#Graves newsies

[tommonikercomics]

On my hands and knees for a Graves drawing

Graves, my beloved 😭

Spot has tired mother energy thanks to Graves & the rest of the angsty teens that make up the Brooklyn newsies

[kid-blinks-eyepatch]

Newsies as things said at band camp

Crutchie: guys pls- Jack & Race, fighting over a 5$ megaphone: You don’t understand we need to go into the bathroom and shout “hey swifty” into it

———

Blink, attempting to read his music: shit what’s that a D? Race, without looking up: Oh i love getting Ds

———

Mush, eating pringles: Hey Blink you should fight Oscar

Blink: i would but Medda would break it up-

Albert: what if we all link arms and form a circle around you and him? that way medda can’t get to you to break it up?

Swifty, Bumlets, Race, and Finch: *w h e e z e* ———

Race, poking the doorstop: Wall boob!

Spot: what?😭

Race, points above Smalls’ head: another one!

Smalls: oh cmon the walls get boobs and i don’t?

———

Davey: i feel like Blink has beef with almost everyone

Blink: No i d- *thinking* -okay maybe

———

Race: *pointing towards Morris* oh it’s my hubby!

Morris: *starts running*

Race: OH MY GOD HE’S LIKE A BOWLING BALL

Skittery, Finch, Crutchie, Sniper, Les, Jack: *crying laughing* ———

Albert: *comes back from the bathroom*

Race: what’s wrong?

Finch: *sippin a juice box*

Albert: so Oscar was in there and he’s got his short tucked in in the front

Graves: okay?

Albert: and he goes “i gotta piss”

Finch: *big sip of juice*

Albert: AND STARTS WALKING TOWARDS ME😭

Finch: *now has juice all over himself from laughing* ———

York: oh my god i get my first tattoo in two weeks im so excited guys

Spot: what are you getting

York: some birds on my ribs as like a memorial thing

Graves; isn’t that gonna hurt?

York: yeah probably bur i have a high pain tolerance

York: and dont call me emo for this but i kinda likw the pain

Bart: you’re so fucking emo 😭

York: iM nOt

Graves: you’re literally in all black

York: shut up😭

———

[frogmanfae]

@newsiesficchallenges this is my boy Graves:)

[emmedoesntdomath]

SPOT CONLON SPOT CONLON SPOT CONLON SPOT-

I’m not even going to lie to you, this man (92sies) was the reason I first actually got into this fandom.

also- I know next to nothing about uksies’ spot, and while she seems like an absolute badass of a woman whom I would adore, I’m going to stick to what I know, and that’s livesies and 92sies spot. sorry.

(these headcanons are somewhat based in history, mostly not.)

sean ‘spot’ conlon was born and bred in brooklyn, nyc to an irish mother and a spanish father. his first language was spanish (his mother died when he was really little, otherwise it would have gaelic/irish), but he learned english pretty quickly. he became a newsie at nine, and was damn good at it. he rose up the ranks at a speed unheard of, and by the time he was fourteen, he was the king.

here’s the thing about brooklyn politics- they’re messy as shit. in manhattan, leaders aren’t formally elected, they’re just kind of the implied leader. the bronx is the same way, with a little more dispute. so smalls and jack became leaders pretty naturally. queens is more or less a democracy, flushing’s pretty much the same. but brooklyn and harlem? you have to literally fight your way to the top. and once you get there, you have to keep fighting to maintain that power.

so when people say they’re scared of spot conlon? yeah. yeah, they should be.

he rules with an iron fist. there’s no mercy for traitors or rebels. he leads this way for roughly three, four years, gaining hotshot as his second and a motley crew of loyalists behind him. and then- and then hotshot reports of a manhattan newsie working the crowds at the races (and to be clear, brooklyn and manhattan aren’t on great terms)(spot thinks jack’s an idiot and wants nothing to do with him).

suddenly, spot’s got a weakness, and said weakness is now the official ambassador of manhattan (hotshot hates him with a burning passion, and spot kind of respects him for that). and then there’s the strike, and spot steps down a year and a half later, at nineteen- steps down, spot conlon is not FORCED down, thank you very much- and that’s the end of the king of brooklyn.

sean conlon, though.

he still likes the water, and the way the air smells after a particularly hard rain. he sometimes starts speaking in spanish while he sleeps. he isn’t the biggest fan of smoking, but damn, if he doesn’t find it hot when other people do it. he got his nickname because he had freckles on his arms and nose. his best friends are david jacobs and hotshot, but he won’t admit to even liking either of them. he hates when people call him short. he’s never liked girls, but he never really cared much for boys, either, until he met racetrack higgins. he can’t read, but he pretends to when asked, because he’s embarrassed about it.

he joins the army when the war begins, and the war ends without him coming home.

the world and a ptsd-riddled italian boy with curls mourn.

[sk1ttery]

Wallflower AU Things :))

Set a few months prior to Graves’ accident.

“Kid, I’m gonna need to to tell me your name.” The police officer taps his pen against his clipboard, eyeing Hot-Shot.

Hot-Shot shifts in the uncomfortable plastic seat, sneakers squeaking against the lenoleum floors. He crosses his arms and huffs slightly, blowing his hair out of his eyes.

The cop purses his lips. “How old are you?”

Hot-Shot stares him down, adamant in not answering.

“Can you tell me the names of those boys you were with?”

Hot-Shot turns his gaze to the clock, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Tick

Tick..

Tick…

There’s an irritated sigh. “Son, I can do this all day…”

Perfect. So can he.

“…Or you could make this easier for both of us and tell me who you robbed that store with.” He prompts, sounding more impatient by the minute.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them before the officer sighs heavily and pushes his glasses to the top of his head. Hot-Shot can see the indents on the his nose.

“Look, kid. You’re in here every other week and it’s always because the same boys screwed you over and left you behind. I know you have some code or- whatever you want to call it, but is that really worth your future? Why don’t you just tell me your name.”

“Shouldn’t it be in your files or some shit? Considering I’m here so much.”

“So you can talk.”

“Yeah. But why would I talk to a fuckin’ pig like you.”

There’s no way he’s ratting out his friends. His old man and mama taught him better than that.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

“Did you rob that store last night.” The cop ignores the insult.

“I don’t know. Did you see me rob it.”

The officer looks exhasperated and sits back, pinching this bridge of his nose and muttering what sounds like a prayer before standing up abruptly.

Hot-Shot flinches at the sudden movement.

“I’m not doing this. I can’t-“ He walks off, probably to find a co-worker or some shit.

Hot-Shot watches the cop talk to a coworker. They keep glancing over at him and whispering to each other. He turns his gaze to the officer’s desk, studying his belongings.

The station doors slide open and he looks around only to see a very irritated looking Graves walk in.

Oh, shit.

Graves marches past him, raising a hand in a ‘don’t’ motion before Hot-Shot can get a word out, as he approaches the officers and decends into a heated conversation.

—

He’ll never understand how Graves does it. He was sure he was fucked this time, but then Graves swoops in and saves his ass.

Again.

“…Graves-“ He starts to say after they’ve been sat in the car in silence for maybe ten minutes.

Graves lifts his head from where he’d been resting it against the steering wheel.

“You told me you were done with this shit, mate- I thought after you left home you’d leave them too.”

“It was just one job.” Hot-Shot mutters.

“You say that every time. ‘Just one job.’ ‘One more job.’ ‘This is the last one, Graves.’ It never is- The whole point of you leaving was to escape that shit. But you keep going back to those fucking low-life-“

“They’re my friends-“ Hot-Shot interrupts, turning to meet Graves’ gaze.

“I’m your friend. They’re gang members. There’s difference, Forest.”

“Is there??”

“Friends don’t leave friends behind.”

Hot-Shot shuts his mouth and turns his gaze away, slumping down in his seat. He refuses to admit Graves is right.

“Don’t start sulking because I’m right.”

“Fuck you, man.” He bites out.

“Why, for caring?” Graves sounds tired. Maybe Hot-Shot’s been pushing too much...

“Look.” Graves says eventually. “I- I know you think they’re your friends, Shot, but one of these days- Sooner or later, they’re going to leave you bleeding somewhere. And I know you know that, deep down.”

Hot-Shot doesn’t answer. Maybe he does know that. Those guys have never done anything for him or to help him. Despite how much he’s done for them. How much he’s risked. How he bends over backwards for them-

Graves reaches out and ruffles his hair but Hot-Shot ducks away. He’s not in the mood.

Graves retracts his hand. “Let’s just go home,” He mutters, starting the car.

[sparkedblaze]

on a less angsty note, meddas house is always full for the holidays

her former fosters coming around for christmas, hanukkah, thanksgiving, yule, anything to be celebrated

all of them bringing their partners

ok maybe a lil more angst of oscar and morris stopping by so morris can say merry christmas or something but not staying bc of so many people

(maybe a gift for them as well)

PLEASE NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER STOP PUTTING ANGST IN MY FEED

IT FUELS ME

•

Medda never says Christmas. Or at least, now she doesn’t.

It started when Jack and Davey met, because before she met Davey she’d never really known anyone who didn’t celebrate Christmas.

And she said Merry Christmas to him, and his uncomfortable smile when she did made he momentarily panic.

And he kinda squeaks out ‘I’m Jewish’ and he’s (rightfully) terrified because he knows that she’s from the Deep South and has heard horror stories of how they treat people who are different. Who don’t believe everything they believe.

And, yeah Jack talks about how kind and wonderful his mama is, but what if this is where she draws the line? He wouldn’t want to come between them, but even thinking about being without Jack sets an ache deep in his chest.

And of course Medda just gets this kind-of-horrified look on her face and just starts apologizing for being inconsiderate

She immediately works to correct herself by saying ‘happy holidays’ at every opportunity

Specs always plans a day for her on the first day of Yule (Mother’s Night) and it always ends with a ‘surprise’ party at her house with her kids. They always make sure to invite Oscar and Morris. They try to let the brothers know when she’ll be there so they can pop in, say hi, and get away without getting overwhelmed.

THANKSGIVING IS THE BEST AT MEDDAS. BECAUSE NOT ONLY DOES SHE COOK. BUT EVERYONE BRINGS A DISH FROM THEIR CULTURE (it’s tradition, to try and help the kids stay connected with who they are) ELMER AND GRAVES ARE FORCED TO BRING PIEROGIS EVERY YEAR. THE OTHERS ARE O B S E S S E D WITH THEM.

Everyone gets really nervous the first time they bring their partners for holidays. Not to meet Medda, but to meet everyone else. Most of them already know each other. Most of them are friends. But York was Sean’s friend before he was introduced as Graves’s boyfriend. Hell, Sean was Jack’s rival before he was Race’s boyfriend. The only ones that seemed to surprise no one were Albert and Race getting together, and Davey and Jack getting together. They were always together, always flirting and giggling. It was just a matter of making it official.

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

JOSEPH PULITZER WAS BORN ON APRIL 10TH???

THE SAME DAY NEWSIES (1992) CAME OUT???

[applebasketnewsie]

just found out we're doing a one full day rehearsal for a performance of..... drumroll please....

NEWSIES AJAGDHAJSGDJAD im so exCITED yall have no idea aaaaaaaa

[we-are-inevitable]

For the fic title game: shallow graves for shallow hearts

(me? Digging through the lyrics of the song I'm currently listening to for a title? It's more likely than you think!)

ohhhoohoooo shit. canon era, jack leaves.

jack leaves, and that's supposed to be it. right? he got what he wanted- he got the train out west, he got a big life in a small town, and when he gets there everything is golden and sunshine and beautiful- but he doesn't feel complete, not the way he expected to.

i'm thinking that if i were to write this, i'd write it as like,, a letter fic? start with jack sending letters with shaky handwriting and dodgy spelling to the lodging house, because he knows there are some kids there who know how to read and they can relay his stories and his messages. the envelopes are always stuffed to the brim with his initial letter, and he usually includes four to six drawings in it- Santa Fe is gorgeous, just like he knew it'd be, and he wants the boys to see that he was right. maybe even sending them some money, too; he doesn't make much as a ranch hand but it's more than he thought he'd ever see, and he truthfully doesn't need that much. he doesn't know what he'd ever spend it on, so he'd rather send it to the boys who need it.

so he keeps this going, detailing all of the adventures he's been having (even with a gaping whole in his chest) and telling them about a girl he's been going steady with (one that reminds him of a certain blue eyed boy without the same spark), and this continues until one day, one of the men he's living with in the bunkhouse on the ranch brings him a letter.

a letter from David Jacobs, all the way in New York City.

more under the cut!

david's letter is much better than anything jack could ever send. his handwriting is lovely- and a little hard for jack to read- but jack is able to figure it out eventually, and it's nice. david updates jack on the news from the lodging house, and tells jack all of the little things that the boys want him to know about. no one seems very upset at him for leaving- not from david's words, at least- but even so, reading the letter makes jack's chest tight.

and this continues on for a while. jack will send letters to the lodging house and david will respond for the boys, until jack gets a little brave and starts sending david letters directly, too. he sends the boys money and drawings and sends david his deepest, darkest secrets- how he misses new york and his "penthouse," how he loves his current job but misses his boys- how he misses katherine, and crutchie, and davey.

jack never meant to have a shallow heart. he needed to get away, he needed to escape- and he never realized that doing so would just tear his heart in half even more. he wakes every morning feeling physically better than ever- fresh air will do that to you, he assumes- but he feels like he's on his deathbed half the time because of the weight on his chest and the hole in his heart.

but he stays, because he made a commitment, and he can't back out on his dream now.

the letter-writing goes on for years. eventually, jack starts getting individual letters from racetrack and crutchie as well- they made it out of the lodging house- and jack continues to write to them alongside his writings to david. those letters to david, his davey, started so innocently- how is he doing, how is his family, the likes- but now when jack writes them he feels a tug on his heart and when he reads david's letters he finds himself flustered and he doubts he would ever be able to say these feelings out loud, but there's something there- and he knows he isn't imagining it because david feels the same, and has written the same in his letters.

i imagine when it hits the three year mark, when jack has been here for three winters, when jack is no longer the new guy and is instead helping the new ranch hands in the bunkhouse, it all feels too familiar and he aches with it.

he gets drunk on whiskey and writes a candle-lit letter about how much he misses home, because this isn't home, this will never be home. he gets drunk on whiskey and writes about the boy with the blue eyes and a fire that's still present even in his words on paper. he gets drunk on whiskey and sends the letter despite his better judgement.

the next letter he receives from david is simple. all it says is, Come home. We will be ready, and I will be waiting.

so jack goes back home, and jack finds his family again.

and jack finds david, too, and maybe his grand plan for his life never involved living in a "bachelor pad" next to a conveniently single David Jacobs, but he can't say he's complaining, either.

[loving-jack-kelly]

davey and money?

davey as a kid had one of those USA maps with slots for every state quarter and he collected almost all of them over years. eventually, he was only missing one state and every time he had a quarter in his hand he'd check it to make sure it wasn't the one he was missing.

he met jack getting out of line at the grocery store. he'd been looking for the last quarter at this point for almost five years and he sighs out loud when it's not one of the two he gets handed in change. jack, every friendly and waiting for a friend to finish shopping, asks if he is okay. davey is like yeah, it's just a silly thing. I've been looking for the fiftieth state quarter and I just got rhode island and California, which I already have. and jack is like oh what's the last one? maybe I have it. and davey, who has been insisting to everyone that he has to find it naturally and by himself, can't say no when somebody is so nice. especially when he says New Mexico, and jack is suddenly frantically going through his wallet and pulling a New Mexico quarter out that he's been carrying around with him for years because when he was little and wanted to be a cowboy it felt like a sign that he found a quarter from the state he dreamed of being a cowboy in.

and davey doesn't believe in soulmates or love at first sight but it must mean something that a handsome stranger had the last quarter he needs for his collection and was willing to give it to him even though it was sentimental, right?

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

the delancey brothers!!!! (times three for some fucking reason)

[somedayonbroadway]

Gravity Falls Masterlist

Gravity Falls Outline

All mood boards

Really Cool Fan Art

Midnight Snack

Obsession

Vampire Bite

Graves

Addict

Who’s Albert?

[kid-blinks-eyepatch]

york n graves

york yells😰

-Graves- 

Neither of us really knew what we had been fighting about, I honestly don’t think it was really anything. We were both exhausted and we’d started to argue. At some point I’d started screaming at York. I was fully aware our neighbors would be able to hear as the building wasn’t known for having thick walls. 

The only good thing was we weren’t the only couple fighting at he moment as i coil dhear our neighbors faintly.

I was screaming pretty much as loud as I could at York, who just stared at me. He spoke in a normal volume, a bit louder than usual, but nowhere even close to shouting..  

“God fucking dammit Roger!” I yelled, throwing my hands up “Are you just gonna fucking stand there?” He shrugged his shoulders, looking at me as i spat out words angrily. He sighed, rubbing his face. That just pissed me off more somehow

“What would you rather i do?” He replied in a voice dangerously close to a snarl. I threw up my hands again, at this point i was stalking back and forth, not having enough breath to let ou all the energy

“Fucking react? Not stand there like a goddamned statue!” I shouted angrily, staring at him. He had one hand on the counter, hed been standing like that pretty mich the whole time. 

“I don’t- This is me reacting” he snarled “because i cna fucking control myself unlike other people”  HE snapped angrily, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were white. 

“HOw the fuck is that reacting? Did your dad beat the ability to have basic human

emotions out of you? I dont even get whu you ket him hit you- you could’ve stopped him-“ the second i mentioned his dad he got a sort of shocked look on his face- almost like a kicked puppy. it slowly registered what id said to him. And then rhe shock was gone and it was pure rage. 

“Dont you ever,” he shouted at me “*ever* bring him up” He was screaming at me. he’d never done that before. 

“I-“ I tried, fighting the impulse to hide.

“dont you ever fucking act like you have the goddamn slightest idea what he was like. dont you ever try to fucking make me feel like i could’ve done something” He was so loud. I stared up at him. It hit me at that point how much bigger he was than me. And he was so loud. I felt myself start to cry, my vision blurring as hot tears squeezed out of my eyes. As he kept shouting at me i realized that i was *scared* of him. Holy fuck i was scared of my boyfriend.  I didn’t know how long he screamed at me,  all i knew was by the time he stopped, I was sobbing. He glared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathed, before he turned and stalked to our room. I heard the door slam and i went o find a hiding spot. I managed to wiggle into the dryer and curl up inside of it, sobbing. 

He’d never yelled at me before. The more i thought about it the more i realized id never heard him shout. 

never.

not once.

Even the time Myron had inadvertently made a joke about his dad hitting him, he’d never yelled. 

he just got really quiet and he’d squeezed me tight. 

And the thing that scared me the most was that he’d never even raised his voice at me

I was sobbing uncontrollably at this point, i knew i was read and snotty from the crying at this point, but just couldn’t help it. He’d looked so *angry*. He could’ve hurt me if he wanted. He could’ve picked me up and thrown me, or even hit me. and somehow that scared me more than him shouting. His voice was so loud- so so *loud*. oh god i was so scared. I whimpered as i sobbed, trying to calm myself down. I heard the bedrom door open- the thing was squeaky as hell. i hod my face in my - well technically York’s - hoodie, shaking. I could hear him walking around. 

“Graves?” he called “Carlos?”

I hid more in the hoodie.

“Are you here?” he called. I didn’t respond, I didn’t trust myself to speak and not break down sobbing again. I took a few deep breaths. He was talking to himself now.

“god fucking dammit roger” he snarled, sounding more upset than angry.

“Carlos? are you in here?” he called. I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me 

“y-yeah” I sniffed, trying to get out of the dryer. He walked into the laundry room and crouched in front of the dryer

“Graves?” he asked, looking at me. his face was red, but it was probably just from the shouting. oh god the *shouting*. I hid my face in his hoodie and sniffed

“how- how the fuck do you fit in the dryer?”

“I- I-“ I sniffed, my voice shaking “im tiny-“

“are you stuck?” He asked. I nodded. he held out his hand. 

“cmon doll- gimmie ya hand” I shrank back, curling up and shaking my head violently. I saw the expression on his face- he looked like a kicked puppy again. It was a weird look on him. i didn’t like it. he rubbed his face with his hands before looking bsck at me.

“Carlos- did i scare you?” he asked gently. I nodded, curling up more. he sighed, rubbing his face.

“god im- im so sorry honey” He said, looking up at me “you don’t gotta forgive me but can i at least gelp you outta the dryer?” he asked, holding out his habd again. I nodded, taking it. he tugged and after a minute or so i tumbled out of the dryer and into his lap. I knew normally he would have hugged me but he just froze. that was something I loved about him- he’d never pushed boundaries. I looked up at him and calmed down a little. this was my york. I wiped off my face with the hoodie sleeves, drawing a slight squeak from York. I nuzzled against him

“can i hug you?” he asked softly. I nodded. he held me in his lap on the floor of the laundry room.

“im so sorry i scared you” he murmured to me “and ya dont gotta be okay with it i just want ya to know im sorry” I looked up and him and kissed his chin

“its okay- qand im sorry for what i said- i shouldn’t have gone there”

 “its okay love- i know you didnt mean it” he said gently. I nuzzled him, kissing him lightly.

“is this something we talk about or something we ignore?” he asked me, kissing my head. Another thing i loved- he’d let me *set* boundaries.

“ignore?” i replied, looking up at him. he nodded, squeezing me. neither of us would forget the fight, not for a long time, if ever, bur we both knew the other didn’t mean it.

I was still a bit spooked, but this was the york i was used to. The York who’d just hold me and let me calm down and wouldn’t ask questions if i didn’t want him to. 

We’d forgive each other. Maybe not right away, but i knew we’d get over it. 

York kissed my forehead

“whaddya want for dinner love? other than dryer sheets that is” I giggled, sticking out my tongue

“its cozy”

“try claustrophobic”

“I love you Roger” 

“I love you too my little dryer sheet” 

i love these two sm they’re basically ocs at this pointy but idc they’re so cute wrote this for a friend so yall get it too

[emmedoesntdomath]

Can I just have some good hcs? I need emotional support rn 😭😭

HI OF COURSE SORRY I DIDN’T ANSWER EARLIER

race has adhd, right? and because he’s also gay as hell, he has that certain audacity that says if he really tries, he believes he can do just about anything. so when he was, like, six, he taught himself the basics of morse code for shits and giggles. then he forgot about doing it, and so he never learned any more. when he became friends with albert, they learned a little bit more together, so they’d be able to communicate without other people knowing (stuff like help, no, I’m bored, this bitch, etc.) they continued using that method for years. and then they met spot, it seemed natural to include him, too. so their vocabulary expanded, and they just started talking without using words, saying things (again) like help, get me out of here, this bitch, and; I love you. 

when charlie became crutchie, he decided that no one else had to know who he used to be. jack did, of course, because jack had been francis, but that was different. he became a newsie, made friends, made family. still, he was crutchie. this wasn’t weird, or bad, because most newsies had nicknames, but most newsies had names, too. but crutchie was just crutchie. so when les asked ‘d’you still have a real name, too?’ one day in the penthouse, he froze a bit. because he did, of course he did. but crutchie was crutchie, and charlie was gone. he whispered back, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ les simply nodded and said, ‘okay. let me know if you get one.’ crutchie cried a little bit that night. over a year later, after kids had come and gone, the seasons had changed and come again, les and crutchie were in the penthouse again. les was reading and crutchie was fiddling with his crutch. ‘charlie’ he whispered. les glanced up. ‘charlie’, he said a little louder. ‘that’s my real name.’ les looked like he understood. he moved over and held out a hand to shake. ‘nice ta meetcha, charlie. I’m les.’

jack and davey once had a big fight. I mean, obviously, all couples do. but they fought, and then they didn’t speak to each other for a solid week. race was beside himself. ‘jackie, jackie, no- listen to me. listen. you NEEDS to talk to davey. don’t look at me like that. dave needs you. we needs dave. c’mon. please.’ jack, being the emotionally stunted man-child he is, did absolutely jack shit. so race turned to davey. ‘dave. dave, davey, please. look, I know he’s an idiot. believe me, I do. I’ve been putting up with the knucklehead for years, I get it. but we’s fallin apart, dave. the kids need you and jackie. I know that’s not fair to say. but its the truth. just- please. talk to him. hit em for all I care. just make this better.’ they were back together within two hours. (racetrack higgins can work MIRACLES when he tries.)

jack once called medda mom while painting a set. it was casual, a thrown over the shoulder kind of thing, and he didn’t even realize what he had said. but medda sure did. and she went home and thanked a lord that she had done nothing but screamed and yelled at for the better part of fifteen years for jack kelly, and the sheer good and happiness he brought into her life. 

elmer, splasher, slasher, magnet, graves, and their siblings having a weekly family dinner that everyone is required to attend. swipe has an invitation extended to them every week. slasher hates it. 

[sk1ttery]

Who is the dad of the group in Wallflower AU because I feel like its Specs but something tells me other wise

There are a few dads in the group.

For the Manhattan Bunch, Specs and Jack are both dads in their own ways !

Specs has an open door policy and people tend to crash at his house a lot because his parents aren’t around he he has his own place. His house has this sort of ‘safe’ feeling to it. A lot of the group can sleep easier at Specs’ house than they can in their own - Bumlets’ house is the same but that’s because his parents adopted all his friends, he isn’t responsible enough to be a group dad. /affectionate

Some live with Specs permanently, as in they have moved in with him. Dutchie, Blink, Skittery & Tumble, Spike (OC) and Elmer. (In order of who moved in from first to most recently in the Wallflower Timeline) The others refer to them as “The Specs Household”.

And most of the wingmen have keys to his house ! The wingmen being Specs, Skittery, Bumlets, Racer, Blink, Swifty, Dutchie, Pie-Eater, Snoddy and Katherine.

Jack’s the dad in the sense he’s someone the others go to when they need to talk. When he escapes Snyder he ends up moving in with Medda and Crutchie and Medda also has an open door policy for the group. In terms of Jack and Specs though, Specs has his open door policy, Jack has his “Always available” policy. Meaning the others can message/call him at ANY time. He doesn’t care if he’s sleeping and they wake him, he’ll pick up.

He never has his phone on silent for this reason - He’d much rather one of his friends call and wake him than deal with an issue by themselves.

That and he’s the sort of leader of the Manhattan group? That sort of automatically makes him a parental figure so some of the slightly younger ones.

Henry also sort of falls into a parental role but specifically for The Bros. (Henry, Finch, JoJo, Buttons and Elmer) He just has to babysit them because they’re idiots.

Now, the dads of the BROOKLYN Bunch are Hot-Shot and Graves, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, they’re some of the oldest. Graves has always been there for everyone through everything they’ve gone through, and Hot-Shot is always on call if people need support.

But overall, the group as a whole (Both Hattan and Brooklyn) It’s probably Jack and/or Specs.

[sparkedblaze]

Consider scared Jack showing up in Brooklyn

Ohohhoohhoho

Jack going up to Pulitzer’s office that first time (pre-rally) and essentially telling Pulitzer to shove it

The other boroughs, seeing Jack essentially abandon the cause (not knowing he’s been jailed, just thinking he’s a coward), they all split. They aren’t putting their boys in danger, especially if Jack is going to hide while they all do the dirty work

Jack escaping the Refuge that night (with a little help from Crutchie) and he just starts running

As fast as his legs can take him. There isn’t a destination in mind, just knows he can’t stay in Manhattan.

He crosses the bridge and almost immediately is stopped by one of Conlon’s goons-Swipe or Graves, it’s too hard to tell in the dark-who immediately whistles for backup.

“Got a lot o’ nerve comin’ here, Kelly.”

They bring him to Spot, and are shocked that he doesn’t fight. The whole way there he’s complacent and willing.

Spot lays into him the second he’s in the same room. Telling him off about not only abandoning him, and the strike, but his own kids?!

And Jack just takes it. The kids still holding his arms can feel him trembling, can feel each knee jerk reaction as Spot steps closer and gets in his face.

“You ain’t got no right to call yourself a leader, Jack Kelly.”

Jack just nods silently, waiting his turn to speak.

Spot’s never seen Jack like this. He’s seen Jack get stomped into the ground. Seen him malnourished and beaten down. Hell, the two of them had met in the Refuge.

But there had always been room to sass Spot Conlon. He’s always had that spirit.

So he tells his boys to leave. To give him a second with Jack. They’re thinking Jack’s gonna emerge from that room a bloody pulp.

He doesn’t.

In fact, Spot’s the only one to emerge, with a pointed look to his boys. “No one goes in. Understand?”

They all nod.

“Hotshot. Go get Racer and Davey. Now.”

Another nod, and he’s off, wondering what the FUCK just happened.