K so I'm sorry this chapter is so frickin long it just kept coming and I'm really enjoying writing this. It shouldn't have finished where it did in terms of a nice chapter finish but it was already double my other chapters so it exists now.
I FORGOT TO ADD THIS BEFORE IM SO SORRY!!!!
⚠️WARNING⚠️ mentions binding (with bandages) at one point. I've kept it vague for reason that are idk how one would do it and I'd wanna be accurate with something like that and 2: I don't wanna upset people so I didn't wanna do it any longer than like 20 words rather than explain it and flesh it out.
SO SORRY I DIDNT PUT IT UP BEFORE!!!!!!!
Also usual TW: Swearing
Let's go:
I wake up in a small, musty room. Looking around, I can make out a couple people on the same bed as mine. I can hear a chittering sound, and when I look down I see the faint outline of rats on the floor.
Why does my brain have to take me back here? Why not back home, where I was with my brothers and safe?
I carefully pick myself up, gently moving around the others on the bed, and jump down. Although I land on my right foot, I still manage to jar my left leg.
"Hey, Cass, where're you'se goin?" a small voice says.
I roll my eyes and tug on my shoes. "Go back to sleep, Charlie. I'se is jus' goin' for a walk," a child's voice replies.
"Why is you'se goin' for a walk now?" Charlie whines.
"'Cause I'se can't sleep, idiot."
I watch through this child's eyes as the malnourished boy sits up, seen only by the moonlight.
"You'se need this?" he asks, holding out a crutch.
I shake my head. "Nah, I'se'll be fine."
"Come on, Cassie, it belongs to you'se anyways, and we'se share it all the time, too'se!"
The child continues to protest. "C'mon, Crutchie, go back to sleep," the child says again. I smile when I hear the nickname he gave himself.
Crutchie, as he likes to call himself, grumbled, but lies back down to sleep.
I creep out of the room, careful not to step on the creaky floorboards, and move out into the hallway. No, no, nonono please stop I want this to stop! I hate this dream, I hate being stuck in a child's body, I hate being here, I just want it to stop-
"Now, if I can just remember where to go," the child whispers, turning right, only to be faced with a staircase three times her height.
"Maybe I shoulda taken the crutch... well, I can't turn back now!" she says, holding the banister and hopping her way up.
Every jump I take in this child's body jars my leg, but I know I can do nothing to stop it. I have a dream like this every night, often replaying the events of my time in the Refuge with Crutchie.
I know what's going to happen, I know where this is taking me. I know I'm going to go up these stairs, and turn left to walk down another hallway to the end till I get to Mr. Snyders' office, and then I have to overhear thatconversation. I know that I'll wake up crying, shouting, or screaming, and I know that I can't do a damn thing to stop it.
So, I stop trying to take over. I just wait for what I know will happen.
I let myself walk up to that door. I let myself listen to it. I feel the tears start to fall on my face, I feel the scream build in my throat. The scream that's filled with pain and confusion and fear. I wait till it's about to burst.
And I let it go.
Charlie's face flickers through my mind, his smile, his laugh, the way he still holds the crutch like it's the rarest diamond in the world. And then, the one image I can't ever get out of my head: the look of hurt on his face when it all ended.
I scream and scream, I can't stop it no matter what I do. It makes me glad I didn't stay at the lodge, because I would only wake people up. At least here there aren't many people around.
Or so I thought.
A voice splits through the sound in my mind. How, I have no clue.
"Cassio! Cassio, wake up!" My eyes open to Race shaking me, looking very worried. "Jeez, kid, what was that about?"
I furrow my eyebrows, pretending not to know what he's talking about.
"You'se was screaming. What happened, did someone hurt ya in da middle of da night?"
I shake my head.
"Then what the hell just happened to ya?" he asks.
"It was a nightmare." Crutchie comes forward, looking solemn. "Is I right?"
I look away, nodding. I wonder how he can tell. Probably because he gets them too.
"Well, I'se glad I woke ya up in that case. We know you'se don' wanna sleep in da Lodge, but we thought you'se might wanna freshen up dere in da mornin'," Race says, grinning.
"So? Whadda ya say?"
I motion for something to write on. Again. I've really gotta find a way to communicate better than this...
Race mutters, patting his pockets, and comes up with a pencil. Crutchie takes a pape out of his pocket.
"Thought you'se might need it," he says, handing it to me.
I smile, mouthing "thanks" to both of them.
I'll come in today. Otherwise I'm not sure, I don't know if the other newsies will like it. But I will notsleep there.I flip the pape round to show the boys.
A grin splits Race's face. "Well, what is we waitin' for? Let's go!"
I use the wall to get up, but Race helps me up when he remembers my leg. He tries to apologise for forgetting, but I wave him off.
***
We're standing at the door of the Lodging House. I can hear the other newsies inside, joking around and laughing, getting ready. Race runs up the steps to the door, but I step back.
"Woah, Cassio, what's wrong? You're white as a ghost," Crutchie exclaims.
I don't want to do this anymore, I sign.
My not-so-new friend looks concerned. Are you sure? We aren't going to hurt you, and if anyone tries I'll soak them!
I frown. I just don't know if I'm comfortable with this.
He nods in understanding. Well, as soon as you feel uncomfortable just tell me and we can leave, okay?
Okay.
"Hey, you two comin'?" I look over to Race, who's holding the door open for us.
"You'se ready? We'se can wait out here for a bit if ya want," Crutchie offers.
I shake my head, sending him a small smile.
"Alright den! Let me go foist and den I'se can pass ya my crutch."
He makes his way up the three small steps to the door, then passes his crutch back to me, like he said he would.
I tuck it under my arm, remembering how it feels. I falter a little as I walk forward, sometimes on purpose, just to throw them both off any thoughts they might have had that I've used a crutch – thiscrutch – before.
It takes me a couple tries, but I finally manage to get up to the door. I hand the crutch back to Crutchie, then sign, Sorry. I didn't mean for it to take so long.
"What are you'se sorry for, Cassio? It ain't your fault ya've neva used a crutch before!"
I chuckle, turning to Race, who is stillholding the door open for us.
"Guests foist," he says with a little bow.
I nearly curtsey, but do a bow to protect myself. They can't know, not ever.
We are in a sort of small lobby-like area, with a man at what appears to be a reception desk.
"Dat dere is Mr. Kloppman, he's da one who you'se can ask if ya need directions, but most of us here'll be able ta help ya," Race explains.
Mr Kloppman waves to me, asking Race, "Another one?"
The boy just laughs. "You'se should know by now, Mr. Kloppman, that we'se always getting' new newsies in."
"Yeah, well you're always getting' 'em leavin' as well." Good to know – it'll make it easier for me to disappear. "Just go get ready, okay? I don't want another day of you boys runnin' around here just 'cause you missed out on buyin' ya papers," the old man jokes.
Race runs ahead, eager to show me around. But as I limp forward, I overhear Crutchie say, "Good morning, Mister Kloppman!"
Oh, Crutchie, you're such a gentleman. Why did I ever-
"C'mon, Cassio! We'se only got a half hour before we'se gotta be dere!" Race shouts.
I roll my eyes, hopping over to the stairs where Race is waiting.
"Now, upstairs is where da boys all sleep, but it's also where da washrooms are. I'se figured you'se'd wanna use a stall ta get ready, rather dan wit da rest o' us since you'se seemed sorta uncomfortable earlier..."
I smile and mouth "Thank you" in return. He grins.
"Heya Racer!" I turn and see Crutchie trying to get Race's attention. "Could ya tell Jackie for me dat I'se gonna stay down here? I'se can't be bodered ta walk up dem stairs again."
Race nods, running up the stairs. I look up at them, wondering how I should attempt this. There are banisters on either side so I figure I can hold on to those and hop my way up.
Half-way up, I hear someone coming down the stairs. Please let it be Race, please let it be Race. I don't want to explain myself to anyone else. I smell cigar smoke and calm down.
"Hey, Cassio, ya need any help?"
I shake my head, but he still keeps me company as we make our way up the stairs.
"Now," Race said, as I reached the top of the stairs, "If you're comfortable, we can see some of da boys, or you'se can just go get ready."
I think for a moment, but then decide against option 1, because I know I'll get to see them on the way. So, I put up 2 fingers, and hope that Race still understands.
"Gotcha. Washrooms are right over there, just – wait, do you'se got a change o' clothes?"
I shake my head, indicating that the clothes I'm wearing are the only ones I own.
He mutters something about me being small for a boy, and asks me to wait as he runs back downstairs.
Another newsie runs past me, looking for something. I remember from yesterday that his name might be Specs? I hope he doesn't recognise me, but I don't think he will now that I've got the new haircut. He's dashing all over the place, searching under the beds, on the table, everywhere he can, and I realise: he's lost his glasses.
I whistle to get his attention. He looks up, and I motion to my eyes, asking the question.
"Yeah, I can't find them anywhere. And I can't be Specs without my specs, can I?"
I laugh (silently, of course) and walk over to where he's searching. I help him look, unearthing pennies from between couch cushions and scaring a family of rats out from under his bed, until I found them on the window sill.
I run as best I can back over to him, waving them at him.
He grins when he realises what I have, taking them from me. "Thanks," he says, adjusting the specs on his nose so they stay where they're supposed to.
"Hey, what're you two'se talkin' about?"
The both of us spin round to face Racetrack, who had decided to show his face again.
I motioned to Specs to let him explain. "Cassio here just helped me find ma specs!"
"What, didja lose 'em again?" he jeers.
"Oh, lay off a' him, wouldja?" I whip around to find the famous Jack Kelly standing at the window – I assume he's just come from the fire escape. "Ya know he needs 'em ta see, Race."
"Yeah, Race," Specs jokes, "It's not like I'm half blindor anythin'." The three boys laugh, and Jack finally takes notice of me.
"Hey, Cassio! When did you'se get here?"
Race pats my shoulder, grinning. "Crutch an' I'se found 'im, and thought he might wanna come 'round 'ere ta freshen up, ya know?"
Jack nods, agreeing with Race. "So, Cass – wait, can I'se call ya Cass?"
I grab the pape and pencil from my pocket and scribble down There's only one person in New York I let call me Cass.
"Oooh, Cassio, you gots a goil?" Race asks, nudging me.
I roll my eyes. Ofcoursethat would be the first thing Pretty Boy would think of.
Specs cuts in. "Ignore Race, knowing him he'd just try to steal her if you'se did. You don't though, do ya?" I smile at Specs, writing again, Nah. But one day you might just get to meet "said" person, if you're lucky.
"Well, Cassio, we look forward to it. I gotta go, I told a friend that I'd meet 'im at da Jounraltoday, and it takes a little while ta walk dere, but I'll see ya around," he says, patting my shoulder as he walks down the steps.
We stand in awkward silence for a minute or two till Jack asks the same question Race did: "You got some clothes, kid?"
"Dat's roight! Thanks fa' remindin me, Jack!" Jack and I stare at Race as he rummages under a bed and comes back with a shirt, waistcoat, and pants.
"Remembah when I ran downstairs before?"
I nod. How could I not, it literally just happened
"Well, you'se sorta small for a boy, but I reckon you'se about Crutchie's size, so I asked if you'se could borrow some a' his clothes! So go try 'em on!"
"Wait, kid! I'se just got one question: how old are ya?" Jack asks.
I glance down at the pape I'm holding, but decide against writing on it – I've gotto find another way to communicate in case someone can't read.
I hold up ten fingers, then another five.
Jack thinks for a second, but still figures it out. "You'se fifteen?!"
I smirk, nodding. Little small for my age, yeah?I know I said I'd find another way to communicate, but this works for now.
"Yeah, kid you're tiny.But then again, I'se knew a couple late bloomers maself, so I'se ain't one ta talk." He glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. "You'se'd better get ready, we're leavin' in twenty."
I hobble to the washrooms and lock myself in a stall. I take off my shirt, and the bandages I was using to flatten my chest start to fall – they must have loosened during the night. Tightening them as quickly as I can – and as much as I can, even though it hurts to do so – I throw on the shirt and pants Race gave me. The shirt's a little big, but when I tuck it in it's less noticeable.
I'm about to unlock the door when an image flashes before me: a boy offering me a torn long-sleeved shirt because I'm cold. The clothes I'm wearing are his, I know, but even after all these years they still smell like him.
I decide to put onmywaistcoat, rather than the one Crutchie let me borrow, because that will hopefully block off some of his scent. I can't be too distracted, even by a simple smell. I'm only here to make sure he's okay. Yeah, because you couldn't wait any longer.Why does the voice in my head have to be so blunt?
"Oi, kid, you'se done yet? We gotta go soon, and... I-I'se not tryin ta be rude or anythin', but, uh, Racer said it might take ya a while to get down da stairs," Jack calls.
I come out of the stall, looking in the mirror and put my hat on.
"Dere ya are! C'mon, let's get goin'."
*************le time skippe till we're down da stairs 'cause I'se can't be bodered ta write it*****************
"Hey! I didn' realise da new kid was 'ere," someone yells. Jack tries to find the source, and Albert, Finch and Mush run through the bunch of newsies making their way out the door.
"When'd you get here?" Finch asks.
"We brought him ovah dis mornin'," Race answers.
"And now we'se gonna carry da banner!" Crutchie announces. Something shifts in the crowd, and once we're all out the door they start to sing a merry tune.
Ain't it a fine life?
Carryin' the Banner through it all!
A mighty fine life!
Carryin' da Banner tough an' tall!
********continues to sing and dance the rest of the song while writing********
When we arrive at the gates, the Delanceys are there waiting for us.
"You guys are late," Morris snaps.
"Or you're just early," Mush shoots back.
Oscar, however, stays quiet, looking around. "Where's Jack and the new kid?"
I shrug. It's none of my business where they spend their free time. Race, however, gives Oscar the answer he was looking for.
"Jack had ta run an errand on da way here. Davey and Les went home last night, but I dunno where."
"But Idon't see why it's any a' your business, Delancey!" Albert sneers.
I push past him and shove the gates open. Oscar notices what I'm doing and moves away in time. Morris on the other hand, doesn't.
"You little shit!"
"C'mon, Cassio, let's go!" Race ushers me away.
Oscar comes up, stopping us from moving any further. "He ain't gonna hurt ya. He can't, 'cause he busted his arm the other day when keepin' the trolley workers in line."
Race scoffs, "Oh, and you didn't?"
"You need to learn your place, crip." Aaaand,Morris is up. I know Oscar likes me, but I have a feeling Morris would betray me in a flash. Definitely not foreshadowing, noooo not at all...
"Cassio don't need ta learn anythin' from you, Morris. Leave 'im alone," Albert says, defending me.
"Oh, is it Cassio, is it?" he advances towards me. The boys move to stop him, but the only newsie who would be strong enough to stop him would be Jack.
But Oscar isn't a newsie. He puts a hand out to stop his brother, who ignores it.
"Morris!"
Finally, he realises what he's doing, and grunts. As he walks past me to the distribution window, he shoves me – and of course, being the weakling I am, I fall down.
"Pay my brother no mind. He's in an awful mood today," Oscar says, holding out his hand. I slap it away, taking Race's instead.
"Or maybe you're just in a good one," Finch retorts.
The young man rolls his eyes, moving past us to join his brother. Mr. Wiesel isn't here yet, so we talk. Well, the boys do.
I don't. Obviously.
Finch comes over to me, though, handing me a pape he kept from yesterday. I take the pencil out of my pocket, asking if he wants to have a conversation.
We've been talking for a good ten minutes now, about where I was before I decided to be a newsie. I told him I've lived on the streets for a while, and I used to shine shoes. Not completely a lie, but the only one who knows more truth than the rest is in Brooklyn.
Albert, Romeo and Race (with his cigar) join us, and I tell them the same things. Keep it vague, Cass. Keep it vague, I keep telling myself.
The circulation bell rings, signalling for us to start getting ready. I lift my bag over my shoulder and stand up – with a little bit of help from Albert. Race runs over and quickly talks to Weasel – when'd he get here?!It doesn't matter now, it's not like I've been paying much attention to anything outside of the conversation I've been enjoying.
"Man, dem fire sirens kept me awake all night," Race complains.
"Sirens is like lullabies to me," Mush quips, "The louder dey wail, da better da headline! Da better da headline, da better I eat!" He nudges Crutchie, saying shrewdly, "And da better I eat–"
"The further away from youI sleep," Race retorts.
"Mornin' everybody! Sorry we're late!" Ah. Davey and Les have arrived. "We had to help our mom with something," the older brother explains.
"Oh, they got a mothah? I was gonna get me one," Race says.
"What'dja do with the one you had?" Romeo asks, confused.
Finch laughs, telling us, "He traded 'er for a bax a' cigars!"
"'Ey! Dey was Coronas!" So, Pretty Boy likes the expensive cigars... I file that away to use later.
"We have a father too!" Les pipes in. The poor kid doesn't understand that most newsies are orphans – I doubt Davey would want to tell him, I certainly wouldn't.
"Oh, a modah anda fader!" Henry scoffs.
Race adds onto Henry's comment, "Oh, hey, ain't we da hoi polloi!"
I roll my eyes, moving over to Race. You don't have to be so rude, Race. Davey probably hasn't told Les off about it because he doesn't want to show his little brother that there's a dark side to the world.
Race finally realises, upon reading my words, that not everyone had as difficult a childhood as the newsies, not even when they came from a middle-class family like Davey's.
"Sorry, I'se should'a realised, but I..."
He taps my shoulder, pointing behind me. I can't believe what I'm seeing.
Albert reads out the headline with disgust. "'New Newsie Price: 60c per Hundred'"
The boys crowd around each other, all trying to make sense of the words that may now possibly kill them.
"What'd ya say?!"
"Is that news?" Davey asks.
"It is to me!" a voice shouts.
Race runs over, motioning for me to follow.
"They jacked up da price a' papes! Ten cents more a' hundred!" Albert tells Davey.
"I could eat two daysin a dime!" Finch yells.
"I'll be sleepin' on the street!" Crutchie says.
"Uh, Crutchie? You'se already sleep on da street," Mush counters.
"In da worst neighbourhood."
Jack appears out of nowhere. "Hey, what're you all waitin' around 'ere for?" he jokes. He hasn't seen the headline yet.
"Hey Jack, get a load a' this!" Crutchie says, pointing at the blackboard holding the headline
"Like Pulitzer don't make enough already," Romeo grumbles.
Jack laughs, and I watch the boys calm down a little. "Hey, relax. It's gotta be a gag."
"Line up, boys!" Weasel yells.
Jack walks over, still laughing, and the rest of us follow. "Hey, good joke, Weasel. You really had the fellas goin'. I'll take a hundred, be on my way."
Mr. Wiesel chortles. "A hundred'll cost ya sixty." He points to the headline, and the boys erupt.
"I ain't payin' no sixty," Jack argues.
Smiling, Weasel says, "Then make way for someone who will."
"You bet! Me an' da fellas'll take a hike ovah to da Journs!"
We run after him, but Specs and a few of the other boys come running through the gate, glancing at the blackboard as they do. "I'll save you'se da walk. They upped their price too..."
"Then we'll take our business to da Sun!"
"It's the same all around town," Weasel says, "New day, new price." The Delanceys snicker, nudging each other and pointing at us. I know Oscar was nice to me yesterday, but I still wanted to punch them both.
"Hey, why da jack up?!"
Weasel smirks. "For dem kinda answers you gotta ask further up da food chain. So! Ya buyin'? Or moving on?"
Jack slaps the money box, ushering us over to the wagon.
"Dey can't just dodat, can dey?" Finch yawps.
"Hey, why not? It's deir paper!" Race says.
"It's deir World," someone adds.
Henry asks, "Ain't we got no rights?"
"We got da right to starve, let's just get our papes and hit da streets while we still can," Crutchie shouts, starting towards the window. The boys riot, protesting the new price, yelling that they won't be able to survive, that they could barely live on the last one.
"Hey, hey, hey, nobody's payin' no new nothin'!" Jack shouts, attempting to gain control over us.
"You got an idea?" someone retorts.
"Wouldja keep ya shirt on? Lemme think this through!"
The newsies advance on him again, but I keep myself on the outside of the circle. It's not like I could say anything anyway. I'm glad I did, too, because Les comes in a few seconds later.
"Stop crowding him! Let the man work it out!" he says, pushing us away. Race ends up next to me, and offers me his cigar. I raise my eyebrow, but he puts it in my hand. I inhale twice, then pass it back. He smirks when I don't cough, playfully shoving me.
"I'm impressed, I didn't think you'd've had a cigar before," he whispers to me.
I haven't.Race sniggers when he reads what I wrote, but looks shocked when he realises I'm not joking.
"Hey, Jack! You still thinkin'?" Les asks. He's so sweet.
But of course, Pretty Boy has to go and ruin the moment. "Sure 'e is. Can'cha smell smoke?" he jokes. The boys laugh, and I smile, elbowing him.
"Hey, come here. Hurry up!"
Jack's got something.
"All right," he says, once we've gathered around him, "Here's the deal. If we don't sell papes,nobodysells papes. Nobody gets to thatwindow till they put the price back where it belongs!"
"What, you mean like a strike?" Davey scoffs.
Jack's face brightens. "Well, hey, you heard Davey, we're on strike!"
The boys are clamouring, yelling at Jack. I hear Davey defend himself, shouting, "Hold on, I didn't say that!"
"We shut down this place just like dem workers shut down da trolleys!"
"Yeah, an' da cops'll bust our heads! Half 'em strikers is laid up wit broke bones," Finch says.
"Ah, da cops ain't gonna care about a buncha kids, right Davey?"
Davey look up at Jack, then drags les out of the crowd. "Leave me outta this. I'm just here tryna feed my family."
Jack is shocked, but I can tell he wants Davey to stay with us.
"Oh, what, and da rest o' us is here on playtime?" Les runs back to the newsies, away from his brother.
"Just 'cause we only make pennies, don't give dem da right ta rub our noses in it!" Jack taunts.
"It doesn't matter, you can't strike. You're not a union."
"wHaT iF i SaYs We iS?" (yeah I couldn't help myself. Sorry.)
"There's a lot a things you gotta be ta be a union, like... membership."
"What do ya call dese guys?" Jack points at us.
"A-and... officers!"
Crutchie gets all excited, pointing at jack. "I nominate Jack president!"
The boys murmur their agreement.
Davey tries once more to get the idea out of Jack's head - "What about a statement of purpose?" - but nothing will stop him now.
"I musta left dat in my oder pants," he says snidely.
Race climbs up on the pile of papes next to the wagon to get the duo's attention. "Uh... what's a statement a' purpose?"
"A reasonfor forming the union," Davey explains, albeit with a bit of sass.
"Well what reason did da trolley workers have?" Jack asks.
"I-I dunno! Wages, work hours, safety on the job." Oh, he just pulled that outta his arse.
"Who don' need dat?!" Jack exclaims.
Then, he goes back to taunting Davey to get him to stay.
"I bet, if your fader had a union, you wouldn't need to be out here sellin papes right now, yeah?"
Davey forces out a quiet "yeah", and Jack jumps in, "So, ourunion is hereby formed, ta watch each oder's backs! 'Unioned we stand!' – Hey, dat's not bad, somebody write dat down!"
We all reach into our pockets, trying to find something. I, of course, had my pape, but Les got there first.
"I got a pencil!" he's beaming up at Jack, holding the pencil up to him.
"Well, meet our Secretary of State!" Jack declares.
Davey interrupts our cheers. "If you wanna strike, the memberships' gotta vote."
"Okay, so we'll vote. Whaddya say, fellas – the choice is yours – do we roll over, and let Pulitzer pick our pockets,or do we strike?!"
We don't even hesitate. "STRIKE!"
He chuckles. "Yeah! You heard da voice of da membership! Da newsies a' Lower Manhattan are officially on strike!" we cheer, but he continues, asking Davey, "So what's next?"
Crutchie answers first – with his own question. "Uh... Wouldn't a strike be more effective is someone in chargeknew about it?"
"Well it'd be a pleasure to tell Weasel myself!" Race screeches.
"And who tells Pulitzer, huh?" Jack turns to Davey yet again, asking for his help.
"I don't know..." I watch a battle in his mind – one side just wants to get Les out of here, because he doesn't want his little brother to be anywhere near trouble, but the other wants to help with the strike. The latter won. "I guess youdo, Mr. Predisnet!" I'm leaving that typo in because I love it-
Jack ushers Davey over, saying, "Hey, hey – wedo. So, uh, what do we tell 'im?"
Davey thinks for a moment. "Well, the newspaper owners need to respect your rights as employees."
Our union leader translates for the boys. "Pulitzer an' Hurst gotta respectda rights of da workin' kids a' dis city!"
Davey's getting more protective of the newsies, I think, because he yells out, "But they can't just change the rules when they feellike it!"
"Yeah, dat's right, we do da work, so we get a say!"
We all shout, "YEAH!"
Davey steps up onto the pile of papes, and with a voice filled with emotion, he says, "We got a union!"
The boys cheer, and I'm smiling so hard I'm impressed my face hasn't broken.
Now we're just gonna image The World Will Know because I have no idea how I can logically explain them making up a tune on the spot
We start back at Jacobi's Deli next chapter because this chapter is way too goddamn long...
Now we're just gonna image The World Will Know because I have no idea how I can logically explain them making up a tune on the spot
We start back at Jacobi's Deli next chapter because this chapter is way too goddamn long...
really good thing: this is helping my mental health! Like, a lot! I now have a newsie cap (as mentioned in the a/n) as well as THREE FREAKING WAISTCOASTS! one's mum's and she's letting me borrow it, the other is a wedding/formal one and the last is one I bought with my own money and its sorta an everyday one and I wear it as often as possible cause my gender dysphoria decided to get a sh*t ton worse recently but when I wear the outfit I feel so frickin good abt myself and it's really really good - also the play I did a couple weeks back was super fun and I've been the happiest I've ever been in 4 years!
well that was a lONG F*CKIN SENTENCE wasn't it?
anyways, you know the drill: vote, comment, etc.
pls comment I like reading peoples comments-
And remember folks, when you're famous, da woild is yet eRsTeR!
Omg I just realised erster autocorrected to the way I always type it and I'm wheezing-
EDIT: I now have FIVE waistcoats - 2 casual, 2 formal, and one's my mums but I think it would also count as casual.