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we-are-inevitable · 4 months

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in case the first one's too weird, perhaps the phrase 'bruised heart', because ive been listening to pink ladies again and have a problem - @pigeonwit

"I guarantee you, you don't want me. You don't."

The words hit Jack like a truck.

When he told himself he was going to finally confess to David today, when he ran through all of the options and avenues for the conversation while on the thirty minute subway ride, he never once considered this option. The option where David thought he wouldn't be good enough, the one where he would say-- that.

Jack's mouth opens and closes for a few moments, the words lodged in his throat, before he chokes out, "What?"

To his credit, David laughs. It's not a happy sound, though- no, it's defeated, and trails off into a sigh at the tail-end of it. As he drops his shoulders, David's gaze flick's to Jack's across the table, before dropping back down to his clasped hands next to his cup of coffee. "You don't want me," David says easily, like it's a fact. Like it doesn't rip Jack in two.

"No, I heard you," Jack says, leaning a little further in, but he makes sure to keep his voice down- he doesn't need the rest of the cafe hearing this. Why he decided to do this in public, he doesn't know anymore, but he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin if he didn't blurt it out. "I just- I don't... get it. What do you mean, I don't want you? I think I know what I want, Dave."

David sighs, shaking his head and giving Jack a desperate, pleading look. "I'm telling you, you don't want-"

"And I'm tellin' you, you don't know what I want or not," Jack cuts in. "And I want you. I want you, and everything you're willin' to give, do you understand?" He stares at David, who is silent, and refuses to meet Jack's eyes.

Jack takes a deep breath and reaches out, gently taking David's hand. David doesn't pull away, but he doesn't grab back. "Look, I... I don't care if you don't want this. That's fine, and we can forget I ever opened my big mouth, okay? But if you- if you're refusin' to give this a shot 'cause you don't think you're good enough... Dave, you can't possibly believe that."

David gulps, his gaze shifting frantically, and he looks like a deer in the headlights. The image makes Jack regret ever saying anything, but when Jack starts to pull his hand away, David stops him with a squeeze. "Do you-" He stops, clearing his throat and staring straight at the wooden table between them. "Do you know how hard it is for... for me to get out of bed every day?"

Jack stays silent. David takes a breath, and closes his eyes.

"It's- It's not that I don't want you, Jackie, 'cause I want you more than you'll ever know," He whispers. "But you... You deserve more than me, okay? You deserve someone who doesn't feel drained every day. Someone who can be... I don't know, happy, without having to try to be. I'm a mess, Jack. You don't want that."

"I don't want that for you," Jack murmurs, squeezing David's hand back. "David, we... we can wait 'til you feel better, or healed, or whatever the fuck it is, but regardless, I don't... I don't need you to change for me to love you, okay? You deserve that, just as you are."

David finally looks up, and gulps hard. "...Love?"

"Yeah. Love," Jack responds.

David's shoulders sink a little, and he nods slowly, his grip on Jack's hand tightening. "I'm broken," David mumbles. "And I-- I know that sounds dramatic, but I've never... I've never been good at this, and you know that. You've been there for all of my breakups."

"Yeah, I have," Jack nods, "and I know that you didn't deserve a damn one of 'em. David, you're a catch, and if people don't get that... That's their problem. Not yours." With a soft sigh, Jack looks down, then shifts in his seat and looks back up at David. "You don't have to make a decision now. We can talk this out when you want, 'kay? The ball's in your court, Dave, but... You ain't broken. I swear."

"Jack..."

"There's a difference between broken and bruised," Jack murmurs. "Okay? You... You might be goin' through a rough patch. You might be hurtin', and that fuckin' sucks, but that don't mean you're beyond repair. You said the same damn thing about me."

David gulps hard, then uses his free hand to rub his eyes. "I... I don't know if I'm ready for-... I'm sorry..."

Jack shakes his head. "You got nothin' to apologize for, okay? If you need to wait, we wait."

"I want to," David explains. "I-... I really, really want to try with you, I just..."

"It's okay," Jack whispers. "I promise."

"Promise," David whispers back.

They finish lunch. They go to the park, then to a bar. They table it for a month and a half before David takes the plunge and kisses Jack. A bruised heart just takes a little time, and Jack Kelly would wait an eternity and a half for David Jacobs.

#i am imagining this is a college au or smth. jack and davey being besties in high school. years and years of pining #and watching each other fall in and out of bad relationships #until they give it a shot. and they fit. and things aren't perfect and they're both a little bruised but they're healing together #and that's what matters isn't it??#thank u pidge i am smooching u on the head for this. i love sad davey #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #javid #javey #uksies #livesies #newsies live #west endsies #pidge tag

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heliads · 2 months

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LISA !! your requests being open again is a glorious occasion, i’m so happy !!

now, could i pretty please request spot conlon with a gender-neutral reader who’s a brooklyn newsie ? the reader’s newsie nickname is sunshine because they’re known for being super cheerful and sweet and pretty much always having a smile on their face, but thing is that spot’s kind of closed-off and gruff with them, even more than he is normally, because he finds it kind of grating how relentlessly happy they are when as newsies they live the way they do. but the reader just keeps on being the way they are, being kind to spot and smiling whenever they see him no matter how he always responds with a scowl, until finally he snaps at them and tells them to quit being so weird and happy all the time, but then they actually do and it makes him realize that he’s relied on seeing their smile every day and that he actually likes seeing it, so he goes to find sunshine and apologize, telling them that he actually admires how strong they are to keep being kind and happy despite everything and how much he appreciates it. it doesn’t have to end with a confession or anything, but hopefully at least some romantic undertones ? now, as always, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but thanks in advance if you do, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'cloudy days' - spot conlon

masterlist

For once, it’s not a gray and blustery day in New York. Spot Conlon doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, settling in a place like this, although he supposes he never really had a choice about it at all. It’s a cold and shady city, and that mood translates to its people. No one here would give him the time of day unless they absolutely had to, and he wouldn’t give them a damn thing either. That’s the tune of the city, and Spot drums it daily. Eat or be eaten. Kill or get killed.

That’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Spot doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s grown past the point of needing it. Spot will do what Spot does best: look out for himself, never take handouts, never be dependent on anything save his feet to carry him places and that weird thing beating between his ribs to keep him alive.

The other newsies respect that, and look up to it. Brooklyn may have a reputation for being the meanest borough around, but the newsies protect each other like no one else. Even when the sun don’t shine for months on end. Even on rare days, like today, when it does.

The bright streets have Spot thinking a little funny, just like always. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, he starts feeling a strange thing some might describe as happiness. For once, everything isn’t totally terrible. It’s like the high he gets after soaking his enemies, ‘cept his knuckles aren’t bloody and his eyes aren’t blackened.

Maybe it’s got him in a good mood. Maybe that’s why, when a new fella comes looking for a spot in Spot’s growing army of newsies, he’s inclined to say yes. This new ally of his is nothing like Spot has ever seen before. They’re smiling at him before they so much as tip their hat or say hello. At first, it makes him wonder if they’ve got some sort of problem, then he realizes that the newcomer isn’t grinning like that to be threatening, just because they’re legitimately, well, happy.

Strange. Confusing, even. Still, the abundance of sunshine is rattling Spot’s brain, so instead of laughing in their face, he actually offers them a place amongst the ranks. Were it any other day, he’s sure he would have made them go somewhere a little more sickly-sweet, where friendship is magic and everyone can stand around, fuckin’, square dancing or something, whatever it is they do over in ‘Hattan or the other less serious boroughs, but he doesn’t. He welcomes them into his home. He pretends he isn’t completely baffled by their happy-go-lucky act.

And, since it’s clearly on the brain anyway, he gives them a nickname then and there, a real Spot Conlon first edition: Sunshine. He reckoned it seemed pretty true at the moment. As it turns out, he had no idea. Sunshine gets on his damn nerves every moment of every day. They’re so sweet it makes him want to throw up. If he ever saw them without a smile on their face for longer than thirty seconds, he’d suspect an imposter. They toss out compliments like they mean it or something, and they actually pick flowers to give to their friends.

Spot would think it was an act, except it actually isn’t. No way a human being could keep up a pretense that long and not go totally crazy. Spot, for one, does feel like he’s going crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every day is the same. He wakes up too early, drags himself out of bed and gets ready, then pokes his head out of his space just to find Sunshine already up and at it, beaming at him and wishing him a very good morning, Spot, before turning to the next half-asleep newsie and repeating them message, and man, he wants to throttle someone already. In the line for papes, they’re excitedly talking to him about how they hope for a good headline, and whenever Spot runs into them while selling, they’ve always got something funny to say. If Spot wanted to laugh, he’d go to the circus. Although even he has to admit that New York feels like that half the damn time anyway.

It’s actually starting to make him angry. Who is this newcomer to burst in and disrupt everyone like this? Spot’s no fool. Even though he’s proud of his newsies and glad to be among the best company there is, this isn’t the life any of them would choose if they had other options. The newsies are here because they have no money and no prospects. They are the terrible youth, set out on the streets because there is no one else to watch out for them but each other.

Yet here’s this stranger, bounding down the halls of their lodging house, beaming and laughing as if everything were sugar and sweet. It feels as if they’re making a mockery of the whole thing, and Spot doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

It twists his judgment. Spot isn’t exactly known for his warm and caring personality, but he cracks down even harder around Sunshine. Maybe then they’ll figure out that the whole super happy thing doesn’t fly around here. Dreams don’t get you anywhere, and pretending otherwise only costs a lot of effort that could instead be directed towards selling some papes.

He should be better, Spot knows that. Already, his closest friends have started to scold him (very carefully) about how he’s treating sunshine. “Y/N’s no problem,” they’ve said. “It’s just you, Spot.” But he doesn’t listen.

One day, he gets to the breaking point. After another restless night, Spot drags himself out of bed despite not getting nearly enough sleep. He’s hardly stepped out of his room before Sunshine’s smiling cheerily at him, asking, “How was your sleep, Spot?”

As if they can’t tell by the look on his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Spot positively growls at them, “Terrible, obviously. God, can you just quit it with that stupid attitude? It’s makin’ me crazy.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes right past them and heads downstairs. He’s a grouch all morning, purposely making sure no one is near him while he’s selling and not talking to a soul all throughout the day. He manages to pull himself together enough to sell the papes he needs, but other than that, Spot is barely functioning at all.

Even the Brooklyn newsie home base seems quiet and uneasy when he gets back. Spot sits by himself in his office, temper growing worse with every passing hour. He can’t put his finger on the issue until nightfall, when he hears a chorus of cheerful voices out in the hall and realizes that Sunshine hasn’t spoken to him all day. Not since he snapped at them.

Cursing faintly, Spot drags a tired hand across his face. He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? Thinking back on it now, he remembers the startled look in Sunshine’s eyes when he told them to stop being so fake all the time. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everyone gets their feelings stepped on in Brooklyn. Things will be back to normal this time tomorrow.

Only, it isn’t. When Spot wakes up, Sunshine isn’t there to wish him a good morning. They avoid him in the line to pick up papes, and they steer clear of him throughout the entire day. Even when he makes a point of emerging from his office to sit with the rest of the newsies, Sunshine talks to every damn person there but him. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty. Even Spot Conlon.

As the days go by without a single word from Sunshine, Spot feels worse and worse. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see their smiles and hear their laughter until he didn’t get a drop of it. It’s like he’s trapped in permanent storm clouds. Only gray clouds and cold nights for him.

God, he’s getting poetic. This is horrific. Spot knows what he has to do, and even though he dreads the idea of having to admit he was wrong, he gathers his strength and goes to find Sunshine. At first, they try to duck out of the way when they see him coming, but Spot tracks them down, pulling them into an empty room so they can talk.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Spot says by way of introduction.

Sunshine doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp prick of guilt stabs through his chest. “I thought that, too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Sunshine’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Really,” Spot confirms. “I– I like being around you, Y/N. I like hearing you talk. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about being you.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across Sunshine’s face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Spot says indignantly. “What, you’d think I’d go around saying things that ain’t true? What a waste of time.”

When Sunshine starts laughing, Spot feels his cheeks start to rush with warmth. “It’s not– you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” they grin. “I’m just glad to hear you want me back.”

“I do want you,” Spot breathes. “Back, I mean. I want you back. Yes.”

When Sunshine smiles knowingly at him again, Spot gets the odd feeling that he’s revealed more of himself than he really ought to, like he’s been caught showing his cards halfway through a bet. He gets the feeling he can trust Sunshine to not call him out, though. For some reason, he believes in them more than anyone. Maybe even more than himself.

The threadbare curtains on a nearby window shift slightly, allowing a thin, tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through the cracks. It slices neatly through the room, illuminating Y/N’s face in thin tendrils of gold. The sun’s back again. They’re back again, and Spot might be okay after all.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#spot conlon #spot conlon imagines #spot conlon x reader #spot conlon oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies spot conlon #newsies spot conlon imagines #newsies spot conlon x reader #newsies spot conlon oneshot #newsies spot #newsies spot x reader #newsies broadway #newsies live

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shsl-fander · 8 months

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Strikes aint fun but they sure is tiring!

#jacks hat fell off #sleepy newsboys are real #I imagine this happened multiple times #since they were always together #javey #javey newsies #javid #javid newsies #newsies #newsies live #livesies #newsies art #fanart #fansies #newsies fanart #davey jacobs #jack kelly

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newsiesimagines · 1 year

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Newsies Imagines #40

#too much stuff in this fandom and not enough of it is ME #newsies #newsies imagines #dr doofenshmirtz #newsies live #newsies uk #actually I just get stressed out when in a big fandom #it's why I stay anonymous this fandom fluctuates too much and I cant count on it being tiny #the only fandom i post about on my main is like 5 people and a coconut so we're good there

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crutchie-with-a-y · 2 years

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A couple days late, BUT HAPPY 123RD ANNIVERSARY OF THE NEWSBOYS’ STRIKE OF 1899!!!

#newsies #newsies fandom #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #newsies imagine #broadway #jack kelly #musicals #racetrack higgins #broadway musicals #newsies live #1992sies #race newsies #newsboy strike of 1899 #newsboy strike

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kellyscowboy · 1 year

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꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ REFLECTION OF DECEPTION

ᯇ summary ! ✦ jack kelly's mirror lies to him, and david jacobs would rather take a lifetime of bad luck than let the mirrors continue with their deceitful schemes ᯇ warnings ! ✦ lowkey just angsty, uhh i mean not too angsty ig but i think you get the idea, a single cuss word lol ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ sorry this is lowkey so short! i thought it was gonna be a lot longer but it didn't turn out that way. reblogs & notes are greatly appreciated♡. also its 1 am & this was only edited once so if it doesn't make sense just pretend it isnt here. also!! this is very different from what i usually write so bear with me 823 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Jack Kelly was a sculpture, a gift sent from the gods. He was just as much a piece of art as he was an artist. From his calloused hands used in only the softest of ways, to the way his eyes spoke every truth of his soul. There had never been such a human to walk the earth, David Jacobs was sure of that.

David could talk about the abstract creation that was Jack Kelly until his heart stopped. About how Jack Kelly was the design of Aphrodite and Apollo, and how he would worship him as the people of Greece had worshiped his creators.

For Aphrodite blessed him love, with beauty. She pressed the dimples into his cheeks and painted the freckles on his face—the ones that only appeared when the sun shone. His laugh, that could send anyone within a twelve-mile radius into an early grave, was all her doing. Aphrodite had spent days, if not weeks (hell, Dave could argue it took years) perfecting him.

Apollo had blessed him with the sun. For his smile, the toothy smile that was so wide it could make someones jaw hurt just from seeing it, radiated more warmth than a hot New York day. And Apollo blessed him with light, for his eyes shone brighter than the brightest star. His artistic gifts had also been hand-curated by Apollo, an ability unique to Jack. Because there was nothing that anyone else could create that could compete with his works.

Jack Kelly put every bit of his being into his art. Every single stroke of paint held a little bit of his soul. His rough hands would glide over dried paint, and everything he possessed would leak into his canvases. Every line his calloused fingers traced stole its first breath from his fingertips.

He knew of beauty. He knew that beauty was everything. Beauty was a young mother holding her terrified sons' hand and pretending she wasn't just as scared as him. Beauty took form in the way of brotherhood, and beauty was ten thousand fists—ones of different background and beliefs—angrily thrown into the air.

Each and everything that blessed Jack's eyes was art. There, however, was one exception. And it was quite possibly the best piece of art in existence. Himself.

Apate, mistress of deceit, had stolen the creation of Jack Kelly just before he had been sent to bless the Earth. Though she could not undo the work of another deity, she could curse him to a life of falsity. She could change his story from one of art and blessing to one of tragedy. And she did. She took a film of insecurity and deception, and gently pressed it atop his eyes. Then, as an extra fuck you, she manipulated mirrors to whisper heinous lies to him for the rest of his life.

And the story of his creation turned from a story to a tragedy. For Jack had been blessed with the beauty, skills, and warmth of the gods; but he would never be able to admire the piece of art that changed David Jacobs' life. Himself.

While Jack Kelly had changed his life, David Jacobs had changed the other boys' fate.

"Davey," Apate—in an attempt to keep Jack Kelly's story one of tragedy—whispered to him from the clouds, "Be wary, for mirrors shall be your downfall. And with every mirror that you break, you shall be punished with seven years of badgering luck."

But Aphrodite's voice spoke to him loudly and with confidence. "It is untrue that mirrors shall be your downfall, for your story is one of great love. You will love greater than I have loved, and it will be your downfall. But for every love you love, and for every reflection shattered, you shall fix the broken. Do not be wary, for your fate is written in the stars."

And so it was told.

Jack Kelly had been stolen by the goddess of deceit and was misled by his reflection. And while David Jacobs had been the product of Athena and Momus, their tales had been curated by Zeus. Zeus, god of fate, wrote their story into the stars so that David Jacobs may save Jack Kelly from the fate that was himself.

They had been destined to save each other since the stars had been formed. While Jack Kelly drowned in the deception of his reflection, David pulled him out and broke every mirror that dared whisper into his lovers' ear.

Jack Kelly had been made to be a tragedy, an artist who would never be able find the art within himself. But David Jacobs had been made to save him. For David Jacobs' love was his downfall, and his lifetime of bad luck meant nothing when he got to feel Jack Kelly's lips against his own.

And so true was it, that the story in the stars had been their fate.

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frogmanfae · 11 months

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I'm doing some research for the newsies fic and exchange and omfg y'all should really look into the history of the Refuge (the New York House of Refuge irl) this shits wildddd

#newsies #newsies uk #uksies #livesies #newsies live #92sies #newsies 1992 #newsies book #newsies fic #newsiesficandexchange #this is not how i imagined the Refuge #its not as bad but its somehow worse?#history

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 5 months

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The Press- Darcy Reid x OC

Darcy Reid x Ava Fig

Description: When Ava sneaks into The World's basement to fix up an old printing press, she isn't expecting to meet her match in the form of the Trib's heir.

Word Count: 1.7k

Ava tapped her foot anxiously as she waited behind The World’s main building along with several other newsies. Why was she standing behind the building anxiously? Because Jack Kelly, after abandoning the newsies twice, approached her for her help with a supposed old printing press. He and Katherine Pultizer had come up with a plan to print a paper of the strike and they needed that very printing press to do the job.

A sigh of relief left her lips when the lights to the basement finally came on. Moments later the window was unlocked and opened. Ava leaned in a bit to look inside and was met with Jack, who offered her a cheeky grin.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he joked, making her roll her eyes.

“Ladies first,” Davey added from beside her. The girl allowed him and Jack to help her inside, then the other newsies followed.

“You bring enough fellas to keep us covered?” Jack asked, earning a nod from Davey.

“We could hold a hoedown in here and no one would be the wiser.”

His answer made the girl giggle, though she didn’t stay long enough to listen to the rest of the conversation as she walked over to the printing press, where two nicer dressed boys were already looking at it. They were admittedly very handsome, but the one in the yellow suit and glasses had caught her attention. There was something about him that intrigued Ava, and she found herself focusing on him rather than the matter at hand. That is, until Katherine spoke up from behind her.

“Here she is, boys,” she said, resting a hand on the press. “Just think, while my father snores blissfully in his bed, we’ll be using his very own press to bring him down.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Jack half joked.

“Is this what they print the papes on?” Race asked as he stepped up beside Ava. The girl opened her mouth to answer, but was stopped when the boy in yellow spoke.

“I can see why they tossed this old girl into the cellar, but I think she’ll do the job,” he said optimistically.

“Jack, this is Darcy. He knows just about everything there is to know about printing,” Katherine introduced as the boy walked up to him with his hand held out. Jack spit in his hand out of habit, though he quickly wiped his hand on his pants when he saw Darcy’s disgusted face.

“Er, sorry,” he muttered as they shook hands, then he continued a bit louder. “You work for one of the papes?”

“My father owns the Trib,” Darcy answered rather simply, which made Ava’s eyes widen in shock. She was really in the presence of Whitelaw Reid’s son? Jack seemed to sense her sentiment because all he could do was hum, a surprised look on his face. If Katherine noticed their surprise she didn’t say anything as she gestured to the still unnamed boy.

“And this is Bill. He’ll be typesetting the article for us.”

“Bill, huh? So I suppose you’re the son of William Randolph Hearst?” Jack asked in an attempt to be funny.

“And proud to be part of your revolution,” Bill confirmed as he shook Jack’s hand.

“Ain’t that somethin’,” Jack muttered in awe. Ava, meanwhile, just couldn’t believe her ears. Why would the sons of the biggest newspapers in New York be helping them? She had no time to ponder it before Katherine spoke again.

“Now, in the words of the little one, ‘Can we table the palaver and get down to business?’” That seemed to bring everyone back to the matter at hand because Bill and Darcy moved back to the printing press.

“A little grease and she’ll be as good as gold,” the latter informed them.

“We’ll see about that,” Ava joked lightly as she walked over to the press, beginning to look it over. She could practically feel the two boys’ confused gazes on her as she began looking through the mechanisms of the machine, making sure it was in good enough condition to work.

“Oh,” Jack suddenly said, as if he’d just remembered something. “Boys, this is Tinker, our own little mechanic. She could take this entire press apart and put it back together without needin’ a manual.”

“Wow, you must be pretty special, huh?” Darcy asked.

“You could say that,” Ava answered amusedly, pausing when she noticed the ink valve of the mechanism.

“See somethin’, Tinker?” Jack asked, having noticed the look on her face.

“The valve cinched off the tube that connects the ink to the machine,” she informed the others. “Ink leakin’ all over the papes won’t help us any. I think I got an extra hose here somewhere.” She looked through her utility belt, which she always had around her waist. It only took her a moment of rummaging through the various pockets before she pulled out a hose, replacing it quickly.

“Alright boys, hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty because this old girl is gonna need a lot of grease,” she concluded once she finished her work. Upon glancing back at Darcy and Bill, she was surprised to see that the latter was no longer there. Well, that wasn’t exactly what surprised her so much. It was the look of just absolute awe that was on Darcy’s face. She hadn’t been expecting it, so she raised her eyebrows confusedly.

“You okay mister?” Rather than immediately answer, the boy shook his head as a small smile slowly formed on his face.

“You are an extraordinary girl, you know that?” The compliment caught her off guard even more than the look on his face. She couldn’t even attempt to hide or ignore the blush that quickly formed on her face.

“Oh- um, well, thank you sir,” she laughed, unable to do much else, as she stood up normally.

“Call me Darcy,” he instructed with an almost fond sort of look as he held out his hand for her.

“Darcy,” she repeated as she took his hand, a shy smile on her face. “Pleasure to meet ya.”

“Likewise Tinker,” he paused, then tilted his head a bit. “Is that your real name?”

“Hmm? Oh, no,” she laughs a little. “My real name’s Ava Fig, but the boys started calling me Tinker when I began fixin’ up things around the lodging home.”

“Ava,” Darcy repeated much like she’d previously done, sighing afterwards. “Pretty name for an even more beautiful girl.”

“Well, you’re quite the charmer, aren’t ya?” Ava teased lightheartedly, earning a laugh from the boy. His laugh was just as nice as his smile.

“Only if it works on pretty girls,” he flirted back, which only made the girl’s smile widen.

“And confident,” she added approvingly, reaching over to grab his hat from off his head, setting it on her own head. “I think we are gonna get along swimmingly.”

“I agree,” the boy nodded with a chuckle shortly before Bill appeared in front of the press again with a bucket of grease (Ava would be correct in guessing that’s where he’d gone while she and Darcy got acquainted. The girl nodded in approval at him, then shared a smile with both boys.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

Ava now stood in Newsies Square just outside The World. It had been a rather exciting morning indeed. Once she, Darcy and Bill got the press running and printing, the next few hours were spent with Finch, Albert and Smalls going around selling the newsies paper (she never thought she’d see the day where she sold a pape for free!). When their last papers were sold they made their way back to the square along with the other newsies. Once everyone was gathered they watched as Jack, Davey and Spot marched into The World.

She couldn’t even begin to guess how long everyone stood there, all waiting in eager anticipation for the result of their defiant stunt. The tension was so high she bet she could cut it with a butter knife. She bit her nails and taper her foot anxiously, watching as her friends murmured amongst themselves until the front doors of The World finally opened. Out walked Jack, Spot, Davey, Katherine, Medda, Pulitzer, and none other than President Roosevelt himself, much to Ava’s awe. Everyone watched in silence as Jack, Pulitzer and Roosevelt remained atop the steps leading up to The World’s doors while the others joined the crowd, then Jack took a step forward.

“Newsies of New York City,” he started, looking around for a moment before a bright smile appeared on his face. “We won!” Words couldn’t even describe the joy that coursed through Ava. She almost couldn’t react at first, but then she began cheering along with her fellow newsies, laughing in between her cheers. She couldn’t believe that all their hard work and pains had finally paid off.

She was surprised when she felt something being placed on her head. It took all she had not to flinch before she reached up to feel what it was. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see that it was a hat, but she found herself shocked when she realized she recognized the yellow hat in her hands.

“Congratulations, Miss Ava,” Darcy spoke up from beside her, unable to hide his smile as he listened to the celebrating newsies around them.

“Oh, we couldn’t have done it without you Darcy,” the girl responded as she turned to face him. It seemed his smile was infectious because she found herself mimicking it.

“I believe it was you that did all the work,” he chuckled.

“Well, either way, thank you,” she muttered earnestly, pulling the boy into a hug without even thinking. It took Darcy a moment to react, but Ava found that his hugs were actually very warm and welcoming. She began to wonder if there was anything about him that didn’t appeal to her.

“How would you feel about a celebration?” Darcy asked, making the girl look up at him once they pulled away.

“What sort of celebration?” She asked curiously rather than answering.

“Well, what would you say to dinner?” The boy inquired with a charming smile that Ava just couldn’t resist.

“I would say yes,” she answered. Darcy didn’t answer, but rather took both of her hands in his. She watched with a coy expression as he lifted her hands to press a kiss to both of her knuckles, and a smile quickly formed on her face. She had a good feeling about this boy.

#newsies #newsies live #newsies imagine #newsies live imagine #darcy reid #darcy reid imagine #darcy reid x oc

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leading-manhattan · 20 days

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I feel like I should let people know in advance that 92sies doesn't ever even get a glimpse of recognition in my stories. Everything I write is all Livesies exclusively.

#|| carrying the banner #|| that kelly charm #Obviously if you imagine them as 92sies all the power to you #Your immersion might get broken a little bit when I mention hair color or height though #and Jack literally never has a cowboy motif #livesies #newsies live #newsies broadway

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newmsies · 8 months

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if they were being accurate Mr. Pulitzers football probably could have been our soccer since Hungary is in Europe and that's where he was from and Europe calls soccer football but they casted all the Newsies as cis men so ig I'll let it go /j

#I'm JOKINGGG by the wayyyy #just saying though #make our soccer Mr. Pulitzers football 2023 /j #also calling it football makes sense but i live in America so I'm used to calling it spccer #*soccer #also he's from Budapest but bro's so old he moved there when it was just Pest #like literally it was still Pest when his family moved there from Mako #also the house he was born in is a fucking #post office? I think #I'm not 100% sure but imagine being a ghost and being like #oh i wanna go see my old home #and then people are just sending packages in it #newmsies #newsies #joseph pulitzer

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ironinkpen · 18 days

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just had the funniest thought in the world which is what if the reason Kipperlilly Clerickiller first started hating Riz was bc she wanted Kristen as her cleric. like wanted her SO fucking bad. her type A ass 100% scoped out her classmates before the first day of freshman year so she could build the optimal party, and imagine her excitement when she found out! that they had a real live Chosen One in their grade!! she probably practiced the snobby little speech she was gonna give Kristen for HOURS, already mentally mapping out her path to valedictorian. meanwhile Riz walks in with a briefcase and a newsie hat and a missing babysitter to find and stumbles into Kipperlilly's Number One Draft Pick by accident in detention. how much do you think she lost her little fucking mind

#joke's on her she couldn't have handled kristen #riz is just That Guy (a good boy who wants to save people and inspires others to do the same)#anyway imagine the girl who was supposed to be your Golden Ticket to Being the Best FINALLY talking to you after 2 years #only to call you 4 separate dogs. brutal lol #sorry girlie that's what you get for being a hater #riz gukgak #kristen applebees #kipperlilly copperkettle #kipperlily copperkettle #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #d20 #dimension 20

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we-are-inevitable · 1 year

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Javid 32!

32 - “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

——

ok this was a little longer than i anticipated!! and also @thefactsofthematter sent this exact prompt in as well lol, so: here ya go!

this will definitely be posted to ao3 also

——

As soon as he opens the front door to his apartment, Jack is hit by the distant smell of weed.

Nothing out of the ordinary. About twice a week, Jack will come home to the smell. It doesn’t bother him— he’ll, he used to live with Race and Albert, and they smoked like they needed it to breathe— but the apartment looks empty right now. Usually he’ll come home to David smoking in the living room, but the living room looks untouched.

He pauses after locking the door. Looking around, he doesn’t see anything weird; the living room is clean, there aren’t any dishes in the kitchen sink, the lights are all off except for the lamp in the corner, but Jack sees evidence of David on the dining room table. A iPad, left open, and a textbook next to it. An apple pencil lying next to it.

He moves closer to the table, dropping his jacket off on one of the chairs, and just as he does so, he hears a soft cough from outside the window. Looking up, he doesn’t see anyone, but he notices the smoke fliltering past.

“David?” Jack calls out, walking to the open window.

Just as he reaches it, David’s voice says, “Out here.”

Jack nods to himself, pulling himself through the window. He looks to his left, and David is there, on the fire escape with a joint between his fingers. He’s wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants, so he probably went to the gym earlier, and if Jack concentrated hard enough on ignoring the smell of the joint, he’d be able to pick up on David’s shampoo from his still-damp hair.

“Hey, man,” Jack murmurs, nudging David’s knee with his foot as he leans against the window frame. “Rough day?”

David shrugs, not looking Jack in the eye. “Yeah, you could say that,” He says after a moment, holding his hand out. “You want a hit?”

Jack considers, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “Not tonight,” He responds. He climbs down off of the window, sitting crosslegged in front of David. “You okay? You look like hell.”

Despite his freshly showered (and extremely attractive, but Jack would never say that out loud) appearance, David has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted. It’s been a busy week for him, Jack knows. He’s barely seen David since last Thursday, and it’s nearly the weekend again.

“I feel like it,” David says with a nod of his head. “But I’ll be fine. No worries.”

He meets Jack’s gaze then, and Jack feels it again- that familiar tug in his chest, the rush of heat rising on his cheeks, and with David looking like this, Jack doesn’t know what to do. It’s a bad idea, he tells himself. David is just his roommate. Some random gorgeous genius he found on Craigslist when his last roommate left without telling him. Being attracted to David Jacobs is bad news.

But he wishes it wasn’t.

“You can talk to me, ya know,” Jack says with a soft frown. “You’ve been actin’ weird lately. You sure there’s nothing’ goin’ on?”

David takes another hit, leaning his head back against the brownstone behind him, and Jack watches his shoulders drop as he exhales the smoke. “You’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

“Nah,” Jack answers immediately. “You know me better than that, Jacobs.”

A hint of a smile on David’s face, but it vanishes as soon as David opens his eyes again. “You really wanna know?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” he stares with a shrug, as easily as breathing, “and I’m terrified.”

And all of the thoughts running around in Jack’s mind suddenly come to a stuttering stop.

His chest tightens, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at the wall just above David’s head. He thinks back to the past few weeks— David grabbing his waist while they were cooking last Friday and how he couldn’t look Jack in the eye after that, David being in a sour mood whenever Jack would come home from a date and-slash-or walk of shame, David staring at Jack constantly and denying it all— and it makes sense.

It makes sense.

“Oh,” Jack says finally, mouth opening and closing a few times like he’s trying to form the words. “You— Okay, wait, you—“

“Don’t do that,” David says with a roll of his eyes, shifting, bringing his knees to his chest. “Don’t act like you’re surprised, Jack.”

Jack furrows his brows. “The hell do you mean, don’t act surprised? I am surprised, Davey, you don’t just— you don’t just drop that on a fella.”

“You wanted to know, so I told you,” he mutters. “Look, just— just forget about it.”

“What? No,” Jack starts. “I can’t just— forget about it, David, I— I… I have feelings for you too, I’m not going to just ignore this,” he says with a nervous laugh, but David doesn’t seem to be amused.

David doesn’t seem to be happy about it, either.

His hands, usually so steady and calm, are shaking like a leaf. He won’t even look at Jack, instead studying the street below them, snuffing out what remains of the joint still in his fingers. His face is red.

Jack takes in a deep breath, and slowly crawls closer, placing a hand on David’s knee. “Hey, look at me,” he murmurs, waiting until David slowly turns, facing him. He doesn’t make direct eye contact, but Jack doesn’t force it. “You… You said you’re terrified? Of loving me? Why is it… terrifying?”

“Because,” David says immediately, jerking his shoulders. “Because you’re- you’re you, Jack. You’re terrifying enough as is, but you’re my roommate, and you— I don’t know, you know what you’re doing and I have no fucking idea how to navigate this, okay?”

“Woah, Davey, what?” Jack asks, tilting his head. “I don’t— okay, you need to just tell me what’s goin’ on, so I can understand. Okay? What do you mean?”

David takes in a frantic breath. Jack almost feels bad— according to David, he smokes to lower his anxiety, but right now Jack can see him working himself up. “I don’t know, Jack, I— I’ve never even had a crush on anyone. I wasn’t… I don’t know how— how this works, okay? I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’ve never been interested in romance, I… I thought it just wasn’t really for me, and then you… just kind of happened. And I don’t know how to feel about it,” David says finally, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Fuck. Fuck, okay, just… I shouldn’t have told you.”

“But I’m glad you did,” Jack says instantly, and gently- gently- pulls David’s hands away from his eyes. For a moment, David refuses to open them, refuses to look at Jack, but then Jack carefully cups his cheek and runs the pad of his thumb over David’s cheekbone, and after a few deep breaths, David slowly looks up into Jack’s eyes. “Davey,” Jack murmurs, “it’s okay not to know. But if you… If you have feelings for me, and I have feelings for you, then this isn’t somethin’ we can just… pretend didn’t happen.”

“I know,” David says softly, sounding defeated. “Fuck. I know. It’s just…”

“…Scary?”

“Scary. Yeah.”

They sit in heavy silence for a few moments. Silence that feels suffocating, staring into each others eyes. Silence that feels like home in the best and worst ways.

Finally, David speaks. “You really feel the same?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jack asks, then gently runs a hand through David’s hair. David pulls Jack forward until he’s tracking his lap, and as Jack relaxes into the touch, he smiles. “You’re everything, Dave.”

And there it is: that reluctant Davey smile, the one where he doesn’t show teeth but his eyes scrunch up and he tilts his head to the side. “What does this mean for us?”

Jack shrugs. “What do you want it to mean?” He asks, looking down into David’s eyes. “You’re the one callin’ the shots here, Dave.”

David takes this in for a moment. He nods, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Jack feels his hands spasm where they’re seated on his waist, and watches as David gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment.

“I think…” He gulps, and meets Jack’s eyes. “I think it means that I want you to kiss me. Right now.”

“You sure?”

“Please.”

Jack leans forward, rubbing David’s cheek. He can feel how fast David’s heart is beating, watching as his eyes flutter shut and his lips part ever so slightly.

And Jack kisses him, and David kisses back, desperate, floaty, following Jack’s lead, and nerves be damned, it feels right.

It feels right.

#YEAHHHH I LOVE THEM YEAH YEAHHHH #i’m imagining they’re both students in this #but they’re in junior/senior year living off campus together #jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #newsies #livesies #ask a jac !#jac writes #newsies musical #newsies live #kath tag

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heliads · 1 year

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:D yay!!! I love your Newsies stuff sm (and yes you absolutely should rewatch its amazing). If you have time could you maybe write a Race x fem!reader where she's like Spot's second command and kinda like the "mum" of the Brooklyn kids - they go to her for like comfort and when they have injuries or have problems etc. And she's kinda reserved and such but became friends with Race from when he'd spend time in Brooklyn, and after the strike (during like KONY I guess) he goes to find her to ask for her help like getting everyone fixed up and the like, and at some point from there onwards it's like FEELINGS yknow? No worries if not! Only if you're inspired and have time and such :) I love your writing - you're so v talented xx

grateful for your support in my rewatching newsies agenda. anything for you anon xoxo

masterlist

There’s a newsie from Manhattan wandering your streets again. He’s not supposed to be crossing over into Brooklyn like this, none of them are, but for some reason that hasn’t stopped Race Higgins from showing up time and time again.

It’s not like this should really matter. Shouldn’t, anyway. Brooklyn is messy and getting messier. One particularly plucky Manhattan boy shouldn’t have an impact on what you’re doing on a day to day basis. Spot’ll do some nonsense involving a good threat or two to scare the guy off. This sort of thing happens once a month, but Brooklyn always ends up on top. Always.

That hasn’t seemed to sway Race, though. Last time he tried this, one of the other Brooklyn generals was in a fighting mood and nearly left the blond with a black eye had you not stepped in and put a stop to the scuffle before it started. No one needed any more trouble when you’ve already got so much as is, or so you claimed.

Truth be told, you’re not really sure why you helped Race out. It’s not like you’ve got any particular fondness for the guy, he keeps bothering you whenever he sneaks over the turf boundaries. It’s like he has a sixth sense for figuring out where you are whenever you’re selling papes. Even when you tell him to bug off and leave you alone, he’ll just start selling half a block down from you, or right across the street. Just close enough that you can see the trademark grin on his face when you roll your eyes and do your best to ignore him.

At the end of the day, it’s not something that should be the pull of too much of your attention. It’s Race, for goodness’ sake, not a rogue Delancey brother or someone who could actually cause you grief. Race just wants to make you laugh, which is weird of him to do but not actually dangerous.

Dangerous is the rest of Brooklyn. Dangerous is what waits for Race when he’s not halfway in your shadow. Dangerous is what made you Spot Conlon’s second in command when there were so many other newsies vying for the title. You know dangerous, and you know how to handle it, how to keep your boys safe. That’s what you should be focusing on the most, not errant Manhattan newsboys who keep getting alarmingly close to making you crack a smile.

But. Well. It is easier to think of boys than trouble. Boys try to make you laugh, for the most part. They don’t come back under the cover of the dead of night, bloody and trembling, talking to you about cops and thugs busting up strikes, about workers from the Refuge who want to brazenly take kids off the street just so they can keep up their numbers. They didn’t always.

Then they did, and suddenly you weren’t quite so easy with your temper and gait anymore. Race was usually quick to a smile, a laugh, a joke. He’d offer you a cigar free of charge, then swear like a sailor at any other boy who tried to even look at his prized possession. You were different, he didn’t want to trouble you.

So he said. Didn’t stop him from hanging outside your window until you climbed onto your fire escape just to get him to stop throwing pebbles at the dusty glass. You might have spent more than an hour outside that night, and the next one, and the next, but it was only so he’d let the others rest. You falling asleep on his shoulder at least once, then waking to find his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, was pure coincidence.

Race was always carefree. It was his job, you think, his role to play amongst the Manhattan newsies, just as yours was to keep track of your Brooklyn kids. Race used to tease you relentlessly about how the Brooklyn newspaper distribution system would completely grind to a standstill if you so much as got a cold.

It wasn’t entirely a joke, it was true. Race knew it. The two of you could hardly talk for longer than ten minutes before a boy or twelve would come up to you, asking for help on something else. He saw how long you faked your smiles just for the happy expression to start fading into an exhausted sigh whenever no one was around but him. You liked your position in the newsie ranks, truly you did, but it drained everything from you.

Sometimes it felt like it was just you and Spot fighting a losing war trying to keep all of your boys out of trouble. You teach them to be tough and loud and unapproachable, but it will never be enough? How could it be, in this city? Race tells his jokes and you laugh and you try not to pretend that everything is falling to ribbons. At least then you could marvel at the colors.

Still. Race stayed. Longer than you expected, in all honesty. You kept waiting for him to have his fun and leave you to your city that never sleeps, but he came around and it felt more natural by the day. Instead of being surprised that he showed up, you started feeling confused if a week went by without you seeing him.

And, when two newsies come to Brooklyn from Manhattan talking about a strike, and neither one of them is Race but both of them need your help anyway, you listen. More than Spot, at least. Spot gets wind of trouble and he shuts down their plea in an instant. Despite the fact that you think this is the best chance any of you will have to change something around here, Spot can’t risk his guys.

You never know when someone will back out without telling you, he tells you later, and then all of you would be stuck out there on the front lines without backup. The ace without the sleeve up which to hide. Brooklyn kids are tough, and they wouldn’t run, but who knows a damn thing about anyone else?

It made you want to scream and cry and run out there anyway, just to prove a point. You heard how the strike went later, how no one showed up except the Manhattan boys because no other borough would come without Brooklyn’s express approval. You catch whispers and threads of the story, but you don’t learn the whole thing until Race shows up.

He’s alone this time, beaten and bruised. You flinch when you see him, even though he’s not swinging. The look in his eyes, though– that’s enough to leave you bloody.

Race puts a hand on your shoulder. The knuckles are bruised, and you try not to notice the spatterings of skin already turning a mottled purple and green. “It’s not your fault. Jackie boy told me you tried to convince Spot to join us.”

You frown, look away. “You got hurt and we could have done something. That sounds an awful lot like I failed.”

Race shakes his head, puts a hand on your cheek so you have to look at him again. “I’m not here for that. This isn’t your fault, it’s his. Pulitzer’s. Him and those damn thugs. Not you.”

You nod slowly. It’ll take some time before you’re able to absolve yourself of the guilt, but you can try. “Let me get my first aid kit, I’ll come back with you, try to patch some of the kids up. Can I assume that a lot of them are worse than you?”

Race’s expression drops. “Yeah. The thugs came hitting pretty hard.”

“Well,” you say in an attempt to cheer him up, “I’d wager it’s because they knew your lot were the toughest around.”

Race cracks a smile, even though you’re sure it must be painful. “Oh, absolutely. I’d topple a building with a single punch.”

You can’t help but cast another worried look towards his hands. Damaged, bruised, and they had tipped his cap towards you just a morning or two ago. Race always liked to playact a gentleman when you were around. As if any of you have money or morals to spare. The only mansion you’ve got is the wide sky above you, the expensive habits of running too fast on green grass. Your gold is a rusty coin or two, your finery hand-me-down clothes. Your mockery of manners is the closest you’ll get to that sort of lifestyle, but it was always fun to fake it, anyway.

“No more punches,” you tell him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Race retorts, “we’ve got to be out there again tomorrow for the strike. We’se not giving up so easily.”

The thought makes your stomach twist. Race, back out there, ready to get dealt another blow. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up so easily. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up at all.

No. You won’t let it happen. This is still your city, damn it, and you have not spent all these years sweating out your sunrises and sunsets to keep it informed just for the last bits of your control to be ripped out from between your desperate fingers.

“You won’t be alone tomorrow,” you decide, “I’ll get Spot to join you.”

Race frowns. “Jack and Davey tried that already, I thought. He said no. Isn’t Spot a dead end at this point? Unless there’s something else you know to change his mind.”

You sigh. “You’re not wrong. I talked to him, though, after your boys left yesterday. I tried. As much as anyone can try to talk to Spot, y’know. I’ll try again, though. The choice he made was–” There are a lot of words you could attribute to Spot’s decision to stay out of the strike. Stupid. Pointless. Backstabbing. You end up saying something a little more polite. “Not what I agreed with, to say the least.”

Race’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “Glad to hear it. I always liked it best when you were on our side.”

You snort. “I’se a Brooklyn newsie, remember? I don’t think we was ever on the same side.”

Race shrugs. “Maybe not in a turf war, but other times we got along just fine.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Race grins, leans a little closer to you. It feels like your whole world is tunneling– you can look at his eyes or his lips, but not both, and it’s enough to make you dizzy. “The last month or two, I swear you almost liked me. Sure, you’re a tough girl if anyone asks, but I know what I know.”

“And what do you know?” You ask carefully. It takes every fiber of focus in your being to keep breathing, chasing every word he says like a high price headline.

Race tilts his head to the side, considering this. Considering you. “I know that you’ve been hanging around me more and more. I know that you aren’t trying to run anymore. I know that no Brooklyn newsie sticks their neck out for someone from ‘Hattan unless they’ve got a pretty good reason. Most importantly, I know that I want to kiss you, but only if you want that too. Do you?”

He’s so close to you now, practically a breath away. Just enough room for you to run if you wanted to, but also for you to do something else, something you’ve been thinking about even when you swore you wouldn’t.

“I do,” you breathe, and that’s all Race needs to lean forward and kiss you at last. He tastes like blood and foolish hope and promises you know he’ll always keep. It’s a damn good mix, enough to make you kiss him again when he starts to break away.

This is how you keep him safe, then. You love him too much and you convince Spot to lend Brooklyn’s support by hook or by crook. You defend the strike and you defend your boy. There are a hundred reasons this could all go wrong, but thousands, thousands more, that all shout for you to keep going.

Well, you’ve always liked a little bit of danger. Race is good trouble, and you are well inclined to keep him.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @amortensie

#race higgins #race higgins imagines #race higgins x reader #race higgins oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies race #newsies race imagines #newsies race x reader #newsies race oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live x reader #newsies live oneshot

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