back home.

Jack had only managed to get about ten feet away from the bakery, when he heard what sounded like muffled crying. Curious, Jack peered into the nearest alley. Nothing immediately caught his attention, so he crept forward, peering around a small stack of boxes that seemed to help block out the worst of the storm.

A small boy was curled into a small edge of space between the wall and the boxes. He jerked backwards at the sight of Jack, wedging his way even tighter into the small gap between the wall and the boxes. “Hey, hey,” Jack soothed, squatting down to be at eye level with the young boy. “Are you okay? I ain’t gonna hurt you, or nothing.”

“I’m fine,” the boy said, his gaze jumping everywhere, but avoiding Jack’s eyes.

Jack studied the gaunt skin that stretched over jutting cheekbones, dull eyes sunken with dark circles shadowing them, thin lips that trembled as he spoke, cheeks red and wet–from rain or tears, Jack couldn’t tell. “Do you have a place to stay? This storm ain’t doing you no good,” Jack told him.

“I got a place,” the boy protested. “I just…” he trailed off, undoubtedly thinking of a suitable lie. “I just like the rain, is all.”

“You’se shivering like a drownded rat,” Jack pointed out dryly.

The boy shrugged. “It ain’t that bad. I’se been in worse.”

Jack reached out a hand, frowning when the boy flinched at the movement. “Sorry,” he apologized. “But, let me help you back to the Lodging House. You could stay there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than an alley. Plus, I’se got some food, too.”

With a frown, the boy shoved Jack’s hand away. “I can take care of myself,” he told Jack. “I ain’t no charity case.”

“No, no,” Jack said, quickly thinking of a way to get this stubborn, prideful boy to accept his help. There was something about him, something about his shaggy blonde hair, something about his brown eyes that struck Jack as important. Familiar, almost. And Jack wasn’t just going to leave him out in the storm, not when he looked only a step away from death. “No, it’s not charity. Think of it as…” Jack paused, before grinning. “An investment!”

“An investment?” the boy asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

“Yeah! How old are ya, kid?”

The boy hesitated, before answering. “Ten.”

Jack wasn’t sure if the hesitation stemmed from his obvious distrust toward Jack, or if the boy wasn’t sure of his own age. Each option dismayed Jack beyond what he would ever admit. “Great!” he said, instead. “I’m practically thirteen, but the younger you are, the better you are at selling papes.”

“Papes?”

“Uh-huh. I’m a newsboy,” Jack told him proudly. “But, I keep getting older. So, since you’re still just a kid, you’d make a good selling partner.”

“I ain’t a kid,” the boy shot back quickly.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Sure you ain’t. Anyway, let’s get you home, okay?” Jack asked, extending his hand once more.

The boy stared at Jack’s hand for a minute, before gripping it. Jack helped him to his feet. The boy stood, before bending down and scooping up a crutch that Jack hadn’t noticed earlier. He stuck it under his armpit before turning back to Jack, his eyes daring him to make a rude comment. Jack only watched the determination flush across the boy’s face, transfixed by the way even the boy’s freckles seemed to bristle with indignation. “Look, if you got something to say, then say it,” the boy challenged, his fingers tightening around the crutch.

“I just got one question.”

“Shoot,” the boy said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Just how many poor, unsuspecting bullies have you taken out before?”

The boy’s eyes widened as he processed Jack’s questions. “W-well,” he started. “I mean, they all had it coming. I’m not mean, you see.”

Jack grinned widely. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve had to take out a few of my own, y’know.” As they started back to the Lodging House, Jack slung his arm over the boy’s shoulders, careful to not throw him off balance. “I think we’se gonna be good friends, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid,” the boy protested.

“Yeah?” Jack asked. “Well, then what am I gonna call you?”

The boy thought for a moment, wiping excess rainwater from his brow. “I ain’t got a good name. And… And–”

“Choose whatever name you’d like. You’re able to completely start over, fresh,” Jack advised.

“How about Crutchie?” he offered.

“Well, Crutchie, let’s hurry and get out of the storm, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jack pulled the boy a little closer as they scurried along the side of buildings, trying to avoid the raging storm. And, he didn’t plan on ever letting go.

The Delancey brothers never quite managed to worm their way into Jack’s good graces. Sure, they had tried, back when he had first been chosen to be Manhattan’s leader, after Spoons stepped down to hop on a train and never return. The Delanceys had smiled greasy smiles, offered Jack their service as hired protection, reminding him just how many newsboy leaders had found their bloody demise at the wrong end of a knife. Jack had never truly liked the Delancey brothers, and refused to fall for their flowery praises. Especially when he knew just how often the brothers would pick on his boys.

It had only taken a firm “no” and a punch to the jaw to convince the Delanceys that Jack was not interested in their proposition. The Delanceys had glowered at Jack’s indignation, their eyebrows drawing together as the other newsboys had begun to cheer. Morris had mimed cutting Jack’s throat, but Jack had ignored them.

Only a couple days had passed since Jack had snubbed the Delancey brothers’ offer, but Oscar and Morris hadn’t dared attack Jack. He was confident that they would continue to scurry away from him, tails between their legs. Far too often, Jack had proved himself more than capable in a fight, even with both of the Delanceys railing on him. And, perhaps, it was this overconfidence that caused Jack’s downfall.

Jack blamed himself.

He should have been paying a bit more attention. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get distracted. There was no way the Delancey brothers, the oafs, should’ve gotten the drop on him. Jack didn’t see it coming and the first hard hit had him stumbling forward, catching himself against the wall of a store. Jack blinked back the pain, recognizing the harsh laughter of the Delanceys. “Guess the great Kelly ain’t that great after all,” Oscar said, chortling.

With a low growl, Jack pushed himself off the wall, whirling around to punch Oscar in his impudent face. Morris must have foreseen this coming because he grabbed Jack’s shoulders and used Jack’s own momentum against him, spinning him around and shoving him into the alley. Jack wasn’t able to counteract the force of the shove, and his back took the brunt of the impact. For a moment, Jack just lay there, winded. That brief moment gave Oscar enough time to land a rough kick against Jack’s ribs. Jack winced, but managed to grab Oscar’s leg, tripping the bully.

While Jack’s attention was focused on Oscar and his success in landing the Delancey brother to the ground, Morris took the opportunity to pick up some discarded plank of wood and swung it, hard, at Jack’s head. The force of the impact ripped the skin above Jack’s ear open. Jack cried out in pain, grabbing at the new wound, dismayed at the blood that spilled over his fingers, staining the beds of his nails. His vision swam and he couldn’t focus on Oscar enough to block the next attack. The punch had him reeling backwards, but Jack doggedly refused to give up.

He struggled to his feet, swiping at the blood that trickled down from his now-split lip, preparing to beat the Delanceys back, or go down kicking. The Delanceys watched him with undisguised amusement, no doubt recognizing that they now had the upper hand in the fight. Jack snarled at them, leaping forward.

Oscar easily batted the attack away, throwing Jack into the grimy brick of the alleyway wall. He grunted, bringing his fists up to try and block whatever attack the Delanceys would throw at him next. It didn’t go exactly as plan, Jack realized, as Morris easily dodged one of his hastily-thrown punches and jabbed him in the cheek. Jack ignored the sudden flare of pain and the growing worry that whispered that he wouldn’t be coming out of this fight on top.

Morris reached past Jack’s defense, grabbing the newsboy’s shoulders and shoving him back to the ground. This time, Jack couldn’t quite stop the fall, couldn’t roll to lessen the impact. His head slammed roughly into the cobblestone, and Jack frantically blinked back encroaching darkness. He had to get up; he had to finish the fight. The Delancey brothers were laughing and Jack wanted nothing more than to sock them both in the jaw.

Jack started to push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. Oscar planted one boot firmly on Jack’s back, shoving him back to the ground effortlessly. “Not so strong now, Kelly?” Oscar taunted, twisting the sole of his shoe into Jack’s already-bruised back.

Before Jack could come up with a suitable retort, Oscar stumbled forward, grabbing at his stinging back. Jack glanced up, confused. Crutchie stood there, crutch held loosely so that he could swing it at the attackers. “Why don’t we make this fight a bit more fair?” he suggested. “Two on two?”

Morris’ face contorted with fury and he flung himself towards Crutchie, who easily sidestepped the barreling bully. As he moved out of the way, he pushed Morris into the ground. Before Morris could get back up, Crutchie whacked him in the head, putting him out of the fight, at least for a moment.

He turned to Oscar, who approached the younger boy, glaring. Crutchie managed to block the punch Oscar threw, stepping to the side to completely avoid the attack. This, however, put him in the path of Morris, who had recovered from his hit much quicker than Crutchie had intended. Morris’ fist collided with Crutchie’s nose, and the boy grunted as he stumbled backwards. Morris and Oscar continued to encroach on him, harsh smiles splitting their faces. Jack grabbed at Morris’ legs, trying to assist his best friend, but Morris simply kicked him in the head, stunning Jack into submission.

Before Morris or Oscar could recognize what Crutchie was doing, the younger boy shoved his crutch into Oscar’s stomach, causing the Delancey brother to stumble backwards in surprise and pain. Morris surged forward, but Crutchie tripped him and shoved him to the ground. Morris’ head connected loudly and the Delancey brother stilled, unconscious.

Oscar pushed himself to his feet and turned to the younger boy, stepping forward quickly. He grabbed Crutchie’s crutch when the boy tried to hit him with it. Oscar flung the rod of wood away, teasing, “What are you gonna do now, kid?”

Crutchie didn’t bother with a verbal reply. Oscar stumbled backwards, holding his bleeding nose gingerly. Morris stirred, pushing himself to his feet uneasily. The younger Delancey brother swayed until Oscar placed his arm around Morris’ shoulder. “Leave us alone,” Crutchie told them, glaring at the brothers until they started making their way out of the alley. His voice was nasally from his quite-possibly broken nose, but his glare held.

“You better watch your back!” Oscar threatened. “If we can get the jump on Kelly, we can certainly get the jump on some no-good–”

“Yeah, whatever, Oscar,” Crutchie muttered. He wiped some of the blood from his nose, before helping Jack to his feet. “You good?” he asked, eyes flicking to the bruise forming under Jack’s eye.

Jack grinned wryly. “Yeah, didn’t you know? I can take care of myself.” His eyes flicked to Crutchie’s still-bleeding nose, but he didn’t comment.

Crutchie rolled his eyes. “I’m so sure.” He pressed the collar of his shirt to his nose, only wincing slightly at the pressure.

“You know, I think we make a pretty good team,” Jack told Crutchie, carefully slinging his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders.

“Team?” Crutchie teased. “I did all the rescuing there.”

“And what’s a hero without a damsel in distress, eh?”

“You realize that makes you the damsel.”

“My hero,” Jack joked, laughing. He ignored the slight warmth that spread in his chest, chalking it up to the abating adrenaline. Jack pulled Crutchie closer, his grin growing even wider.

After months spent in the Refuge, Jack developed the caution of being an extremely light sleeper. The softest noise, the slightest cry, the smallest shift, each startled Jack awake. Generally, he would lay there, listening to his surroundings until he had pinpointed which newsboy had made the noise. Then, once the sound had been revealed to be something completely harmless–Mush snoring, Race muttering in his sleep, Romeo pulling himself closer to Specs–Jack would slip back into a dreamless slumber.

Jack startled awake, his fingers immediately spreading out to ascertain where he lay. Cold, hard, bits of gravel that stuck beneath his nails: the roof. Jack relaxed, letting out a low sigh as he closed his eyes once more. Countless times, he had awoken on the roof due to a myriad of sounds. Some bird in the distance, police sirens, a cat yowling in the dark of night. Each time, Jack would determine the noise to be harmless, roll over, and resume his sleep.

Tonight, the noise was soft. So soft, that when Jack awoke, he nearly convinced himself that he hadn’t heard anything. He knew he was on the roof–safe, in his penthouse–and that the noise had, undoubtedly, come from something far below him. Jack rolled over, pressing his cheek into the cool concrete of the roof. He had nearly drifted off, back to sleep, when he heard it again.

This time, Jack was aware enough to recognize the half-hidden noise. A small groan, then a sniff.

Jack rolled over, raising himself up partially so that he could catch a glimpse of his best friend, sprawled out on the opposite side of the roof. Crutchie was half-curled into the fetal position, one arm held over his head in an almost protective manner. His other arm cradled his chest tightly. The boy whimpered, pressing his right arm even tighter around his head.

“Crutch,” Jack hissed, trying to awaken the younger boy. He knew just how often Crutchie reacted violently to being awakened by even the softest touch, especially if the boy was in the throes of a nightmare. “Crutchie, wake up.”

The younger boy didn’t respond positively, only letting out a small cry.

“Crutchie,” Jack tried again, crossing the roof to his best friend. “Crutchie, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up, okay?” He watched as Crutchie shifted, his face tightening with pain or fear, Jack wasn’t sure which. Unable to just stand by and watch his friend’s pain, Jack gently gripped Crutchie’s shoulder, shaking him softly. “Crutchie, wake up. Wake up. It’s me, Jack. Crutchie,” he said, repeating the soft litany over and over again.

The only forewarning that Jack received was a sudden stiffening of Crutchie’s entire body, then the boy’s eyes flew open, wide and darting. Crutchie’s fist flew out, nailing Jack in the jaw, but Jack barely noticed the pain. “Crutchie, it’s me. It’s Jack,” he reassured, waiting for the younger boy to calm down.

Crutchie’s breath caught, but he seemed to be calming down. At least, he appeared to be less agitated. “J-Jack?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jack responded, scooting closer to the younger boy. “Can I touch you?” he asked softly. Ever since Crutchie had been stuck in the Refuge, he had grown less hesitant to show physical affection. Especially, after nightmares. Jack had learned to fight off the long-ingrained instincts to pull the younger boy into a hug, and respect the fear and hesitance that Crutchie had developed in that hellish institution.

“Ye-yes, please,” Crutchie confirmed, nodding his head shakily.

Jack carefully pulled Crutchie closer to him, allowing the younger boy to lay his head against Jack’s chest. “You don’t need to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Jack said, softly resting his chin on top of Crutchie’s head.

“Thank you,” Crutchie whispered, the words barely audible in the thick silence.

“I just want you to know that you’re safe. That I ever won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” Jack promised.

“I thought I told ya, Jack. I can take care of myself,” Crutchie said, only the slightest tremble evident in his voice.

“I know, but let me help take care of you,” Jack said, gently placing a kiss against Crutchie’s forehead.

He froze.

Jack felt his heart constrict painfully. No. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to have ever done anything like this. Crutchie was never meant to know– If asked, Jack couldn’t pinpoint the exact time when his feelings for Crutchie started. Maybe it had been there all along. It was in the way that Crutchie’s grin would widen whenever Jack came into the room. It was in the way that Jack’s eyes sought out Crutchie first, whenever he came home. It was in the way that they balanced each other’s personalities: Crutchie grounding the dreamer, Jack lifting the realist. It was in the way that Jack could no longer imagine his life without Crutchie by his side.

And, now, Jack had gone and slipped up and revealed it all to Crutchie. His mind raced, struggling to come up with something to say that would return everything to normalcy. He could hear Crutchie’s breathing quicken and Jack immediately released the younger boy, no matter how much he ached to keep Crutchie close.

“I–I’m sorry,” Jack apologized, backing up. “I just… Heh, I guess I just wasn’t thinking,” Jack said, trying to laugh. It sounded forced. He knew that Crutchie would be able to detect the falsity in the laughter.

“You kissed me,” Crutchie said. The statement was cool, collected. Crutchie’s eyes betrayed no emotion, though Jack desperately searched them for even a slimmer of acceptance. “You just kissed me.”

Oh, god, oh, god, this wasn’t what Jack had ever wanted to happen. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve. I should never have–”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Jack winced. “Look, Crutchie, I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to explain this, without ruining the one friendship he had learned to depend on. Which had been a foolish mistake, and Jack had known that. Never before, had he had family or friends stick around. He should never have allowed himself to become close to Crutchie, should have realized how it would end: with Crutchie leaving him, just like everybody else in his life. “I like you. Like, romantically. And, I get that you don’t feel that way about me, I get that, okay? And, I don’t want you feeling bad for me or anything, alright? It’s my problem and I can deal with it. I just want us to still be friends. I just… I can’t lose you, Crutchie. It was a mistake and I shouldn’t’ve ever done that. I’m sorry, just… Please forgive me?” Jack asked.

“You like me?” Crutchie asked. His voice was still devoid of emotion, but Jack could almost fool himself into thinking that something akin to hope shown in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Yeah, but it don’t need to mean nothing,” Jack told him. “Just forget all of this ever happened. And then we can go on with our lives and just… stay friends. Only friends.”

Crutchie finally smiled. “Jack, I thought it was obvious.” He ducked his head, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. “I kinda like you, too,” he admitted. “I just thought… You’ve been with so many girls, and then there was Katherine and you were really broken up about her, so I just never…” Crutchie trailed off, still picking at his shirt.

“You… really?” Jack asked, barely willing to believe Crutchie’s words.

“Um, yeah?” Crutchie replied, shrugging.

Slowly, giving Crutchie enough time to say no, Jack pulled Crutchie in a gentle hug. “Can I… kiss you?” he asked softly.

Crutchie nodded, and Jack tenderly kissed the other boy’s forehead, his cheek, his lips. “Jack, I think… I think I might love you.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked, his lips lightly touching Crutchie’s as he spoke. “Cuz, I think I might love you, too.” He kissed Crutchie softly, his heart soaring that this was reality, that this wasn’t some far-too-real dream that would leave Jack yearning in the morning. Jack pulled back, but kept his forehead touching Crutchie’s. “You think you’re gonna let me help take care of you now?” he gently teased.

“Only if you’re gonna let me help take care of you.”

It was a promise.

A promise that Jack never planned to break.

Jack blames himself.

Some days, he looks out the window of his small, dingy apartment where the stove won’t work and the pipes freeze every winter, and stares at the sky. He remembers a time when he would look up to the sky and just stare, in wonder, in amazement. He remembers when his fingers would itch for paints or charcoal and he would spend all afternoon sketching, smiling, laughing.

Now, the sky seems muted. It is no longer a vibrant blue. The sky is dull, dark, almost devoid of life. Every once in a while, a bird will fly past, its black plumage a dark omen against the heavens. Jack stares at the gray sky, watching leafless trees, as they tremble in the sharp November breeze. December is just around the corner, two days away. Jack watches as small, bundled families, cross the streets, packages carefully held beneath arms.

Christmas approaches, and, though Jack had never cared much for the holiday, he knows that Crutchie did. Crutchie would spend the weeks leading up to the holiday, grinning, laughing. He had always seemed the happiest around that time of year. When it would snow, Crutchie would laugh and stand outside, the fat flakes drifting down onto his upturned face.

Jack smiles softly, at the memory.

But, it will snow. Probably within the next day or two, the skies will rage and thick flurries of ice will be whipped across the streets, making it hellish to get to work. The clouds will thicken, darken, portentous of the cruel ice that will soon follow.

And, Crutchie is not around to warm the frozen scenery.

The smile slips.

Jack stands, slowly getting dressed. No matter how tempting it is to just lay in bed and remember, he knows that he does not have the luxury to miss a day at work. Not when every last cent must be saved, put towards a future where ice and murky skies will just be a faint, bitter memory. He shaves, ignoring the dull eyes in his reflection as he focuses on each slow, precise motion. It’s a mind-numbing action, one that provides a welcome relief from the thoughts and memories that barrage him from side to side.

Crutchie used to tease Jack for how methodically he would shave. He would stand behind him, his smile beaming out of the somewhat distorted reflection. Sometimes, after Jack had finished shaving, Crutchie would reach up and kiss him, their lips lingering together, until Jack would pull away, needing to go to work.

Sometimes, he can still feel Crutchie’s lips on his.

Jack shrugs on his jacket, stuffing his hands into the pockets to protect against the frigid air. A familiar, folded piece of paper catches his attention. A ticket–just one–to Santa Fe. He brushes his finger against its fold, a practiced comfort. The ticket has been in his pocket for the better part of two months. It’s a promise, now. One he can’t break. He’ll get out to Santa Fe, come December 2nd.

He ducks out the door, bracing himself against the sharp wind that seems to slice through his jacket effortlessly. The wind turns his lips blue, his cheeks red. Jack glances up at the sky, disappointed in the thick, monotonous clouds that hide the sun from sight. It’s a ten minute walk to the newspaper office he illustrates for, with roads that seem to stretch forward, unending.

Once, the walk seemed much too short. When Crutchie would stroll beside him, their fingers intertwined when safe, their wrists bumping each other when not. Crutchie would smile, his laughter filling the wide streets, bouncing from building to building. They’d stop in front of the small bookstore that Crutchie worked at, and Jack would bring his finger up to trace Crutchie’s cheek. For a moment, they’d be lost to the world, living in each other’s eyes, sustained on smiles. Then, Crutchie would wish him a good day at work, wave softly, and turn away.

Jack passes the bookstore, its brick muted and colorless in the dreary day. He pointedly refuses to look into the wide window, doesn’t scan the inhabitants of the building for a face that he could never forget. Jack fears what he may find if he stops and stares. He moves forward, moves on.

At work, he is greeted by familiar faces, all smiling. No one can ever compare to Crutchie and his ever-widening grin. Jack nods and tries to smile back. It never feels right. The motions are there, but the intent is wrong. His colleagues don’t seem to notice, as they wish him luck on his future journey. His last day of work, and it all feels so fake, so concerted. Jack smiles at the correct moments, and laughs, and jokes. Jack wishes for the end.

There was a time, when he had dreamed of leaving this job, of hopping a train and travelling to Santa Fe. That dream had hardened, stiffened in stony silence. It is less of a dream and more of a fate, now. He slides his thumb along the edge of the ticket, reminding himself what needs to happen, where he must leave, in only a few short days.

The day slugs onward. Jack edges past the well-wishers, making his way out of an office that he will never return to, and begins the trek back home. The wind has let up, allowing a short reprieve in the blustery weather. Jack starts on his way home, ignoring the passersby that don’t even notice his presence, won’t even realize he’s gone. Though, perhaps, ignoring them hadn’t been the wisest of his choices. Jack stumbles into a man only a couple inches shorter than him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, before realizing.

“Jack.”

“Crutchie.”

There are so many things Jack wishes to say, so many words that crowd and fight and demand to be released, a deluge of I’m sorry’s and I never should have’s and please, please come back’s. Nothing comes. Jack only stares.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Crutchie says, his eyes darting to the street behind Jack, looking for an escape. Crutchie starts to step away and Jack instinctively reacts.

“Wait,” he cries out, grabbing Crutchie’s arm. “No, sorry. Sorry,” Jack apologizes when Crutchie flinches away. “You… Are you doing okay?”

Crutchie smiles, the motion bitter. “I’m fine, Jack. Always have been, always will.”

It’s a lie. It’s a lie, and Jack wants to point it out, but fears Crutchie’s reaction. “Yeah?” he asks instead. “That’s good. You know, December is right around the corner. Just…” he pauses, breathing out a cloud of warm air, “Just a few more days.”

This time the smile is more real, natural. “It is.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to keep Crutchie from walking away once more. So, he blurts out the only thing that’s been on his mind for the past couple weeks. “You know, I’m heading out to Santa Fe in a few days. You could… You could come.”

Crutchie’s eyes narrow, but he plays it off. “Ah, you don’t want me out there, riding some palomino. I’ll just stay here.” It wasn’t as if he expected any other answer. Jack knew, all too well, how Crutchie felt about Santa Fe. It had come up, their last night together.

Jack still isn’t sure where it all started, how it all started. He blames himself, knows that it must have been something he did, something he didn’t. There had been a rift, a soft distancing. Crutchie had stopped turning to Jack to talk, and Jack had, bitterly, stopped asking. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care–and, on bad days, he worries that that is what Crutchie had believed–he just… got mad. And retreated.

It got worse. Dinners were spent in silence. Jack began to devote more time to his art, and Crutchie… Crutchie would stay out later and later. Jack suspected that he began to dread coming home, that he no longer trusted Jack. It hurt, but Jack, ever too prideful, refused to be the first to come down.

Then, it got to be too much. Crutchie sat down one night, hands clenched tightly together, like how he used to do when he was nervous. “Jack,” he had said, and his voice had been calm. Too calm. Too collected. “Jack, I don’t think this is working out. I… Let’s take a break, okay?”

Jack hadn’t known what to say, had wondered if it was already too late to say anything. “But, we love each other.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Crutchie agreed, almost wearily. And the weariness had terrified Jack. “Yeah, we did. Maybe we still do. But, maybe it’s best to just… separate. I think I’m gonna spend the night at Specs’ place. So… I’ll see you ‘round.”

He didn’t know what to say, he was scrabbling, trying to keep it all together. “No, wait,” Jack cried out, reaching across the table and grabbing Crutchie’s hand. Crutchie pulled his hand out of reach, but Jack barrelled forward. “Let’s go, Crutch. To Santa Fe! Like we always said we would.”

Crutchie scoffed, “When we were kids? No, Jack. Santa Fe is… not for me. You go out there, though. Planting crops and splitting rails, and all that.”

Jack hadn’t taken “no” as an answer, hadn’t even understood why Crutchie wouldn’t want to go West. He had shown up to Specs’ apartment, only a day later. “I got the tickets,” he told Crutchie breathlessly. “I got the tickets. We leave in December. It’ll give us time to quit our jobs, save some money, and beat the snow. We’re really doing this, Crutch. Just like we always wanted.”

Crutchie had frowned. “Jack, I ain’t goin’ with you. I don’t want to go to Santa Fe. Never really wanted to. It was nice, dreamin’ about it. But… all I wanted was you and then…”

“You can still have me,” Jack told him. “I’m still–”

“It’s different. You’re different. I’m different. We ain’t kids no more,” Crutchie told him. “I’ve got a job, a good one, at that. And I love Manhattan. I ain’t giving this up. So, Jack, you go on ahead without me. You go on ahead to Santa Fe.”

There hadn’t been a huge fight. No yelling, no name-calling, no objects flung across the apartment. Jack almost wishes that there had been shouts and words that could never be taken back. Because, then, it would be so much easier to push the back-breaking blame onto someone, something else. Because, then, the guilt wouldn’t crush Jack each moonless night, each darkened morning. In the end, it had just been a tired smile and a “good-bye, Jack” and nothing more. They had parted ways, Jack still struggling to understand where it had all gone wrong. Eventually, Jack stopped trying to find Crutchie in the crowd. 

(He wondered if Crutchie ever even looked for him.) 

They drifted apart, out of each other’s orbit.

And now, Crutchie stands there, staring at Jack, as Jack tries to explain himself. “Come on, Crutchie. It’ll be an adventure. Just the two of us, blazing trails, finding gold–you know, I heard there was gold out West.”

“Jack,” Crutchie says. It is all that is needed to be said, in the end.

“We-ell,” Jack says, stumbling over the word. “Well, you still got that ticket, right? If you… If you change your mind, you can get on that train, yeah? I’ll save you a seat. Right next to me,” Jack tells him, smiling weakly.

“Good-bye, Jack,” Crutchie says, his voice soft.

He walks away, leaving Jack behind to wonder if he had ever had a hope, a chance, to keep Crutchie in his life. Or, if from the very start, is was fated for failure. He rubs his thumb against the train ticket, clinging to the fact–the hope–that in a few days, he would be on the train, and maybe Crutchie would be there, too.

(And, when that train did pull out of the station, Jack would only stare out the window, ignoring the forever-empty seat beside him. He would wonder if Crutchie had even considered the offer, or if the decision had always been made. 

“That’s okay,” he would say, “I can take care of myself.” But, he wouldn’t know whether the phrase–oft-repeated–was truth or gilded lies, believable after so many years. Jack would watch the gray city fade into the distance. 

And, he would wonder if Crutchie ever needed him, or if he had only ever needed Crutchie.)

[dont-sneeze]

One of the Great Ones-a Javid fic

[rbbalmung]

Quiddsies: Chapter 3

Hey guys! This chapter is in Katherine’s perspective and picks up near the end of the last chapter. I will warn you that this chapter is even longer than the last one, but I think that’s a good thing!

What What Happens:

“Come on, boys! Are we really going to let Wiesel and Pulitzer walk all over us?” Katherine briskly followed the rest of her team, ignoring the glares some the surrounding students were giving her,” Anyone? Darcy?”

She desperately reached forward and pulled her childhood friend back by his sleeve,” Come on, Kitty,” He gently pried her hand off of his sweater,” You and I both know that our fathers would murder us if we joined this strike. I’m in enough trouble with him as it is.”

Mr. Reid had always been too tough on his only child and was practically forcing him to take over the family business as soon as he graduated. Katherine’s father, on the other hand, was the exact opposite; he practically ignored his daughter and actually discouraged her from following in his footsteps. Katherine cringed when the mental image of Darcy’s father roughly grabbing him and threatening that he’d disown him if he didn’t get an outstanding in his O.W.L.s.  If he found out that Darcy was purposely skipping class...

The boy with glasses sighed. He obviously didn’t want her to get involved in something that could get her in in trouble, but he recognized the determined glint in her eyes and knew she wouldn’t be giving in. With a worried frown, he pulled her into a tight hug,” Are you really going to do this? It’s not your best idea.”

“We both know that it’s my fault quidditch was taken away in the first place,” Katherine buried her face in her friend’s jacket, instantly being taken back to long nights hiding away from dinner parties and Christmases spent at Hogwarts in order to avoid their families. In many ways, Darcy was the brother Katherine never had, and every fiber of her being didn’t want him to sacrifice his well-being for her,” I have to fight to make things right again. I won’t let everyone suffer because of me; If I’m the last person standing, I’m going to stand firm.”

“....Fine,” She blinked in surprise when her friend pulled away from the hug and waved towards the retreating Slytherin team,” You always have had a way with words, Kitty,” When she sent him an even more confused look, he elaborated,” I will help you, but I can’t do it openly. If you ever need someone to bounce an idea off of, I’d be more than happy to help.”

    While it wasn’t full support, the small amount was more than enough for Katherine,” I don’t deserve you, Darcy.”

    “I think you’ve got that backwards, but I’ll take the compliment,” He grinned cheekily,” Now go and get the rest of the team to back you up before they make it too far.”

    She gave him one last hug before taking his advice and racing to catch up with the Slytherins,” Hey! Hey guys! Wait up! I need to talk to you!” When they showed no signs of stopping, she moved onto her second form of persuasion; a threat,” I swear to god, if you don’t stop right now-”

    “You’ll do what, Captain?” Oscar sent her a warning glance, but much to her relief, he stopped to face her,” Or should I call you Princess instead, since that’s what we all know you are.”

    She clenched her fists and forced the urge to hex him into tomorrow away. While she would never admit it to anyone, she used to be fairly good friends with the Delanceys. Their dad used to be her father’s bodyguard, meaning that most of their childhood was spent killing time outside of his office. The three’s friendship broke off, however, when they began to attend Hogwarts; The Delanceys got involved with the wrong people, and Katherine didn’t stand for their transition into becoming bullies. There was also a misunderstanding between herself and Morris, but she prefered to forget that ever happened,” I know that you’re all scared, but you heard what Crutchie said; if we stand together, we can fight Pulitzer!” Oscar’s glare intensified, urging her to back away. Sadly, Katherine was never one accept defeat,” And as much as we hate the reputation we have and the glares we get at school for our house colors, we have to stand beside them to get quidditch back.”

    Morris stepped forward,” I’d shut up if I were you, Princess.”

    “Is that a threat?”

    “You heard me loud and clear.”

    Suddenly, a short boy with deep black hair stepped between the two. He couldn’t have been past his fourth year, but the amount of gusto he was showing was fairly impressive,” Hey now, is that any way to treat a beautiful lady? I’d back away if I were you.”

    She tried to hide her laughter. Was this kid flirting with her? Had something happened between her fifth and sixth year that suddenly made her a boy magnet? Katherine chuckled,” While I appreciate your spunk, Romeo, I can protect myself.”

    He gave her a cheeky wink before trudging over to Jojo, nudging his shoulder in excitement,” How did she know my name was Romeo?”

    Without the 4th year to be a barrier between them anymore, Morris had no problem getting right in her face. She held her ground firmly, staring straight into his wild eyes with a sense of defiance. The two held each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity, only breaking the stare-off when Morris emitted a condescending laugh,” You heard what she said, Oscar; She doesn’t need anyone to protect her anymore,” He turned to leave, making sure to purposely knock her aside,” Don’t come running back to me when your Daddy hears about this.”

    The brothers, once again, left without sending so much as a glance at Katherine. She mentally chastised herself as she regained her footing; a part of her knew that the Delanceys wouldn’t be on her side, but she couldn’t help but feel her hope dashed as they left her in the dust. Darcy, who had caught up by this point, send her an encouraging thumbs up before following after his friend Bill. Much like the two of them, Bill was raised in a wealthy family and held to almost unreachable standards. Him stepping away from the strike was reasonable.

    Katherine sighed, waiting to watch the rest of her team follow suit. It was starting to look like she was going to be the only Slytherin to join the strike, which would not turn out well for her at all. Oh well. Someone had to do it, and if it was going to be her-

    “So what now, cap?”

    The girl’s heart fluttered when she turned to find two of her teammates smiling back at her,” Wait, you guys are going to strike with me?”

    Romeo grinned cheerfully,” Of course! What kind of a gentlemen would I be if I let you do this alone? Plus, I heard that girls like bad boys. I’ll have the ladies all over me in a matter of hours once word gets around.”

    She let out a watery laugh, relief filling her up like a balloon,” Thanks, Romeo. What about your friend?”

    The fifth year, Jojo, shrugged with an even bigger smile on his face,” I really wanted to strike for quidditch, I just didn’t want to be the only one. I was waiting for someone else to join with me.”

    “...Really?”

    “You said it yourself,” His smile shifted into a more bittersweet one,” The other houses don’t exactly like us.”

    She couldn’t say he didn’t have a point,” I’ll take it! Now, let’s go meet back up with the others before they assume we dropped out altogether.”

 ==============================================================

    By the time Katherine, Romeo, and Jojo had returned to the pitch, the strikers were all talking over each other. The words “Weasel”, “Detention”, “Durmstrang”, and several profanities popped out of the conversations like neon signs, drawing Katherine closer to the group. She couldn’t say she was surprised when Jack’s voice rang out above the rest,” Come on, Finch, are you telling me you’re scared of Durmstrang?”

    “I’m not scared of anything!” The boy replied defensively. Many of the students in on the conversation sent him incredulous looks, causing him to shrivel up slightly,” But the last time I sent my owl there, he returned missing a ton of feathers!”

    “Why don’t you just send your owl, Jack?” One of the Ravenclaws, Specs, pointed out,” You’re friends with Spot Conlon, aren’t you?”

    “You know Spot Conlon?” Katherine felt the words leave her lips before she could stop them. Spot Conlon was the youngest professional quidditch player in Europe, and had gained himself quite the reputation from playing as a beater for the Hungarian Horntails. While he wasn’t her favorite quidditch player, she couldn’t deny the giddy feeling that bubbled inside of her at the thought of interacting with him,” How do you know Spot Conlon?”

    A slight smirk snuck its way onto Jack’s face as he hopped forward to meet her,” Well, what are you doing here?”

    “Asking a question,” Good answer, Kat. Keep him on his toes,” Do you have an answer?”

    “Spot Conlon and I are both from New York City. I met him at the Quidditch World Cup last year, so we write each other back and forth to keep in touch. Since he goes to Durmstrang, we’re trying to decide whose owl we’re sending to him,” When she waved for him to explain, his grin grew even wider,” We’re trying to spread the word to the other schools to get their support for the cause. We figured that if we can get everyone on board, we’ll make a bigger commotion,” The brunet stuffed his hands in his pockets and retreated back to the group, silently baiting her to tag along,” You know, for someone who doesn’t care about quidditch, you sure spend a lot of time on the pitch. What is that about?” He winked,” Are you following me?”

    “Who said I didn’t care about quidditch? I am the captain of the Slytherin team, aren’t I?” Katherine crossed her arms,” And no, I’m not following you: I’m here to join the strike.”

    She tried to ignore the weirdly adorable way Jack’s eyes lit up when she said that and flipped to face an extremely skeptical Davey,” Didn’t you just walk away an hour ago?”

    “I was getting reinforcements,” She motioned towards the two boys behind her, both of whom waved eagerly,” Jojo and Romeo also want to join the cause. We figured that you wouldn’t properly gain Headmaster Wiesel’s attention without all four houses participating.”

    “I wouldn’t call three people joining participation,” Albert backed his captain up.

    “Hey now, any help is good help,” Katherine both relaxed and tensed up when she felt Jack clap his hand on her shoulder,” You heard what Crutchie said earlier; if we stand together, we can accomplish anything.”

    She nodded politely while simultaneously shrugging his hand away. To say that she had mixed feelings about Jack was an understatement. While she wanted to believe that she didn’t care about the stupid flirt with the outrageously large ego, the playbill with a beautiful sketch of her consistently burned a hole in her bag as a reminder of her confliction. No matter. Now wasn’t the time to mull over feelings, it was the time to make a difference,” Speaking of help, I’ve got a way to spread the word not only to the students, but other wizards as well.”

    Crutchie rose his eyebrow,” What do you mean?”

    “I’m a writer,” To prove her point, she pulled a notepad and quill out of her bag,” If you guys will let me interview you, I’ll whip together an article and send it to the quibbler.”

    “The quibbler?” Davey choked out a laugh,” They’re not exactly the most respected news source around.”

    Much to her surprise, a Hufflepuff girl with mousy brown hair stood up for her,” What are you suggesting we do instead? Send it in to the Daily Prophet? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but they’re the reason we’re striking in the first place.”

    “But nobody reads the Quibbler,” Elmer pointed out,” How much help will a failing paper be?”

    “More help than no paper,” Katherine retorted as she squared her shoulders. Jojo wasn’t kidding when he said the other houses didn’t trust them, for at the moment, Jack and the hufflepuff girl seemed to be the only two people onboard with her,” Look, I know that this doesn’t look ideal, but I promise, I will get us the space.”

    There were a few beats of silence with every quidditch player mulling her proposition over. Finally, Crutchie spoke up,” You really think you could get us in a paper?”

    “With a story like this?” A small smile flitted over her lips,” We’re gonna make the front page.”

    A collective gasp rang throughout the crowd as the group turned to see each other: Mush and Kid Blink instinctively grabbed each other's shoulders, Specs’s glasses had slipped down to the brim of his nose, Dutchey was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement, and Davey had reached behind himself to grab Crutchie’s hand. If Jack was excited, he was good at hiding it,” Well, are we all in collective agreement to allow the Slytherins to join the strike?”

    A huge grin broke across Katherine’s face when all of the quidditch students cheered in unison.

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    The rest of the afternoon was spent either planning, socializing, or in Katherine’s case, starting interviews. While she was nervous at first, some of the things she learned put her at ease. For example, Elmer wanted to play quidditch because it was tradition for his family to try out. He was hoping to become co-captain the following year and eventually take over the team once Race graduated.

    Buttons, the Hufflepuff chaser, was also a prefect and quite possibly the sweetest person Katherine had ever met. The first thing he asked was if he could still help the kids in his house during the strike, to which she couldn’t say no to. It was oddly refreshing to see someone put others before themselves, especially when she came from a house of self-sufficient students.

    However, the student she was most curious about was a Mr. Jack Kelly: He had spent a good majority of the day working on his letter to Spot, using his free time to check on the newly formed union members. With Katherine spending every available moment to interview the others, it was starting to look like the two wouldn’t meet up until the next day.

    Katherine had been interviewing Davey and his little brother, Les, up until the sun had nearly set. When it became evident that Bunson, the groundskeeper, would come after them if they didn’t leave soon, the two bid her goodbye and headed back up to their rooms. She was about to follow suit when the silhouette of a certain strike leader caught her eye. The auburn haired girl made sure to straighten her shoulders and keep her chin held high before heading in his direction,” So what’s your story? Are you planning on playing quidditch professionally to pay for art school?”

    He visibly lit up when she approached him, but scoffed at her question,” Art school? Are you kidding me?”

    “But you’re an artist. You’ve got real talent,” To prove her point, she dug an extremely familiar playbill out of her bag and held it out. Katherine watched his expression shift from confusion to a touch of bashfulness as he observed his work,” You should be pursuing art-”

    “You kept it?”

    “-instead of focusing on-” Her heart leapt straight into her throat when she finally processed what he asked and the way he was looking at her. Damn, how was she supposed to react when he was staring at her with that much admiration? Katherine cleared her throat and regained her bearings,” O-Of course. I wasn’t kidding when I said you had real talent,” Reel it in, Kat. You’re supposed to be interviewing him, not tripping over yourself like a silly schoolgirl,” You should place your focus on your art instead of quidditch.”

    He shrugged half-heartedly,” Maybe that’s not what I want.”

    She eagerly pulled her notepad and quill out of her bag, ready to record,“ Then tell me what you want.”

    “...Can’t you see it in my eyes?” Katherine glanced up from her writings to see him sending her the cheekiest grin she had ever laid eyes on. That was more like it; this was the Jack Kelly she had heard hushed rumors about in the hallways. The same boy that had jumped into so many people’s pants that nobody could keep count and slacked in all of his classes because he enjoyed vexing the professors. She had been fooling herself when she thought he gave a damn about anything but himself.

    With newly found confidence, Katherine rolled her eyes and walked straight past him,” Yeah, okay,” She was about to put her supplies away and call it a day, but the Gryffindor reached forward and gently grabbed her by her elbow. As much as she wanted to deny it, the look Jack was giving her was the exact same look she had given Darcy earlier that day. With a deep breath, she decided to give him a second chance,” Have you always been their leader?”

    “Davey’s the brains, I’m just the blowhard,” The brunet replied honestly,” He actually knows what he’s doing.”

    The voice in the back of her head insisting that there was more to Jack that meant the eye was screaming at her to say something, but she was honestly too shocked to investigate,” Modesty is not a quality I would’ve pinned on you.”

    “Gee, thanks,” She chuckled at his response, but was not at all ready for his next question,” What about you, huh? Why’re you striking with us?”

    She hoped that she hid the wave of nerves that rolled into her stomach well and nonchalantly crossed her arms,” I’m standing up for...,” Katherine frantically searched her brain for any excuse that could get him off her back for at least a little while,”...women’s rights.”

    Unfortunately, he seemed to catch on,” What, aren’t you sure?”

    “We live in a world where witches are barely placed on quidditch teams. It’s bad enough that there are barely any girls on in general, but if we take quidditch away for good, there’s no guarantee that they’ll let ladies play in professional teams,” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Katherine felt strongly about equal rights, and the surge of pride that swelled in her chest whenever she announced she was the Slytherin quidditch captain was a feeling she didn’t want to be taken away from other girls,” Don’t you feel the same?”

    The familiar look of admiration crept back into Jack’s eyes as he smiled at her,” ‘Course. I’ve seen you, Smalls, and Sniper play. You girls are a force to be reckoned with.”

    She shook her blush away and quickly changed the subject,” So tell me about this week. What are you hoping for?”

    “I’d rather tell you what I was hoping for tonight.”

    Man, this boy really knew how to screw himself over in her mind,” Mr. Kelly.”

    Much to her surprise, he held her eye contact for another few seconds before sighing and giving up,” This week, we’re testing out our boundaries and how easy they’ll give in. If that doesn’t work, we head straight to Pulitzer’s office and protest.”

    The auburn haired girl’s heart stopped. Why the heck were they planning on doing that?! That was dangerous! If her father so much as caught word that she was going to be there-

    “Are you okay, Ace?”

    She snapped away from her snare of negative thoughts to find Jack looking directly at her, his eyes laced with worry,” I’m fine. It’s just...aren’t you scared?”

    “Do I look scared?” He waited a beat, subtly slipping his hands in his pockets before whispering,” Ask me again in a week.”

    To say she was impressed would be an understatement. As a Gryffindor, she figured that he would brashly declared that nothing could scare him. To her, admitting that he was just as nervous as she was was a sign of true bravery,” Good answer,” Katherine stated honestly, hoping that the genuineness of her words shone through her smile. It seemed that they had, because the same lovestruck look that she constantly caught him sending her returned in a snap. The more that she saw the pure bliss shining in his gorgeous, green eyes, the more she-

    Katherine shook her head, mentally berating herself for thinking such things and frantically stuffing her supplies back in her bag,” Goodnight, Jack Kelly.”

    He blinked in confusion, seemingly not fully processing her words until she was exiting the pitch,” Hey--Hey Plumber! Where’re you going? It’s not even dinner yet!”

    “I’ve got an article to start. I’ll see you in the morning,” She replied cheekily,” And off the record...,” Katherine decided against listening to the voice in her head warning her to stay away and sent Jack one last grin,” I’m pulling for us to win.”

    A wave of relief washed over her when the boy’s familiar smirk settled back on his face,” Yeah, alright. Make sure you write it good, Plumber.”

[dream-in-charming]

Just saw Newsies live and I have some feelings <3 <3

It just closed it’s last show here in Gilbert, AZ and I am dying to talk about it. I’ll add a page cut though since there will be many thoughts and I don’t want to annoy anyone with just a chunk of text who doesn’t want to see it. if it doesn't work on mobile, I'm sorry. I dont know how to fix it...

OMIGOD the show was incredible! 

I’ll be posting pictures from the show, and of the theatre in another post, so you can see what I’m talking about (sort of, I only got a few, I wasn’t going to disturb the show).

Warning. This is going to be VERY VERY long. :)

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For those of you not from AZ and whom have never been to this particular theatre, this theatre does shows in the round. Meaning the audience is on all sides of the performance. It’s a challenge but they pulled it off brilliantly! 

So lets begin with the quick things. 

The program is corny and I love it. It’s designed to look like a newspaper (the New York Sun) and the captions on it are funny. “Weather forecast: Cloudy, Clear By Evening”; “Miss Medda Larkin Dazzles.” and so on.  The set was super basic, considering that it either had to be on the sides of the theatre, or easily moved on and off since there wasn’t really any place to keep it on. Honestly, the whole stage floor is maybe… 20ish sq ft? Maybe a bit more, I can’t find the actual dimensions. Heck the whole place only seats 350. But that aside, it worked WELL. Nothing blocked sight-lines, and anyone could see what was going on from any angle, they didn’t just play to one direction.

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The who cast was INCREDIBLE! Every last one of them.

So let me talk about them now :)

The guy who played Jack was great. Insanely tall which worked well and made it easier to find him when he was the important speaker in the crowded scenes. Plus his facial expressions were the best. I loved them in “Something to Believe In”. Lily just adored him and any time he wasn’t on stage she was asking where he went, pretended to talk to him (in a super quiet whisper) when he was on stage, pointed him out in scenes, and just loved him. She wanted a picture with him after the show and he was sweet enough to oblige. 

The guy who played Davey played him meek and it WORKED. Plus it helped to show his progress from the new news boy who just wanted to help his family, to the strong supporter of the Strike and voice of reason. And his voice was so melodic. 

Medda. OH MEDDA. A STUNNING WOC and an amazing singer. Her song just made me smile the whole time. Please keep being amazing because damn. AH. Plus, she let me poke and prod at her costume after the show because I was curious about the material and the way it was made. Made to look like brocade, but wasn’t so as to save the actress from dying of heatstroke. 

Wisel, Snyder, and the Delancey Brothers. I hate you. It’s a good thing

Les had the most adorable fluffy fringe sticking out of his bowler hat. I wanted to ruffle it. He was very talented and a great fit with Davey. 

Katherine was beautiful. Though her timing for certain lines were off, and thus some of her funniest and strongest bits were lost, she still made up for it with a powerful presence and lordy what a smile. Also, the hair. Teach me!

Crutchie was tiny and adorable and everything I ever wanted for that role. Perfect. Plus, participated in quite a few dances. Done in a way where it doesn’t ignore his bum leg either like I’ve seen some shows do. They figured out a way to include him and make a point to continue to show, “he ain’t been walkin too good”. Also, Santa Fe - Prologue, “watch me run” broke me. 

Pulitzer. A great demanding presence. And when he belted his final note in “Bottom Line” I got good bumps and turned to jelly. I love a voice like that. Ugh. Though his hat in the final scene…. bro, you is a rich man, you can do so much better. hahaha. 

The guy who played Specs was a very good looking person, and when he took off his hat and exposed the mass of exceedingly curly locks, my heart stopped. Also very talented dancer!

All of them were SO talented (there were others I didn’t name here, the case was 23 people, I’d be here all day) The dancing was fantastic and the acting was amazing, the singing just floored me. I am so happy to have gone to see the show. 

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Now to talk about the scenes (skipping the filler scenes because again, time)

Santa Fe 1.0 - Crutchie. You broke me. 3 I loved it and it was a great start of the show. Just pulled me in right away. Lily too. From that moment on, she was smitten with Jack. 

Carrying the Banner - So good! They had to work things around to make them fit into the smaller space, but it still was amazing. Seeing people practically above me performing was great. 

Bottom Line - That final note. AMAZING. I got goosies! And Nunzio’s hair made me giggle. 

That’s Rich - Medda you are one great performer. Performing for not just the audience, but the fake one for your ‘show within the show’. And teasing the one guy for “it may be rough but soon enough I’ll learn to make do” was the best. You go girl. You don’t need him!

I never planned on you - Whoever did the art for this show to display on the screens was terrific. However, the slow progression shots to show it was being ‘drawn’ weren’t completely timed right and I could see the jumps. Granted that’s both the software person and artist in me that picked up on it. 

World Will Know - I WAS WITH YOU. Like, if someone really started a strike or rally or anything with those lines and the power built into that song, I would follow them 100%. Les’s lines were lost in the overlapping dialogue during the part where they were thrown out, but that didn’t take away from the whole scene. 

Watch What Happens - Her voice was great, she his the notes brilliantly, but this is where the timing bit that I mentioned above was the biggest. She seemed to have just rushed through the song. Still, a good song, she’s a wonderful singer. I would love to hear her do more. Also, the type writer broke. Made me grin. 

Seize the Day - Here arrive the Girlsies too! Also, the dancing was at it’s PEAK here. Loved it. Loved it. Loved it. Plus this is the scene where Specs spent the most time in front of my seat. Totally okay with that. Got hit in the face with a paper by Mush. Kept it. Lily folded it up and put it in her purse. It is themed for that time period. Perfect touch. 

Santa Fe - Felt a tad rushed, but not in a way that distracted or pulled anyone out of the show. Plus hearing Jack belt and Lily light up at him then whisper “It’s okay Jack, You’ll go to Santa Fe” was the sweetest thing ever. If she could have, she would have taken him there herself. 

King of New York - When they danced on the tabletops I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. the tables were on WHEELS. And one of the tables I could tell only had one of the two locks, locked. YOU GONNA DIE! Also, spoons.

Crutchie’s Letter - a clever way to do it without a ton of boys. Crutchie is so smol. I love him. 

WWH Reprise - “POOR GUYS HEAD IS SPINNING” Davey, you did not disappoint. Also, the way they did the painting was excellent. On the floor instead of a stand, so everyone could see it. Monopoly money? Ish?

Brooklyn’s Here - someone please turn their mics on. Please? They sounded so muffled and far away. Still good though. Watching Davey stick his tongue out at Bronx was a great growth. Also, them Brooklyn boys IS big. I’m sure Spot could take both the Delancey brothers on his own. Wow. 

Something to Believe in - their expressions just MADE this song. Their smiles glowed. Also, after the kiss, Jack leaped forward to have another kiss but Katherine turned away making him nearly fall flat on his face… that the best version of that I have ever seen. 

Once and For All - again, mics? What the heck? This is such a strong song that just builds to a HUGE ending. But seemed so quiet? The gal who played Mush whispered the words too, which I thought was odd. She danced past a number of times and I noticed she was whispering the words instead of actually singing. Not sure why this was done. Still, a good song, and the fact that they timed the printing press to turn on and start spinning right as the beat kick at the start  of the song hit, was a brilliant visual. Made my heart speed up. If it weren’t for the odd quietness of the song, I would have been SO hyped!

Finale - was a good ending. Roosevelt was great, though his hat didn’t match his suit which made my artist side hiss. He did fit that role well though. If he gave speeches like Teddy did in real life, I’d totally listen to them all. Cruchie’s return was sweet. Jack’s HUGE hug when he came down to him was the epitome of friendship. And Race practically tackled him. They’s a great group of buddies. The taunting with the Money from Jack on whether he should get more papes was funny and showed off something that people tend to forget. They are just KIDS. Loved that choice. 

Also, instead of “Newsies of New York!” they shouted “News of the Hale!” and I am living for that. My smile was huge. Thanks for adding that part, because it felt so much more personal and not just another show. Also, Roosevelt dancing with everyone at the end and his “AHHHHH GO!” face was hilarious! I was dying. 

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All in all, a fantastic show and I am so happy I got the chance to see it. I don’t think I’ve ever sat up, sat forward, and at so much attention for such a long time, in forever. I told them as I walked out to the cast (who stands out to say good bye after every show, they do that no matter what show they have) that they all did incredible because they did. I could tell it was rough on some of them, with red rimmed misty eyes, closing nights are always rough and so final. But they gave it their all and it was brilliant. I hope to see many of them in future shows. 

Lily was begging to take a pic with Jack before we left, so we did, and it was adorable. She got embarrassed and shy soon as we got near him. I told him and the gal who played Kath that stood next to him what she said and did the whole show and how she just adored him and they thought she was so sweet. They were happy I brought her and I am introducing her to theatre. Well, I’m her mother, of course! Still, thanks for taking time to talk to her. I know she’ll love you forever. 

Did I talk to Specs? No. I got way too flustered, just did a quick “incredible job” to the group of them as I passed. I am such a whimp. But then again, he’s likely taken, and/or doesn’t swing my way. Plus, how rude would it have been to just go up and (try) to flirt? Though I am bad at it, it would have been funny. Anyway, he is a person, one whom I don’t know, and I wasn’t going to be rude or creepy.  

Anyway! That’s what I thought of the show. 

Long text. Done.