#newsies live oneshot

[heliads]

: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

[frogmanfae]

Race: you like Davey

Jack: yeah of course he's a great guy

Race: no

Race: you LIKE Davey

Race: like you're full on in love with the guy

Jack: what? No! I was in love with Katherine like a year ago

Race: so?

Jack: SO I can't like dudes, I like girls

Race: you're obviously bisexual

Jack: what?

Race: bisexual. You like both?

Jack: holy shit I can do that?? Thats an option???

Race: duh? You didn't know that was possible??

Jack: no????

Race: where the hell have you been your whole life??

Jack: uh, the closet apparently.

#this was a big build up for a very mediocre punch line #i still think it's funny #newsies #david jacobs #newsies uk #92sies #uksies #newsies 1992 #davey jacobs #livesies #newsies live #jack kelly #racetrack higgens #incorrect quotes #i originally wrote this for a stranger things oneshot #surprise surprise steve was jack and robin was race #it was funny #i think so anyway

[kellyscowboy]

Hiii!! You’re my favorite ikeshot person! You write their personalities and dynamic so well!!

could you write something based on the song the 30th by Billie Eilish? the story behind the song is someone gets into a really bad car wreck(or accident of some sort) and the aftermath of it

hii!! i meant to answer this sooo long ago but i got caught up w/ school & have also been in a sims 4 grind LMFAO. thank you so much for this request!! i apologize if this is a little off from what you may have expected or what i have written in the past. it's been a hot minute since i've written this dynamic so pls bare w/ me :'). again, thank you so much for this request! i appreciate you & your support <33333

i wasn't sure if you wanted this to be modern!au or in the canon au, but i made it canon. so it doesnt EXACTLY follow the lyrics. but essentially follows the point of the song!! ALSO!! @sparkedblaze this is also for you because you are the reason i write for ikeshot <3

CW: blood mentioned, car accident mentioned, uhhh probably cussing i lowkey don't remember tbh, UHH sad gays idk i forgot how to do this

Hotshot couldn't help but stare. It made him sick to do so, but he couldn't stop. It was like watching a gruesome fight that you couldn't tear your eyes away from. Except it was Ike. His Ike. All bruised, cut, and bloodied; scrawled out pathetically on a hospital bed. He was all but disfigured. All but unrecognizable.

But often times he had this look about him, and Hotshot couldn't help but think he looked the exact same as he did before the accident. He would just look off into the distance, similar to how he used to look at the stars before everything. Occasionally he would squirm under his boyfriend's intense stare. But outside of that, he said and did nothing. He wouldn't move an inch until a nurse came to make him eat, or until Hotshot would force him to use the bathroom.

"We don't need ya kidneys to fail, now. You'se already been through enough."

It made Hotshot nauseous to take care of the boy. They had never been in this position before. Usually, it was Hotshot laid up with a broken bone or some odd illness nobody else got. And Ike was always right at his side. It didn't feel right when the roles were reversed. Not to either of them.

Ike was knocked out for a long time. The doctors and nurses started to doubt he would ever wake up. They had begun to prep Hotshot for the worst, not that he ever listened to them. All he did was sit, stare, and pray to whatever god was listening that his boy would wake up.

When he did finally wake up, the hospital was in a frenzy. There was a hushed, excited buzz about the air. All the nurses would linger by the doorway of his room and gossip about his 'miraculous awakening.'

The second his eyes opened, he was bombarded with numerous questions from the doctors. They were long, confusing questions that contained words that Hotshot could hardly believe were real. Ike was quickly overwhelmed. Tears teetered on the brink of his eyes and his breathing became rapid.

"Would ya stop pesterin' him for a second? He just woke up! What's wrong with the lotta ya? Huh? Ain't you supposed to be professionals? Let the boy breathe!" Hotshot yelled as he jumped to his feet. "He ain't just some medical miracle, alright? He's a person just like you 'n me. Give 'im a second."

One by one, the doctors and nurses began to shuffle out of the room. Each one glancing over their shoulders as they left. Hotshot could hear their gossiping whispers outside the door as he sat down closer to Ike.

"What's happenin'?" Ike asked. His voice was small, hoarse, and confused.

Hotshot furrowed his eyebrows and grabbed his lover's hand. "What'dya mean? Dont'cha remember? You was hit by one of them fancy new electric carriages."

Ike's initial confusion turned into a quick look of horror as he caught a glimpse of his bruised arms. "But... I'm alive right? I'm here? This is real?" The boy had started to freak out. He analyzed his arms, turning them every which way. He leaned forward, wincing as he did, and yanked the cover off his legs. It wasn't a pretty sight, and Hotshot had to stop himself from dry heaving just from seeing his boyfriend in such a state.

Gently, Hotshot pulled the blankets back over the boys legs. "You'se alright, Ike. For a couple of days there, I was worried. You'se was knocked out cold. But ya alive now. That's all that matters. You're alive." He wanted to do something. Squeez the boys hand, give him a pat on the leg... something. But he couldn't in fear of hurting the boy further. So, he just nodded and flashed him a forced, tight smile. "I think ya oughta lay down. You get yourself too worked up sometimes. It'll get worse if ya don't relax a little."

The other boy couldn't help but let out a laugh. He grabbed his chest in pain after he did. "Sounds like somethin' I'd usually tell you."

"Right." Hotshot rolled his eyes fondly. "Well, I reckon them so-called professionals out there are gonna wanna ask ya some questions. I'll make sure they go easy on ya, yeah?"

Ike nodded and closed his eyes as the other boy got up to let the doctors back in. He took a deep breath, once again wincing in pain, and prepared himself for the horror that would be the next few minutes.

Hotshot often felt ashamed when looking back on the day of the accident. None of it was his fault. He was often reminded by the Brooklyn boys that there was no way he could've known. But he felt as though he should've. That he should have seen the conjugation of people and he should've known. He should've listened to his gut telling him it was someone he knew. Someone important. Should've ran up and helped. But he didn't.

"It was a Tuesday, Hotshot." Spot had told him in the hospital. "Ya never could'a known. He ain't never come over to visit on a Tuesday. 'Specially not so early. Quit beatin' yerself up about it."

Even Mike had come and talked to him. Usually, they just sat there together in complete silence. But even Mike knew it wasn't his fault. "Listen, I know we ain't close but I gotta talk to ya about this. Spot told me what happened. That you'd seen the accident but didn't think nothing of it and..." He paused. Hotshot prepared himself to get screamed at. Berated for being an absolute idiot and not helping the others brother. But the ambush never came.

"It ain't ya fault," Hotshot continued. "Honest. Ya know I'd scream and kill ya if it was. Ain't no way you coulda took one look at the scene and knew it was him. Hell, I'm his twin brother and I didn't even get the sense that something was wrong 'till Scram came runnin' to tell the news." He sighed again and took another pause. "Even if ya had known. Even if ya had gone and tried to help, what could you have done? Huh? Ya ain't a professional. Situation woulda been the same any way about it."

Hotshot nodded. He understood them. He understood everyone who had come to talk to him. Deep down, he knew it wasn't his fault. But he couldn't stop beating himself up about it.

He relived the day in his head almost every single night. It was a normal Tuesday. Up as early as the birds, carrying the banner and collecting pity from people wandering the streets. He had seen the commotion early in the day. In fact, it had been right after he had bought his papers for the day.

It's far too early for this, he recalled thinking. There was always something going on in New York. Especially in Brooklyn and especially around the circulation buildings. Typically, it was a rough fist fight between two newsies, and at its worst it was a robbery of some sort. But neither of which would cause such a big commotion nor gathering of police and medical personnel.

Hotshot knew deep down something was wrong. He felt drawn to the accident, but he put it aside as his love for fights. Which is what he assumed it was. A big fight that got out of hand. Maybe one that had contanied multiple newsies instead of just two, or that had somehow gotten an adult of importance involved.

But he ignored the calling to the scene. He had a stack of papers on his bicep and they weren't going to sell themselves. Besides, the quicker he was done with work the quicker he could join Ike at Jacobi's. He hadn't even really thought of stopping to see what had happened. Just that it might be something interest, but not something he could be bothered to stop for.

Just thirty minute later, he heard Scram's pattering feet behind him. He turned quickly on his heel, looking down at the boy. He had a horrified look on his face and his cheeks were stained with tears. The boy began to speak, sputtering and rambling over himself. "It's- Ike- Well, he- It was a car- And-"

Hotshot's blood ran cold at the mention of Ike's name. The papers on his arm hit the ground with a thump and sent dust flying into the air around them. "Ike? What about Ike?" Scram began to cry again, flailing his arms and pointing behind him. Hotshot's heart sank. "Scram, spit it out! I need to know what happened!"

"There was an- an accident! He got hurt, real bad. Barely looks alive. He keeps askin' for ya! Ya gotta go! Quick! They're loadin' him into the ambulance!"

"Where, Scram? Where?"

Scram's face was red and covered in snot. "Right outside the circulation building!"

Hotshot's heart sank even farther, something he hadn't believed to be possible. "Listen to me, Scram. Listen good. You go run and you don't stop running 'till you find Mike, alright? You tell him everything. You tell Manhattan everything. Okay?" He didn't even wait for the boys response.

He abandoned his dropped papes as he sprinted as fast as he could back to the circulation building. As he arrived at the scene, he couldn't help but be angry. He pushed his way through the crowd, screaming obscenities and demanding they let him into the ambulance. Police tried to hold him back when he finally made it to the front.

"He's been asking for me! They told me he's been asking for me! I'm Hotshot! Ya gotta let me in!" Hotshot screamed. "His family's all the way in 'Hattan! Ya can't let him go alone! He'll be scared!" Before he could stop himself, he screamed: "Ya can't let 'im die alone!"

Upon hearing the last bit—and discussing the boys name, which the injured boy had been groggily repeating over and over again—the officers let the boy through. Hotshot climbed into the back of ambulance and gripped onto the other boys hand.

"Ya think I'm gonna die?" Ike sputtered out, blood covering his mouth. "I- Mike's gonna be so mad. He ain't gonna have no-one."

Hotshot realized what he had yelled previously and began to panic. "Nah, nah. Ya ain't gonna die, Ike. You'se too strong to, okay? I just said that so they'd let me through. That's all. You'se gonna be just fine."

"I'm scared, Hotshot. I'm really scared."

"Hey, don't say that. You'se gonna be alright. Don't be scared. I ain't! I know you'se gonna be just fine. Okay." But the truth was, Hotshot was horrified. He hadn't been so scared in his entire life. He dropped his voice to a whisper as he continued to speak. "Ya still look so pretty, ya know that? Gorgeous, Ike. Ya gorgeous."

After hearing Hotshot's whispers, the boy took a deep, choked breath and closed his eyes.

After Ike finally woke up, he often thought aloud about what would've happened among different circumstance. Hotshot hated hearing it. He hated thinking about how, if the situation had only been slightly different, Ike could've died.

"What if it had been on Thursday? Someone else coulda been drivin' it. Goin' faster, not have slowed down or stopped. Coulda taken me straight into the next life."

"Would ya stop that?" Hotshot muttered. His face was deep in his hands.

Ike paused for a couple of minutes before speaking up once again. "I coulda been on ya bridge. They coulda sent me straight over into the water. I don't even know how to swim now. Imagine it with broken bones..."

"Ike."

"I coulda been in that neighborhood where all them families lived. Some little kid coulda found me and not told anyone cause they'd be scared they'd get in trouble or something."

"Ike."

"If it had been winter and it was snowing or rainin'. And the car had skidded, lost control. Hit me full speed."

Hotshot had started to tear up and his composure was breaking. "Ike, please." He begged in a broken voice.

But Ike couldn't help himself. He was spiraling. "Or if I was on one of them backroad nobody goes on. Nobody woulda even seen it happen. If just a small little thing was different, I'd probably be-"

"Ike!" Hotshot finally yelled. "Stop. You need to stop. I can't keep doin' it. Can't keep listenin' to ya kill yaself in your daydreams. You're alive, okay? You're alive. So just shut up! Because there's no life, no reality where I'm letting ya die. Alright? Especially not at the hands of some rich idiot's fancy car. So just... stop."

Ike nodded, his voice small. "Sorry. I just... I'm just freaking out. I dunno if I'm meant to be alive right now."

Hotshot sighed. "Listen. You'se the great person alive." He sat down and gently took ahold of his boyfriends hand. "If anyone in this world's meant to be alive, it's you. Alright?" He kissed Ike's hand and wiped at his eye with his own hand. "You're alive, Ike. Don't think about anything else. We got a buncha years ahead of us. Don't worry 'bout nothin' else."

#omg i looked it up #and the first car accident was in 1899 #so like #accurate????? #sorry #anyways #ummm sorry if this is not accurate LMAO #i have no written for ikeshot in so long #and also i dont think ive written a whole lotta angst for them #ALSO scram is my oc for brooklyn's like news guy #they send him out to tell other boroughs news and such #like brooklyns messenger #he runs alot #anyhow #hope u enjoyed and theyre not too botched LOL #ikeshot #ike newsies #hotshot newsies #newses #livesies #newsies live #ikeshot fic #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // oneshots ❥ #newsies oneshot #livesies oneshot

[medoraiscarryingthebanner]

Ok babes, If you want some QUALITY newsies oneshots, check out my quotev page, and this book! https://www.quotev.com/story/15965367/Newsies-Oneshots/7

(Oop just realized it doesn't support the link, just copy and paste on ur web browser, K?)

#broadway #newsies #musicals #newsies live #newsies broadway #newsies musical #newsies fandom #race higgins #albert dasilva #newsies fanfic #newsies oneshots

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I was working on a fic and decided that Jack constantly complains about Race being a snarky pain in the everywhere but... I mean... Race didn't learn it from no one...

Completely unrelated note: here's a little dialogue excerpt between a fourteen-year-old Jack Kelly and a seventeen-year-old OC named Sling. The context is that Jack brought home a couple of strays. Again.

“Kelly-”

“Okay, I can explain.”

“I give you one job-”

“And I did it!”

“I toldja to take Jojo sellin’ with ya-”

“Well wouldja look at that? There’s Jojo over there, looking fine and dandy!”

“I toldja to make sure he didn't die-”

“Yeah, and I made sure three kids didn’t die, so I actually did my job ten times over.”

“I know I ain’t never been to school before, but I’m pretty sure that ain’t how math works.”

“Oh well, guess we’ll never know then.”

“...”

“...”

“Jack.”

“Sling.”

“Youse paying for their lodging until they can start sellin’, you know that right?”

"Yeah yeah, I know the drill."

"I hate this drill."

"I know ya do, that's why I love running it so much."

#jack kelly the orphan collector #but yeah jack being like 'race you're the worst and i hate you' #race: 'where do you think i got all This from??? #sling didn't stop being a newsie because he was too old #he saw that race was turning into a mini-jack and just noped right on out of there #speaking of sling #help I think I'm getting emotionally attached to an OC I made up for a quick one-off joke #anyways i once again started making a piece of writing ten times longer than it needed to be #so the mike and ike oneshot is taking a while #enjoy whatever this is until it's done i guess #newsies #newsies live #livesies #newsies fanfiction #newsies headcanon #jack kelly #saf's ocs #saf writes

[winterrrnight]

new beginnings

navigation

pairing: stepdad!soft!rafe x mom!reader

detailed summary: You weren’t living such a great life. Your husband had turned his back towards you and was drowned in his addiction to drugs, not giving any mind to what’s happening in the world around him. You knew you couldn’t stay with him, and let him continue ruining your life. So at the next moment you get, you free yourself from him and get a divorce, finally having a chance to breathe.

You were now alone with your toddler, and you knew you had to give her a life which seems perfect even without her father. She became your best friend, your whole world, your favorite person ever. Sage was a spitting image of you, a little enthusiastic kid but very clear at heart.

As much as you tried, you always felt the lack of another parent in Sage’s life. Even though she never showed it, a big smile always on her face as she was always playing around your house, you knew it was best she had two loving parents. But you were so busy with your job, and taking care of her, you never had a chance to go out on your own.

But then, almost like a hurricane, Rafe Cameron walked into your life. He occupied your mind like nothing else, and as you saw Sage loving his company more and more, you fell more for him, and he was very lovingly married into your family.

You never knew love can come knocking down your door at such odd times, when you had your child and no one seemed to take interest in you. But Rafe did. He loved you both with his entire heart, and changed your entire perspective on love.

This is the story of finding comfort and love when it seems the world has stopped spinning, when you feel you’re worthless, and you start to limit your own experiences. It’s about letting your door open for someone at a stage in life when it’s all too risky. It’s about trust, and letting yourself free from the chains you’ve so hurtfully wound yourself in.

SERIES CHAPTERS:

and so we meet - chapter 1

here we are again - chapter 2

familiar yet unrecognizable faces - chapter 3

the blue in your eyes - chapter 4

ONESHOTS:

BLURBS:

CONCEPTS:

HEADCANONS:

content warnings: as this is a wip, there isn't much to tell. but, I can assure it won't have any NSFW content in it, or any other dark themes. it may bring up drug addiction, but appropriate warnings will always specified at the start of each part so you can avoid what you don't want to read!

update: the series is now also being posted on wattpad! check it out here and follow me at _starkeyfilms if you feel like! <3

taglist: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @rafeinterlude @rylie-m @zulema222 @karmasloverrr @leixwhite02 @congratsloserr @rubixgsworld @dilvcv @fandom-life-12 @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @fishingirl12 @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @stvrligghtt @rafegirly @leighbronk @addriaenne @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @crgirlsworld @valenftcrush @lillywildly @julovesurmom @raf3sgff @drewstarkey1bae @aerangi @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @mellyie

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

edith speaks: oh my god! this idea is absolutely thriving in my docs and I knew it had to be so much more than just a fic so here it is!! I hope you all really enjoy reading this :) please keep on interacting with me through my asks, discussing headcanons about the fic, and any little thoughts you may have! it's my absolute favourite thing ever to talk about fics <3 you can always talk to me as an anon (I accept anon emojis!) or just as you want! 🤍

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #soft rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #soft!rafe cameron #soft!rafe x reader #stepdad!rafe #mom!reader #stepdad!rafe x mom!reader #written by edith! 🪄

[dear-ao3]

newsies fic recs

cause you all asked

unfortunately i remember a lot of the good ones were on tumblr and so many people have changed their urls that they are not findable but, heres what i got

also keep in mind i havent read any of these in years and the summaries im giving are probably ass

these are all mostly ralbert, because that was what i read the most of, except for the ones at the end

the toaster fic (i used to remember this persons tumblr @ like 5 url changes ago but my brain is small and soupy so i am sorry). its crack, under 2k, absolute silliness and im still laughing about it five years later. modern era.

side by side its a really long ralbert soulmates fic where they are oblivious to hell and back. from what i remember its fluffy and silly. modern era.

voice okay she slaps ngl. its a modern era kind of angst situation. albert is mute. theres some referenced homophobia. lots of cuddles. 6k.

shaking thisss is a sick fic if i remember correctly. race is silly and gets a cold and there is cuddling. definitely part of a larger spralmer au but it works as a stand alone. under 5k. modern.

let the memory live again THIS FIC o gosh its killed me several times over. might be my favorite. idk. its up there. modern ralbert au. sad but also happy. albert is supposed to be dead and is not. he also has amnesia. its like 14k. read it at 2 am for maximum effect. god tier.

a love that will never grow old this is a sad canon era soulmate fic. race is alberts soulmate but albert is not races. theres also a sequel. the good kind of dad. multihap, 9k.

hero complex by @turtle-steverogers classic little ralbert oneshot, perfect amount of angst and comfort. albert is a firefighter and race is Worried also theres a dog. about 3k. modern.

thank u, next by the one and only @jack-kellys. its paranormal. its funky. its modern. its five parts and its complete. its 12k words and honestly like. i remember reading this and going absolutely batshit fizz is such a good writer (and is still actively writing newsies, throw them some prompts they love javey)

dont leave me by @sun-kissed-star its sprace, modern and spot is in the military. a good angst fluff angst ping pong match. 3.5k. theres some good and funny little jack moments :)

story written on skin by @patrocool oh my god the most well written soulmate au that i can possibly remember stumbling across at 3 in the morning and crying while reading. its a canon era sprace one. soulmate au where if one person gets injured the other person gets a mark. its really good. theres a part 1 and 2 and its long. like 15k long. read at 3am for best results.

the beast of brooklyn which i dont remember if ive actually read but i was asked to include it on the list so i did. mafia sort of au but also kind of beauty and the beast. well written and beautiful. fuckton of angst. sprace. modern.

#not a tag #from saph #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fic recs #ralbert #sprace #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #we can make more recs if you want more i have so many recs #katya does too

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

come with me- Crutchie

(Note: I know, I’ve already written like three oneshots that are just letters from Crutchie, but I absolutely adore his character and letters are one of the best forms of expression in my opinion- it’s just something about someone’s heart poured out onto a page that inspires me. This is in a world where Jack moved to Santa Fe after the strike, leaving Crutchie and the others behind. Enjoy!)

    Dear Jack,

    It’s been a while hasn’t it? Almost ten years now, if I remember right… damn, it’s almost surreal to think of all the time that’s passed since I last saw your face. We miss you, all of us do, Racer and Dave and hell, even Spot Conlon. Santa Fe’s a long way away.

    I guess you really had to go away, though. It was a long time coming, I’m sure- you’ve been dreaming of the plains and desert of New Mexico since we were ten. Right now, I’d guess that you’re settled somewhere outside, sketching the landscape with a broken charcoal pencil and a scrap of stolen paper as the world flies by you, your heart full of happiness and relief. 

    No more talking about that, though. I need to ask you something, something that’s been eating at me since the moment we said our goodbyes. I’m sitting in Miss Medda’s theater, where you used to paint sets for her, because I can’t keep wondering any longer. 

    Do you miss us?

    Do you miss the days when you were free, when all the responsibility you had was to survive until your next meal? Do you miss the fights, the jokes, the laughter and the tears, all experienced under the roof that nurtured the man you are today? Do you miss us newsies and everything we went through together? 

    What about Katherine?  Do you think of her often, that girl with the fiery red hair and a way with words that would make Shakespeare tear up with awe? Do you miss the days you spent reminiscing about that first kiss up on the rooftop, the fit of passion and anger that made you fall in love for the very first time?

    Davey- that beautiful boy, shaking like a leaf when you first met him, growing into the bravest and most dedicated leader Manhattan had ever seen- do you still love him? He never moved on after you, Jack. He’s got a job with the Journal, editing articles and making enough to support his family now. He’s got enough money to have a nice house in the suburbs, a wife, and a litter of youngins, but I think he’s holding onto the hope that you’ll come back.

    We all are, if I’m honest. It’s been different around here without you.

    You’d be proud, if only you were here to see how well we’ve done. Race made it big betting at the races and now he and Spot have got this little business opened together, living off of the winnings plus the profits. Specs has got himself a job working on a steamboat and now he’s seeing the world, and JoJo’s a pastor now, preaching every Sunday. You wouldn’t hardly recognize us, I don’t think- we’ve all grown so much, so far past the scared little kids we used to be.

    Sometimes I wonder if you ever changed that much.

    I have to go now. If you ever get this letter, please respond. I’d love to know that you’re okay, that Santa Fe was just as beautiful as you thought it would be, that you’ve got a lass and a good sum of cash in your pocket. If you haven’t already forgotten us, please write back. I miss you.

    Your brother,

    Crutchie

#newsies #newsies musical #jack kelly #crutchie #crutchie morris #crutchie newsies #jack newsies #letters from crutchie hooray #newsies 1992 #livesies #92sies #1992sies #newsies uk #uksies

[agentsnickers]

(I would reblog the post to talk but Tumblr won't show my reply so I gotta be annoying)

I would love to see more of fate, be kind. I'm so interested in the past life's and how they originally found each other and what their other meetings were like. I know you touched on it in one chapter and with Buttons comment towards the end of the fic but I want to know so much more about what happened with all of them

ALSO speaking of Buttons I desperately want to know more about what's going on with him, does he really remember the past?? What does he see between soulmates? Do he and Davey always wind up as close friends or was this the first time?

Also on that note I think it would be neat to see Davey and Buttons growing up together and the instances of people thinking their soulmates and their decision to get their tattoo and all that

Sorry if this is a lot, I just found your fics and I'm thoroughly obsessed with your writing

thank you!!!!

Response got long, so:

one of the plans I tossed around when I was originally working on fbk was a tie-in about Buttons and the way he sees the world!

He has sort of dreamy memories of his past lives, with certain moments coming through with more clarity than others. He and David have known each other a few times, and in fact he's known most of their gang a few times! What he said in the fic is true, though, he can usually clock the connections between people via a visible haze/aura around them that resembles a filled-in contact soulmark.

For an example -

He knew without being told that Jack was David's soulmate because even though they don't look the same as in past lives, he has known them together before and recognizes Jack somewhat instinctively.

But he only knew without being told that Les and Niamh/Hotshot were soulmates because he could see that soulmate-aura around them when they were together (since even though he knew Les in at least one other life, he didn't know Hotshot well enough to recognize her).

David and Buttons have been friends before, though before their current life they were closest in the Newsies canon era for Reasons :)

One of the other ideas I considered (and am still considering) was a oneshot with all of the other encounters between soulmates that I cut from fbk's chapter seven! This would include Charlie & Jack and Charlie & Albert's first meetings (which were the last to get cut), and a few other lives in between for some of the others! Most particularly I had originally wanted to have more gender/name variation in the past lives but I had to walk it back a bit when I realized how hard that would be to parse out when I wasn't planning to explain myself ;)

(The only one I allowed myself to keep was Race being Edie in Ravey's first meeting, since I figured that I had a good way to clarify for people who hadn't read the Edie AU and for anybody who had it would be obvious. Incidentally, Edie & David's first meeting was the chronological first!)

#fate be kind au

[starlitink]

About Me

Aster | They/them | Queer

DNI LIST!

Homophobes

Transphobes/TERFS/JK Rowling

Racists and white supremacists

Sexists/misogynists

Autism Speaks and their supporters (#lightitupred people!)

Xenophobes

Nazis

Pedophiles

Bipjobes, acephobes, arophobes, panphobes, literally just any kind of -phobe

You're not scared of people, you're just an asshole

Trump supporters

Ableists

Please note this blog has a big TW for cursing (but other than that, I try to keep everything family-friendly).

This is primarily a blog about Broadway musicals, although I will reblog random shit from time to time.

So far, I’ve listened to:

Newsies (both 92sies and Livesies)

Mean Girls

Heathers

Wicked (I saw this one live on Broadway right before COVID)

The Lightning Thief

Beetlejuice

Six

Hamilton

Tuck Everlasting

Legally Blonde

Beauty And The Beast

The Little Mermaid

Dear Evan Hansen

Aladdin

Mamma Mia!

The Prom

Hadestown

West Side Story

Anastasia

Into The Woods

Addams Family

Matilda

The Sound of Music

The Wiz

Frozen

Les Miserables

The Phantom Of The Opera

Hairspray

This is where I post headcanons, incorrect quotes, and writing (primarily about Newsies, as that is my favorite (as you can probably tell from my blog’s aesthetic))

A guide to navigating my blog is under the cut!

How to find things on my blog:

The ‘ask aster‘ tag is where I have ask games and answer questions!

Anything tagged ‘dogsies‘ is related to the Dogsies AU that my sisters and I came up with. In this AU, the newsies are dogs in an animal shelter run by Kloppman.

Anything tagged ‘invisible string‘ is related to the Invisible String AU (alternate name, Hell Was The Journey But It Brought Me Heaven). This AU is based on Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. In this AU, Jack and Davey are an angel and a demon trying to stop the apocalypse.

The ‘we’ll stay young forever‘ tag is another AU of my own creation. It’s a Newsies x Tuck Everlasting crossover AU where Jesse Tuck (AKA Crutchie) is forced to give Jack water from the magic spring in order to keep him alive, and chaos ensues.

Search for a specific ship like Javid or Sprace to find everything I’ve posted about that ship.

Contrary to popular belief, I do post about stuff other than Newsies. Search a specific musical to find everything I’ve posted about that musical!

The ‘aster writes‘ tag is where I post my writing! Oneshots and short stories go here!

"crystallizedtwilight" is for posts reblogged from @crystallizedtwilight, one of my absolute FAVORITE artists here on Tumblr. (She does a lot of Sprace art, so if you're looking for that, check this tag!)

I have low-key giving up on tagging things cuz I'm apathetic and the only reason this blog is still up and running is because of the queue function so uhhhhhhh good luck finding shit now lol

#about me #Had to remake the about me post lol

[talesofnox]

(Yes I did the editing. like it or love it?)

word count: 1515

tags: newsies, newsies live, newsie movie, kid blink, kid blink newsies, newsies writing, newsies headcanon, newsies imagine, newsies fluff, newsies fanfiction, newsies blurb, newsies oneshot, newsies drabble, kid blink oneshot, kid blink imagine, kid blink drabble, kid blink fanfiction, kid blink headcanon, writing, oneshot, imagine, drabble, fanfiction, blurb, headcanon

a/n: I do not know any of the characters’ actors personally, nor do I own the rights to their characters. What’s written below the tag is a work of fiction and should subsequently be treated as such. I am essentially using the actors as a face-claim and almost never, a name-claim. I am creating my own character and using the actor / character as a secondary fictional character, using features for details. I do not and never would directly associate the actors with any ideas used in my own writing. This writing is to be used for entertainment and fictional purposes only. Thank you for understanding and if you do not understand, fuck off, please and not thank you.

Newsie Headcanon

THE STORY OF NEWSIES LIVE: KID BLINK

So…Newsie Live: Kid Blink

He does not wear an eyepatch on his face (most likely so it is easier for Andy to dance)

We get to sea him directly about 57 minutes into the show, where he is retrieving his block of papers from Wiesel

But, God damn it(‘scuse my language), he is a scab at this point in time, but we never get to know the canon reason he does not where an eyepatch, so I came up with a Headcanon about why exactly the newsies call him Kid Blink

FLASHBACK

Blink was young when he joined the street rats as a newsie, maybe 7 at the time

His father had been absent for most of his life

He lived with his mother who worked in a brothel in New Jersey

She was an amazing mom, never even giving a hint to any of her clients that Blink (Or if we’re using his birth name, Mason) existed

His special hiding spot was the large cupboard in the corner of the brothel owner’s office

(she was a lovely woman who did not even bat an eye when Blink’s mother showed up with him)

Blink’s mother was paranoid and constantly cautious—she could never live with herself if someone reported her, and the police were sent to take Blink away from her

So, she taught him morse code so they could communicate id there were any customers in hearing radius

Blink became so talented in the silent language that the two could have full conversation by the time he was 4 years old

MOVING FORWARD

Blink’s mother sometimes had aggressive customers, but nothing would ever compare to the last one

As it had turned out, Blink’s never-present father had left, running away to the Bronx and taking a new wife

The new woman became pregnant and the two were happy

Until she and the baby girl passed away in the middle of the birth due to bleeding complications

Newspapers tell the rest of the story: Blink’s father went ballistic when he heard the news

He grabbed a pistol he kept hidden in a couch-side cabinet and did not hesitate to shoot the assisting midwife

The shot alerted the head midwife and she appeared in the doorway, but before she could even get a sound out, she too, was shot in the head, and dies instantly

The man ran in the dead of night, having discovered from an old gambling buddy where his ex-wife and son had disappeared to

Blink’s mother did not have any customers, and as a result, they liked to sit in her room upstairs speaking in morse code when they heard a scuffle downstairs

There was a series of pops before a stomping on the stairs echoed throughout the house

Blink’s father appeared in the doorway, the pistol in his hand and multiple specks of blood splattered across his lips and face

Blink was told to run

He did so, but thought his mother had been behind him the entire time

He heard a deafening pop, and suddenly, he had been knocked over by the dead weight of his mother’s body

He screamed, a shrill cry as he burst into tears, struggling to push his mother off of his bruising form

His father approached him next but was tackled from behind by a gaggle of police constables

He was taken away and Blink was lifted away from his mother, kicking and crying out for his ‘mommy,’ he just wanted his mommy

He began to calm down, and so, the policemen holding his arms loosened their grips and eventually, let him walk freely

Blink did not hesitate to run; in fact, he jumped out the two-story window, and landed on the fire escape

He scaled the ladders as fast as he could through the many alleyways

All he could hear were the muffled shouts calling for him to come back

Everything else was just…silent, he could not pinpoint what was happening to him, but all sound came back in full force when he finally collapsed in an alley 3 miles from the brothel

Blink spent another few weeks traveling through the state and eventually made it into the busier part of New York City, Manhattan, to be more specific

He never got word if his father had been arrested or not, which made him paranoid that he hadn’t and was free to walk the streets and find him one day

Everything’s legal in Jersey, am I right?

Blink eventually stumbled his way into Newsie Square about midday, meaning no newsies were there to see him

He went to look at the World Distribution Center gates but before he could get past the Horace Greely Statue, he was tugged by his collar

Two older boys (about 9 and 10, and looking much too similar to not be related) stood in front of him, looking menacing but nervous at the same time, as if they were regretting what they were about to do

The two brothers / cousins—Blink did not know— roughed him up a bit and giving himself a black eye and a shallow cut on his lip and cheek

Before the one who had been called Morris, could kick his sternum again, a group of shadows appeared at the alley entrance

A young newsie, his face and arms strew from paint smears, had seen the fight, and ran off to find his leaders

He returned with a group of older boys who approached the trio

Morris and Oscar (as Morris had named him) stood slack as they looked at the newsies before they moved away from Blink

No one noticed the way Blink scooted backwards into a corner

Oscar and Morris left the alley in a rush, being chased down the street by a few younger newsies behind them

The boy with the paint on him was the first one to approach Blink, joining him in the corner by sitting crisscross in front of the timid boy

He introduced himself as Jack—near ten at the time

Jack asked Blink a few questions, but became baffled when all Blink would give as an answer was blinking his eyes

It was most likely that Blink was saying SOS or some other message relating to him desperately wanting some form of help, but Jack did not understand

One of the older boys got the hint that Blink would not answer any questions he could not shake his head to, and bent down next to Jack, asking Blink if he had a family, and after telling them no, Blink agreed to head back to the Newsboy’s Lodging House with them

Blink followed them out of the alley and was greeted by another small newsboy

He wore a grey flat cap and fiddled with a large cigar he pulled from his overshirts pocket

The boy introduced himself as Racetrack—a strange name, he later explained, he was christened with when he was found to be following an older boy to the Sheepshead Races every few days after selling

Race asked what Blink’s name was, not knowing he did not speak

When Blink only coded SOS once more, Race locked at him, astonished; he thought Blink’s way of speaking was amazing

The large group of boys tumbled their way down the cobblestone streets back to the lodging house, Blink on another boy’s—Spoons was his name—back when Race stopped in his tracks before grinning goofily and shaking his head, his curly blonde hair jumping with his glee

“I know! Wese should call ya’ Blink! Cause ya’ don’t talk, only blink ya’ eyes to ansah.”

Apparently, Race was a God, because all the boys started cheering and, once they got through the house up to the bunk room, Spoons plopped Blink down on a hard mattress and slapped an oversized cap on his head

Blink had no complaints with the name, instead smiling and welcoming it over his birth name any day

Most of the younger boys only called him simply ‘Blink,’ but most of the older boys coined the name, ‘Kid Blink’

Blink stayed mute for nearly a year, before he finally uttered his first words to the newsboys

He explained his birth name, but only his first, but all the boys already called him Blink so when someone randomly called him Mason, all the others were just like, “Who?”

Years go by, and he stays a newsie, becoming best friends with a boy name Mush—named for his simpleton-like comments at times—and they stayed selling partners for a long time before they became too old to sell together

#newsies #newsies live #newsies movie #kid blink #kid blink newsies #newsies writing #newsies headcanon #newsies imagine #newsies fluff #jack kelly #newsies blurb #newsies oneshot #newsies drabble #kid blink oneshot #kid blink imagine #kid blink drabble #kid blink fanfiction #kid blink headcanon #writing #oneshot #imagine #drabble #fanfiction #blurb #headcanon

[heliads]

'from you i'd buy anything ' - jack kelly x crutchie morris

Jack Kelly is thinking about leaving. Crutchie is thinking about staying. Neither of them like that very much.

a/n: who was expecting me to briefly come back from exam hiatus with a jackcrutchie drabble? not me for sure

masterlist

Imagine, for a moment, that there is a boy on a fire escape, and he is listening to his best friend talk about leaving, and that boy is you. And your best friend is your best friend. And he matters more than anything.

Imagine that you have lived your entire recorded life in one city in one country in one world selling newspapers. Your birth was announced in a newspaper, probably, a newspaper that was sold by a newsboy quite like you in many ways but vastly different in the ones that matter, and when you die, your obituary will be placed in a newspaper sold by a different newsboy who is, again, both similar and dissimilar to you, a newsboy whose birth announcement you sold in a newspaper. You will sell the paper announcing the death of the boy who sold the news of your birth, and you will sell the paper announcing the birth of the boy who will sell your death. And so the chain goes on. You will sell many papers of many boys, and you will not even know it, or maybe you will. It does not matter if you read the newspaper. It only matters that you sell it.

Imagine that you have been selling newspapers with your best friend. He is your best friend because you sell newspapers with him, or perhaps in spite of it. You love him completely; you adore him like a devotee gazing upon a god. If you were one of the well-suited men writing up the articles that get to be in print, you would put your best friend in the newspaper. Not because he was born or died, but because he lived, and he lived extraordinarily.

Imagine that your best friend is telling you how much he cannot wait to leave this place, the only place that both of you have ever known. He could do it, you know. Leave. He would be good at it like he is good at every other thing except staying. Although you are his best friend, there is nothing you could say to make him stick around, so instead of saying anything, you listen. You do not like what you are hearing, although you pretend otherwise.

Imagine that your best friend could have left town a thousand times before now, but he waited for this early morning, this stolen breath before dawn, so that he could tell you he was going and judge your face to see how you would take the news. Imagine that he has already spent hours and days and weeks coming up with every possible argument you could make to keep him in New York City, Gotham, the City That Never Sleeps, so that you would think him clever, and laugh, maybe, and want him here. Imagine that he does not know that you already think him clever. Imagine that he thinks he has to prove it somehow, as if years of friendship and ill-concealed longing were not enough to cement that belief in your mind already. It is printed on your brain with permanent ink. Like in a newspaper.

Imagine that you are on the fire escape and listening to your best friend talk, and imagining what will happen one day when you wake up and are alone. You have been lonely before, but this would be worse. He would be fine at it, you think, your best friend. He is good at making friends. Even best friends. You think about them now, someone taking your place in sunny Santa Fe, where the city is not gray and lifeless, where the children do not starve in the streets. It does not matter if your replacement is a girl or boy, if Jack Kelly loves them as much as he loves you, they are not you and therefore they are an enemy.

Imagine that your best friend does not want to swap you out for anybody. You are the crucial part in his plans, the piece that completes the puzzle, but he does not know how to say it and you do not know how to say it, either, so it goes unsaid completely. The bell rings and the two of you hurry to the place where they give you the newspapers that you will sell together, and neither of you get rid of the words hanging leaden on the tips of your tongues. Tomorrow, he will repeat this conversation, and it will go the same way. Imagine that you might know what to do tomorrow. You won’t, but there is no loss in trying. Imagine that it might work out in the end. Imagining is easier. It always is.

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

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#newsies #newsies imagines #newsies oneshot #newsies drabble #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live oneshot #newsies live drabble #newsies fanfic #newsies live fanfic #newsies 1992 #newsies 1992 imagines #newsies 1992 oneshot #newsies 1992 fanfic #jack kelly #jack kelly imagines #jack kelly oneshot #crutchie #crutchie imagines #crutchie oneshot #crutchie fanfic #crutchie morries #crutchie morris imagines #crutchie morris oneshot #crutchie morris fanfic #jack x crutchie #jack x crutchie imagines #jack x crutchie oneshot #jack x crutchie fanfic #jack kelly x crutchie morris

[lemonadeinfuser]

death of a hero - jack kelly angst (😍)

as we have previously mentioned, jack kelly does not like feeling things.

he tries his best to avoid it at all costs, which mostly endures numbing himself down and letting it all spill out every once in a while.

but let's talk about what this envolves.

it envolves screaming, kicking, crying, hitting, and not a single reaction. it means his eyes focusing on one object and staying there for as long as physically possible. it means not breathing until he's sure he won't burst into tears. it means ignoring his own feelings and sitting on that fucking rooftop, looking out at his city and knowing all he wants is to get the fuck out of here.

but he can't. because of crutchie, and race, and albert and specs and mush and blink and katherine and sarah and les and davey.. he can't leave davey. davey, who's the only thing keeping him breathing in the first place.

so he has to hold it in.

he's a hero, after all.

and hero's can't feel those things.

right?

#newsies broadway #jack kelly #newsies live #writing #angst #newsies angst #jack kelly fic #newsies #newsies fanfiction #oneshot

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ BROOKLYN RED

ᯇsummary ! ✦ in manhattan they'd call it a sin, but race's wearing brooklyn red for him ᯇpair ! ✦ spot conlon x racetrack higgins (livesies) || inspired by Tennessee Orange by Megan Moroney & these (one) (two) posts by @crystallized-twilight ᯇvienna’s thoughts ! ✦ uhhh i definitely think this could be better but i just wanted to get it out of my drafts tbh LMAO. i swear the next piece or writing will be better :') 1249 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

"Racer!" Spot groaned. "I give up. Ya ain't never gonna learn the damn song."

Racetrack smiled and took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, I like the teacher betta than the lesson anyway."

"No amount of flattery can make up for how badly ya butchered our song," Spot laughed. He continued to speak, but his words were lost in the night.

The lights on the Brooklyn Bridge gave Spot a certain glow. One that made his skin look like that of an angel. Racetrack couldn't help but stare as he watched the boy laugh. He wanted to listen to Spot, he really did, but how could he listen to him when he was so beautiful? He tries his best to focus, but who could if Spot was sitting in front of them looking like a gift from God?

Race wanted to tell him every one of his thoughts. How Spot's laugh was probably what Heaven's trumpets sound like, how gorgeous his eyes were-

"I mean, honestly, how do ya mess up the wor-"

"Red's definitely your color." And he winced because that was definitely not what he had meant to say. It didn't even begin to cover half of what he was thinking.

Spot smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Red's Brooklyn's color, Racer."

He groaned, "I just meant- It looks good on you. Like, really good. Ya look heavenly right now. You sure you're real?"

"Pretty sure. Speaking of red," Spot shoved his hand into his selling bag and pulled out a crumpled shirt. "I know you'll always be Manhattan, but... I thought, maybe, you could play Brooklyn sometimes too?"

Race moved to grab the shirt and exchanged it for the one he had been wearing. He scoffed, mostly at himself. "God, the boys would kill me if they saw me wearing this."

"Ya still ain't told anyone 'bout us?"

"Have you?" Race snapped, slightly defensive.

A beat.

"No." Spot admitted as he adjusted his hat. He crossed his arms, defeated and grumpy. Race slumped down with him, he intertwined their fingers and let his forehead bump into Spot's neck.

"I didn't mean to snap at'cha." He sighed. "I just- I don't know how to tell ''em that the Spot Conlon—the one who left us for dead during the strike (hey!)—is my sweetheart. Hell, how am I supposed ta tell 'em you got me wearing Brooklyn red?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "I did not leave you for dead." A shrug. "You're all still alive, aint'cha?"

Race smiled fondly and rested his forehead against the others. "Yeah, I guess we is."

"I'm glad you are," Spot whispered. Then he straightened himself and pushed Race an arms-length away, and held him there. "Because if you weren't I woulda never seen how good you look playing Brooklyn."

He laughed and shoved Spot's cap—which was really his own; he had been sporting Spot's actual cap ever since the time they went to the racetracks—over his eyes. "Don't forget it's just playing. I'm only Brooklyn in your dreams."

"Damn right."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Race flipped the shirt in his hands over and over again. He stared into the deep red that felt so much like home that it almost made him sick to his stomach. God, if anyone saw his damned red shirt. It was just a stupid shirt, but holding it in his hands felt like treason.

"Hey, Racer. Haven't seen ya in a while; where ya been?" And his heart dropped into his stomach as he rushed to crumble up the shirt and shove it under a blanket. Jack threw his hat onto a random bed before addressing him again. "Woah! Ya good, Racer? Ya look like you'se a ghost or somethin'."

"I'm alright. Hey, uh," it's now or never, "I've gotta tell ya somethin'. But- Listen, you can't tell the other guys, they'll probably kill 'im."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed, concern flooded his expressions. He leaned against a bed frame with his fists clenched. "Did someone hurt ya, Race? Did'ya mess with some dame and her fella got at ya?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "I'm fine, Kelly. Seriously. You've taught me better than that. Kind of."

The strike leader all but sighed with relief, then sat down on the bed across from Race. "So, what'dya need to tell me? What, ya done sellin' papes or something?"

"No, no. I'm still sellin' papes. I don't got enough money ta quit." He paused. "I might've... met someone."

Jack smiled, crossed his arms and leaned back in amusement. "And?"

"And... he's really good to me. He's got these eyes and they're... they're so blue that it's almost scary. Ya know the kind? He holds doors open for me, stop laughing. And he ain't made me cry yet. Which is saying somethin' for him." Race was looking down at his hands, a stupid smile beating the embarrassment to his face. "He ain't from 'round here, but he still- He still feels like home, ya'know?"

"I know the feelin'. Who's the fella?"

Race looked up, only to meet Jack's eyes just for a second. "Ya can't tell the other fella's, Jackie. I mean, they'd probably call it a damn sin-"

"Racer, come on. They ain't like that-"

"No. Not 'cuz of that, not 'cuz he's a guy. 'Cuz he's..." Race sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "He's got me wearing Brooklyn red, Jack."

And to that, Jack let out a long sigh.

"I know! Brooklyn ain'tcha best friend. Hell, they ain't no-one's best friend." Race started to grin a little again. "He, uh, he took me out to the bridge last Saturday."

"Oh, so that's where ya run off to. To betray us." Jack teased. He even reached forward and gave Racetrack a playful punch to the shoulder.

Race's smile was back in full force. "Anyway. It wasn't nothing like 'Hattan, but nothin' ever will be. But man, I'd like to personally thank whoever made the lights on that damn bridge. Ain't neva seen someone look like that. He looked like a damn angel."

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed-"

"I'm sorry Jack. It's just... man, I like him a lot. I'm even learning that stupid Brooklyn chant."

Jack laughed. "Race. I'm not actually disappointed, I'm just messin' with ya. But everyone looks better in 'Hattan colors. Can't deny that." He stated, pulling at his own shirt.

"Obviously. But that smile he carries with him makes ya forget all that. I mean, the grin he had when he made me try on a Brooklyn shirt; made me think I should only ever wear red for the rest of my life!"

Jack grinned and shook his head. "Well, well. Neva seen you so smitten over someone. So, what? Ya Brooklyn now?"

Racetrack laughed. "Never. Not even Spot's smile could make me crazy enough to leave 'Hattan."

"Ya fella's the Spot Conlon? Man, you ain't dating a fella from Brooklyn. You're basically dating Brooklyn itself!"

"I know."

"Listen, Race. Manhattan's gonna loves ya. Even the traitor part of ya." Jack leaned forward to grab Race's shoulder. "If you're happy, we're happy."

Race let out a sigh of relief.

Like a tidal wave, the rest of the newsboys poured into the lodging house. Jack gave the other boy a wink━a promise of secrecy━before he reached under the blanket, pulled out the Brooklyn shirt, and jumped up to wave it in front of the crowd. "You guys won't believe who Racer's swoonin' over!"

"Jack!"

~

#if this is bad just squint and it might be better! #i hate my writing someone send help #anyway!! #very different from what i wrote last time #country music is so good i wont apologize #i only edited it once so bare with me #posting it so that i don't have to deal with the guilt of it in my drafts #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace #newsies #livesies #newsies live #broadway #newsies broadway #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // oneshots ❥ #☄. *. ⋆ vienna's ... writing

[medoraiscarryingthebanner]

Guys the Delancey brothers fanart i've been looking at has fucked up my brain.

I wrote a Morris x reader song fic oneshot-

#broadway #newsies #musicals #newsies live #newsies broadway #newsies fandom #newsies musical #morris delancey #oneshot #newsies oneshots

[must-be-brooklyn]

Paint splashes

Ship: Javid

Words: 1.5k

Era: Modern au 

-o-

In which Javid are very in love, do some painting together and I enjoy making it as fluffy as possible.

-o-

The paints were always stored in the weirdest places. David had come to terms with that in the four years since he had moved in with Jack. Letting out a quiet sigh, he scanned his eyes left to right, across each long shelf that was filled with Jack’s art supplies.

“Jack!” he called, and paused for a second, waiting for a reply.

There was a distance shuffling of feet as Jack yelled back to him. “What?”

“Where are the watercolours?”

The door swung further open as Jack pushed his way into the spare bedroom. He held his hands aloft; bubbles clung to his wrists still and they shone with water that he had not properly dried. A tea towel was slung over his shoulder.

He raised a teasing eyebrow at David and pointed to the top shelf. “Far left,” he said, “Under the pencil box.”

“Why under the pencil box?��� David muttered under his breath. He extracted the tin carefully - it was completely obscured from view by pencils - and stepped back. How Jack knew where any of his stuff was defeated David. To him, it looked like a system of ‘where ever it fits, it goes.’

David turned towards Jack, who was wiping away the last bubbles with the tea towel. “Do you need paper, as well?”

“Uh, yeah, can you grab some?” Jack replied, sending him a bright grin. “Next to the reference files.”

He grabbed a few sheets and followed Jack back to the main room, which contained everything except the bedroom, bathroom and spare room with the cupboard where Jack kept all his art supplies.

Jack returned to the sink and began scrubbing a glass while David put everything onto their small paper. He frowned at it. “Is that everything we’ll need?”

“Brushes?” Jack suggested, not looking up from the washing-up.

David sighed and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Brushes,” he repeated, walking back to the cupboard.

“Next to the acrylics!” Jack shouted after him. “The ones with the green handles!”

Muttering under his breath, David took a few minutes to return with the brushes. By that time, Jack was already spreading out the paper and paints he had already gathered, putting them into specific areas that he liked, and accompanying them with a pristine glass of brush water and a pencil.

“Awesome, thanks, Dave,” Jack said, beaming as he took the brushes from David. He held them up to his eyes and scrutinised each one. “You’re still joining me, right?”

David let out a quiet laugh. “Only if you want me too,” he said.

Jack grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and pulled him the few steps back to the table. “Of course, I do,” he said as he pulled David’s chair out for him and pushed him into it. “I always want to do stuff with you.”

He sat in the chair next to him and handed him one of the brushes David had collected. “Okay, so you should use this one to put some water all over the paper before you start,” he said. He looked like an excited puppy, with wide eyes that sparkled with happiness and a grin that was infectious.

David took the brush from it and dropped it into the water.

As Jack took him through the different brushes, and finally gave him the pencil, David found himself unable to stop smiling. He loved listening to Jack, lost in the world of his beloved art. Every time he saw Jack’s eyes light up like that, he felt like the luckiest man in the world, so completely undeserving of being Jack’s husband.

“Got it?” Jack asked, finally pausing. “Oh, wait, I can put some music on, too.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and fiddled his way to the music app.

David nodded, scanning the range of things in front of him. “Sure. But, this isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Anything you do will be amazing,” Jack said, glancing up from his phone screen.

Giving him a raised eyebrow, David picked up the pencil.

Jack backed off with a laugh. “Okay, even if it isn’t amazing, I’ll still love it, at least,” he said, and then tacked on, “That was in our wedding vows, right?”

“Something like that,” David agreed, putting the pencil to the page of thick, watercolour paper that sat in front of him.

Some soft, floaty and vaguely romantic music floated from Jack’s phone and he set it down next to him. Taking up his own pencil, Jack slanted his paper and began to sketch. David could not see what it was from where he sat, but he did not worry himself trying to find out.

Jack drifted into his own, relaxed world, and so did David. The music set the tone, and David could not think of a single place he would rather have been than sitting next to Jack right then, on the eve of their wedding anniversary.

Unlike the hundreds of hours that Jack spent filling art commissions, this was simply for fun. He had asked David if he wanted to join, too, in a spur-of-the-moment question while they washed the dishes that they had eaten their dinner off together.

David had not taken an art class since high school (which he had hated. The teacher had been a nightmare), but it was easy to fall into an easy rhythm. Where there were no rules, no end goal and Jack sitting next to him, David had no reason to worry about how his art ended up. It could have been the ugliest painting in the world, and he knew Jack would gush over it, even he was laughing and teasing as he did so.

The song changed, and David’s head snapped up, his brush pausing mid-stroke on the page.

“This was our-.”

“First dance, yeah,” Jack said, smilingly at him with soft, brown eyes. “I know.”

David’s heart melted into goo as his whole body filled with a wonderful warmth. Words could not describe how much he loved Jack. It was like a flame inside him, licking at his skin and kissing all of his thoughts.

Jack hummed the song softly and continued to drag his brush, forwards and backwards across his page. The colours of a rainbow shone on his page, glistening in the light that shone above them.

David stared at him, lost in the moment. He wanted to freeze time and live in that moment forever. Everything felt right.

“I really, really love you,” he suddenly blurted, still looking at Jack.

Jack gave him a dazzling smile. “I really, really love you, too,” he replied and then launched head first into singing the chorus of the song at the top of his lungs.

David laughed and joined him, struggling to continue to paint at the same time as Jack was doing.

A few more songs passed, all of which Jack sang along to before he spoke again. “You done?”

David looked at his slightly limp trees that looked strangely out of place before a dark, looming background. It looked more like Cirith Ungol than Cerin Amoroth. “Done as I’ll ever be.”

Jack pushed his chair away from the table and walked over to David, peering over his shoulders.

“It’s good!” he proclaimed, immediately, but David could hear the laughter in his tone.

He glanced up at him. “Do you know what it is?”

Jack’s chortles launched into reality. “I’m getting an impression of trees?”

“Close enough,” David said, laughing. He swirled his brush around one in the, now murky green, water and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “What did you do?”

He moved to Jack’s side of the table and looked at the painting. His heart stopped for a moment, as his face broke into a grin that hurt his cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” he said, finding Jack’s eyes and staring into them.

“Bunch of trees,” he said, waving an embarrassed hand, but moving to stand next to David, anyway.

Riverdell, in all its beautiful colours, was unmistakable on the page.

“Did you seriously do this from memory?” David asked, still looking at the watercolour. It was almost perfectly in line with what he envies whenever he read the books.

“I mean, I might’ve read the books before a bit before so I remembered what it looked like.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck and gave David a bashful smile. “You’ve just been talking about it a lot recently. Thought I might try to paint it for you…”

David turned to him and kissed him on the check. “It’s perfect,” he murmured. It meant so much more when David remembered how much the Lord of the Rings agonised Jack. The number of times that David had forced him to watch it during the years they had been together was higher than it had any right to be.

Jack kissed David in return, brushing their lips lightly together, and wrapping his arms around David’s waist. The music continued to play in the background, and they swayed to it, slowly rocking from one foot to the next.

David leant his head against Jack’s. He could smell his aftershave, still clinging to his skin, and the inherent paint-like-scent that hung around him. It smelt like home.

#newsies #newsies live #newsies '92 #newsies broadway #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot #>1k #<3k #<5k #<10k #modern au #domestic au #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #javid #married javid #fluff #literally the whole thing is fluff