#the newsies do not NEED a set mother figure or a set father figure. they just need a stable family.

[offspring-of-calliope]

I really like your writing, so if you're still taking drabble requests: how about some hurt/comfort for Ralbert? Maybe canon era? Sorry, I'm really bad at specific requests, but maybe this gives you an idea

Guess who only now realised that she still has to work through 15 pages of text in preparation for the lecture she has tomorrow morning and still prioritized finally writing this drabble? But hey, I really liked how this turned out, so maybe I'll regret it only half as much as I normally would.

I hope this fits your expectations and thanks for liking my writing :)

And don't be shy, you can still write me your wishes, I love writing something that others would like to see and enjoy.

So, for now I hope you'll enjoy this little drabble,

Sincerely, me,

Lélodie

-----

The sinking sun was painting the sky in a beautiful red colour - the same colour that had been used in the picture he held in his hands. Tightly, as if the memory of the boy who had drawn it would fade if he let go.

"There you is."

The sudden voice made him turn his head to see who was coming up to the rooftop. Jack und Crutchie's rooftop. "Hey, Albert," Racetrack Higgins greeted the newcomer, nodded slightly and then proceeded to stare at the picture in his hands.

"Oh, come on, Racer. Lighten up, you's lookin' as if someone's died." Albert said softly, sitting down next to the other boy and looking at him with worry in his eyes.

Race forced out a laugh. "Kinda feels like it. I mean, he's gone for six months. How's we gonna manage without Jack? And we ain't even having Davey who's lookin' after us like a mother hen!"

He was happy for Jack, he really was. Going to Santa Fe had always been the biggest dream of the oldest of the newsies, who'd also always been like a father figure to every one of them. And now, he was sitting in a train, on his way to visit Santa Fe for six months. It had been a surprise for everyone when Jack had suddenly told them all that he'd made enough money with his cartoon-drawing job - enough money to follow his dreams.

In addition to that, David's father had found a new job and since David hadn't stopped selling papers, he'd also saved a little money to be able to accompany Jack to Santa Fe. Katherine had become quite the famous reporter and therefore had had enough money as well.

The three of them were only going to stay in Santa Fe for presumably six months but in these six months, Race had to play their part that was leading Manhattan. Being the father figure to all the Newsies of Lower Manhattan. The problem was - how could he watch over all these boys when he wasn't even able to look properly after himself most of the time?

"Hey." Seemingly out of nowhere, a hand was touching his bare arm and he shivered in surprise. "I's basically able ta hear ya thinkin'. Relax for a moment, Racer. Take a deep breath."

"Did ya even listen ta me, Albie? Jack's gone! I can't look after the other boys without-", Race protested.

"Shush, Racer! Breathe. Trust me. In. Out," Albert tried again, now stroking both of Race's arms in a soothing manner.

"I don't think ya understand the situation I's -"

"Breathe."

"But -"

"Breathe."

"Al, I -"

"Jesus Christ, Racer!" Albert eventually exclaimed, grabbed Race's face and smashed their lips together.

Race revelled in the familiar feeling of Albert's lips on his, Albert's hands on his skin, Albert's presence in his heart. For just a tiny moment, his brain was empty. Not the bad kind of empty but a nice empty that made him feel free and careless, as if he could conquer the world.

After a while, Albert pulled back. "Sometimes I wonder if ya do it on purpose," he mumbled, stroking Race's hair, staring at him with a mixture of awe and amusement.

"Do what?" Race asked, finding himself grabbing Albert's shoulder, only subconsciously realising that the picture he'd been holding before had slipped out of his grasp.

"I don't know. Just. What I don't want ya to do, ya know?"

A smug smile graced Race's lips. "If I'd do what ya want me ta do, ya wouldn't kiss me ta convince me."

"So ya do it on purpose!" Albert laughed, leaning into Race's touch. "But honestly, Racer. The Newsies love ya. How could they not? You's wonderful. So what, you's irritated mosta the time, maybe not the most mature? It doesn't matter. They don't need someone who's mature. They need someone they can trust. Who they can rely on, as Davey would say. And that someone is you, ya know? And if ya need help, remember, you's not alone. You got me, Crutchie, Blink, all of the others. We can look after each other together."

Silence. For a long while, Race only stared at Albert, drawing patterns on his skin with his fingers. Then: "I love you." He held his breath. Never before had he said these words to Albert.

Albert smiled. "I love ya, too."

"You's the best." Race added, suddenly being able to breath more freely than before. He remembered the station, seeing Jack and the people he held most dear in this world entering a train, taking the first big step of their relationship. Jack deserved it. Race could let him go. Him and Albert would have their own big step to take the next few months.

Once again, Albert stroked his hair and gently kissed his forehead. "I know." Both of them laughed at that.

And the sun had set behind the rooftops of Manhattan but these two boys where as awake and as aware of each other as they'd never been before.

[somedayonbroadway]

I think all the Newsie's AU's could be really entertaining but I would most like to know about the Leverage one and the Lilo & Stitch one.

Okay, so I had two people in a row ask for Lilo and Stitch while also requesting another outline, so I’ll be doing Lilo and Stitch very soon.

But… I LOVE this one.

So, for those of you who haven’t seen Leverage, you can watch it on Amazon Prime Video. It’s amazing and I adore it. My favorite character is Hardison. He’s everything. Nothing he says ever gets old. Hardison and Parker are literally so freaking cute that I just can’t. And I think I’ve already talked about how Spot Conlon is very similar to Eliot Spencer, at least the way I write him. So this’ll be fun.

So anyways…

Leverage AU

Characters

Jack Kelly — Nate Ford

Katherine Plumber — Sophie Devereau

Spot Conlon — Eliot Spencer

Racetrack Higgins — Parker

Albert DaSilva — Alec Hardison

Jack Kelly: The Mastermind

Jack is an alcoholic

He’s only twenty five when this story starts.

He used to work for an insurance company but after that same company let his baby brother die, refusing to pay for his treatment, Jack quit and has been a “functioning alcoholic” ever since.

Jack has anger issues that he refuses to acknowledge

Jack used to pride himself on being emotionally broken, but still never crossing over to the “dark side” of the law.

He’s the son of a numbers runner who was emotionally abusive

Was originally trying to become a catholic priest as he was strong in his faith but has since strayed a bit after losing Charlie, the only person in the world he truly loved

After meeting his team, Jack grows very protective of them, viewing them as a sort of family that he’d never really had, all except for Charlie.

Jack first meets the team when a man comes to him, begging him to keep an eye on a group of thieves as they execute a job he’s hired them for. After they are all double crossed by this man, narrowly escaping death, they come together to set things right and the team begs Jack to continue leading them as Jack shows them how good it feels to do the right thing, even if the right thing requires bending or breaking the rules.

Jack grew up extremely poor but is an excellent artist and chess player.

Jack likes to cook.

Jack loves to learn new things when he can’t drink to continue distracting himself.

Jack is the one to typically choose the clients his new team takes on.

Jack took Charlie in the second he turned eighteen, unable to trust his father who was a no good drunk.

Jack hates that he’s becoming just like his dad but refuses to stop.

Jack is more protective of Race than anyone else, as Race’s optimism and energy remind him of Charlie.

Jack serves as a mentor of sorts to Albert.

He is kept in check by Spot.

Jack is very quick witted, moving from one plan to the next as things change.

Jack gets his own father killed after a mission gone wrong.

Jack gets arrested protecting his team who he knows will go away for much longer than him for all the crimes they’ve committed.

Jack is the one who introduces the group to Katherine, the best grifter he’s ever seen, with whom he ends up falling for.

Katherine Plumber: The Grifter

Katherine is a struggling actress who can’t perform to save her life, though is the best grifter in the business.

Katherine is very careful of her identity, meaning that absolutely no one knows her real name.

Katherine speaks nearly eleven languages.

Katherine has difficulty maintaining real relationships as it’s hard to decipher her acts from reality.

Before becoming a member of Leverage she focuses heavily on art theft

After meeting the team, she bonds with Race over art

Katherine manages to fake her death twice in two years and attend her own funeral at both

As Katherine is the only woman on the team, she often feels as though she doesn’t belong, but all of her boys adore her and protect her at all costs.

Katherine has an abundance of connections around the world, though none of them know her true identity.

Prides herself on long cons that she’d pulled in the past all by herself.

Katherine never reveals how she grew up to her friend as she is very good at letting things go and never getting attached but all of that changes when Jack reaches out to her.

Katherine is wanted in five countries.

Successfully stole the Stanley Cup and replaced it with a replica, though she does not care for Hockey and did all of it out of spite because someone told her she couldn’t.

Katherine makes a game of keeping her real name from Jack as she insists he has to earn the right to know it.

Katherine falls for Jack nearly as fast as he falls for her.

Though Jack and Katherine do sleep together a few times, they agree to keep it a secret for the good of the team.

Though Katherine and Jack aren’t much older than the rest of the team, they take on a sort of parental role for Race and Albert who both grew up orphans

Katherine eventually opens up her own acting company where she finds she is an excellent coach, though she was never a performer herself because she lacked a certain truth element when she would try to perform on stage or on screen.

Katherine is very close with the whole team, but is able to relax while around Spot, as he’s more an equal to her than Race and Albert, and Jack and her have a lot of tension sometimes.

She shares the most with Spot on accident as Spot is easy to talk to.

Runs away at some point to “find herself” after an old team of hers tries to kill her and the rest of her current team and comes back just in time for Jack to be arrested, saving all of them.

Spot Conlon: The Hitter

Spot Conlon was in and out of the mob all growing up. (Eliot was black ops, but I want Spot to be younger, this is different).

He began training when he was very young and is a very skilled “retrieval specialist”

Spot has had to kill before and is ashamed of his past. When asked about it, he calmly asks his team not to get curious because he would tell them what he did 

Though the whole team consists of criminals, Spot believes them, especially Race and Albert, to be innocent and naive and he constantly looks out for them as best he can, acting as a sort of big brother for them until he catches feelings for Race (yeah sorry guys that’s gonna be different too)

Spot is very calm and never shows any kind of panic.

Spot is a trained chef

He grows up only fighting, learning to not get attached

The leverage team is his gateway to figuring out that he is capable of love

His role on the team is protection. He is always around to keep his team out of trouble when something goes wrong or even when things go right and he has to disarm people on purpose.

Spot is wicked smart and is able to discern things from noises, smells, walking patterns etc. always stating “It’s a very distinctive __”

Knows various types of martial arts and uses them regularly

Though not technically a grifter, Spot has an easy time playing different roles and can blend in easily with a crowd.

Hostage negotiator

Survivalist

He’s extremely protective of his team and is willing to go great lengths to make sure they’re safe and secure

Has a budding relationship with Albert who constantly gets himself into trouble that Spot has to get him out of.  

Was known as Sean before Race showed up and gave him a non threatening nickname based on his freckles

Can play the guitar

Manages to get shot at constantly, taking a few bullets but refusing to walk with crutches.

He loves teaching Katherine how to defend herself

Loves teaching Race knew things as well

Speaks six languages

Spot is not familiar with a lot of technology, causing him to often need Albert’s help with that kind of thing

Has rescued Race and Albert from being kidnapped or hurt the most

As times goes on, finds himself more and more in love with his team and really does love to protect them

Sees Albert as a little brother, even if he won’t admit it.

Racetrack Higgins: The Thief

Has been a thief since he was very young, maybe seven, but only gives his team made up stories about how it all started

Has a hard time coping with grief or pain, which is why he likes to make up stories about his past.

Abusive father killed Race’s mother when he was very young

Race grew up in foster care until he ran away at twelve, eventually getting raised on the street by an elite thief who spotted his talents and offered to train him, making him the best thief in the world

Is socially awkward on account of being a loner for most of his life and rarely ever opens up about his childhood

Despite this, Race is very loud and curious, almost childlike with his team, thus why Katherine and Jack become sort of parental figures toward him.

Race did have an older brother who got hit by a car when he was very young, after going out to get food for him. Race blames himself to this day.

Desperate for some kind of real family, besides the thief who trained him, Race meets an older foster brother who teaches him how to boost cars, along with “teaching him other things”. Though his is abused physically and sexually by this boy, Race doesn’t know any better and hangs on his every word, believing that the older boy wanted to help him.

Race is arrested when he’s fourteen, taking the fall for the boy who taught him how to boost cars

Race was a getaway driver at thirteen, and a good one at that.

He is constantly reminded of how he’s not normal, taking a toll on his mental stability as he’s often referred to as insane or inhuman

Race is fairly naive, but does live up to his title as the best thief in the world

Enjoys stealing diamonds more than anything else.

Quickly becomes best friends with Albert and is curious on how to get Spot to open up.

Never went to high school but is still amazingly smart as it takes a lot of math and science and so forth to be a thief.

Enjoys using tasers as a weapon of choice.

Has a bit of a sadistic mind as he enjoys watching Spot beat up on some of their enemies, especially the ones who’d tried to come at him, sometimes even visualizing that they’re the boy who left him behind after using him constantly all those years ago

Eventually does have to confront Drake again, but has his whole team to protect him.

Really loves cash

Is shocked the first time Spot kisses him because, he has been abused before, but kisses Spot again, telling him how different it feels

That’s the first time Race truly opens up about his past and Spot figures out that someone had used him

Has a fear of horses

Is not anywhere near afraid of heights

Has trust issues (obviously) despite the insistence that Albert and Spot (and of course Jack and Katherine but most Al and Spot) would never let anything happen to him

Actually trusts Jack the most as he came from the good side of the law

Does not like psychics

Katherine coaches Race in his social skills, helping him embrace his sexuality and slightly rely on those around him for connection and comfort

Race’s real name is Antonio Higgins, but he’s known across the world as only ‘Racer’

Albert DaSilva: The Hacker

Much like Race, Albert grew up in foster care, though through most of his childhood, he lived with a woman he refers to as “Nana”. Not his actual grandmother, but a foster mother who he adored and actually took care of him.

Often refers to himself as a geek and prides himself in being one as it is the “age of the geek, baby”

Is relied on heavily by the team as he makes a lot of their equipment (eg: coms, modified cell phones, button cams)

Provides CIA level aliases for his team.

Owns the teams vehicle, “Lucille” and is pissed when they manage to destroy not one model, but two

Has an unhealthy obsession with orange soda

Is physically very fit, but is not good in combat situations

Being an introvert for most of his life, Albert took to technology and learned just about everything one can about them

Albert is straight in this one (sorry for my Ralbert fans) but, as Race’s best friend, is constantly trying to subtly get Race to admit he has feelings for Spot

Though he and Spot didn’t get along too well at first, they eventually see themselves as brothers and look out for each other

Claustrophobic

Gets buried alive during a job gone wrong and is showed just how much he’s loved when his team manages to rescue him, believing him to be dead at first

Manages to keep the team very well paid and secured so the government can’t find them

Hacked into the pentagon when he was only twelve

When he was younger, his nana forced him off the computer for one hour out of every day to “give his eyes a rest from the screen” and Albert learns how to play the violin

Mostly used his skills for fun when he was younger, just wanting to prove he could do something

Skipped his senior prom to hack into medical records and get his nana on a high priority list

Has always looked out for the people he cared about

The only one Albert didn’t trust was Spot, as Spot intimidates him until Spot started showing interest in what he did, never commenting on it, but always looking very impressed

Oversells himself while grifting and often relies on Katherine to help guide him

Cares about humanity and the big picture, much like Jack. This is where their bond comes from as Katherine, Race and Spot have spent most of their lives looking out for themselves

Has a soft spot for little kids

Enjoys messing with Spot and making bets with him, even sparking in them having their own handshake which consists of them subtly high diving twice at waist level and then fist bumping. It’s often how they seal a bet or agree on a plan

What do you guys think? Any scenes you wanna see? Any other characters you wanna hear about? Let me know!

For more Mood Boards and AUs, click here!

[babyspiderling]

Jack Kelly X Reader-Marry You

Alright, this was requested by Anon, ”Jack Kelly x Reader where he proposes on the spot without any of them being prepared on it happening? Probably after some event where Jack realized that “damn I really want to spend my life with her”... Like an emotional fight or dreams come true! Ya know? Real fluffy!!”. I did take inspiration from this scene, but switched it up for our bb  Jack “Cowboy” Kelly. 

I wake up before the sun and dress quickly, racing to the butcher as he receives his shipment for the morning. “Good Morning, Mr. Johnson. How’s today's shipment coming along?” He smiles at me and finishes bringing it all inside. “Alright Rose, come on in and get your meat. I’ve got a box of chicken for you, plus the extra wings.” Nodding, I follow him inside, careful to keep the blood off the one nice skirt I own. He ducks behind the counter and pesents the white box tied together with twine. “Thank you so much Mr. Johnson. Take care of yourself, and tell Mary I said hello!” With a wave I make my way back to the house, avoiding the cops and hurrying to make breakfast in time. As I near the house, I hear Jack and Crutchie up in their “Penthouse” I gently open and shut the door and enter the kitchen. I start up the furnace and change into my newsies outfit while it heats up. Rolling my sleeves I pull out the wings that Mr. Johnsons had thrown in. Sprinkling salt and pepper on the skin, I place them all in a buttered pan and place it in the oven. I tidy up and put the rest of the kitchen in the small ice box the house had. As the wings finish cooking, I wake up the boys, waking up Romeo and Racetrack, asking them to wake up the other boys while I grab Jack and Crutchie. Climbing up the fire escape, I hear their muffled conversation. Knocking on the ladder, I peek over the top of the roof. “Boys, breakfast is ready. You’d best get down here quick if you want something in your belly before the bell rings.” Nodding, I help Jack lower Crutchie down to the window. The boys are all awake by the time I get down, as well as dressed. “Alright boys, wash-up so you can get breakfast before heading out.” I pull the pan out of the oven to cool as the boys line up for their breakfast. One by one I pass out the wings as they race out the door. Noticing two left once it is Crutchie and Jack’s turn, I quickly give Jack a peck on the cheek and wink at Crutchie to distract them. The boys leave, breakfast in hand, I drop the pan in the sink and race after them, wanting to get to the newsstand in time for the bell. I get into line for my papes, and the boys compliment me on my cooking. Winking at Jack, I flirt up Morris to get a couple extra papes for my trouble, and two new boys show up for papes. We sell papes until 5, when I head home to prepare dinner for my boys. We make a fine dinner out of a chicken and potatoes. We joke and play around with each other until it’s time to head to bed to do the same thing tomorrow morning. 

I wake up and shred the leftover chicken for sandwiches, and follow the boys to the gate to get the headline. Les and Davey apologize for being late, mentioning their mother. Race snaps back, but one of the younger ones step in. “Y/N is like our mother. She cooks for us, she tucks us in and wakes us up, she loves us. She’s the closest thing to a Mother I’ve ever had.” Grinning, Romeo throws his arm around my defender. “Yeah? And who’s the Father then, huh? Can’t have no mother if you don’t have no father.” Pipsqueak simply says “Jack!” and walks up the gate. I’m standing in shock, warm and cold at the same time. I’m flattered that Pipsqueak sees me as a mother figure, I do my best for these boys left without a nickel to their name. But Jack as the father… I love Jack, he looks out for the boys like I do, but what would he say about this? As the Headline is unveiled, a murmur of shock ripples through our group. “60 cents per 100?” “This can’t be right!” As the murmurs turn to talk and talk to shouts, it all fades away. How am I going to feed my boys? I already am blessed that Mr. Johnson gives me extra bits and pieces when I buy the chickens, I can’t ask him to go any lower. And the boys, they won’t be able to spend their money on clothes or put anything in the pot for heat and rent. Lost in my panic and racing thoughts, I don’t notice Jack put up a fight, rallying us around him. “They can’t do this to us, we’re a union now boys! And Y/N!” I head home to think things through and plan for what just happened. As I retreat back to the house, I hear Jack and the other boys convince the scabbers to drop their papes and join the fight. I cook and clean the rooms, thinking all the while. I mend pants and shirts while pondering if we’ll even survive a month.

I finish pulling dinner out of the oven, and the boys file in one by one. We sit around the table, the energy a weird limbo of elation and sobriety. The boys were excited for the strike, but knew the cost if the strike didn’t go our way. Clearing my throat, I ask if we could say the Lord's Prayer. A couple boys nod, but most look at me in curiosity. I swallow and start, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” We all prepare for bed, bidding each other a good night, and I sit in my bunk and pray. “Our Lord in heaven, please look after my boys. Protect us from the threat of poverty and destitution.” Pipsqueak climbs into bed with me, asking to pray again. Another one of the younger boys climbs in as well. “Please Y/N? You pray so well.” More and more boys climb in, and when there is no more room, they sit around my bed. “Ok, how about we do a nightly prayer. Repeat after me. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.” As we say amen, I give each of the boys a goodnight kiss. As the lines dwindle, Jack and Crutchie are the last to receive a goodnight kiss. I kiss Crutchies head and nudge him towards his bed. When I turn to Jack to give him a kiss, he grabs my face instead, kissing my forehead and telling me goodnight. I bury myself in the blankets and try to rest for the new day. 

New day, same headline. Newsies still need to pay 60 cents per hundred. Finally, we have enough of the treatment and chaos is everywhere. I watch in slow motion as Romeo gets backhanded by a cop. People are fighting everywhere. Oscar corners me and goes to throw a punch, and is ripped away by Jack. “Thanks hon!” We fight in tandem, working and throwing punches at everyone in sight. He shouts for me to duck, knocking out someone behind me. He helps me up and smirks. “Hey, what do you think about marrying me?” I turn with a punch to face him, “Seriously? Right now?” Rolling his eyes he responds, “No, just someday soon though. I mean the boys see me as their dad, and you as their Mother.” “We will talk about this later Jack Kelly.” I hear Crutchie screaming for help, being dragged off by his bum leg. I run and pry the bull off Crutch, and shove the boy at Jack. “Take him and go, I’ll get the rest of the boys.” I turn and shout to the rest. “Boys, back home! Meet Jack back at the house, I’m right behind you.” As they run off, I make sure everyone made it out. As I turn to take the alleyways back to Jack and back to my family, two bulls block my path. They grab me and haul me to the refuge kicking and screaming. 

During my time there, I became a mother to those kids as well. We said our prayers and I tucked them in at night. Every night I pray for Jack and my boys, that they’re safe and they’re fed. I’m not there for even a few days when I’m taken out of the overcrowded room I was shoved into. We walk to the courtyard from the day of the strike, and I see my boys, I see Crutchie alive and well, and most importantly, I see Jack. 

Once I am officially released, I run towards him, jumping into his arms. After setting me back down on solid ground he kneels down and pulls out a simple band. “Y/N, I love you, and I meant what I said earlier. You have been so good to these kids, to me. What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, will you marry me?” Crying I nod. “Yes. Yes!” He slips the ring on my finger, and our lips meet as the boys, and even governor cheer for us. We did end up getting married a couple years later, but that is a different story.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies/Teen Wolf AU

Title: Riddled

Summary: Race convinces Blink to take him to the hospital to figure out why he's sleep walking to the middle of nowhere and why he isn't in his own mind anymore. Everyone can tell something's wrong, but they can't figure out if it's supernatural or not. Or if they even have a chance at saving Race.

A/N: Hello again! So this scene is from Season 3b, technically episode 18 of Season 3 of the MTV show Teen Wolf. If you can't tell, I'm skipping around a lot and leaving plot holes since this is just random fics and not a series. In this scene, Race is representing one of the main protagonists/ the main antagonist of 3b. What's happening is he's slowly going insane and succumbing to an ancient spirit who thrives on chaos. No one knows this yet, so they think Race is suffering from the same illness that killed his biological mother. I strongly recommend watching the show on Amazon if you get the chance, it's definitely worth a watch!

Warnings: Sad, mentions of death, mentions of mental illness, fear.

***

"They're doing tests on Race all afternoon." Jack has to all but force the words as he walks with Albert through the school towards their last period. Although he knows after Race's disappearance and borderline breakdowns last night renders this necessary, he's still not happy about it. "I was going to go over at around 6:00 to visit. You want to come with me?"

"I should probably just go home." Albert takes a sharp breath, pursuing his lips and gripping the straps of his backpack tighter.

Alright, so maybe the chaotic spaz had grown on Albert. Race was one of the first people in the entire school to actually treat Albert like a human being and not an emotionless brat or a freak. He'd make an imprint on Albert, to say the least.

Albert's brought out of his daze by a locker being harshly, slammed shut. He flinches and sighs heavily once he realizes that he jumped, knowing Jack noticed.

"You sure you're alright?" Jack asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.

Lately, it's like Albert is just a ball of anxiety, including but not limited to being extremely jumpy. Whether it be from the latest death threats surrounding their friends or just the whole concept of being a supernatural creature capable of sensing death, he still hasn't figured it out.

"Yeah, I'll see you later." And with a forced smile, Albert hurries away from Jack and towards his last period. Jack watches his friend hurry off, another weight settling over his shoulders. Albert is good at a lot of things, lying included, but Jack can tell now that Albert is faking being alright. Nothing's alright, it hasn't been since Jack became an alpha.

With Race going completely off the rails and now Albert obviously having something wrong with him, Jack knows whatever "break" from the insanity of the supernatural world he had been given was over.

***

"I'm not sure if I actually know how to pronounce this. Or if it's a misspelling."

"Just call him Race." Blink's stoney expression makes the nurse nod. He hardly flinches when Ms. Medda sighs, shaking her head just a bit.

"Louis, I know you're worried, but don't take it out on the nurse. She's just doing her job." Medda tries to keep her own anxiety over the current matter in check. She's lucky enough to have gotten a break to be with Race during his tests, although she knows it's because she works at the hospital and she's right there if anyone needs her.

"Hey!" Medda and Blink both turn to see Jack in the doorway. "Have they started yet?"

"No, they're still getting ready." Medda offers Jack a warm smile, trying and hoping he'll at least stay calm. "You can go see him real quick, though."

Jack silently nods and slips past Blink and Ms. Medda, the two having already been in to comfort Race.

Jack doesn't say anything as he walks through an open door to a white room with a large machine in the center. Race sits on the machine, his shoulders slouched and his head hanging as he grips the hospital gown in one hand.

"Hey." Jack manages to withhold a gasp when he sees Race's face for the first time since finding him in the woods last night. There are large, purple circles under his eyes that resemble bruises and his eyes are very near to bloodshot. It's obvious he's tired, but there's something else in his expression that sets Jack off. He ignores it though and walks to stand in front of Race. "You okay?"

"You know what they're looking for, right?" Race shakes his head a bit and bites his lower lip before letting out a deep breath. "It's called frontotemporal dementia. Areas of your brain start to shrink. It's what my mother had. It's the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers. And there's no cure."

"Race, listen to me. If you have it, we'll do something. I'll do something." Jack's voice doesn't waiver and he clenches his jaw. He's an alpha now, meaning he can change someone. He could give Race the Bite and he'd be healed. He'd never wish this curse on anyone, but if it saved his best friend's- no, his brother's, life, it was worth it.

Jack nearly breaks as tears well up in Race's eyes and he dies hesitate to step closer and wrap his arms around Race, both of them squeezing each other tight as if they'll disappear if they let go. Jack holds Race for as long as he can, rubbing his upper back and occasionally running a hand through Race's hair to help calm him down. Jack knows how finicky Race can be and it'll only get worse with the noise of the MRI machine.

Jack holds and comforts Race until a doctor comes in to bring him back to the other side of the wall separating him and Race. Jack stands anxiously next to Medda, subconsciously chewing on his thumb nail and bouncing on his toes. Medda keeps calm, years of being a nurse having trained her to do so. Blink paces back and forth along the back wall, a million thoughts running through his head.

Although Jack and Medda heard everything about Race and Blink's parents and had an idea of what happened, Blink still remembers it all vividly. He was a young teenager at the time, so he experienced everything. His mother's breakdowns, her panic attacks because she didn't remember anything, her fear when she'd see Blink and Race and not know why two random children were in her house. Their father would try as hard as possible to help her, but in the end the dementia won. When it took their mother, their father went down with her.

Blink knows they were lucky to have found Medda, but he'd give anything to have his mother back. The woman who knew who he was and who loved him. If he could forget all of the horrible things she said when she didn't recognize him or Race, he would. If he could forget the pain he felt watching her slowly whither away, he would. If he could forget the fear he felt not knowing what would happen to her, he would.

Now that same fear haunts him. He knows it's genetic, he knows very well that him or Race or both of them could develop the same illness that nearly tore the family apart worse than it already was. Now that he has to consider that Race will go through exactly what their mother did? Fear isn't a strong enough word to describe how scared, worried, and utterly helpless Blink feels.

"Alright, Race, this will take about 45 minutes to an hour. Now remember, try not to move. Even just a little bit." The head doctor speaks through a microphone as Race lays down on the bed of the MRI. "You're going to hear that noise now. It's going to be a loud clanging. Kind of like a hammer hitting an anvil."

Race seems to robotically nod and the doctor starts the machine.

As he does, Jack frowns at the ground.

Last night, Spot helped Jack find Race by tracking his chemo-signals. They basically follows the smell of whatever Race was feeling. Spot described the scent as fear and struggle, but said Race had been struggling with himself.

Now, as Jack watches his best friend lay still in the machine, a new thought comes to mind.

"I need to find Spot, I'll be back before his test is done." Jack whispers to Medda. She squeezes his shoulder and nods for him to leave, knowing Blink is too preoccupied with his pacing to notice.

***

"Jack, what are we looking for? Just because I share some family secrets with you, doesn't mean you can drag me out in the middle of nowhere." Spot hesitantly follows Jack through the local preserve, stepping over fallen trees and trying to get an answer out of Jack.

"I think he was trying to protect us." Jack suddenly stops near the place they found Race. Spot raises a confused eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "I remember when he called me, he was completely freaked. He kept saying someone else was with him, but he wouldn't tell me where. It's like he wanted to, but he couldn't."

"So he was held hostage?" Spot looks around, as if looking for any signs of kidnapping.

"No, I he couldn't because he didn't want us to get involved. I think he was protecting us from himself." Jack sighs, one of the many weights lifting off his shoulders like he just solved the crime. "I don't think he was struggling with himself like you said he was. I think he was struggling not to do something."

"What, do you think Race would really do something violent towards-" Spot stops as Jack's phone starts ringing. Jack frowns in confusion and reaches to answer. He briefly checks the time before seeing it's Medda.

"Shit, Race's tests must be done." Jack quickly answers, guilt settling in his stomach. "Medda, hi, I'm sorry I'm not back yet. I promise-"

"Jack, something's happened." Jack stops talking and meets Spot's gaze, knowing he can hear Medda too.

"What do you mean?" Jack can hear the slight tremor in Medda's voice, but he can also hear Blink yelling and arguing with someone in the background. Jack's heart drops as he registers what Medda says next.

"Race is missing."

***

Hello everyone! This is another drabble of sorts and I know it's confusing if you haven't seen the show because 1) I'm not providing much foundation and 2) There's a lot of plot to each season. To sum it up, basically Race has been possessed by a mischievous, vengeful spirit from Japanese folklore known as the Nogitsune. It's disguising itself as the frontotemporal dementia that was mentioned and it playing games with Race to try and make him go insane. No one knows of any of this yet, but that's the basic plot line of season 3b.

I hope you liked this, if you want to see more please feel free to send me a message or an ask! If you have any scenes you'd like to see, just ask and I'll try my best to make them good!

[newsiepedia]

Character Profile: Jack (Film Version)

Real Name: Francis Sullivan. (Newsies Film script, page 77) In an earlier draft, his middle name was Malcom (Highlights of the 1991 Script)

Nickname and Meaning: Jack Kelly (alias, to avoid Warden Snyder), Cowboy (because he wants to leave for the wild wild west) 

Age: 17. (Newsies Film script, page 34)

Gender: Jack is always played by a man.

Family: Jack used to have a mother and father, (and possibly a little brother named Michael) but they are all heavily implied to be dead. (Newsies Film script, page 36) (Highlights of the 1991 Script) 

Jack…:

Is the leader of the Manhattan Newsies. He takes a much more authoritative but still friendly role than his musical counterpart. Jack tells the newsies what to do, (Newsies Film script, pages 40, 46, 65) but he also helps them out. (Newsies Film script, pages 2, 60) Crutchy trusts him enough to come to him for advice and guidance. (Newsies Film script, page 4) The boys are stated outright to “listen carefully” and “respect his opinion”. (Newsies Film script, page 8)

Jack isn’t close with any particular newsie- he spreads his attention equally between most of them. He sells with a different one each day, as when Crutchy asks who he’s selling with, he says he “Ain't decided yet.” (Newsies Film script, page 5) 

Loves telling and hearing jokes. In the very beginning of the movie, Jack is seen joking with Mush. (Newsies Film script, pages 3, 7)  He even jokes with Spot, (Newsies Film script, page 51) not to mention all the practical jokes he plays on the adults and the Delancey brothers.

Sticks up for the little guy. Jack sticks his neck out for the newsies, Davey, and Les multiple times. When the Delanceys target Snipeshooter for no reason, Jack stays by his side as he walks him back to his place in line. (Newsies Film script, page 13) Later, when Wiesel refuses to give Davey all his papers, Jack makes him give him another, and then buys Davey some more. (Newsies Film script, page 17) He also doesn’t let anything slide inside his group- when Kid Blink calls Crutchy a crip, Jack stands by Crutchy’s side, refuses to sell with Blink, and pushes him to the back of the line when the nuns give them food. (Newsies Film script, pages 8, 9) 

Is naturally charismatic. The newsies deeply respect Jack, even when they won’t obey any other authority figure. He is also described as like “Robin Hood and Br'er Rabbit rolled into one” and “his new hero” by Les, showing that people don’t even need to know him to be drawn to him. (Newsies Film script, page 15) During the fight at the theatre, Jack’s call of “Carryin’ the banner!” inspires the newsies to fight harder as well. (Newsies Film script, page 89) 

Loves kids. He immediately takes a shining to Les, offering to sell with him and paying special attention to him. (Newsies Film script, pages 18, 19) Although he and Davey originally agree to split their money 40-60, Jack can’t bring himself to take Les’s earnings, (Newsies Film script, page 22) and ends up splitting it evenly. (Newsies Film script, page 31) Later, when he goes to rescue Crutchy from the Refuge, he makes sure to greet a younger inmate and joke with him, even though it was wasting valuable seconds. (Newsies Film script, page 59) 

Puts on a big show of being tough, but cares a lot. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, Jack shows off. He deliberately wastes Wiesel’s time, (Newsies Film script, page 16) mocks Pulitzer and other important folk to their faces, (Newsies Film script, pages 48, 92, 93, 98, 128) and antagonizes the famous Spot Conlon. (Newsies Film script, page 53) But although he claims to not be afraid of striking, (Newsies Film script, page 49) he really is. Jack is terrified that someone will end up hurt, and eventually scabs out to avoid it. (Newsies Film script, page 104)

Is a pathological liar. Jack’s main strategy to sell his papes is lying, or as he puts it “improving the truth”. (Newsies Film script, page 23) But the lies don’t stop there- he lies to Davey and Les about his family, saying that they live “out West” when they’re almost certainly dead. (Newsies Film script, page 29) He lies to himself about not wanting his family back, singing “ain’t you glad that no one’s waiting up for you?” when he clearly longs for the closeness he saw in Davey’s family. (Newsies Film script, page 34)

Desperately wants a family. When Jack is invited over to the Jacobs’ apartment, he relishes in the experience. However, when he leaves, he pines over them, desperately trying to convince himself he doesn’t miss this. The whole of Santa Fe is pretty much about Jack’s need for a family. (Newsies Film script, pages 34, 35) Later, when Sarah tells him that her family is worried about him, he can barely believe what she’s saying, implying that he’s imagined some family wanting to take him in before but had little hope of it actually happening. He seems disappointed when she brings up his fictional family as well. (Newsies Film script, page 75) In the end, it’s the Jacobs inviting Jack into their family (not any of the newsies) that makes him decide to stay in New York. (Newsies Film script, pages 135, 136) This is probably because his parents were the ones who told him tales of the wild west, and now that he has a family he doesn’t need to fulfill their dreams for them anymore. (Newsies Film script, page 36)

Wants to be free. Jack is not afraid of Warden Snyder- he risks being caught by him multiple times in order to make the other newsies laugh. (Newsies Film script, pages 61, 73) However, when he’s sentenced to jail time, Jack is terrified. (Newsies Film script, page 93) He doesn’t fear Snyder- he fears not being able to achieve his dreams of going out west. However, Jack doesn’t want to abandon the people he loves- he gives up his ticket money to Medda to rent the theatre for the strike, even after she says he doesn’t have to. (Newsies Film script, pages 71, 72)

Is smart. Although he has probably never gone to school, Jack can summon eloquent speeches on the spot. (Newsies Film script, pages 41, 42, 69, 81) He can also count his papes with his eyes closed. (Newsies Film script, page 16) 

Can’t talk to girls. Despite being eloquent when faced with starvation, beatings, and stress, Jack literally cannot talk when Sarah enters the room. (Newsies Film script, page 31)

Headcanon Fuel:

What happened to Jack’s family?

Why does Jack love kids?

Why does Jack care about helping people so much?

How did Jack become leader of the Manhattan newsies?

Why isn’t Jack afraid of Spot?

Where did Jack learn rhetoric and public speaking?

Why doesn’t Jack have any best friends within the newsies’ group?

Actors and Physical Appearance:

Christian Bale

Jack is tall and masculine, with longish blonde hair and deep set eyes. He wears a red bandanna, alluding to his dreams of being a cowboy.

[rustic-space-fiddle]

Part 4 – The Grave of Crutchie Morris

Friday morning lit up the city, and Race returned as he promised, bleary eyed with Spot in tow. The crew had planned to expand their area of search by at least two miles, and to check every train station and cabbie service in Manhattan to see if he’d just left town. Jack had spent the majority of the night sketching missing person signs to put up. He’d managed to make fifty of them before he finally blacked out from exhaustion.

They split ito teams of two, each team taking a small stack of Jack’s signs to tack up. Elmer was with Boots, Specs with Mush, and Race with Spot. Jack however, insisted on searching alone. Race thought that was a stupid idea, and said so.

“Get Davey,” he suggested. “He’s smart. Plus he’s better with people.”

“I’m just fine with people,” Jack argued, but the others agreed.

They set out on their search, Jack taking the route that would pass the Jacobs’ household. Davey was eager to help, and Les insisted on tagging along as well, despite Davey’s protests. And off they went again.

Hours passed, and they hadn’t found anything. Some people had recognized the image of Crutchie from times when he had sold them papers, but no one had seen him around for days. Les found a few of his stray newsie friends and told them too, and offered them each a penny to help their search. Davey asked store clerks and grocers to post flyers in their windows, and when they ran out, Jack bought some butchers’ paper and drew more.

At one point, a couple of policemen passed by on their horses, and Les suddenly turned to the older boys with a look of panic. “What if he got rolled up?” he whispered loudly.

Davey quickly looked at Jack. “You think?”

Jack exhaled, grimacing. “I dunno. They don’t roll us up nearly as much now that Teddy shut down Snyder. I mean, I’m pretty sure the guy sent a notice out to leave Crutchie alone. Like him specifically.”

Davey almost laughed. “Are you serious?”

“If I wasn’t, I’d have busted into juvie like two days ago.”

“Did he put one out for you?”

Jack scratched his chin, looking somewhat abashed. “Well, no. He said I’ve stolen too many horses. So I can still get locked up. Ya know, if need be.”

Davey and Les both cackled. “Gotta keep the city safe somehow!” Davey almost howled.

“Look out! It’s Jack the horse thief!” Les hollered. “Even the gov’ner don’t trust him!”

“Oh, shut up,” Jack glared, but he was smiling.

“Come on,” Davey slapped Jack on the shoulder, wiping tears from his eyes. “Let’s keep looking, Horse Thief.”

* * *

Ten hours, twelve minutes, and forty-eight seconds. That’s how Jesse had been walking, leaping over downed trees and climbing over boulders each tacking a few extra seconds onto his trek. He’d been counting his footsteps until he lost track and had to start again, the only way to keep his mind from wandering back to that little Lodging House in Manhattan, New York.

One hundred eight, one hundred nine, one hundred ten…

He had considered stopping to rest, as even immortals can grow weary, but he knew that as soon as sat down, his mind would stand up and read him a sililoquy of guilt.

A rush of hooves exploded off to his right, and four deer away leaped across his path, causing him to stumble backwards before they darted away into the trees and faded from view.

Jesse caught his breath and realized he’d been thinking again. Maybe counting his steps wasn’t helping as much as he thought.

He pulled off his knapsack and dropped it, plopping to the ground and flopping over. He stared up at the canopy of tree branches above him, wishing he could shut his brain off and just not exist for a moment. After a moment he reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter, now wrinkled and damp from the journey.

He unfolded it slowly and read it again.

“They’ve got onto us,” it said. “They know you’re there. Return to Treegap to remap. Love, Father Time”.

Father Time was the code name their father used in messages. Their mother was Mother Time, of course, with Miles and Jesse being First of Time and Last of Time, respectively. If anyone saw their mail, they wouldn’t have their names. It was sort of stupid, Jesse had argued. People have got records now, and besides, they’ve been “dead” for years! What good would these be? But the others had insisted, and despite the many times he rolled his eyes at them, the code names were fun.

He wondered who “they” was. He’d successfully played the part of crippled newsboy for almost six years, and no one had figured him out, as far as he knew. It was amazing how many questions you could avoid by simply donning a crutch.

Granted, that disguise had cost him somewhat. After six years, he’d been so immersed in the role that he’d actually begun to think he might be lame. It had stopped being an act and become a bit of a curse. When he dropped the disguise, it had taken a good two miles or so of forced, shakey, painful steps before his legs finally remembered that they were invincible. Even after all the walking and climbing, they still felt strange. Oddly, he found that he almost missed the pain. It had made him feel strangely human to be so flawed.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself. What sort of person wished he couldn’t walk? He’d missed running and climbing and leaping and dancing! But as he lay there alone, under the trees, he found he missed being Crutchie Morris, scarred by polio and surrounded by his newsboy brothers. The boy who had nothing, and yet had everything.

What did Jesse have? All the time in the world, and no one to worry about? Maybe he’d have said that six years ago, but now he understood what everyone—his parents, Miles, and even Winnie Foster—had been telling him, and right then, he realized that he’d much rather die with the newsies than spend the rest of eternity alone.

But the world, as cruel as it was, had decided for him.

|||——————————————|||

Part 4 of The Grave of Crutchie Morris. Parts 3, 2, and 1 are under #the grave of Crutchie Morris. I’ll start including links to the other parts, but rn I have no idea how to do that so yEET.

As always plz TELL ME IF THERES GRAMMAR OR SPELLING PROBLEMS and also plz review because idk what I’m doing I’m just making this up as I go lolllllll k thanks! Bai

[the-great-imagines-of-1812]

I never planned on you

part 2 to the  jack Kelly series.

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

It had been an especially long day at work that day. You and Kath were both so exhausted. You and her were ready; ready to leave the office that afternoon when your boss decided it would be fun to leave more papers and forms on your desk. "You could leave them for tomorrow, you know." Kath said, as she sat down on one of the chairs in front of your desk. 

You shook your head, letting out a long sigh. "Kath, its not even that much. You go ahead and start walking home. I'll se you later." Kath sighed, kissed your head, and left your office.

As soon as she left, you picked up the first folder of papers and noticed something different. These papers weren't meant for you to see. They had given you the wrong file. As your curiosity got the best of you, you opened the folder and peeked inside.

You gasped. 

JOESEPH PULITZER RAISES THE PRICE OF PAPERS- 60 CENTS PER 100

You covered your mouth with your hand in shock as you realized what your fath- **cough** PULITZER was going to do to the newsies. You knew what he was planning. His circulation was going down. 

You felt so bad for those boys. Especially Jack.

You put the paper back in the folder and set it aside.  You would return it tomorrow to your boss. 

A couple of hours later, you were nearly done with all the extra work they had given you when you noticed one last paper. You sighed, picking it up and looking it over. You had to do a review on tonight's performance at Medda Larkin's theatre; the bowery. 

You smiled. At least this was a fun one. She was a parental figure to you and Kath growing up; seeing as you lost your mother at an early age and your father was barely around. You turned off the lamp in your office as you slipped the paper and pen into your pocket. 

You folded your paper and pen and put them in your pocket as you walked towards the theatre.

When you walked into the theater, you saw what looked liked three newsboys talking to Medda. Your cheeks quickly turned red as you recognized one of them as Jack. Medda quickly spotted you as she finished talking to him. 

"Y/N! Kiddo, c'mere! It's been been a while" She gave you a tight hug. When you both pulled apart, you turned around to make direct eye contact with Jack. He looked like he wanted to say something to you, but before he could, the smaller newsie, a bit more well-dressed than Jack, ran up to you excitedly saying "Hi! I'm Les! This is my brother David-" he said pointing back at who you assumed was his brother. "and this is Jack." you smiled, finnaly breaking your gaze with Jack.

You crouched down to Les's level, shaking his hand as he smiled. "Hello there. I'm Y/N Plumber. It's so nice to meet you!" you finished with a smile. Les motioned for you to pick him up and you happily obliged. He rested your head on your shoulder and said "Dave, can we keep her? I really like her!" 

David looked at you and blushed. Out of the corner of your eye, you say jack clench his jaw and fist. 

"C-c'mon, Les t-the show's about to start" he stuttered never letting his gaze fall off you. Les groaned and shuffled out of your arms, and he walked over and took Davey's hand as he led them to their seats. Davey looked back at you, face red as a tomato. 

But you didn't pay attention, as you were now in conversation with Jack. You were both laughing and talking and only broke conversation when one of the workers came over to Medda, telling her her show was about to start. 

Jack ran over to Davey and Les, where you guessed he was sitting with. Medda patted your shoulder and said that you had the top right box. You thanked her and immediately climbed up. 

Medda was almost done with her song- "That's Rich" - is one of your personal favorites. The Bowery Beauties had just come in when you noticed Jack had climbed in next to you in the box.

"A smart goil, 'huh?" he asked, smiling and leaning against the railing. 

"I-I'm working" you said, as you blushed and ducked your head down. 

"I'se like smart goils. beautiful, smart, independent-" you heard him say before completely focusing on your writing. 

Jack's POV

I leaned against the railing, smiling at her. After making it clear that she needed to get back to work, I sat on the railing and took a  newspaper out of my pocket. I began to draw her. 

 It doesn't do her justice. when it's done, I left it for her to find on the floor. 

I realized as I got to the bottom of the ladder.

"I never planned on someone like you~" I said smiling, thinking of her.

Davey's POV 

As I saw Jack up there with her, I though that I should be the one up there with her, making her laugh and blush. 

Then I realized- I never planned on her.

Your POV

As I finished the review, I turned around. I saw a newspaper and picked it up. It was a drawing.

A drawing of me. 

I smiled and held it to my heart.

It must've been Jack. 

My cheeks went red as I tucked it in my Jacket. 

As I climbed down the box, I saw Medda and ran over to thank her. 

I didn't see any of the boys on the way out. 

On the way home, I realized I couldn't stop thinking about Jack.

I never planned on him. 

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

hope this was good!

[justrednow]

Stronger

Heh

Warnings: violence, language, gore descriptions, child abandonment, smol spot, and short paragraphs because I'm writing this on a phone don't judge me

Word count: 3463

________________

Sean was still terrified of the two boys infront if him. They had proved they were passive but he didn't want to trust them. One was tall and pale with a fluff of cherry red hair. He was the one who had started the chase.now theubhad him cornered but they made no movement to attack him.

"I told ya it's the same kid!" The red head exclaimed to his friend, and African American boy with black curly hair. Sean could practically hear his heart beat. "Jesus, ya run fast, kid!"

"I would be running fast too if you were chasing me," the other nudged him on the arm. "Relax kid, we ain't here to hurt you." Sean's eyes darted between them. He didn't drop his guard for a second. " My name's Ash," he introduced himself, "this is Zig."

Sean frowned, "those are strange names." He couldn't help but crack a smile when he heard them laugh.

"He speaks!" Zig grinned, showing his gapped teeth. "So why are ya out here by ya self all the time?" Sean bit his lip, unsure if telling the truth would help it hurt. "Ain't ya know this is a bad place? Most of the Brooklyn kid woulda beat ya up!"

Sean blinked in surprise. He had made it this long, no one had confronted him before. "Let's start with a better question, what's your name?" Ash knelt down to his height.

"Sean Conlon..." Sean told him.

"That ain't a newsie name," Zig interuppted though Sean really had no more to say. "I mean you clearly ain't a newsie. You could be though."

"Calm down," Ash set a hand on his friend, "we just met him don't over whelm him. Where's your folks?'

Sean bit his lip, his jaw rocking a little. Finally he answered vaguely, "gone."

"We! Can we keep him?" Zig teased a bit, though Sean was sure that he was serious. He wasn't sure what keep meant or what they would do with him. Maybe they were taking him somewhere to stay. That wouldn't be awful. In fact he figured it would be great. He could sleep inside again.

Ash chuckled, confirming to Sean that the precious statement was a joke and it allowed him to ease up just a bit more. He felt no real tension any more. He could see that they were friends. "Well he isn't a dog."

"To be honest, don't he got those big puppy eyes?" Zig pointed at Sean's face. "I had a pup that had eyes like them."

Ash studied his face for a while, he clearly didn't see what Zig was seeing. He just shook it off and laughed again, rather than trying to argue. "We could call him Spot," he suggested, "people name there dogs that."

"He does look like a Spot," Zig admitted, "What do ya think kid?"

Sean honestly didn't know What they were talking about. He understood they were giving him a name but he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like a nickname or anything. But maybe it was why they had such strange names. It made him winder what their names actually were but he figured it wouldn't be nice to ask. "Sure.."

"Alright, Spot, how about you come back to the lodge with us," Zig suggested. "You can be a newsie!" And nodded, clearly not having the same enthusiasm, but he was happy. He straightened up and started walking. Spot realized that it might not have been a suggestion, but he wasn't going to say no. He quickly started to follow Zig and Ash. He realized that he would now have a bed and a job. This was clearly not bad.

The two boys lead him through Brooklyn. Spot had never taken the time to look at things. The tall buildings and shouting on the street. People bargaining for eggs and chattering about their life. He couldn't help but smile. There was something about it that was freeing to him. 1894 was starting to seem like a promising year. It had started awful but now it was looking up.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and yank him back. "Wake up kid!" Ash shook him lightly. "You're going to walk in front of a cart!"

Spot nodded a thanks to him and continued walking once zig started leading again. "Spot, you is going to love it! Everyone's great," he promised. "We ain't had a new kid since we got the little Spanish girl." Spot glanced up more. Spanish girl.

He knew Spanish. His father was from Spain, his mother from Italy. They met on the boat over. Or something like that. He really wasn't sure, the story seemed to change everytime. But he knew where they were from and that was good enough for him. He wondered if the girl was from Spain or if it was just her family. He had been born in America. If she had been born in America did that mean she spoke English. Spot hoped that she spoke both languages like him. He doubted the others knew how to speak Spanish so maybe they could talk in secret. Spot wondered if there were other Spanish speakers as well. He doubted it but there was a possibility.

"Almost there," Ash announced as they crossed a street.

Spot had barely noticed the change of scenery from the bold colors of the vibrant Brooklyn to the smokey haze and brown. The shouts were less energetic and more angry. Despite that it was quieter. His first thought was what had he gotten himself into. But he also knew that it would be better than what he had already. Which was nothing.

They spent a few more minutes walking. Spot wished that they were a little more talkative, but he didn't want to be the one to start conversation. He couldn't help but feel like there was a reason they weren't speaking. The neighborhood was bad, no one needed to tell him that. There was no way her be seeing some high class lady around here. Even where his family had lived was nicer.

He looked back at Ash and Zig. They had kept checking on him with little glimpses, mostly yo make sure he didn't make a run for it. Spot decided that he wasn't scared of this place, he could be just as tough as it. And if not he would just have to be tougher. But still he couldn't help but jump when he heard a scream and a glass break. Zig and Ash were unfazed by the sudden noise. But Ash did look back at Spot. "You will get used to it," he slowed down to walk at Spots side. "I remember my first time walking through here. Someone threw a rock at my head."

"Why'd they do that?" Spot frowned. Was this place that crazy. He realized that being stronger was going to be how he survived. It didn't take a genius to see survival of the fittest was how this area was run.

Ash let out a dark chuckle. "They didn't like the way I look. Didn't like that I was on the same side of the street that they were sitting on."

"That's not fair!" Spot snapped his head to look at Ash. He couldn't understand what was wrong with people being different. He was always told that he was lucky that he looked like his mother. People wouldn't judge him.

Ash smiled loosely, "it is what it is. You just have to ignore the people like that." He looked back at Spot, "besides what you give is what you get. I try to work hard and be nice to everyone and it pays off."

Spot let out a huff, " it did?"

"Yes it did," Ash glanced at him as he looked a head. Zig was getting ahead. Ash walked a bit faster, motioning for Spot to do the same. "People treat me better. They're more willing to buy from me if they have before." He sighed, "of course there is still a lot of whispers and shouts. But I can't afford for it to get to me."

Spot looked down at the cobble paved street. He felt a little sorry that he had asked. It seemed like a bad question to ask, after he got the answer. "But if I'm honest I would rather deal with the name calling than have people assume."

"What does that mean?" Spot frowned, he meant no further disrespect but he honestly didn't know what that meant.

"When we're in the "nice" area of Brooklyn people will make assumptions. They will tell me to do things when I am not a servant," Ash confessed. There was anger in his tone. It made Spot feel a little more intimidated by him. "They won't buy from me because they think I'm a dirty begger."

"You're not," Spot looked at him, "I don't think any of the newsies are."

Ash slowly started to grin and stopped walking. He out a hand on Spots arm, "you're going to fit right in." He gave him a pat before he started walking again. The reassurance made Spot feel more comfortable. "I really think they're going to like you."

"Yeah?" Spot nodded. He tried to think if what else could be said. " how many are there?" Ash glanced at him with a cocked eyebrow. "Newsies."

Ash let out a thoughtful blow of air. His eyes raised go the grey sky as he counted in his mind. Spot could hear little bits of names. Snake. Rat. Scar.... at least Spot hoped they were names. He didn't consider himself all that brave, and snakes didn't sound to great. Rats weren't exactley exciting either. "If say about twentyish, depending on the day."

"Twenty?!" Spot gasped. How was he supposed to know everyone. Would they want to know him? One benefit was that at least one was bound to want to be his friend. Worst comes to worst he could just leave, he decided.

Ash laughed once again. Spot was starting to find that his laugh seemed to mean that he was to worried about things. "Trust me everyone is easy to remember." Ash called ahead to Zig, "is Bone back?"

"I don't think so," Zig fell back slowly so he could walk beside them. "So we shouldn't have any trouble really." Spot bit on his lip, trouble wasn't a word he wanted to hear. "Bone is our leader. He ain't got the best temper. But don't worry ya self, he comes around." Ash smiled blankly and nodded, he seemed to disagree but wasn't sure he wanted to say anything. "Unless ya just want to talk to Vex with no trouble."

Ash grinned, "you got me." He pushed Zig lightly. "Really I just don't want him to be all upset then see Spot. He might be calm enough to actually want to deal with him." Spot stared nervously at Ash. He did not want to be dealt with and he didn't want to know why him being calm was a bad thing. "Don't worry, Spot, he won't hurt you."

"Not unless ya from queens!" Zig pounded his own knuckles into his palm. "Which ya ain't. Even if ya is, ya ain't." Spot wasn't from Queens, if he was honest he didn't know where that was. He barely knew where he was.

"And look at that!" Ash clapped his hand on Spots back, "we're here!" The building was brick and a bit of wood. The Windows were candle lit and shouting was heard from inside. Two boys sat on the curb, smoking. A few feet from them a group was playing with marbles and cards, some made up game.

"Ashy's back!" One boy yelled, he looked younger than Spot by a few years. Ten by Spots guess. He ran over, "who's the new kid?" The younger boy had an upturned nose and rosy cheeks. His hair was similar in color to Zigs.

"I see no greeting for ya own brother?" Zig crossed his arms and turned his head away from the little boy.

"This is Spot," Ash explained, "Spot, this is Pig."

Pig stuck his dirt covered hand out. "I'm Ziggy's little brother! Our parents left us here!"

"Wow," Spot shook his hand with a nervous smile," good to know..." He wasn't sure that he wanted to tell them what happened to his family or if he was supposed to.

"Pig!" Zig shook his head, "ya can't just say that to strangers!"

"Why not, y'all say it all the time!" Pig ripped his hand away from Spot and shoved them into his pockets, thumbs sticking out of the top.

Zig looked in defeat at his little brother. "Is Vex here?"

"She's with the other girls," Pig said before running away.

Zig looked at Ash, "Looks like Bone ain't back."

"No, he isn't," he put a hand on Spots shoulder again and lead him inside. Inside the kids were older. A few of them were talking, muttering about fights. Others discussed food and where the best selling spots were for high traffic. Spot looked around in amazement at the newsies. They looked like they could each easily pull of his head without a second look. He couldn't help but think about how he would be one of them. It was intimidating and scary, but st the same time he wouldn't be the little fish in the pond.

Ash and Zig took him past taller boys yelling and laughing at each other. Spot walked close to them as they walked down a hall and stared a much queite r room. Inside a girl sat facing away from them on a stool. She had caramel blonde hair that was tied up in a loose bun. She wore a white, blue dotted blouse and a black skirt. In front of her she brushed the hair of a much younger girl, around Spots age. She had tightly curled black hair and a red dress. The two were nearly opposite in appearance. Spot heard the turning if a book page and looked to another girl with dusty brown hair and nearly white skinny hands. The book girl was in between them in age. She looked ill.

Ash rapped his hand on the frame of the door. "May if we come in?" He sounded. The blonde girl spun her head around with a wide smile. She had warm brown eyes that welcomed Spot into the room.

"You're always welcome," she made her way over to them and hugged Ash. He kissed her cheek. "I was beginning to think we'd be apart for forever." Zig closed the door behind them, peering out into the hall to check for someone before doing so.

"I wouldn't have let that happen, my dear," Ash squeezed her arm. Zig cleared his throat. "We brought another kid."

"Oh give me a break!" She laughed. Ash lightly pushed Spot forward.

"This is Spot," Ash introduced, "we found him uptown." Spot waved, feeling strangely shy. "Spot, this is Vex." Spot' s feelings turned from shyness to shock. When he had heard the name Vex he imagined someone much more frightening. He couldn't imagine how anyone could call her a Vex. The younger girl walked over. "This is Rafaela."

"Bienvinidos," she greeted. Vex shot her a look but Spot grinned.

"Bienvinidos," he repeated back to her. Rafeala reflected his joy knowing that he could speak her language.

"We've been trying to get her to speak English," Vex crossed her arms, "but it's hard when you can't talk to her well!"

"I can speak Spanish," Spot told Vex. "¿Entiendas íngles un poco?" He asked Rafaela.

"Un poco..." Rafeala rocked her hand, "pero es defícl cuanto ellos gritan a mi..."

"Now there's two of them," Zig joked as the two continued to talk to each other. "At least one speaks English."

Vex let out a long sigh, "we would be making progress with her if people stopped interuppting."

"You weren't in the middle of anything were you?" Ash asked, going to hold her again.

"Not at all," she smiled, "even if we were I'd stop for you."

"So what finally drove Bone to leave for the day?" He kissed her cheek again.

Vex looked at him and rolled her eyes, "Queens is stirring up trouble. They want to start selling on the bridge. I have a feeling we'll be patching wounds tonight."

Ash nodded solemnly. "One day it will be fine. I really think that all this would go away if Bone got finally injured good."

"Of course it would," Vex left his arms and sat down on her bed, "I swear is all this worth a damn bridge!"

"No" Ash moved to her.

Spot watched them and started speaking in Spanish. "What's happening."

"I don't know," Rafeala told her new friend, "we have this leader, his name is Bone. He likes fighting."

"Why?" Spot grimaced at the thought of enjoying a fight. He hadn't been in many but when he was he always lost and it was always painful. "It's not fun."

"Maybe it is for him," Rafaela suggested thought the time of her voice made Spot think she didn't believe her own words.

Spot bit his lip and decided to change the subject to friendlier topics. "How old are you?"

"13," she responded, "and you?"

"14," he shrugged, "almost."

Rafaela laughed at him, "why are you so short! You look like you're 11!"

Spot narrowed his eyes, he hated being reminded of his size. But before he could let out his sour retort there was a loud door slam and some shouting. He threw his head over to look at Ash and Vex, who's only reaction seemed to be remorse.

Ash stepped back, "when will it long enough?"

"Never..." Vex brushed her hand against his arm and looked down at the folds of her skirt. He kissed her forehead then walked to Spot.

"Time to meet Bone," Ash opened the door and the two were joined by Zig. The group walked out if the room, leaving the girls behind. Zig gently nudged Spot to walk in front of them. He felt the same sickening nerve set into his gut. His muscles felt tense and heavy. Unlike earlier he had reason to be afraid. And when a group of older boys came to his view Spot wanted to die. They were all bleeding and bruised. One seemed to be everyone's focus.

Spot knee immediately that he was Bone. He had dark and dangerous eyes, a dark purple and red bruise was forming just under his black eyes. He had dried blood staining under his upturned nose and sweat made his streaked brown hair messy. Spot saw along his collar bone, where his shirt had been torn, a long thin white scar etched itself in his skin. A matching one slid down his forearm like a snake.

Over the hubbub of newsboys talked about a bloody fight Bone yelled, "where's Vex!"

The girl ran out to him. He smirked and held out his arms and embraced her. "There she is! My enchantress!" She grinned and laughed as she pushed her hands into his hair. Spot stared in utter confusion, she was doing the same thing to Ash not a minute ago, though this time it seemed more aggressive than playful. He looked up at Ash who wore a painfully straight face as he watched the two share a kiss. Bone whispered things to her, making her laugh more.

"A new newsie came in today," Vex finally took his arms away and motioned her hand to Spot.

Bone walked over to him. Spot stepped back in fear. The older boy smelled like blood and something strong like the drinks his father would bring home.

"He's scrawny," Bone looked him over, "but he looks like he could have the potential..." without warning he shoved Spot backwards. He yelped but threw up his hands to protect himself against the attack.

"Good..." He grew a devilish smirk, "Archer!" He waved one of the fighting boys over. Spot stared at him, he was far more battered and worn but he still stood tall and daunting. He had narrow black eyes and swept back black hair that had clearly been fixed as he walked in. His own loght button up shirt was bloodstainrd from earlier battles. Spot couldn't help but wonder why he was so damaged yet he must have had plenty of experience. "Teach him to fight and take him around the turf. Show him the ropes of selling."

Bone patted the boy on the back before walking away to go flirt with Vex. Spot straightened himself out, not wanting to look like a mess. "Like a little prince," Archer messed up spots hair, making him flinch. "Prim as a flower." He laughed and looked at Bone. "Don't think you'll ever be a king."

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Murder in the Manor, Part One

So, I accidentally forgot about this fic until @crutchieheadcanons reminded me about it. So, here’s the first chapter, and the next three will be forthcoming. Anyway, this fic idea came this one day when I woke up, totally craving that old movie, the live-action Casper. This story does have a couple homages to that movie, but you don’t need to see it to understand the plot and characters and such. (That movie, though, was one of my favorite movies as a kid, so I just had to write a fic around it.) Fair warning, though, I finished this fic back in March and my writing, since then, has improved. Just a heads-up. It’s not awful, but it’s not my top notch stuff, either. Well, without further ado:

June 15, 1921

Kat Kelly stared up at the imposing building before her. Dark, creeping ivy shadowed half of the building, its inky tendrils stretching towards boarded up windows. The parts of the building that were visible sported faded red bricks that had been chipped away at by the elements and the memories of boys, long forgotten. Thorns itched at the base of the building, twisted branches bracing themselves against the crumbling brick. A rusty fire escape to Kat’s left rattled in the breeze and she shivered, unsure if the creaking sound or the cool wind caused the involuntary shaking. A dark door with a black iron handle created the illusion of a gaping crevasse at the front of the building. This. Would. Suck. There was no other way to describe this whole crappy experience. “How about this?” Kat’s father announced, coming up beside her and throwing his arm around her shoulder. “It’s like the start of some sort of adventure!”

“It looks like the entire building’s going to collapse at any moment,” Kat muttered, refusing to be excited.

“Oh, come on, Kat, I’m sure it’s plenty sturdy,” her father pointed out, pounding his fist against the brick wall. The thumping sound reverberated for a moment, before her father continued, “See? Solid.”

Kat smiled softly. “Or you just weakened the wall and we’re going to be crushed in our sleep.”

“Well, aren’t you a little beam of sunshine,” her father commented, shuffling through his pockets until he found the key to the building. Even the key seemed decrepit. Its body was elongated with sharp, boxy teeth on the end and smudged with some unidentifiable substance. Her father crossed the steps in one quick bound, leaping toward the door. Kat followed much more cautiously, afraid that if she wasn’t constantly watching where she put her foot, something disgusting would scurry over it.

After a bit of fumbling with the key, her father managed to unlock the door and swung it open. “Ta-da!” he announced, sweeping his arms across the room.

“This looks…” Kat trailed off, unsure of what to say. A layer of dust covered every surface in the room. She gently swept her hand across a nearby window sill, sickened by the thick gray particles that stuck to her fingers. A large white cloth was draped over what appeared to be a sofa, but only added an ambiance of terror to the room. A chandelier hung crookedly from the roof and it appeared as if all the lightbulbs had been smashed. There was a table with chairs scattered around it across the room and it appeared as if at least two of the chairs had broken legs. Curtains, once, had hung proudly before the window. Now, only tattered strands quivered in the breeze from the open door, the fabric faded to the point of complete and total discoloration.

“Homey?” her father suggested, tearing Kat from her thoughts.

“I was going to say haunted,” she muttered, stepping further into the room. “I swear, dad, if there is some dead guy here, I am moving. With or without you.”

Her father laughed. “Come on, Kat. This will be fun. You know, I used to live here when I was your age.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I think you’ve told me at least thirty times.”

“Okay, smart aleck. Let’s see if we can find a room for you,” her father suggested, leading her through the decrepit main room and up a staircase. “There are a couple of bedrooms and you can just choose whichever you want. There’s a main one on the first floor that I’ll have. Used to be Kloppmann’s,” her father explained, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’ll just take this first one,” Kat decided, gesturing to the nearest door. She pulled it open, revealing three bunk beds grouped together, only leaving a small amount of extra floor space. The bunk beds were scarred and gouged, the only remaining memories of its previous occupants. The floor had been scuffed by countless dirty shoes and, if Kat closed her eyes, she could almost hear the pounding of running feet against the wooden flooring. She could almost see the wide grins, the playful shoves, the pillows tossed across the room.

“We could probably move those extra bunk beds if you wanted,” her father offered, his voice shattering the illusion.

“And risk angering the spirits here?” Kat joked. “I think I’ll take the cramped space instead, thank you.”

Her father laughed. “Well, you get settled in. I’m going to start unpacking and,” he swiped his finger on the wall, pulling away a bunch of cobwebs and making a face, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m going to dust this entire place.”

“Looks like mom actually did manage to rub off on you,” Kat laughed, before sobering. She hadn’t meant to bring up her mother, had promised herself that she wouldn’t even think of her mother ever again. Her father’s face fell and Kat regretted saying anything. Her father tried to smile, but it seemed distorted, twisted, somehow..

Eventually, he just muttered, “Yeah, sure looks like it. Wouldn’t she be surprised?” If it was an attempt at a joke, it was unsuccessful.

Kat coughed awkwardly. “Um, okay, thanks, dad. I’ll just start unpacking my stuff.”

Her father nodded stiffly. “Shout if you need anything. I’ll make dinner in a couple hours.” He smiled again, the motion bitter. “You can explore, too, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Kat muttered sarcastically.

With a soft smile, her father squeezed her shoulder before exiting the room. He paused outside the door, before turning back. “This will work out, Kat. I swear it will. It’s just for a month or so. Just until I can get back on my feet. Then we’ll find somewhere nice to live, I promise.”

“I know, dad.” Her father nodded once, before walking away. Kat sat down on the nearest bunk bed, surprised that the mattress was actually somewhat soft. She ran her hand over the post of the bunk bed, wondering what sort of memories were attached to this room. Her father had only told her the basics of the building. It used to be some sort of lodging house for all the Manhattan newsies. Since her father’s time as a newsie, the lodging house had fallen into disrepair. Now, whatever newsies remained found lodging elsewhere throughout the city. She kicked the base of the bunk bed, wondering what sort of boys had slept here, wondering if her father had ever inhabited this bed. Had they curled up, blankets pulled up to their chin in the winter? Had blankets been kicked to the base of the bed in the overwhelming heat of the summer?

Kat set her suitcase on the floor and began unpacking. She pulled her old sheet onto the bed, situating her pillow at the head. It only took ten minutes for her to be able to finish unpacking her sparse belongings. They had never had a lot of money, growing up, but Kat had never felt bereft. That is, until her mother died. Now…

Now, it felt as if their whole family was collapsing. Her father was trying so hard to keep it together and Kat knew that he tried to hide his grief from her, but Kat wasn’t stupid. She was sixteen, after all. To make matters worse, he had been laid off at work and they had been forced out of the apartment that Kat had called home for as long as she had remembered. It was pure luck that her father’s friend had mentioned that the old Lodging House was available, if they needed someplace to stay. Kat figured that, if it weren’t for the friend, they’d be living on the streets. She should be thankful that they had somewhere to live, even if the building probably had some half-rotted skeleton stuffed in a closet.

With a sigh, Kat stood up. She had absolutely nothing to do. School wouldn’t start for another two months, which normally meant that Kat would be out with her friends, except, now, her friends were halfway across the city. She had no one. “Guess I might as well explore a bit,” Kat muttered to herself.

She left her room, pausing to shut the door. Down the stairs, Kat could hear her father humming as boxes thumped and shifted. The sound of the door closing must have been loud enough for her father to hear, because he called up, “You okay, Kat?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to poke around a bit,” Kat shouted back.

“Sounds good. Holler if you need me.”

“Will do,” Kat called out, before continuing further down the hallway. She passed a couple doors, intent on starting with the farthest door and making her way back to her room. The door at the very end of the hallway had been gouged, long gashes splintering the wood. Kat frowned. “Come on, dad. You were so destructive.” She tugged on the handle of the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Kat pulled even harder, jiggling the smudged bronze handle. Nothing. “Well, guess I’m not allowed in there,” she muttered.

The next door revealed another room with bunk beds pushed together. One mattress had been tugged from its home on the bed and sagged onto the floor. The door past that was the same, another mattress tossed to the ground. Across the hall was a bathroom, though it looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned for innumerable years. The mirror was streaked with dirt, slashing right across the base of her face and her neck. “Gross, dad,” Kat whispered. “You were a slob.” She rubbed at the grime on the mirror, but it wouldn’t come off. Kat tried to chip at the slash, but nothing she did and no amount of water seemed to wash it off. Giving up, Kat moved on.

The room adjacent to the bathroom looked to be some sort of common room or game room. There was a small table in the center of the room with a chess set in the middle of the table. Two chairs had been tossed to the edge of the room, one chair had a broken leg marring its body. “Huh,” Kat huffed in surprise, stepping forward to examine the chess pieces, which had been placed carefully in their respective positions on the board. “This has been here for… who knows how long…” She picked up one of the pawns, examining its condition, before putting it back on its square. For a moment, Kat simply stared at the pieces before laughing somewhat. “I literally have nothing better to do.” Kat moved the white pawn she had examined forward two spaces. She switched sides and moved a black pawn. Kat continued the game, moving pieces back and forth across the board. Eventually, the black queen cornered the white king. “Checkmate,” Kat whispered, picking up the black queen, intent to deliver the killing blow.

“Can you teach me that?” someone asked.

Kat screamed, her hand jerking and sending half the pieces clattering to the ground. She whipped around, surprised to find a small blonde boy staring at her. He looked to be about her age, but was much shorter, his eyes just about the level of her neck. “W-what? Who are you?” Kat quickly demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

The boy ignored her, pointing to the chess board. “You can play,” he observed. “Can you teach me?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking to strangers,” Kat countered. “And you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I live here,” the boy explained.

“No, I live here,” Kat asserted. “My dad and I just moved in.”

The boy chuckled. “That’s awkward. I guess we both live here now. Roommates, huh?”

“No. No, we are not roommates. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not mean, I promise,” the boy said. “But, please, can you teach me how to play? I’ve been trying to teach myself for forever and I just can’t figure it out.” He stepped forward, brushing past Kat. She shivered at the sudden breeze, but watched as the boy picked up the queen she had dropped. “So, you were going to move this piece like…” he dragged the queen diagonally to where the white king had been, “this?”

Kat nodded. “Yeah, that’s a queen. She can move diagonally.”

The boy nodded back. “Okay. But, earlier, you also moved her side to side like this.” He demonstrated the movement, dragging the queen across a row of tiles. “Is that allowed, too?”

“Yeah, it’s a queen. She can move up and down, side to side, and diagonally.”

“Hm,” the boy hummed, his brow furrowed with concentration as he committed her answer to his memory. “Okay. What about this one?” he asked, holding up a bishop.

“Look, kid, as much as I’d enjoy teaching you chess, you don’t belong here. You’ve got to go.”

The boy glanced at her in confusion. “I told you. This is where I live. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t you have any family?” Kat asked in exasperation.

“No, I don’t think so. At least, none that I remember.” The boy frowned, somewhat, the action more distant than grief-soaked.

“That’s sad and I’m sorry, but you really can’t stay here. Don’t make me get my dad to throw you out,” she threatened.

The boy shook his head, his eyes widening fearfully. “Y-you can’t. This is where I live. This is my chess set!”

Kat reached out to tug the kid away, but her hand swept right through the boy’s shoulder. Her hand tingled, as if it had just woken up and a chill swept through her body. The boy flinched at the motion. Kat backed up immediately. “Are… What? You’re not--You’re a ghost,” she hissed, trying to ignore how her heart felt as if it would leap up her throat and out of her body at any moment.

The boy’s eyebrows scrunched up. “I-I’m sorry. I… It’s not my fault. I’m just sorta stuck here…”

“You’re a ghost,” Kat repeated. “You’re a ghost and you’re in my house.”

“Look, I’m--” the kid began, but Kat didn’t let him finish.

“Dad!” she shouted as loudly as she could. “Dad!” Her father would know what to do about the ghost, would be able to fix everything. Hopefully, they’d just move out. Kat really didn’t look forward to sharing her home with some dead kid.

Kat could hear her father’s feet pounding up the stairs and towards her. “Kat! Are you okay?” her father asked, tearing into the room.

“I told you!” she announced. “It’s haunted. See!”

Kat gestured to the ghost who had moved across the room, past the table. He was staring at her father, eyes wide with… recognition? The boy’s mouth moved for a moment, no sound coming out, before, he whispered, “Jack?”

“Wait, you know my dad?” Kat asked the ghost, who finally tore his eyes from her father.

“You’re--Jack’s your dad?” the ghost asked, glancing back at her father in confusion.

“Kat, who in the world are you talking to?” Jack Kelly sounded confused and slightly afraid.

“The ghost!” Kat shouted, gesturing to the ghost, who had begun edging closer to Jack, the movements hesitant, timid. “He’s right there!”

“There’s nothing there,” Jack said softly. “Maybe you should lie down, Kat. It’s been a stressful day.”

Kat felt like screaming. “No, dad, I know what I see and he is right there!”

Jack pressed his hand to his forehead, pinching the skin above his nose. “Kat, I want to believe you, but nothing is there. Look, I’ll go make some dinner and then we can both turn in early. I think we both need some sleep. I’ll call you down for dinner once it’s ready.” Jack placed his hand on her shoulder, but Kat shoved him away.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” she hissed.

“Kat,” Jack tried, but Kat would have none of it.

“Just go away.”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Jack said softly, before leaving the room.

As soon as he had left, Kat turned to the ghost, who was staring at where Jack had been. “This is all your fault,” she accused.

“What?” the ghost asked, his eyes jerking back to Kat.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “Go into the light or something.”

“I tried,” the boy said mournfully, sitting on one of the chairs by the chess board and moving the queen up and down the board, like Kat had just taught him. “Don’t you think I want to go? I’ve been here for… You’re Jack’s daughter?” the ghost asked suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“Um, okay. What… What year is it, then?”

“It’s 1921.”

The ghost’s eyes widened. “That… that can’t be true. That makes Jack-- It’s been twenty-two years.”

Kat squinted at the ghost in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you’ve just been sitting around here for twenty-two years?”

“I didn’t realize it had been that long. I mean, I noticed when all the other boys left, but I had thought…” He trailed off for a moment, before asking, “That means that Jack’s thirty-nine, right?”

“It does. How do you know that?” Kat shot back, trusting the ghost less and less.

The boy smiled softly, ignoring Kat’s question. “That means I woulda been thirty-seven. Huh.”

“How do you know my dad?”

The ghost blinked up at her sadly. “Ain’t it obvious? We were best friends.”

Kat slowly walked down the stairs to the dining room, where Jack had placed out a dish of noodles and two plates. Her mind whirled with the wonder of it all. Some ghost was living in their new house. Okay, that was strange. And she seemed to be the only one who could see the boy. Even stranger. Now, the ghost claimed that he was best friends with her father.

“Are you gonna tell him I’m here?”

“Hey,” Kat hissed, jumping at the sudden voice beside her. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“I want to see what Jack says,” the boy shot back.

“Fine, stick around. Just… be quiet.”

The boy grinned crookedly. “You won’t even hear me breathe.”

Kat rolled her eyes, but made her way into the dining room. “Are you feeling better, Kat?” Jack asked worriedly. She stopped for a moment, taking the time to examine her father’s appearance. His dark brown hair was starting to gray, something that Kat would have teased him about, had she not suspected that the discoloration was arising from the stress of her mother’s death and the loss of his job. While Jack had always had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, soft reminders of how often he smiled and laughed, the wrinkles had extended and multiplied. Kat had never thought her father looked old, but he was certainly beginning to look his age. He smiled at her, but Kat could read past the false motion and recognized the stress and worry that flitted at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Kat said, brushing her father’s concern away.

“Okay,” Jack agreed hesitantly, but Kat was pleased that he didn’t dig further at what had happened earlier. “I made spaghetti.”

“Thanks, dad,” Kat said, taking her seat and dishing some of the noodles onto her plate. The ghost sat beside her and tried to nudge her, but his shoulder went through hers. Kat shuddered at the sudden chill that swept down the right side of her body.

“Oh. Sorry. I keep forgetting,” the ghost apologized.

Kat rolled her eyes. “I thought you said you’d be quiet,” she whispered.

“What was that, Kat?” Jack asked.

“I have a question, dad,” Kat announced, and she noticed the ghost edged forward in his seat, staring at Jack in anticipation.

“Okay, shoot. What’s up?”

“Um, dad? Did you know a boy named Crutchie?”

Her father’s face froze immediately before hardening, all emotion squared away. “What brought that up?” Jack asked, his voice falsely light. He stirred the sauce into his noodles, looking away from Kat and focusing on his dinner. Kat wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“He remembers me,” the ghost, Crutchie, hissed. “Why won’t he say that he remembers me? He’s gotta remember me.”

“It’s just a question. Did you know a boy named Crutchie? He would have been… two years younger than you?”

“I know his age,” Jack snapped, before rubbing his face tiredly. He set his fork down, the silverware clinking loudly against the plate. “Look, Kat, just let it drop. Crutchie… he was my best friend. But, that was a long time ago, okay?”

Crutchie smiled. “See, I told you he remembers me.” He then frowned. “But… why can you see me, but he can’t? Jack knows me.”

Kat whispered, “I don’t know. I’ll try to figure it out.”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you when you mumble like that,” Jack pointed out.

“I was asking where he is now. Crutchie? If he was your best friend, why haven’t I met him? Did you guys get in a fight?”

Jack pinched the skin above his nose again. “Kat, I said to drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about him.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he,” Kat continued, refusing to give up. Beside her, Crutchie shook his head, a slight warning. “He died, right?”

“Kat!” Jack shouted, standing up angrily. “Shut. Up.” Then he froze, seeming to realize what he had just said. “I-I’m sorry, Kat. I just… Just please, drop it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Kat whispered. She hadn’t expected her father to freak out. If Crutchie’s face beside her was anything to go by, he hadn’t expected the outburst either. The ghost’s eyes were wide and he was staring at Jack.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Jack replied. “It was a long time ago.” Jack stood there for a moment, before shaking his head. He shoved the untouched plate of spaghetti away from him, the plate scraping almost obscenely loud in the awkward silence. “I’m going to go to bed. You’ll be fine?”

Kat nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“My room is just that way, down the hallway,” Jack explained pointing the correct hallway out to Kat.

“I know. Thanks, though.”

Jack nodded tiredly, before leaving the dining room, his untouched spaghetti remaining. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble,” Crutchie whispered. “I didn’t think…”

Kat turned to the ghost. “How did you die?”

Crutchie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Kat scoffed. “You’re the one who died.”

“I just don’t know!” Crutchie shouted, before shaking his head and turning away. “I just feel like it’s always been like this… I don’t really even remember being alive. I remembered Jack, when he came in the room, but… that’s about all I know.”

“Hm. So we have to figure it out from my dad, then.”

Crutchie shook his head. “No, I don’t want to bother him about it.” He laughed softly. “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. Not like I’ve got anywhere to go or do.”

Kat sat there for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, we’ve got to figure this out. It’s like some real-life mystery We need to ask my dad why you were called Crutchie and how you died. You sure you don’t remember either of those things?”

The ghost shook his head. “No, like I said before, I can’t really remember anything. I just… I just know that my name is Crutchie and I know that your father is Jack.” He grinned slightly. “Can’t believe Jack has a kid, though.” The smile fell. “Wish I had been there to see it all…”

“Hey, we’ll figure this out. We just can’t… ask my dad outright. It’ll be like… Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?”

Crutchie shook his head. “No, but that’s a funny name.”

“Says the kid named Crutchie,” Kat shot back, grinning. “Anyway, he’s this detective and he and his friend, Dr. Watson, go around solving mysteries. We can be like them. I’ll be Holmes and you be Watson. We’ll have to come up with a name for this adventure though…” Kat muttered. “All his stories have cool names.”

“How about The Mystery of the Ghost?” Crutchie suggested.

Kat frowned in distaste. “It’s not flashy enough.”

“Well, what do you suggest, then?”

“Um… Murder in the Manor. It’s got a lot of alliteration.”

Crutchie snorted, before asking, “You realize, this isn’t a manor and I wasn’t murdered.”

“Are you sure?” Kat pressed.

“About the manor or the murder?” Crutchie joked. When Kat didn’t laugh, he sobered. “Well, um, no,” Crutchie admitted, shaking his head. “Do you… Do you think I was murdered?”

Kat shrugged. “Why else would my dad be so bothered? They probably never caught your killer.”

“And we’re going to catch my killer?”

“Yes, Watson. The game is afoot!”

[swimmingnewsie]

Ten Minutes Ago- Chapter 1

Hello everyone! Here is another installment of @ig0tfriends and my Newsies Cinderella AU. This chapter features Smalls and his pop riding through the forest as well as Crutchie meeting his fairy godmother. Enjoy!

Also available on AO3 for convenience!

A few weeks had passed since the death of King Pulitzer. Soon after the excitement of Queen Katherine’s coronation, preparations for the ball fully began. The first matter of business was for the news to be spread around that a date had been set. A team of soldiers as well as the new king consort and his son went about to deliver the news.

Jack and Smalls rode through the kingdom, enjoying the first quiet moment they had had since Pulitzer’s death. “Pa, do you think this ball is a good idea?” Smalls asked as they rode along.

“Smalls, we talked about this,” he sighed. Jack understood why his son was troubled. Anyone who had known the king knew that Jack was not a fan of big parties and dressing up.Being dressed as soldiers to deliver the news of the ball, was much more fun to him than the actual ball would be. But it was just a part of being with the woman he loved. “It’s only so you can meet people. You don’t have to marry anyone that night.”

“But what if I meet someone I really like and then they find out about me and hate me?” Smalls bit down on his lip nervously.

“Then they ain’t worth the time of day, kid.” Jack understood. He was terrified about Katherine finding out that he was truly a pauper rather than a prince. But she still loved him, even with his status. “Real love loves you no matter what.”

“Like you and ma,” Smalls began to smile, and Jack nodded.

“Listen, kid -- you might not even find your true love at this ball, anyways. Maybe you'll find them at the second, or the third. Whenever it happens, it happens, and there's nothing you or I can do to rush it, ‘cept for maybe the law of the land. But no panicking till the day of, huh?”

Smalls nodded, and bearing that same smile, he gently nudged his horse into a fast trot, which soon became a canter. Jack laughed, and the two began to race through the streets.

When the doorbell rang at the manor home of the former Lord Robert, Crutchie hardly thought anything of it at first. Morris and Oscar normally had many ‘acquaintances’ and potential wives waiting to call upon them, so Crutchie assumed this was one and the same.

His eyes flew open as he yanked open the door and found the royal messenger standing there. Dumbstruck, Crutchie bowed and moved back into the foyer to admit the man. His stepfather and stepbrothers hurried down the stairs as soon as they realized what it was, almost knocking Crutchie to the floor in their haste.

Greedily, all three beheld tickets to the royal ball in their hands. Caught up in their great fortune, Snyder and the boys rushed past Crutchie as fast as they could to begin their preparations. Barely suppressing a sigh and noting he still had to feed the pigs for the day, Crutchie limped out the back door, led the pigs to the well, and promptly sat down on its edge.

As Crutchie watched the pigs sip greedily at the water he gave them, he saw a young man approach.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man said. “Would you happen to spare a cup of water? I have been riding all day and am incredibly thirsty.”

“Huh? Oh,” Crutchie pulled out of his reverie and bent down to retrieve a cup of water from the well, which he extended to the (particularly handsome) man before him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” the man replied with a smile that glowed. One of the pigs decided to rub his head up against the man’s leg. “Oh, hello there little fellow.” He squatted down, giving the pig a small rub on the head. “Is he yours?”

“Y-Yeah, I take care of him -- of all of them,” Crutchie responded, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “Sorry he got mud on you, sir…”

“Oh, he’s alright. A little mud never hurt anyone.” The man smiled again before drinking his water. “Thank you again for the water.”

A pause passed. “Have you heard of the ball at the palace?”

“You're welcome,” Crutchie nodded in turn before he shifted his eyes away in disappointment. “The ball? Yeah. Who hasn't?” He let out a small laugh, laughing at himself. “I...can't go. Too busy with, well…” Crutchie gestures vaguely around the yard before returning his gaze to the man. “Too many chores.”

The man’s smile was gone. “Well, I understand the importance of chores, but,” he paused, reaching in his pocket, “if you are able, here is an invitation. Maybe I’ll see you there?” a slight blush crossed his face.

“Oh, I...I couldn't,” Crutchie put up his hands in protest. “I'm just…” A shadow crossed his face, and he glanced over to the manor house. His manor house.

“I'm just a servant,” Crutchie shook his head, his gaze falling.

“I’m sure you’re more than just that.” The man gave a wink. Out in the distance a voice called out. “That would be my father. Hopefully, I'll see you at the ball?”

“Oh, I mean, uh….sure!” Crutchie's hand closed around the offered invitation, and he even dared to smile. “I hope to see you there too, sir…?”

“Smalls,” he smiled. “Friends call me Smalls.” He gave one last pet to the pig and then turned back towards his father. “I’ll see you soon!” He waved and headed off.

Crutchie watched him go for a second, but with panic marking his movements, he stood up and tried to call after the retreating man, but he was soon out of earshot. With luck, they would meet again at the ball.

After feeding the rest of the pigs and leading them to their enclosure for the night, Crutchie dashed inside the house. His face still burned a bright pink from the memory of his encounter -- to think that man, Smalls, was looking forward to seeing him at the ball!

----

The day of the ball had finally arrived. Crutchie felt so excited he could hardly burst! Between his normal chores and helping his brothers get ready for the ball, the day had been a bit busier than usual. But nonetheless, he still found time to sew the last few stitches into his father’s old suit.

Confidently, he walked down into the parlor where is step-brothers were anxiously awaiting their carriage. “I bet as soon as that princess gets a look at me, she’ll fall head over heels!” Morris gloated, straightening his tie.

“Who’d ever fall in love with you? That princess is a smart one. She’d never go for someone like you .” Oscar rolled his eyes. “She needs someone smart like her, sophisticated.”

“Boys! We already went over this. You both have a chance, and one of you better make it,” Snyder scowled. Turning to finish his bowtie in the mirror, Snyder caught sight of Crutchie. “And what are you all dressed up for?”

“I'm going to the ball,” Crutchie could barely keep himself from smiling, even in the presence of his dreaded stepfamily. “I have an invitation right here --” He held up the slip of paper in his free hand, and even straightened up a little taller on his crutch. “And I am comin’ with ya to the ball.”

Snyder began to laugh, Oscar and Morris following close behind. “You’re going to the ball? You -- a cripple.” Snyder’s eyes flashed with evil mirth as he stared down at his stepson.

“Oh just imagine it, Prince Crutchie. Look at me, I’m a prince!” Morris mocked, badly imitating Crutchie’s limp.

“Oh I’ll love you forever !” Oscar played along. “Like that would ever happen!”

“And it won’t!” Morris ripped one of Crutchie’s sleeves. Oscar joined in, reaching for the other sleeve, tearing the seams apart. While Crutchie struggled to hold onto his precious suit, his invitation slipped out of his hand. Snyder gave him a hard look and picked it off the floor.

Before he could even protest, the invitation was torn to pieces.

Tears sprang to Crutchie's eyes, which only made Oscar and Morris cackle harder. “I -- I am the true lord of this household --” He struggled to gasp out, but only quailed under his stepfather’s dark gaze. As a parting gift, Snyder deftly knocked the crutch out from underneath him, sending Crutchie to land on the stairs with a crash and groan.

“You are not leaving this house till you scrub it from head to toe,” Snyder sneered. “Perhaps then it will be rid of the filth it holds. Isn't that a fitting job for you, my lord?”

Crutchie winced, watching as his stepfamily strode to the door. “How can you be so cruel to me?! After marrying my mother!”

But Snyder, Morris and Oscar only left with laughter hanging in the air behind them, and Crutchie burst into tears.

He escaped out to the garden once he grabbed his crutch back, hoping the fresh air would calm him down. In his distress he hadn’t noticed a figure coming up to him.

“Kid? What’s eating at you?” It was his neighbor Race. Without skipping a beat, he sat down on the ground next to Crutchie. “The old spider won’t let you go to the ball?” he asked, looking at Crutchie’s torn suit and invitation.

Crutchie nodded. “They- they tore my pop’s suit. That’s all I had of his,” he sobbed. “How could they be so cruel?”

Race frowned. “I don’t know, kid. But I do know how we can fix you up.”

“You do?”

“Just watch.”

Race pulled his cigar from his mouth and twirled it a bit. “Corona-Panetela-Robusto!” he cried. Almost like magic, the red ashes from his cigar surrounded the invitation, putting it back together as if it had never been torn.

“I -- what?!” Crutchie stared at his neighbor, shocked in every sense of the word. “How -- you -- you’re?!”

“Breathe, kid,” Race instructed, though really, he was smiling.

Crutchie bent to take the invitation as gingerly as he could. “Are you my fairy godmother?!”

Race groaned. “Fairy godfather, kid. Godfather.”

[jackcowboyhero]

6. "We trusted you" for anyone other than Jack

DAVID:

I suppose I know why you didn’t want Jack to answer.

It’s because everyone already knows about how he scabbed,right?  How he turned his back on thenewsies right as the strike was beginning to mean something.  How all of us saw him walking out of thedistribution center in his fancy clothes, and how he acted like he’d done itfor money.

Well—breaking somebody’s trust isn’t always that public.

Sometimes you don’t even know it yourself.

It wasn’t like I’d set out to hurt anyone when I went to theLower East Side last week.  I’d managedto track down the family of Russian Jews I’d interviewed at Ellis Island lastSeptember—my boss at the Sun hadwanted me to find out how they were doing after a few months in America—andalthough they lived in a two-room tenement apartment with two other families,the father had managed to find a job that paid enough to save a little eachweek, and the three young boys had learned enough English to translate fortheir parents.  (I’d had to rely on aharried immigration translator before, and I’m sure it hadn’t helped make theirarrival any less stressful.)  So, as Ileft their apartment, a full notebook tucked into my pocket and mumbling potentialleads under my breath as I walked back toward Newspaper Row, I was prettycontent, and if I hadn’t stopped to think about word order, I would have missedthe girl crying on the steps.

Maybe I shouldn’t say “girl.”  She was probably only a year or two youngerthan I was, with her hair pinned up like a woman’s, but the way she had herhead in her hands and her shoulders bowed made her look a lot younger.  She was tucked against the banister, like shewas trying to stay hidden, but I couldn’t just walk past a sight likethat.  I knew it wasn’t my business—but Itry to help people when I can.

Isn’t that ironic? Sometimes helping people ends up hurting them.

Jack can tell you about that.

Anyway, I stepped a little closer and said, “Miss?”

“Idź stąd!” she snapped, without looking up.

Well, I’ve had people tell me to go away in all sorts oflanguages, and not just after I became a reporter.  But lots of times I have to figure out whatthey mean based on their tone, or their expression, or even sometimes ashove.  (I learned pretty quickly thatpeople don’t want to buy papes when they’re kissing somebody.)

But I understood that girl, and thanks to living in GóraPuławska and talking with Jurek, I could ask, “Potrzebujeszpomocy?”

She looked up, tears streaking her face.

“I’ll help you,” Itold her, in Polish.  “If I can.”

She shook her head,whispering, “It’s my work.  You can’thelp me.”

“Try me,” I said, andsat next to her—not close, like Jack would have, with his arm around hershoulders as if they were old friends, but a step down and a few feetaway.  “I write for the Sun. We can look into things like this.”

Maybe I’ve beenaccused of risking my job for ideals. (By my mother.)  And maybe I’vebeen told that real life’s not like the newsie strike.  (By Jack, on a bad day.)  And my boss at the Sun’s voided articles he could see my bias in, or sent me torewrite them from an impartial standpoint—but when I catch wind of trouble,I’ve got to get involved.

That’s why Jack and Iget along—it’s just that he jumps in with his fists, and I jump in with mywords, and my pen.

—Or my pencil, whichwas already in my hand.

“You can stop this?” thegirl asked.  “This—name-calling?  These threats to me?”

“I don’t know,” Itold her.  “But if something wrong orillegal is happening, I can try to expose it.”

She shook her headeven harder, hiding her face again.  “Ican’t be exposed,” she said, “I can’t lose this job.  My family needs the money.”  

“But if you’re beingthreatened—”

“I need the money,”she repeated.  “But this…I can’t takethis.”

“What’s ‘this’?”

She looked at me fora long time.  “You won’t publish myname?”

“I don’t even have toknow it.”

She nodded, a smilepulling just a little at her mouth and the tears drying on her face.  “…It’s Albina,” she said softly.  “Albina Skala.”

I held out myhand.  “David Jacobs,” I said, smilingback at her.  A good journalist alwaystries to make people feel comfortable.

“You’re from Poland?”

“My mother was.  I spent a year teaching English there.”

I’d thought shewasn’t going to shake my hand.  But shefinally did, hesitantly, but firmly enough that I could feel the sewingcalluses on her fingers.  They felt likeSarah’s hands—a working girl’s hands.

“Now,” I said, “canyou tell me what happened?”

I’m not going to tellyou everything she told me—only that it happens far too often, especially whenthe finisher’s the only girl in the shop. Albina said when the owner spoke that way to her, the presser tried todefend her—but what could a seventy-year-old man who needed a job just as much asAlbina did do against a younger, stronger man with power?

You see, power’s thekey in these sweatshops.  You might notthink the shop owners have much influence—not when they work in the same hot,crowded room as their employees and are victim to the supply and demand oftheir distributors—but they do.  Inplaces like the Lower East Side, people are so desperate for work they’ll putup with anything, and that gives the shop owners power.  

And when it’s a shopfull of men and one girl?  Too often, thingshappen that never should.

That’s the problemwhen workers don’t have any power.  Whena girl’s forced to choose between starving and freezing on the streets, orworking in a shop where the men make lewd comments, she’ll go back to the shop,because she has to.

And that’s whatAlbina did when she was done talking to me. She had no other choice.

Some girls arefortunate enough that they can choose something else—like Sarah did, when shewas fifteen and the baster she worked with tried to grab her.  She punched him, walked out, and after thatswore she would only work in shops owned by women.  But there’s a difference between Sarah andAlbina: Sarah’s income wasn’t the only thing keeping our family afloat.  We could afford for her to spend a few dayssearching for a new job.  Albina’s familycouldn’t.

And that was where Iwent wrong.

I wrote a goodarticle—even my editor said so, and he usually tears my writing apart.  It didn’t name Albina, of course, onlydetailed what had happened to “a Polish girl working in a ‘sweatshop’ on the LowerEast Side,” and then went on to point out all the problems with sweatshopculture and not holding owners accountable and the workers not havingrights.  (I’d wanted to say that they needed rights, but that part got cutout.)  I wanted to get people riled up;to see change.

Instead what I got,the next afternoon, was Albina and her whole family, all shouting at once inPolish too fast for me to understand, and the only thing I could make out was, “Wetrusted you!”

Because somehow,Albina’s shop owner had read the article and made a guess that she was thegirl.  And when he confronted her aboutit, her face had given her away.

That’s how I got agirl fired.  That’s how I put animmigrant family in danger.  And of courseI didn’t mean to—I’d been trying to help. But they’d trusted me, and everything had fallen apart.

I still don’t knowhow to fix it.  I’ve tried to find Albinaa few times, wanting to give her the name of the woman Sarah worked for, to offerto do anything I can, but I haven’t been able to find her.  I wrote a follow-up to the article, becausewhat’d happened just proved my point, but that didn’t do any good for Albina.

So now I’m not surewhat to do.

I mean, when Jackscabbed, at least he’d known the consequences. He’d known we’d be angry.

But I hadn’t known theconsequences of writing that article.  Iwas trying to help.  I was trying to makea change.

But all I’ve done sofar is break somebody’s trust.

((EDITOR’S NOTE: Most of the sweatshop information in this story came from this article in the Tenement Museum’s encyclopedia…which is currently not working, but I’m hoping if I leave it here the link will be fixed soon.

Also, I still don’t speak Polish, so apologies for any incorrect translations.)) :)

[ysc003]

Sneakers Nike Flight Bonafide or steep

While these councils are not mutually exclusive, you do not need to look for a stussy kids uk which is suitable for allThe above settings at the same time for your toes to thank you. If you make your lists of gifts, and are always on the search for smart growth, useful, beautiful, manufactured in the United States presents a corporationWho is it'self committed to help revive the local production in the a devastated towns economically the most of United States Shinola is this. The leather is certainly the material in the most common used to create the final bags. and are working to preserve the modesty of the models,In particular with products Sneakers Nike Flight Bonafide or steep intimate. When People see the quality of the compliment, under consciously conclude that the company that has given these stussy rain jacket is a reliable solution and a company stussy women online of quality that gives the top Priority. Accessories and handbags of designer are a part of the Wardrobe sumptuous women. As of Other accessories bags on the basis of the women are there in the style of different coloring and glance. The truth is news of some influential newspapers stressed that the stussy 80s integrates a list years of waiting. These accessories are not expensive. The coach is very popular among girls and women everywhere in the world. The are and will be the best women Like all the time, to the exception must outside of the designer of the workforce, unquestionably, I will not be able to expect to Disney Sirène toys get my next a person with a design more Far. What are among the things the more you might need on your own price. I do not receive a spray tanEach week. The figure flattering stussy laptop adapted is a common partner for the Summit flared, and if you do not have tried yet,It is certainly time. Princess Ameerah Al Taweel d Saudi Arabia is beautiful and knows his way around red stussy sweatshirt d A Shiny suit, but whatI am really love is the reason newsy she just splash up to. We use girlsIncluding the body and the eyes inspire and represent all the girls. However, in relation to the handbags made of bags, in suede style makes are Certainly not enormous. Stylish are generally of manufacture of fabric, it s is the best information for all the world as now today, your individuality seems flawed For youstussy north face will publish your charmeUne single piece of leather of balance is used to produce up to the front as well as the rear of the House stussy. As well, the stock is absolutely false - but much less Expensive Than the same product design - of the material. The People Often buy false false and this n is not, if you end up spending large sums of money to try to understand if the first follows. We must also take account of the issues of the rights of author with some tattoos. You can find Manufacturer of big handbags Nike Air Jordan 11 Retro affordable, that are composed of leather from the differentiate from the rabble, and they are common currency.A is purchased by the majority of the women will not be without Attraction. But people tend to comply with good old walls as well as a good old trend. Not d options available on the stussy tall tee Internet that you can try.que c is Why Mothers and fathers choose to obtain these big bags and bags for their children designer. It was not what we had planned in stussy clothing website, but I i liked. It surmounted with a scarf of the infinity and a navy wool blazer Blaque label, by skipping stilettos that livelys pregnant Blake been shaking inFavor of patent leather slippers smokers. Notice something on the Yup Shelving, it is modular. In the case where you have been borrowed from the Internet and werent aware, Beyonce comes out two new songs and, as expected, they are Nike Air Jordan 1 Retro Fk impressive. But they all have two mysteriously disappeared with your stussy private sale of. Jf, area: we use beautiful models, stussy 1980 shirt but we use more girls who are considered as dummies. As soon as I was watching the crazy fun 7/11 video and had a puff of Carrie Bradshaw, I knew that I had to a new favorite. a Number of sixteen inches higher, objectively chat, simply be copied by any other person that them. Nevertheless, while the Editing 2015 of brown veal new baggage Céline will for about $ 280; far from $760. For me, it is important to be to the comfortable in what I door. www.shining-store.com/man-shoe-nike-air-force-high-white-hotsale

[dcficstoread]

Still Angels/Still Hunters/SPN AUs

Reaching for the Ground by carmexgirl

http://carmexgirl.livejournal.com/155430.html

Angel!Castiel

Summary: Life has become rather tedious for Castiel (Sheriff of Heaven, voice of reason, sometime gardener), so when he sees a mysterious figure lurking around Dean’s house in Cicero, he returns to earth to investigate. From there, he and Sam (Sheriff of Hell, commander of demons, specialist in contract negotiations) embark upon a series of convoluted plans involving a wendigo, a ghost, witches and a chupacabra with an identity crisis, to try and get Dean back into hunting. Succeeding is one thing; whether Castiel can finally admit the true nature of his feelings for Dean to the man himself is entirely another.

Polar Night by phate_phoenix http://phate-phoenix.livejournal.com/57448.html#cutid1

Twilight crossover

Summary: Months after the Yellow-Eyed Demon and Jake opened the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, Sam and Dean are tracking a series of vampire-related abductions across the western coast of the United States. Their hunt brings them to Forks, Washington: site of the latest disappearances. While there, Sam sees the one that got away, Dean meets a man whose entire family is hiding something, and they learn that vampires are the least of their problems.

The Empire of the Lion & the Wolf by missjigsaw23 http://missjigsaw23.livejournal.com/28271.html

Angel!Cas

Summary: Angels and demons are slaves kept by the general population, all sold by the company H&H, run by Michael and Lucifer Morningstar. Sam and Dean work for the company, capturing escaped slaves and returning them to their owners, until they’re sent after the angel Castiel and Dean finds his worldview getting a major overhaul. On the run from Michael and Lucifer, the Winchesters discover family secrets and their own role in what might just be the end of the world.

Ice of Oblivion by zoomzoomzoomzoo http://zoomzoomzoomzoo.livejournal.com/1080.html

Angel!Cas, Prince!Dean

Summary: AU. In a time of great tragedy in the lands of Mamot, the human race and the angel race are forced to form an unbreakable union that will bind them together for twenty seven lifetimes in order to stop the uprising of the demon race. In bargain they offer Castiel, one of the most powerful angels in the entire world to marry Dean Winchester, the young crown prince of the human world. The typically detached Castiel winds up falling in love with the Prince. The only problem is his brothers don’t expect Dean to live through the war. Will Castiel stay and support the man he loves despite the heartbreak that might accompany his passing or will he fall back in line with his brothers, becoming numb to all human emotions once more?

Death Cannot Stop True Love (It Can Only Delay it for a While) by hils & tiptoe39 http://fandomcorner.livejournal.com/71993.html

Princess Bride fusion

Summary: Hunters, Angels, Archangels, Swordfights, Kidnappings, Death, Resurrection and True Love. An epic tale of love versus the apocalypse. Very loosely based on The Princess Bride. Alternate version of Season 5 of SPN.

Colours and Whites Can Mix -- As Long As You Like Pink Underwear by enokureno http://enokureno.livejournal.com/1356.html

Latter Days fusion, Missionary!Cas

Summary: Castiel is a Mormon missionary far from home. Dean is a waiter living paycheck to paycheck. They meet as their worlds begin to unravel.

Tangled by lymricks http://lymricks.livejournal.com/6801.html#cutid1

Tangled fusion

Summary: Once upon a time, a king made a deal with a demon and a prince with magic wings was stolen by an angel with no wings. Years later, Dean wants a castle, Crowley needs a new coat, Lucifer's a horrible big brother, and Ruby had a dream, but all of this happens because Castiel needs to see the stars. (Tangled AU, with less hair and more wings)

The Incredible Tale of Dean Winchester and the Angel who Fell from the Sky by ibroketuesday and xxamlaxx http://sea-and-stars.livejournal.com/1550.html

Summary: Loose retelling of Gabriel García Márquez’s A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings, set in the Pacific Northwest of the late 1920s. Sam and Dean have retired young from hunting and moved to an island, and they're failing miserably in their attempt at being fishermen when a storm sends an angel crashing into their yard. Castiel is a feral creature with black wings and taloned feet, and though initially Dean regards him as a monster, the bond that develops between the two will set them against murderers, reveal a dark secret of angel society, and change both of them forever. Also, Castiel is naked the entire time.

The Winchester Revision by proxydialogue http://proxydialogue.livejournal.com/9208.html#cutid1

Summary: A recently de-deified Chuck, dying in Italy, decides to revise the story of Sam and Dean and Cas to give it the fairytale ending it deserves as a last hurrah before he goes. In a world with no monsters Dean Winchester goes to the University of Delaware for physics and engineering where a terrible twist of fate lands him in a Feminism and Literature class for one of his general electives. It is taught by a dark haired, blue-eyed professor named Castiel. Sam, meanwhile, is a boy genius who gets into college at sixteen and really is going to be a lawyer this time as soon as he finishes his English degree at UDel and gets into Stanford. But the more Chuck writes, the more he discovers about himself, his characters and the friends he will never see again; because some stories must be told.

A Quarter to Sunrise by blurhawaii http://blurhawaii.livejournal.com/6329.html#cutid1

Summary: Western AU. Demons still exist. Sam and Dean grew up hearing tales of the yellow eyed man that killed their mother. Now that they are older, they spend their lives both chasing down the allusive man and being chased themselves. A preacher, Castiel, somehow gets involved and eventually reveals that he is more weaved into their tale than any of them ever realized. A, mystery filled, road trip story about revenge, set on horseback.

Triskele by goldenthyme http://jonques.livejournal.com/19052.html

Summary: Jerkins, and doublets, and hosen, oh my! After a run-in with some Celtic goddess' tarot deck, Dean, Sam, and Cas find themselves thrown into Elizabethan England. New responsibilities and expectations greet them, demanding more from them on top of what this foolish journey demands already. But if they want to get out alive and get back home, they have to play the game, and Dean has a few decisions to make regarding his life and happiness. Stakes are high, especially in a time when politics and religion are common, brutal, and often deadly enemies.

Welcome to Camp Wendigo by sockkiah http://sockkiah.livejournal.com/153673.html

Summary: A send up of cheesy summer camp movies, Dean and Sam have spent most of their childhood summers at Camp Wendigo, Bobby's summer camp for aspiring hunters and the children of hunters. Now nineteen, it's Dean's first year as a counselor, but he's not the only new staff member at the camp. Bobby's also hired on some fallen angels after the recently averted apocalypse. At first the angels seem to do nothing but get in the way of Dean's summer plans, and Dean doesn't get along. When kids from the camp across the lake start to go missing, can Camp Wendigo come together and save the day?

Spirit of Champions by gumbyfair http://gumbyfair.livejournal.com/4941.html#cutid1

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up always being told that angels were ruthless, vile and merciless creatures. Of course he believed all this, until he actually met one...

Living Right Is In the Trying by OneHundredSuns http://archiveofourown.org/works/546065/chapters/972012

Summary: Dean Winchester hadn’t lead an exciting life or a particularly good one but he’d always tried to do what was right, especially when it came to his little brother, even going so far as to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit. Now with his brother a big shot at college and no prospects of his own, he takes a job from an eccentric man named Gabriel until he can get himself together. He meets and becomes fast friends with Castiel, a mysterious man with a dark troubling past. But Dean and Castiel’s budding relationship is soon threatened by Dean’s commitments in California, and the arrival of a known gangster named Crowley, who’s determined to have Castiel as his own...as well as his wings.

King of New York by JadedTangerine http://archiveofourown.org/works/534948/chapters/949602

Summary: ‘Newsies’ AU. At the turn of the century, Dean Winchester, seventeen, finds himself stranded with his little brother Sam in New York City. With their father missing in action, they hunt monsters by night and sell newspapers by day. It’s a hard business, with the streets rife with stories of missing children and Dean carrying the scars of a particularly vicious hunt. However, he thinks he may have found their ticket out of Skid Row in the form of Castiel, a rather peculiar newcomer to the newsie business who may be just want they need to get a selling edge.

Ad Astra - latin ; "to the stars" by nhixxie http://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Summary: One day Cas says, "Stars died for you, Dean Winchester", against ruffled hair perched atop sun kissed skin and sleepy eyes.

breathing through the radio by Maharetchan http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005316

Summary: Falling means loneliness, isolation and having a terrible and crippling emptiness inside. And when you feel like this, so hopeless and desperate, even a disemboweled and mildy creepy voice that narrates the life of an ever creepier desert town can be a comfort; aka, after he falls, Castiel starts hearing the Night Vale community radio program playing in his head, helping him, keeping him company and making him realize the depth of his feelings for Dean; and lets be real, this is not even the weirdest thing that ever happened to him.

Found In A Land Of Make Believe by spnblargh http://archiveofourown.org/works/1045720

Summary: In the weeks leading up to a confrontation with a vengeful spirit, Dean Smith meets a man who makes the corporate life a little more interesting.

[starship-squidlet]

The Green Fields of France: Chapter Two

Summary: We meet our speaker. He begins his quest.

Word count: 2,218

Disclaimer: The Green Fields of France Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @aggressive-bucky-barnes-stan (ask to be added/removed!)

A/N: Whoo, actual scenes in this one, not just Charlie monologuing 😅

Previous chapter: Chapter One

Next chapter: Chapter Three

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie O’Dell. I was one of only two children who lived in that tiny house in Harlem who could say they were related to Grandma Ellie—since that’s what almost everyone called her—by actual blood.

My mother, Robin Nickola, was born in late 1917. She and Grandma Ellie did not have a good relationship. She felt closer to the person she always referred to as her surrogate father.

Charlie Morris moved into the tiny house, which was often just called Starling Mission, in 1917, after Mush and Finch left. He was exempt from the draft due to lingering effects of a bout with polio when he was a child. Grandma Ellie, along with literally everyone else who ever knew him (whether they called him Charlie or Crutchie, the latter being more common due to the crutch he needed to move around for most of his life, not that he ever let it slow him down) described him as one of the kindest, gentlest people they’d ever known, and also as an impossibly strong person who would fight tooth and nail for the people he loved or who couldn’t fight for themselves. My mother was often one of them.

She spent most of her life—beginning when she was a teenager—fighting with her mother, rejecting any aid offered to her by Grandma Ellie, full of anger and impetuousness. While I know my grandmother loved my mother with all her heart, there were also times when she found Robin difficult to handle. When my mother left Starling Mission, entire years would pass where they never spoke. With Charlie, it was different. The only father that my mother ever knew, she loved Charlie dearly. There are few people in the world who I would rather have met than him, but he died before I was born, much to my mother’s sorrow. His death sent her into the spiral that would eventually take her life, when I was a little over two years old.

I know my mother loved me, but I wish that I could remember her. Her face is little more than a hazy image in my mind, preserved and occasionally refreshed by the handful of photographs Grandma Ellie has of her. I hardly remember JoJo either; he died when I was small—around six, I think—and was buried in the graveyard behind the cathedral he was raised and worked in, along with many of his friends who had passed at that point, including Charlie.

I was eighteen before I finally got the full story about what happened in 1917 particularly. Once again, it didn’t come so much from my grandmother but from her friends, Uncle Tony and Uncle Al, who had come to help her with Starling Mission after Charlie’s death, until it closed. For the next three years, until I graduated high school and left for college, it was just the four of us, even after Uncle Tony and Uncle Al moved out. They had raised me on stories of the newsies that they had known and grown up with themselves, including Finch, Mush, Charlie, and JoJo, as well as themselves. I idolized them all, and would have given anything to meet any one of them. The story of 1917 waited until I was eighteen because, during my first semester of college, I had a class assignment that drove me to ask questions I had never pressed for answers to before…

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Hello? Grandma, Tony, Al!” Charlie called, smiling as he pushed open the worn wooden door of the tiny Harlem house he had always called home. He heard a loud bark and a giant ball of fur came barrelling through the hall to slam into him, effectively knocking him onto his back. The dog weighed easily as much as the teenager, half of that in hair alone, and, despite being over a decade old, still had the same boundless energy he’d had when he was a puppy. Charlie laughed and tried to wiggle out from under the dog as it licked his face vigorously. “Bear, that’s enough—stop it!” he squealed.

“Bear, down!” Elaine scolded, hot on the dog’s heels. Her grey hair was swept back into a long French braid, and she shuffled along the battered wooden floor in a pair of handmade house slippers. When the dog finally climbed off of Charlie and he stood up and brushed the loose fur off of himself, Elaine stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He smiled into the top of her head. Charlie had outgrown his grandmother when he was eleven years old, and was nearly ten inches taller than her now. He had never looked much like her anyways; where Elaine had been all dark hair and pale skin and dark eyes, while Charlie was red-tinted blond curls and soft brown eyes, although he had the same smear of freckles across his pale cheeks. Elaine reached up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, giving them a pinch as she smiled up at him. “Welcome home, Charlie. We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Grandma. Are Uncle Tony and Uncle Al here?”

“They’ll be here a little later,” Elaine said over her shoulder. “Come have something to eat; you must be hungry after that train ride.”

The kitchen was warm and familiar, whitewashed cabinets and counters, worn appliances, a table full of dents and scratches and other marks, every one of which had a story behind it that Elaine would happily tell. Charlie sat down and ran his thumb over one of the deeper scratches, remembering what had caused it. “How have you been, Grandma?” he asked as Elaine joined him, carrying two plates of food.

“I’ve been fine, sweetheart,” she smiled. “How is school? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Charlie laughed. “Although it’s not as good as Al’s cooking.”

“Not much is as good as Al’s cooking, my own food included,” Elaine laughed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been calling much; we have final papers and projects due starting right when we get back from Thanksgiving break,” said Charlie. “I’ve been spending most of my time working on them.”

“I figured as much,” Elaine nodded.

“There’s one I haven’t started yet, though,” said Charlie. “I wanted to ask you for some help on it while I was home.”

“Of course,” Elaine perked up. “What can I do to help?”

“I was wondering… Would you mind telling me more about what happened to Mush and Finch? We’re doing a family history project, so I have to make a family tree and write a paper about a major event in my family’s history. I think I have the family tree pretty much sorted out; we only have to do immediate family, not go into extended, so I just did what I could with that, but I wanted to write the paper on what happened to them in World War One. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I understand that, but I also think it’s time I know what happened. I’m eighteen now. It’s a part of my history, too. I just want to know.”

Elaine was uncharacteristically still and silent for a long moment. Finally, she forced a smile and looked at him, although her eyes were distant and full of sorrow. “Maybe… maybe another time, Charlie. Ask me again tomorrow.” She stood up, scraped the rest of her food into the trash can, set her dish in the sink, and wandered off, leaving Charlie alone in the kitchen.

.*.*.*.*.*.

A few hours later, Charlie answered the door—struggling to hold Bear back from leaping out of it—and let his adoptive uncles into the house. “Hi,” he laughed, dragging the dog away from the door as Albert closed it.

“Hey, kid!” Race beamed. As soon as Charlie released Bear and stood up, Race scooped him up in a massive hug. Despite the fact that he was nearing eighty, Race was still as strong as he had ever been, and easily lifted Charlie several inches off the floor in a back-cracking, bone-grinding, lung-crushing hug. Once-blond curls had faded to white streaked with sand, and had thinned over his temples, but blue eyes still sparkled with mischief above wrinkled cheeks. Albert, on the other hand, still had a full head of deep red hair, cut shorter than it had been when he was young, and hardly had any wrinkles—a few worry lines on his forehead, and deep laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes—nor had he paled with age like Race had, cheeks still flushed red to match his hair. He waited until Race had set Charlie down and stepped away to lean in and wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders in an informal hug, turning him towards the kitchen and starting down the hall.

“You’re going to tell us everything about school, right?” Albert teased.

“All the juicy details!” Race piped up from behind him.

“Met any cute girls?” Albert teased.

“Or boys!” Race added.

“No, nothing like that,” Charlie laughed. “I’ve been too busy with work and homework.”

“Good,” Albert nodded. “Focus on your studies.” He winked and leaned in to whisper: “But there’s no harm in having some fun every now and then.”

Charlie laughed. “Thanks for the advice, Uncle Al. Hey, I have a question for you two.”

“What’s that?” Race asked.

“Well… I asked my grandma for help with a school project; I have to write a paper about a major event in the history of my family, and I wanted to write about what happened to Mush and Finch, but when I asked her about it, she just sort of… left. She’s never talked about it. Do you two know why that is?”

Albert and Race traded glances. Race leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. “Probably has something to do with the fact that she doesn’t know what happened.”

“Anthony!”

“What? It’s the truth,” Race shrugged again and turned towards Charlie. “Elaine got a pair of notices informing her that they’d been killed in action, but was never able to find out any details. Not even where they were buried.”

Albert had taken a seat at the table and folded his hands, staring down at them with a grim look on his face. “We didn’t find out until we came back. Didn’t find out about them, or about any of the others who didn’t make it. And a lot of us didn’t make it… We tried to help where we could, looking for more information through contacts we had, but we could never find anything about Mush or Finch. All we were able to find out is that they deployed to France—we know that for sure—but not even where in France they went, except that it wasn’t where we were, or where Tommy and Spot were.”

“Eventually, we had to just give up,” Race’s voice was low. “There was nothing more to be done. It was like after they left New York they just disappeared. It broke our hearts to stop looking, but it was even harder on Elaine. Not that she ever said anything like that to us—she would never. But you could see it in her eyes after that. Something was gone. Some sort of light. It never really came back. It started to, a little, when you came to live here, but… Never fully.”

Charlie sat quietly. Bear came over and rested his head on Charlie’s leg, drooling a little onto his knee. Charlie petted his head absently, mind whirling. It had never really occurred to him that the reason Elaine had never told him anything was because she didn’t know herself. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he croaked out finally. “For explaining. I’m sorry… I’m sorry to bring up those memories.”

Race walked over and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright, kiddo. You’re right; you deserve to know. They’re your family.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Grandma Elaine and I never spoke about Mush and Finch again—at least, not in that way; she still told me her stories of when they were young, but they always tapered off as they got closer to 1917. I didn’t press. It was clear how much the topic hurt her, and I didn’t want to cause her more pain. What I did, however, and without saying a word to her, was begin my own investigation into what had happened to Patrick Cortez and Nickolas Meyers.

For three years, my search bore no fruit. I wrote letters, sent requests for records, and did everything else I could think of. I even put ads in papers asking for information from anyone who was in France at that time, and reached out to anyone in France who would listen to me—in my broken French—to beg for their help in my search.

It wasn’t until 1968 that I began to have hope. I returned home from the day’s classes to a letter, stamped with several postmarks, from a young woman in France who thought that her grandfather’s journals and stories from the war may have the information I was searching for…