#for weisel

[pigeonsimba]

Omen on the Range

For @weiselzelle, mostly, but I tried to include as many No. 6 week prompts as reasonably possible xD

Shion did not like the look of the sky. A mile back everything had been fine, sunny, balmy weather, and Shion had dared to feel optimistic. Now hazy gray clouds had begun to drift above like tumbleweeds, dampening Shion’s good mood. Rikiga would have called the sudden change in weather a bad omen. But then, Rikiga thought everything was an omen of some sort. The Chronos townspeople were a superstitious lot. Shion’s mother had warned him about the small-minded nature of small towns when he had told her he planned to set up his practice there.

It feels like an omen, Shion thought to himself.

“But it should be fine! Right, Lili?” Shion leaned down to pat his horse’s neck.

Lili chuffed and picked up her pace. Shion chose to believe the sound was one of encouragement and that the low rumble in the distance was the crash of wagon wheels and nothing more ominous.

A raindrop smacked the brim of his hat. Shion clamped his teeth together and prayed. The gods didn’t listen, however, and another drop sunk into the fabric of his white shirt like a smear of grease. Then another drop, and another, and Shion sighed and slumped in the saddle.

I should have turned around when I had the chance. I could still turn around now….

But he could see the ranch already. It was a large sprawling property, with a barn, a stable, a small home, and rolling fenced-in fields. He didn’t see any animals outside—another bad omen—but the path up ahead was lined with vibrant daffodils, which Shion considered a good omen. His mother had always said daffodils represented new beginnings, and that was just what Shion needed.

By the time he had reached the entrance gate, the rain was a steady stream and had the makings of a real storm. He had to find shelter quickly or he wasn’t going to be at all presentable to the owner and that wouldn’t do. He had already been warned countless times that the man who owned this ranch was a savage, and a cutthroat, and an all-fired bastard, and if Shion was crazy enough to show up and try “peddling his horseshit” all he would get was a boot in the behind. But adversity had always lit a fire in Shion’s belly, so, naturally, since the townspeople seemed so certain this was a fool’s errand, Shion was determined to succeed. He had to look his best, talk his best, and come back triumphant.

This rain had complicated that plan quite a bit, though. Shion pushed Lili to a canter, heading toward what he thought was the stable. He knew it would be better manners to go to the house and introduce himself before barging onto a stranger’s property, but Lili became skittish in bad weather and he didn’t want to abandon her unprotected. There were a few trees huddled to the side of the building, which would make good shelter for them both while Shion collected himself and figured out what to do next.

Shion slid off his horse and gave her a soothing pat. The rain was crackling and constant as a waterfall now. Thunder and lightning were all that were needed to make this a proper storm, and Shion felt like they weren’t far off. He squinted through the deluge. The buttery yellow lights of the house wavered in the distance.

Shion did a quick inventory of his person. His shirtsleeves were thoroughly drenched. He was really glad of his vest over it, otherwise, he’d be introducing himself to the rancher in a translucent shirt and that was not an option. Even Shion wouldn’t take a business proposition seriously from a man in such a state.

Not an auspicious beginning, but that’s okay. I’m here already and he appears to be home, I might as well introduce myself.

Shion drew in a deep breath and stepped toward the house.

Something snagged the back of Shion’s collar and he skidded in the wet dirt. The next thing he knew, he was plastered against the side of the stable, staring into a pair of merciless silver eyes.

“You picked a terrible night to trespass,” the stranger said.

His voice sounded pleasant despite the sentiment. It made Shion feel like they were friends, sharing a joke. He almost smiled and gave a playful response—that is until he felt the cold caress of a blade against his throat.

“Care to explain what you’re doing on my property?” the man asked. His tone remained friendly and his eyes never left Shion’s. The man’s eyes were dark and bright at the same time, roiling and thundering like captured storms. Shion’s skin pricked with electricity.

The man had the prettiest face Shion had ever seen: heart-shaped with delicate features, but there was a hardness to its lines that kept the man from looking too feminine. His skin was tanned—nothing new since ranch hands spent their days in the sun—and beneath the man’s wide-brimmed hat, Shion saw he had long dark hair.

He smelled good too. Most ranchers and cowboys wore their clothes for days on end without changing or rinsing themselves. Shion nearly gagged at the scent of sweat and muck every time the Johnson brothers sidled up to him at the bar. But this man smelled like horses and petrichor, two scents Shion found particularly soothing.

Shion held his hands up and out to the sides. The universal sign of I mean no harm. “I’m not here to steal anything.”

“Great. What are you here for, then?”

The flat edge of the knife traced its way over Shion’s Adam’s apple and up the curve of his jaw. Shion hummed nervously and swallowed. It was hard to think with all the stimuli flooding his brain.

“You,” Shion managed.

The man’s expression darkened. The knife’s blade skimmed Shion’s skin, prickling like a thorn. A warm bead of blood slipped down the side of his neck. Shion gasped and hurried to explain himself.

“No, not you as in you! I mean, I’m here for the horses!”

“So you are here to steal my horses.”

“No! No, I mean I’m here to talk to you about the horses! I’m a veterinarian.”

Gods above! Why can’t I talk right? Shion squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation. I’m such an idiot.

Behind Shion’s lids, lightning flashed and thunder crashed hot on its heels. They were in a full-blown storm now.

The knife withdrew and Shion cracked open his eyes. The stranger scowled at him.

“A veterinarian.” The man said the word like it was a foul-smelling thing he was holding an arms-length away.

“Yes,” Shion mumbled. The man’s gaze raked over his person. Shion could only imagine what he was thinking about the sopping wet, muttering fool standing before him. This was definitely not going well. He should have turned around when the first raindrop hit him. Better yet, he should’ve listened to the townsfolk and stayed far away.

Enough with the muttering, Shion scolded himself. Business! You’re a businessman. This is not unsalvageable!

“I’m new to town,” Shion said, trying to inject some authority into his voice. “And I’m trying to establish myself with the locals. I heard you haven’t had a vet come down to check your horses in a while. I’m here to offer my services. For a free trial, since we don’t know each other that well. But I’m certain that you’ll be happy with my qualifications.”

Shion let out a satisfied breath. There! That’s how it’s done. Totally competent.

“Where’re your instruments?” the stranger asked.

“They're right here, on Lili.” Shion moved to grab them, but the suspicious glare of the rancher made him stay put and he gestured instead. The man glanced at the saddle bag.

“I don’t need your services. I care for my horses myself—and for good reason. They don’t take too kindly to strangers.”

“It’s commendable you take care of them on your own and haven’t needed to call to town for anything. But if you’ll excuse my… erm… directness. I am a trained professional, so…” Shion cleared his throat. “I’d like to get a baseline of the horses’ health in case one ever does need my help. I’m very good with animals; I haven’t met a horse that disliked me. I think you’ll be impressed if you’ll give me a chance.”

“That’d be a pretty big feat because I’m certainly not impressed with what I see now.”

Shion fidgeted. The moment stretched on, fraught with the hiss of rain and the crash of thunder. The man exhaled noisily through his nose.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Shion.”

The man clicked his tongue. “Well, Shion, bring your horse inside. She looks like she’s about to die of fright.” He turned and headed for the stable.

Shion smiled. He took Lili by the reins and coaxed her forward.

“Thank you,” Shion said when they were safely inside. The rush of rain was much quieter now, and Shion felt immediately comforted by the smell of hay and horses. “I didn’t get your name.”

“You didn’t, huh? I’d’ve thought the townsfolk would sling it around like a curse the moment you asked directions here.”

Shion thought a moment. “They mostly said, ‘that dirty cowboy.’ I might’ve heard some other descriptors, but… I don’t think they warrant sharing.” Shion shrugged and smiled awkwardly.

“I’ll bet. Nezumi,” he said and pointed to Shion’s left. “You can put your horse in that stall. There’s some feed in the corner if you need it. The rest of the horses are down there. Come when you’re ready, Mr. Trained Professional.”

Shion’s cheeks heated. Nezumi smirked and stalked away.

“He’s very intimidating,” Shion whispered to Lili. “I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew….” Lili grunted in evident agreement.

Shion made sure his horse was settled in comfortably, then grabbed his medical bag and crossed the stable.

Nezumi had taken his hat off and laid it aside on a stool. It was a handsome hat, black with little wear on it, and freshly cleaned from the rain. Even more handsome was its owner. Shion tried not to stare too much, but he couldn’t help a furtive glance at Nezumi’s hair. He had braided the wet strands over one shoulder and tied it off with his neckerchief.

Nezumi extended his hand toward the stalls. “Go ahead, work your magic.”

Shion counted three Quarter Horses. They stuck their heads out, snuffling quizzically. They must not have had many visitors. Unsurprising, given their owner’s misanthropy. However, they didn’t look unfriendly. Shion approached the bay first, talking calmly while he did to establish a rapport.

“Hello, beautiful. Hear all that rain outside? You’re lucky you’re in here where it’s safe and warm. I, unfortunately, haven’t been so lucky today.”

The horse tilted its head and eyed him, ears swiveling. Shion extended a hand slowly, giving it plenty of time to decide if it didn’t want him near, but it didn’t seem to mind. The horse gave his hand a few sniffs and lost interest when it realized he had no snacks. Shion gave its neck a pat.

“Seems plenty friendly to me,” Shion called to Nezumi.

“So it would seem,” Nezumi drawled. “The damned traitor.”

Shion laughed. “What’s this one’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name.”

“Is he new?”

“No. The horses don’t have names. I don’t see the point.”

Shion half turned. “So you just say, ‘horse’ when you talk to them? How do you differentiate?”

Nezumi made a face. “It’s not like they’re identical. I just say, the black one, the bay, or the palomino.”

Shion frowned and petted the bay again. “Seems sad. Horses like to be named.”

“Is that what they teach you at horse school?”

“Every companionable creature likes to be named, whether they understand it or not. How would you feel if people went around calling you ‘that human’?”

Nezumi’s mouth curved upward. The sudden sharpness of it reminded Shion of a poised scorpion’s tail. “Better than ‘that savage’ or ‘Miss Nancy.’ Though I would feel best if people didn’t call me at all.”

A tendril of anger curled in Shion’s stomach. He knew that the townsfolk had plenty of lewd opinions on what cowboys got up to when they were far from civilization. Cowboys loved to wear flashy, bright clothes and made a spectacle of themselves wherever they went, so the rumor mill had plenty of ammunition to run on. He didn’t like the idea of the townsfolk making assumptions about Nezumi based on his profession and he especially didn’t like the insinuation that the townsfolk had been insulting Nezumi to the man’s face.

Nezumi was wearing an olive green shirt with a dark brown vest over top, and all the rest from his hat to his boots were black. There was nothing showy about his style of dress and nothing in his demeanor that suggested anything worse than grumpiness. He presented himself as respectably as any townsman. Just because he was pretty and happened to be a native cowboy, they thought it was grounds to degrade him.

Disgusting. Shion wished Nezumi would name names so he could give those good-for-nothings a piece of his mind.

“Well that’s a scary face,” Nezumi said, chuckling. “Easy there, doctor. I don’t need you storming Chronos in defense of my honor. I can take care of myself just as well as I take care of my horses. Speaking of, are you going to look at the horses or are you just here to talk my ear off?” 

Shion flattened his fisted hands over the damp fabric of his pant legs. “Right,” he muttered, trying to shake off the cloud of irritation. “Sorry.”

Shion drew the bay horse out under Nezumi’s watchful eye and listened to its heart, lungs, and gut, then moved on to the condition of the rest of its body.

“Very nice,” Shion announced when he had finished. “You have a very healthy bay horse.”

“I know that. As I told you, I care for them myself.”

“Yes, alright. I’ll be checking ‘the black one’ and ‘the palomino’ next.”

Nezumi crossed his arms. “Uh-huh. Very cute.”

Despite the dry tone, Shion thought he saw the edges of a smile forming on the man’s face. He couldn’t help but smile back. Nezumi’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Or so Shion thought.

The air in the stable suddenly felt very warm. Shion’s fingers itched to loosen his necktie, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“Your neck alright?”

“W-what?”

“Your neck. I nicked it outside, didn’t I?”

“Oh.” He had forgotten all about that. He felt the spot. “It’s alright. It’s already closed up.”

Nezumi stepped close and tugged one of the trailing ends of Shion’s necktie. The silky fabric unraveled and slithered away. Nezumi peered at the side of Shion’s exposed neck. For a moment, the roar of the rain pounding the roof was the only thing Shion could hear. Or was that the blood rushing in his ears?

“Hm,” hummed Nezumi. “Yeah, it’s as you say. All closed up.”

Nezumi had the longest, darkest lashes Shion had ever seen. Thick as a horse’s and probably just as soft.

“You can have this back whenever you’re done admiring me.” Nezumi stepped away and waggled the necktie in front of Shion’s face.

Shion snatched his necktie from Nezumi’s hand and strode to the black horse's stall to hide and catch his breath.

Was that flirting? Was he flirting with me? Or making fun of me? He wanted to look over his shoulder but he was afraid of what expression Nezumi would be wearing. If he were laughing at him Shion didn’t know if he could stand it. Better to not look. Shion furiously refastened his necktie. He thought he might’ve heard Nezumi chuckle.

Horses. Check the horses, panic later.

All horses were in good health, and all three were perfect angels the whole time he conducted his checks. Shion suspected Nezumi had been lying about their fractious nature, either to discourage him or test his determination.

“I will admit,” Shion said as he secured the stall door behind the palomino, “you do take exquisite care of your horses. But they still need to have their teeth examined at least yearly.  Especially the black one, since she’s younger. You don’t have to bring them to me, but bring them somewhere.”

Nezumi shrugged. “Alright.” He plopped his hat back on, then cocked his head to the side. “It’s stopped raining.”

Shion strained his ears. “Oh, yeah. Seems so.”

“And it’s gotten late. You should head out. The missus will be wondering where you are.”

“Hardly,” Shion laughed. “There’s no missus to speak of.”

Shion paused in the middle of stuffing his stethoscope back in his bag. Wait a minute…. He hazarded a look. Nezumi’s gaze was guileless, but… There was a definite atmosphere. Or was he just imagining it?

“It’s late just the same,” Nezumi said. “And it’s a long ride back. You better get going.”

Shion smiled feebly and closed his bag.

They walked out of the stable together, Shion leading Lili by the bridle. The horse was leery at first, but she perked up when she stepped out into a wet, but clear night.

“Well, um. It was nice to meet you.”

“Mm.”

Shion frowned and pretended to check the fastenings of Lili’s saddle. He wasn’t sure how to close this encounter. Nezumi hadn’t given him much to go off of. He didn’t say he would employ Shion as his vet and he kicked him out the moment he had the opportunity. Shion thought there was something to the flirtatious remarks, but maybe he was leaning a little too hopefully into the cowboy stereotype.

What a long night… Shion sighed and tilted his head skyward. The storm had wrung the clouds out to nothing; stars shone down from the inky blackness, free as fireflies. “Well, guess I’ll— Oh, look, Pegasus!”

“What?”

“Pegasus, the winged horse. It’s a constellation.” Shion pointed out the star formation, but Nezumi wasn’t seeing it. “I suppose it is a bit abstract,” Shion confessed. “You have to really use your imagination to see it.”

“Are you calling me unimaginative?”

“I didn’t say that. Though, I will say a truly imaginative person would have given their horses names.”

Nezumi snorted. “This again. You’re such a horse fanatic.”

“And you aren’t? You’re a cowboy!”

“Eh. It’s complicated.”

Nezumi’s eyes glowed like slivers of moonlight, but his gaze felt more scorching than the sun. Shion could have stood on that stable’s threshold and stared for hours.

“I’ll get going,” Shion said at last. He swung up into Lili’s saddle. “Perhaps I… Perhaps I could come by again this weekend?”

Nezumi’s brows furrowed beneath the brim of his hat. “What for? You said the horses are healthy.”

“They are. It wouldn’t be to see the horses.”

Nezumi considered him. Shion wasn’t sure what was going on in the man’s mind. He could guess—he hoped he had interpreted the man’s actions correctly—but Nezumi was slippery.

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I can’t really explain it well yet, but… I find myself drawn to you.”

Nezumi made a face, but he didn’t immediately say anything, so Shion took it as a good omen.

“I’ll be busy this weekend,” said Nezumi. “I don’t have time to stand around and listen to you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If you can run your horse as fast as you do your mouth, then come. But only as long as you can keep up.”

Warmth blossomed in Shion’s chest. He sat forward in his seat, but before he could respond, Nezumi set off toward his house, boots squelching in the mud.

[theborzoiarebackintown]

Mama dog being effortlessly beautiful

[onemorestrangeronthestreet]

There's been a lot of talk about Oscar and Morris lately so here's an idea for you to speculate (I don't know if someone's already talked about this i cannot remember for the life of me??) :

What if Oscar and Morris were newsies when they were younger, maybe even stayed at the Lodging house/were in good terms with the others?

And that's why all the current newsjes and the Delanceys have so much beef, cause the newsies are pissed/mad at the brothers for joining the "bad side" ?

[miryum]

A Roll of the Die (Spot Conlon x Reader)

New York was divided into levels. Levels that made up skyscrapers and classes of wealth. There were the rich people- the top tier of New York City. Then there were the people directly under them, middle class who were their assistants or worked away at the bank or as a maid and butler. There was also the lower class. The people who had two or three jobs, scavenging away for the smallest scrap of money. Maybe seamstresses, factory workers, or newsies. And then there was the lowest of all of New York. The street rats. The homeless. The scabbers. 

Y/n hated the levels of New York. As she was on the bottom, her opinion would make sense. Y/n made a living as a scabber. She worked many small jobs- wherever she could find them. Most of the time, she sold newspapers alongside the newsies. She wasn’t officially a part of the newsie ranks, nor did she ever intend to join them, but it was a somewhat stable job that helped her maintain enough money for her and her family to eat, so in her book, it was a mighty fine job. 

However, Y/n got wind of a strike that was stirring in the newsie ranks. Her scabber friends, Mark and Joseph told her that the newsies were upset at the raise in price and were deciding to do something about it. Apparently, the newsies had stopped Mark and Joseph from buying papes yesterday while Y/n was off sewing clothes with her sister. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Y/n groaned once she heard the news as the trio slowly made their way to the circulation centre. “You let them stop you from buying papes? What about your day's work? And now you’re telling me I should stop getting an honest day’s pay?”

“They’ll beat you up if you don’t.” Mark warned.

“Like they’d beat up a girl.” Y/n chuckled. She hopped down onto the street, a carriage barely missing her. Joseph pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

“I heard that they even got Spot Conlon on board,” Joseph gossiped. 

“That little guy?” Y/n rolled her eyes. “What’s he gonna do to me?”

“You’re not scared of him?” Mark laughed incredulously.

“No.” Y/n shrugged. The three of them got to the gate of the circulation centre and as Mark and Joseph joined the growing ranks of newsies, Y/n nonchalantly stepped up to the counter. 

“Hi Weisel.” Y/n grinned, “200 papes please?”

Weisel raised a brow. “Really? You of all people not joining the strike? Thought you scabbers would wanna change the laws.” He then turned and yelled, “200 papes for the girl!”

“Not so loud!” Y/n hissed, “the newsies can’t know I’m buying.” 

“Looks like they already do.” Weisel smirked and nodded to the crowd around her. 

Y/n sighed and reluctantly turned to face the throng. She was surrounded by angry and expectant newsies. Mark and Joseph looked worried from the back. Weisel slid the pack of papes towards her and gestured for his money. Y/n slammed her coins down and Weisel happily took them. 

“What are you doin’?” The lead newsie asked. It didn’t sound like a question. 

“Buying papes,” Y/n snorted a laugh. “Obviously.” Life on the streets had shown her to act indifferent until the first punch was thrown.

“Haven’t you heard about the strike?” Another newsie with a cigar hanging from his lips asked.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t buy papes,” another said. “We won’t allow it. For the strike to work, no one can sell papes.”

“Yeah, but some of us need to eat,” Y/n pointed out. She took her papers and started out the clump of newsies. They blocked her and Y/n stepped back into the middle of the circle. She squared her shoulders. Y/n didn’t like being surrounded. The odds weren’t in her favour and it made her feel trapped.

“You can’t sell papes!” The first newsie argued. He seemed to be their leader. “We’re in this together. I know you wanna get your money, but just cause we make pennies doesn’t give them the right to rub our noses in it. Are you gonna roll over and let Pulitzer pick your pocket? They need to respect your rights! All we ask for is a square deal. I told your buddies this yesterday, and Imma tell you this today: for the sake of every overworked kid in this whole city, I beg you. Throw down your papers and join the strike.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Real nice speech you got going on there. Worked on my friends.” She jerked a head towards Mark and Joseph. “But… it’s not gonna work on me. I need this. More than any of you. You know nothing of my life and how hard it’s been. I need to get my money. I need to feed my siblings. No one else will feed them except me. And without you lot on the streets, maybe I’ll actually be able to buy some food for myself. Ever think of that?”

Someone pushed through the crowd. A teenage boy stopped in front of her. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen with a cap pulled low over his dirty blond hair. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Listen… goil,” he finally decided on before continuing, “do you know who I am?” 

“No.” Y/n deadpanned. 

“Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn.” The boy smirked. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” The newsies all fell silent. No one had ever talked back to Spot Conlon before. 

Spot huffed. “If you weren’t a goil, you’d be on the ground, bleeding after the soaking I gave you.”

“Then do it.” Y/n challenged. “I’ve been beaten up before.”

“Listen,” Spot ignored her comment, “I didn’t come all the way from Brooklyn for this strike just for some scabber to mess it up.” 

“Sorry, Spot Conlon,” Y/n pushed him aside and the newsies gasped. “but I gotta go.” 

“Did you just… push me?” Spot gaped. 

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Leave us,” Spot Conlon waved everyone away. His newsies pushed all the other boroughs away to leave Y/n and him alone. Y/n felt a stir of panic in her chest. What was about to happen? 

“So,” Spot laid an arm around Y/n shoulders. She shrugged him off and replaced him with her papes. “Where do we start?”

“What?”

“I’ve never sold in ‘Hattan before. Where do you sell?” Spot asked. 

“What are you doing?” Y/n squinted at him. “What’s your angle? Your tactic?”

“No tactic, doll, just wanna help you sell.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

 “Where do you sell, doll?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at his insistence. “Fine. But the first sign that you’re manipulating me, I’m ditching you.” 

“Fine by me.” Spot stayed at her side as she walked to her selling spot, seeming to take it all in. He seemed relaxed, hands in pockets and looking around casually. Y/n’s wariness of the boy hadn’t gone away, but after a while, she felt herself loosen up a bit and step into the newsie role.

Y/n had one of the best days selling. With no other newsies around, people flocked to her to get their hands on the news. Some asked her where the others were and Y/n replied with, “they’re on strike.”

If her customers had been poorer, they would’ve looked on with confusion and disdain, wondering and judging her for not joining her friends to try for a better life. However, her patrons were richer and simply complimented her on staying true to business and even tipped her extra.

At the end of the day, Y/n’s bag was brimming with coins, leaving her smiling proudly. This would certainly provide a couple meals for her family. 

Y/n had expected Spot to try and disway her from selling, but he just found a bench to lounge on, watching her and the passerby’s intently. 

“You’d make a good newsie,” he commented lightly after the day had passed.

“I’ll never be a newsie.” Y/n said hotly, as if taken personal offence. “I’m a scabber.”

“Do you ever do work in Brooklyn?” Spot asked, looking at her as they walked.

“Not usually.” 

Spot hummed. “You should.”

“Why’s that?” This time, it was Y/n’s turn to look at him inquisitively. 

“I’d get to see you more.” Spot smiled softly. A group of young men passed them and Spot instinctively took Y/n’s arm, guiding her carefully past them. Once they were gone, Spot’s demeanour eased up and offered Y/n his arm. Y/n shook her head and pushed him away. 

“This is all a ploy to try and get me to join the strike,” Y/n said dismissively.

“How is me wanting to see you going to get you to join the strike?” Spot chuckled lightly. 

Y/n was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t know, but I know you’re smart enough that you have an endgame.”

“Aw!” Spot nudged her. “You think I’m smart.”

“Listen, bud.” Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about you. I know your true colours. I know not to trust you. I’m not joining the strike and I’m not working in Brooklyn. End of story. Goodbye.” Y/n then turned on her heel and walked up a set of stairs that led to her family’s apartment.

**

A week had passed when Y/n’s sister shared some interesting news with her. “Y/n, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything,” Y/n instantly replied, looking up from her mother- mandated sewing.

“Well, there’s a job opportunity that pays really well that’s been offered to me.” Her sister said hesitantly, a large smile growing over her face.

“Really?!” Y/n set her sewing down. “That’s great! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. But, there’s a catch,” her sister sat down next to her. “It’s in Brooklyn and I would need you to walk me back and forth.” Y/n’s brows tightened and her sister quickly exclaimed, “But you could come back to ‘Hattan during the day to work and all I need is someone else to walk me so I stay safe! It’s really not that far away. With the pay increase, maybe I could catch a trolley some days? Or you could get a job in Brooklyn too.”

“I’m really happy for you and what this means for the family,” Y/n started, “so yes, I’ll walk you. But how did you get the job?”

“Well, see, that’s the odd part. A kid just came up to me one day and said that he knew someone who was looking for workers. He introduced me to the guy, and here we are!”

“Who was the kid?”

“Um, I think his name was Spot Connon? Or something?”

“Spot Conlon?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Do you know him?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

**

It seemed too big of a coincidence for Y/n as she marched next to her sister, walking her to work. And when Spot Conlon was seen selling papes on the next corner over, it felt too bad to be true. After she had ushered her sister inside to her new job, Y/n strode up to Spot and jabbed a finger in his chest, disrupting the few customers around him. “What the hell, Spot?!” She cried.

“Geez, Y/n,” Spot grinned. “Came all the way to Brooklyn just for me?”

“Why’d you get my sister that job? How dare we even talk to her! Stay away from me and my family and stop trying to get me to join the strike!”

“The strike’s over, doll.” Spot chuckled, waving his papes in her face. Y/n stood for a moment, processing his words. “Now, would you like to apologise for storming over here and disturbing my sales?” His words were coy and made her want to slap him.

“Just, come here!” Y/n growled, pulling him away from the customers.

“An impromptu make out session?” Spot teased, “I’m down.”

“Shut it, Conlon.” The girl turned to face him. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“Y/n, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Spot’s demeanour changed drastically. “I wanna be your friend. I like being around you. If you didn’t hate me, I might even ask you out. I should be asking you the question of why don’t you like me?”

Y/n bristled, startled by his confession. “Because,” she hesitated, “because you were trying to get me to join the newsies. All my life I’ve had to look out for me and my family. I’ve had to scrape along the bottom of the barrel just to survive. It doesn’t seem fair that instead of working hard and being unhappy and burnt out, you guys earn the same amount of money but you’re happy while doing it. You have friends. You’re loved.”

Spot tilted his head. “Doesn’t your family love you?”

“They’re too busy.” Y/n muttered, shaking her head. “Mom and dad work two jobs each just to pay rent so it falls on me to earn money for food and clothes. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing about life is fair.” 

“Could you offer some sympathy instead of truth?” Y/n asked snarkily.

“Isn’t truth better than wool over your eyes?” Spot retorted easily.

After a moment, Y/n muttered, “how did you become so smart?”

Spot grinned. “I’ve always been smart, doll. You’ve just been too dumb to see it.”

“I have the same street smarts as you,” Y/n said. “It’s not my fault if I don’t have proper schooling.” Y/n’s hands balled into fists and she glared harshly at him. Spot noticed and gently took one of her hands in his. Y/n jumped back, but kept her hand in his. Her jaw tightened and Spot slowly reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her tense jaw and then moving his hand up to her eyebrows, thumbing the space between them, making her relax.

“You’re right,” Spot whispered. “None of this is your fault. It’s a bad roll of the dice. But we can make the best outta it. We can make friends and family outta it. You can’t spend your life in misery, especially if you have people looking out for you.”

“Are you looking out for me?” Y/n was hesitant in asking her question. 

“I thought I’d made that perfectly clear,” Spot said, cocking his head slightly. “Why else would I seek you out or try and help your family? It’s not everyday I see a pretty girl. I wanna hold onto her while I can.”

Y/n exhaled a laugh, looking away from Spot. He frowned and tilted her chin toward him, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why’re you laughing? Do you think you’re a joke?” He asked, “Do you think I’m joking about you being beautiful?”

“Spot,” Y/n gently pushed his hands away from her face. “I’m a scabber. I know daughters of CEO’s might be a little outta your league, but anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“But I don’t want just anyone,” Spot muttered. “I want you.”

The tension in the air held the words aloft. Did he really mean it? Slowly, waiting for Y/n to stop him, though she never did, Spot stepped closer to her. “Is this okay?”

Y/n nodded. She couldn’t trust her words. Before Spot’s lips could brush hers, Y/n wondered, “are you sure you want to?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, doll.” Spot smirked slightly. And then he kissed her.

[uncertaininnit]

weasel from newsies is a character born to say “womp womp” forced to have somewhat accurate dialogue

absolutely he would omg. I want to see someone play him like that.

he would probably say it during Davey’s introduction sometime when he’s like telling him about how he has to pay up front and won’t get the papes bought back or something. Or when he says he only has 19 papes. Womp womp.

OR when the price gets hiked up might be the perfect time. ‘I’m not payin no new price!’ ‘WOMP WOMP! Make way for someone who will.’

[spinningerster]

[ifelllikeastar]

"I would be within my rights to give up faith in God, and I could invoke six million reasons to justify such a decision. But I am incapable of straying from the path charted by my forefathers, who felt duty-bound to live for God. Without the faith of my ancestors, my own faith in humanity would be diminished. So my wounded faith endures."

* Elie Wiesel was born on September 30, 1928 in Sighet, Kingdom of Romania. At the age of 15 the Nazis deported him and his family to Auschwitz-Birkenau. His mother and younger sister died in the gas chambers on the night of their arrival at Auschwitz-Birkenau. He and his father were deported to Buchenwald where his father died before the camp was liberated on April 11, 1945.

Eliezer 'Elie' Wiesel died July 2, 2016 at the age of 87.

[would-you-punt-them]

Weisel (Newsies)

[daveys-sister]

*when asked why he joined the strike*

Davey: Well, at the time, I really hated Jack, but goddamn, did I hate Weisel more.

[no6secretsanta]

For @ulkonja from your pinch hitters @weiselzelle and @spidersauna. Happy holidays!

[rottendecomp]

Daniel: Warriorcats-ified - 22nd July 2023

[sk1ttery]

It’s like every other day I chose certain characters in the Wallflower AU and develope violent brain rot. Now it’s Wallflower Delanceys.

[theborzoiarebackintown]

SO the real reason I’m “visiting” my friend is to help whelp a litter!!! I didn’t want to post anything until after everyone was out and good, but we got 8 healthy happy strong puppies yesterday and everyone is doing wonderful so far. I won’t be posting any baby pics for awhile as they aren’t mine to share with the world, but here’s some of mamma, Leisel, pre-puppies! I have more pictures of her leading up to puppies I’ll share over the next few days.

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

pulitzer/weisel

is this what u wanted. u monster. anyway newsies should have been a romance abt them instead of those fucking children

[joemerl]

Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor: When someone says they want to kill you, believe them.

The same fucking countries that committed or enabled the Holocaust: No.

Source

[minnesotafollower]

Loving Herbie Hancock’s Jazz Music  

The New York Times recently published commentaries on Herbie Hancock’s jazz music from 11  jazz musicians, writers and critics.[1] Here are Herbie’s tunes that they listed as ones that would make someone fall in love with jazz: Textures Actual Proof Maiden Voyage (Remastered) Hornets 4 A.M. Speak Like A Child Butterfly Chameleon The Prisoner (Remastered) Rockit Head Hunters Although this…