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orangesand-lemons-234 · 2 months

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Buttons was 16 years old. He'd been a Newsie for ten of those years, therefore being around to see some of the younger kids grow with him.

When he saw Elmer, he still saw the three year old Spot brought to visit Manhattan four years ago.

When he saw Splasher, he saw the five year old he and Tommy Boy found sat alone on a bench outside the church three years ago.

When he saw Mike and Ike, he saw the babies left in a basket outside the Lodge House five years ago.

So, seeing each of them beaten up and bloody hurt all the more.

The Lodge was absolute chaos after the fight. Not the usual Lodge chaos, however, it was a scary and fearful chaos. The one that made your heart pound and brain blurry.

Kids were wailing and crying, teenagers were yelling and shouting. There wasn't a quiet place in the house.

Everybody realised quite quickly that nobody had walked out without a few battle scars to show afterwards, and the little kids were no exception.

Elmer had a shard of glass thrown at his forehead, and it was bleeding badly. Despite the bandages now wrapped around the injury, the injury had bled through, creating crimson dots splattered around it.

Splasher had broken his ankle after being shoved to the ground by one of the bulls. Buttons had a pole tied to his leg to keep it as straight as possible and had it elevated on the other bed. He was still weeping silently with the pain shooting up his leg every few minutes.

Mike and Ike were sat on his lap and were crying harder than any of the Newsies had ever seen, despite knowing them their whole lives.

Mike had been struck in the back with a baton multiple times, his back now scattered with bruises and blood. He didn't understand what was happening or why he was in so much pain, he just wanted it to stop.

Ike was hit in the face with one of the Delancey's brass knuckles, leaving him with a black eye and scarred nose. He was practically inconsolable, not allowing anybody to touch him for a very long time after the fight, only relaxing enough for Button's to check him out when Mike was brought in with Albert and Finch.

Buttons, with no help from the others got to work helping the kids in any way he could. The kids needed a shoulder to cry on and a helping hand to wrap up their injuries while some of the older newsies tried to sort out where Jack was and if they could try to save Crutchie.

They didn't understand what any of this meant. They just wanted somebody to hold them and tell them they were okay. Someone to sing one of Meddas songs while they wrapped up their scars and cuts.

Buttons was okay. He was fine and could help with the little ones with their injuries. Yeah, sure, he was struggling to breathe properly, and his knees were throbbing with pain, but the little kids needed help more than he did. He could handle it.

Buttons was 16, but sometimes he wishes he was still 6, when there was always an older kid around to help him out.

#oooo older sibling trauma fic #oooo #buttons angst #it was gonna happen eventually #i was gonna write an angsty oneshot for him eventually #but uhhh #yay #older sibling trauma #most of us have been there #yknow?#newsies #uksies #newsies headcanons #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #buttons newsies #elmer newsies #splasher newsies #mike and ike newsies

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youaintnothinbuta · 8 months

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— jack kelly boyfriend hcs —

ೃ⁀➷ summary: just a bunch of cute boyfriendy hcs about jack !

pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

warnings: none

A/N: feel free to request a specific trope of hcs, maybe some nsfw ones next ?? Hope you enjoy <3

• He is incredibly gentle with you

• He needs to be making physical contact at. all. times. Even when he’s talking to someone else, his hand will still be on your shoulder or on the small of your back

• He’s always brushing your hair out of your face, usually followed by a caress of the jaw

• “Let everyone see that pretty face’a yours.”

• Gently rocks you whenever you’re curled up on his lap. It’s very subtle, but he always does it

• During cuddle sessions, he’ll usually hum or softly sing with his chin rested on the top of your head

• Consequently, you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat against your head (which you find oddly comforting)

• WHINES LIKE CRAZY when you tell him you don’t feel pretty and then spends the next 20 minutes RANTING about how you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, no matter how many times you try to take back your original claim

• Whines also when he doesn’t get morning cuddles for as long as he’d like (even if you are lying there squirming telling him how much you need to get up to pee)

• Seriously every second sound that comes out of his mouth is a whine

• He craves the smell your skin. Just loves to bury his face into the crook of your neck, which is what he would describe as the most comfortable place in all of New York

• Purposely ignores you when you’re tugging on the hem of his shirt or sleeve cuff for attention, because by doing so you’re giving him attention, which he loves

• He won’t let you walk though a crowd without holding his hand. Like he physically will not move until your hand is in his

• Did I mention he whines a lot? Cos you can’t tease him. Not even a little bit. He’ll just whine and trod after you like a desperate horny teenager

• He absolutely FOLDS whenever you fix his collar without him asking. The feeling of your fingertips lightly grazing the back of his neck sends chills through him

• When you say something and he doesn’t hear you, he pulls you in by the waist and turns his head by your face and says “say again, sweetheart”

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theres-no-escaping-us-pal · 6 days

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i have the urge to write javey fanfic

opinions?

#newsies #livesies #newsies brainrot #newsies broadway #davey jacobs #newsies live #i love newsies sm #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #katherine plumber #newsies fanfic #javey newsies #javey #javid #javid newsies

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riding-palominos-every-day · 4 months

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JoJo's nightly prayer was usually a comforting sound to Elmer. He may not be religious himself, but the soft murmur of his best friend's voice as he prayed lulled him to sleep most nights.

Not tonight, though. Tonight the sound distressed him.

Jack wasn't on the roof, even he had enough sense to sleep inside when it was cold. So Elmer slipped down from his bunk and crept over to the window, scuttling up the ladder. He wasn't allowed on the roof without one of the older boys, according to Jack, but right now Elmer didn't care what Jack did or didn't allow.

"Um... hullo, God. Or Jesus. Whichever of you are listening." He didn't kneel, or clasp his hands, but he did lift his head to stare up at the big white moon, faintly through the wispy clouds.

"I know JoJo's praying at the moment, and you should listen to him, but I hope one'a you can listen to me." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Romeo's dad came by again today. He scares me- not as much as he scares Romeo, 'course. Mush scared him off 'fore Kloppman even got to the door though. An' Sniper's dad came by yesterday. I dunno why Sniper keeps going home when he hurts him like that. That's what I wanted to ask you; why d'you let people hurt other people?"

A particularly sharp gust of wind bit at his bare arms. JoJo would probably say it was a Sign, that he was asking questions he shouldn't, but Elmer was tired of the questions building up inside him.

"Why- why did you let Mr. Wiesel an' the Delanceys and the police hurt us during the strike? Why did you let Mr. Pulitzer and Hearst raise their prices, when you must know how we live?" His voice was trembling now, increasing in volume unintentionally, "Why'd JoJo get sent on a ship here alone over a war that never even happened- n-not that I'm not happy he's here, but he doesn't know how to find his parents! Half my friends can't be with their family for one reason or 'nother, an' the other half are terrified of them! Why d'you let that happen? Why did you let my mama send me away? I don't know what I did wrong!"

Elmer was shouting now, his cheeks damp and vision blurred with tears. He didn't even realise. Someone was speaking to him, although he couldn't make out what they were saying. He felt warm, safe arms suddenly wrap around him, pulling him close against someone's chest and turning his face away from the moon.

The moon gave no answer to his questions, and neither did anyone else.

#having. a lot of feelings tonight #Elmer is a vessel to process it #newsies #newsies fanfic #elmer newsies

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make-friends-with-the-rats · 11 days

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Red for Courage, Red for Love...

Newsies fic draft / excerpt

Pairing: David Jacobs / Jack Kelly

In which David Jacobs wears Jack Kelly's bandana...

(this is largely self indulgent, but tell me what y'all think!)

---

David wakes gradually, like a flower slowly unfolding itself from the comfort of night, petals peeling from sleep to meet the sunlight. His senses come to life again one by one, so it takes a long, timeless moment before David registers the absent warmth from his side. No Les. No, because Jack spent the night. But Jack isn’t in bed beside him either.

David turns over groggily, fighting the weight in his eyelids to squint against the morning sun… he hears a soft laugh from the foot of the bed, his eyes following the sound to catch on Jack, a golden silhouette in dawn’s first rays, buttoning up his shirt and looking at David with a bemused smirk.

“Morning, Davey,” Jack teases.

Fresh from sleep, David doesn’t have any ready words to toss back at Jack, so he simply turns over again to huff an irritated breath into the pillows. Much to Jack’s amusement.

The Jacobs’ apartment is quiet, and that quiet might as well encompass the whole world for all David knows, for all David cares… the illusion is only fractured by the soft sounds of Jack. The rubbing of fabric and the wrinkle of sleeves as he works carefully on his buttons. The brush of leather as Jack pulls his suspenders over his shoulders. But these sounds too were quiet, and almost soothing in a way. They only reinforced David’s almost subconscious conviction that now was a time for sleeping. David could feel himself giving in to that feeling, his body slowly slipping into a dormant state again… of course Jack would come and disrupt everything.

“Dave,” Jack murmurs, shaking David’s shoulder. “Come on, time to wake up.”

David doesn’t want that to be true. He tries to protest against this rude intrusion, pulling against Jack’s hand on his shoulder and burrowing further into the covers. David tries to protest verbally too, but he’s pretty sure that only comes out as a muffled groan.

A funny kind of grin finds its way to Jack’s lips, something crooked and found as he watches David’s sleepy resistance. And Jack would feel guilty about waking soft sleepy David up, if not for the earful Jack knew he would get from irritable conscious David if he didn’t.

“Dave,” Jack tries again. “Papes ain’t gonna sell themselves…” David’s expression scrunches into an endearing pout against the pillows at Jack’s words, signaling that David is at least awake enough to know that he shouldn’t still be in bed. It makes the guilt less when Jack takes the blanket firmly in hand and pulls it to David’s feet.

David immediately recoils into himself, skin prickling in the cool morning air. “Jack!” David complains.

“You’re awake,” Jack answers, insistent. “Come on. Get up.”

David huffs again, but compiles, eyes opening to fix Jack with a hard blue stare. Jack holds up his hands in surrender, but he’s unable to keep the smile from his eyes. David stretches, curling up into a sitting position and blinking the stubborn sleep from his eyes.

Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed now, bent over and tugging on the laces of his worn out boots. The curve of Jack’s neck and back make an almost effortless arc, as natural as anything else Jack does. A shaft of sunlight lands in Jack’s hair, turning it bronze and gold… David looks away quickly before he’s caught staring.

David’s gaze flickers to fix on the bed frame instead, his attention drawn by a twist of red fabric wrapped around the iron bars. Jack’s bandana. David’s reaching for it before his brain catches up to the action. He rubs the bandana between his fingers, it’s both ruff with dirt and sweat and worn soft by the friction of Jack’s neck. And David suddenly realizes that he doesn’t know how long Jack’s been wearing it for, or where he got it in the first place. All he knows is that it has been a fixture in Jack’s appearance since the day they met and doubtless since long before then. Such a thing as recognizable as Jack as the cowboy’s smile or the shape of his shoulders from behind... David twists the fabric around his fingers, scolding himself for the embarrassing urge to smell it as soon as it appears. David is definitely awake now.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” David asks, in an effort to change the direction of his thoughts.

Jack catches David’s eyes over his shoulder, finishing up his laces in a messy knot. “Sure, if your ma doesn’t mind.”

David rolls his eyes. As if. David doesn’t say anything though. If he starts up on the subject right now, he might not stop.

Jack stands from the bed, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and going to stand by the window. He won’t venture out into the apartment until David does, it’s almost sweet how much Jack worries about what the Jacobs’ think of him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” David asks, holding up the red bandana in response to the confused wrinkle in Jack’s brow. David waves it like a flag, almost tauntingly.

Jack shakes his head in mock annoyance. “No, you’re right,” Jack agrees ruefully. “I did forget something.”

Jack comes forward to take the bandana from David’s hands. And then, in one swift motion, Jack has wrapped the bandana around David’s neck and used it to tug him into a kiss.

By the time Jack’s pulled away, David’s face is a shade that rivals the bandana, which has been deftly worked into a knot around David’s neck. Jack smirks at him in a way that does nothing to help the flush in David’s cheeks.

Jack’s eyes travel down to the bandana before landing back on David’s eyes. “Looks good on you,” Jack decides.

---

ao3: spilling_blood_and_stories

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#david jacobs #jack kelly #javid newsies #javid #newsies 1992 #1992 newsies #1992sies #92sies #newsies #newsies fandom #newsies fanfic #my writing #i wrote this instead of sleeping #why am i only creative at ungodly hours?

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amoreva · 6 months

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SPIDERS AND THREAD

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: racetrack higgins x reader

summary: race has been flaking on dates more and more. you think he’s cheating until he shows up bloody, bruises and in a hero costume, one evening.

warnings: blood, cursing, description of stitching

a/n: ending is a little meh and i couldn’t think of a title. i’ll try to revise it later.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

Race is rushing to your table from the restaurant, tugging on his jacket in a hurry. Your head titled in slight confusion.

“Race…?”

Race snapped his head towards you. The apology written all over his face masking the urgency. “My uh…mom called.” Race explained hurriedly. “She—fell down the stairs and I gotta go to—”

He’s been doing this often, but you shouldn’t throw out accusations. Just be a supportive girlfriend. “Hey, hey—I get it. Make sure she’s okay.” You spoke sympathetically. Your hand on his arm rubbing it comfortingly.

Race gave you a weary smile. He hates leaving you early on dates especially when you look so pretty in your outfit. He felt terribly guilty. You got dolled up for him and he had to go…

“I love you.” Race kissed you quickly and ran out of the restaurant.

Does he though?

You’re sitting at your desk, mindlessly moving the swivel chair side to side. Thoughts running through your head. The events of the day replaying itself out. You were supposed to be studying for your test, but…you can’t help but think about the date.

It’s not the first time Race ended a date early because something important came up. The first time it happened was because Albert was throwing up a lot. Then it was Jack needed him ASAP for a project and so on.

You’ve seen this happen to one of your friends; literally watched the events unfold before you. Your friend’s girlfriend kept canceling dates or leaving earlier because of something that came up. Turns out the girl was hooking up with some other guy behind your friend’s back.

Race wouldn’t do that, right? The sweet, charming guy that brings you little trinkets that remind him of you? No way in hell would Race cheat.

You scoffed just thinking about Race hooking up with another person. So, you rationalized these thoughts, it was late and you were thinking about this too much, overthinking it. Your mind is just making up stuff to keep you awake to study for your exam next week. That’s right.

Suddenly, a quiet creaking from your window grabbed your attention. Your curtains had been closed since you’ve got home from the spoiled date. You grab the nearest blunt object to throw. The dark figure on the other side of the window, slid it open.

A soft groan escaped the figure. It never occurred to you it could be your roommate. Your sleep-deprived, adrenaline filled brain screamed at you, “Robber, thief, murderer, stranger danger—!”

So, you threw your blunt object as soon as you caught sight of a head. A small yelp escaped your lips. You prayed to whoever you wouldn’t die tonight. You haven’t even finished re-watching Superstore yet.

The figure tumbled into your apartment, catching the object without even looking. “Get out, get out, get out!” You shouted and threw one of your textbooks at the person like they were a bug on the walls.

The figure caught it again and quickly put their free hand up. “Hey, hey! I’m not going to hurt ya’!” The figure stated quickly as they saw you holding a second book. “Please, stop throwing things.” You shrunk behind the book you held like a scared child.

“Who—?” You asked nervously. Intricate details of webs on the costume. Red and blue colors. A spider sewn onto the chest. It is a dead give-away. One of their hands was pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozing out, soiling their costume. Holy fuck. Why was Spiderman in your room? How did he even get here? Did he just stumble upon your apartment? Oh god, and he is hurt.

“What—?” Before you can even ask a question, Spiderman tugged off his mask. Soft blonde curls damp with sweat. Blue eyes filled with exhaustion and affliction. A sheepish smile on his lips.

“Suprise.” Race said dryly.

He thought it’d be better for you to know now instead of later and…he doesn’t think he can catch another book.

“Oh my god—Race!” You launch out of your desk chair to the blonde. Panic running through your veins, your hands cupping his face like he’s fragile. Then it clicks, you realize it isn’t anyone’s blood and wounds, it is Race’s. Race is hurt—how can he just…how?

Your boyfriend. The man who can’t stand spiders, especially daddy long legs, is Spiderman. Spiderman. The fucking vigilante swinging around New York. Is this why he ends dates early? Because he is Spiderman?

You don’t want to believe it, but Race is right here in front of you. Your blue-eyed lover subconsciously leaned into your warm touch. “M’okay.” Race mumbled and kissed the palm of your hand. The comfort of your touch distracting him from the pain. “Just…need your help patching up.”

You went into overdrive. The information you learned was overwhelming. How long has he been doing this? How bad are his injuries? Will he be okay? There are so many risks to this. Spiderman? How can he do what he does?

Your hands were too afraid to touch his upper body as you looked over him. “God…oh—how did..? You’re bleeding a lot…and you look so tired and….how bad is—? I don’t know what to do—! Fuck…you’re bleeding a lot. That wound is huge and—”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Race grabbed your attention from your stupor with the nickname. “Calm down. I’ll walk you through everything. Can you help me to the bathroom?”

Your eyes soften, but his words don’t reassure you. “Mhm.” You pressed your lips together, the worry evident in your eyes as you helped Race to the bathroom. He leaned against the counter.

The first aid kit is under the sink. Race is peeling off the top half of his suit. A wince escaped him as the spandex stuck to his large gash. He ripped it away like a bandaid causing you to cringe. There is dried blood, sweat and dust all over his toned body—which you will not admit you stared at a little too long.

“I would’ve done this myself, but—it hurt to swing any more. I mean, it felt like my body was being torn apart.” He softly said, trying to decrease the situation on why he was here in this getup. A soft blush on his face. It is clear he still felt bad about earlier that evening.

Only a man like Race would blush when he has a gaping wound in his side. “I don’t need your excuses—I just need to help patch you up.” Your eyes hardening after you take a shaky exhale.

Questions and thoughts racing (hah.) your mind. Was this convenient or was this pity for earlier? This is kind of ridiculous—you were dating Spiderman. Race is Spiderman. He could’ve told you—said something so you wouldn’t think the worst of the worst. So you could help him from hurting himself further.

“Okay.” Race nodded slowly. He noticed your snappy comments. He masked the worry and guilt. “Douse a rag in rubbing alcohol and—gently clean my wound, please.”

Race walked you through the steps of how to clean a wound. Your boyfriend had bit into a rolled up hand towel to muffle his agony. Tears brimming his eyes at the stinging. Luckily, the bleeding stopped. It looked slightly less gross than it did before, and it was done quickly.

Your annoyance, anger dissipates for a moment. You look at your boyfriend who removed the hand towel from his mouth. “I—I don’t know how to stitch.”

Race nodded, his head glistening with sweat from the enduring the pain. “You know how to sew though. Just—sew.” He mumbled.

“Race…that—that’s not the same, I can’t just—why don’t we go to an actual hospital? They know better than you or I.” You tried to rationalize.

“Can’t.” Race shook his head, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “I can’t—my blood work and genetics are fucked—please, sweetheart.”

Race begged softly. It seem the blood loss got to him. “I need you to do it. Please. I trust you. Please.”

You grabbed his hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Okay…” You say almost inaudibly. Race brings your hand to his lips, a silent thank you. Just like before, Race has a rag in his mouth. Hand gripping your shoulder. His eyes closed shut as your dominant hand delicately holding a needle. The other was on his side. Race shivered at your touch. “Don’t move to much, okay?”

Race hummed in agreement. You pressed the needle to one end of the wound and punctuate the flesh. Race’s hand gripped your shoulder tightly, muffled sounds of pain escape him. You try to get this done quickly. In and out, through and through.

And pull.

You watch the wound close up together seamlessly. It sealed like a piece of cloth and look up at your tired boyfriend. His head immediately falls on your shoulder. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He whispered and kissed your neck once or twice.

Your eyes soften. You take Race’s face in your hands and bring his head in front of you. Lip quivering now that you finished stitching up your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—”

“Race, you’re Spiderman—and I didn’t know! You made me think—think that…” Your voice is shaky, overwhelmed with a number of emotions. Race is Spiderman—he could die at any point.“you were cheating—what if you didn’t come back from fighting a villain? I don’t want to go to a funeral. I can’t—not when it’s the love of my life.”

“Oh, Y/N…” Race hugged you tightly despite the pain blooming in his side. “I’m not going anywhere, or dying—god, I wouldn’t even think of cheating on you, y’know that?”

A few moments of silence.

“Help me.” He mumbled and put his arm over your shoulder. The two of you exit the bathroom. Race was doing a little bit better than before, but you still had to support his weight. You both sit on the bed, Race taking your hands.

“I wanted to tell you, more than anything in the world, but—” He paused. “But…I couldn’t let you get hurt or worse for knowing about me.”

His voice cracked slightly. “If—if you got killed because of me…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I just—and what if you thought I was a freak. I—I can climb of walls for fucks sake and have a sixth sense—” All of the thoughts that kept him up at night spilling out.

“Race—you’re a superhero, shut up.” You stated bluntly. Sometimes Race just needed to hear things as is. You grabbed some joggers he left here and gave it to him. You were no longer anger or afraid, just tired. So tired.

A soft sight escaped you. “You’re tired, I’m tried—this conversation should be for tomorrow.”

Race’s lips parted slightly to retaliate, but a wave of exhaustion hits him. He changed into the grey joggers and got into your bed. You gravitate towards his body heat and bury your head into the crook of his neck. “My boyfriend is a goddamn superhero.” It sounded more in awe. You leaned up to kiss his lips. Race kissed back with a little more passion than intended. Race and you fall asleep in each others arms, knowing—

—at least for tonight, that everything will be okay.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

#newsies #uksies #racetrack higgins x reader #race x reader #racetrack x reader #racetrack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #newsies x reader #newsies broadway #newsies fanfic #spiderman au #spiderman

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ill-say-anything-i-hafta · 1 month

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I wrote a Jack & Crutchie story for @loiteringandlurking re: his post about Jack who is an amputee.

One-Handed

In the circulation yard, Crutchie watches the new kid with the knotted-up shirt sleeve, watches how he holds the top of his bag open with his stump and then shoves the papes in one-handed. Crutchie knows that dance; he's got two good arms himself, but one of 'em's always occupied. It ain't as easy as it looks.

Kid says his name is Jack. He's straight from a factory job -- by way of the charity hospital on Hudson Street -- and can't hawk a headline for shit, but he can tie a bootlace real tight, a hard-won skill he's clearly proud of. First, he does up the dangling lace on Crutchie's bad foot. Then he tackles the other side for good measure. Double knots on both scuffed boots. And Crutchie lets him. For once, he don't care who sees him getting help because it makes the guy so happy.

Crutchie lets Jack follow him around, too. Teaches him the ropes. Why not?

::::

August in the crowded dormitory bedroom, hot and airless. Most of the boys have stripped to their undershirts, including Jack, sprawled out on his bottom bunk. Crutchie glances quickly away from the place where his right forearm abruptly ends, the scar still red and angry, and looks down at the sketch slowly developing. A nighttime scene in a desolate place, a wolf howling next to twin pine trees, mountains in the background, a crescent moon riding overhead. Jack scratches his pencil along the wolf's back. His neck flushes with frustration. He still ain't used to drawing with his left hand.

"Looks real good," Crutchie says quietly.

Jack spits out the rubber eraser he's been holding in his teeth. It lands on his pillow and Crutchie waits for him to say something mean. But he only uses the eraser to rub at some of the smudges. "Not every day you gets to see talent like this up close, huh?"

::::

Someone sends word that Jack's old man is doing poorly, so he stops by with a carton of cigarettes he bought. The place is a tenement on Mulberry, prostitutes coming and going. Jack insists that Crutchie wait on the stoop to protect their pile of newly bought evening Worlds. He's back in less than ten minutes, looking slightly out of breath.

"If he lives so close, how come you don't stay with him?"

"Well, I used to," Jack says, though that don't answer the question at all.

"He hit ya?"

"Nah, never." Jack seems to realize he's walking too fast and slows his pace. "Sorry. I think maybe ... I think seein' me makes him feel bad. So I just don't go by there too much."

Crutchie knows exactly what Jack means, and it makes him mad. He stops in the middle of the street to call the headline to an old woman in a kerchief. Jack waits, lighting a cigarette one-handed, while Crutchie juggles his crutch to make change. "You's still a kid," he says. "Your pops should be helpin' you out. If he ain't gonna do that, the least he could do is be proud of how good you is doin'."

"He don't need to be proud. I's just livin my life," Jack says. "Not everybody's gonna understand." He slings his good arm around Crutchie's shoulders. "But I got you."

::::

Ladies like Crutchie. They always have. They want to help him; they buy his papes and sometimes they gives him food and things. But it's girls that like Jack Kelly -- girls their same age.

And Jack seems to like them back, too. He'll pick someone out special to pass the time with, take her to the music halls -- he can sell a hundred twenty papes on a good day and always burns through his money -- draw pictures for her, tell her all about the Wild West. When the boys at Duane Street tease him, Jack tells them to shut up: this is the one.

Somehow, none of them girls ever is. But when it ends, Jack don't seem too heartbroken. Nothing bothers Jack, nothing Crutchie has ever seen.

Maybe he is the wolf in the picture. Maybe he is the moon.

Seems awfully lonesome.

::::

When Jack talks about New Mexico, Crutchie can't help but worry. He's been working to support himself ever since he was eight, but he's only ever done the kind of jobs people think a cripple can do. Who says anybody would hire guys like them them for farm labor?

Jack hooks his right arm over the top rung of the fire escape ladder and reaches his hand down to take the crutch. He says, "We'll just hafta show 'em, pal. We can find a way to do most anything we wants to. Can't we?" And he pulls Crutchie up behind him.

They stand together on top of the world. No mountains, no majestic pines. Just them and the buildings that crowd all around them, the landscape of the city where he was born. Life ain't fair; he's always knowed that. But in this moment, Crutchie thinks what Jack says might be true.

Because he ain't never felt sorry for Jack, not for a minute. Why would he? Maybe there is folks out there who won't feel sorry for him neither, who will see him for all that he is.

FIN.

#jack and crutchie are bros #why did i write this?#amputee jack kelly #disability solidarity #jack kelly #crutchie morris #newsies #livesies #newsies fanfic #jackcrutchie #tw ableist language #bonnie's newsies aus

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saveugoodmadam · 3 months

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lost & found

🦭this is my personal take on @chimeofthecomet's selkie au, all credit for creating the au goes to pip! :3 word count is around 2.5k 🦭

"Got your pelt?” Davey asks as he and his brother walk back to their house, their path illuminated by softly glowing streetlamps. Les nods, patting his selling bag, then opens it to show a pelt of soft, thick fur with a few patches beginning to develop on the jet-black fluff. His name is inked on the skin, written in their mother's loopy handwriting.

“D’you have yours?” he asks Davey.

Davey opens his bag, expecting to see his familiar spotted pelt inside, but is met with just empty air instead. He stops dead in his tracks. His breathing is rapid, his hands clutching tight to the strap across his chest.

“Is it back at the lodge house?” Les asks, hoping that the effort of finding an answer will stop his big brother from panicking.His plan works. Davey’s hands slowly unclasp and his breathing regulates as he combs through the evening they've just spent with the newsies in his head. He remembers lounging on an old, saggy, threadbare sofa and listening to Jack talking about his newest backdrop. He remembers a short nap he'd taken, lulled to sleep by Jack's smooth voice before he'd been woken up by Race and Albert’s loud bickering. Only now does he remember how his bag was lighter when he'd stood up to confront them.

“Y- yeah, I think so. Somewhere on the couch. I- I-" No. He can't go back and get it now. They're too far away from the lodging house at this point, and they need to be back home for dinner.

“I’ll get it back next morning. I'll be fine without it for a night.”

But he knows he's lying. All through dinner there's a pull in his chest that he knows will only quiet itself once his pelt is back beside him.

“Are you alright, my little leanabh ròin?” Esther asks as he picks silently at his meal. “Is the food too much for your tongue today?”

He shakes his head. “No, Mama. It's very nice, thank you.”

“Whatever the matter is, bubbeleh,” Mayer reassures him with the sort of smile that Davey thinks only fathers can have, “you can always talk to us. We're your parents, are we not? We want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Yes, Papa. It's nothing really. I'll always seek your help if I need it, I promise,” he tells his father, making extra sure to eat everything on his plate.

His sleep is fraught that night and whenever he does drift off for a small burst of unconsciousness, the sea fills his dreams. Guilt seeps into his body, saturating him with the shame of losing the one thing a selkie must never lose. In an act of desperation he knocks on Sarah's door, weeping in relief when she lets him in and wraps the both of them in her own pelt. Perhaps because they are twins and therefore their sealskins are almost identical, the presence of her pelt against his body means the pulling feeling is calmed enough to let him finally drift off.

As early as he can the next morning, he brings Les down to the lodging house to retrieve his pelt and soothe the tugging in his bosom. It's Crutchie who opens the door when he knocks, the older boy's face souring at the sight of him.

“Hey, Les!” Crutchie says, then adds curtly, “Mornin’, David. Jack ain't here.”

“Oh, I'm not here for Jack today. I, uh, I left something here last night,” Davey explains. From the way Crutchie's acting, he's hit by the not unfamiliar feeling that he's really badly messed up but doesn't know how.

“You sure did. And I'll tell you what, we all know what you left.”

Davey freezes up, his hand clasping Les’ tighter. “You do?”

Crutchie nods, his mouth a thin line. “Mm-hmm. There's a seal Jack talked with, down by the harbour. He loved that animal. Wouldn't stop talkin’ about it every time he went down ‘n’ talked at it ‘n’ slipped it bits’a fish. An’ now suddenly you leave its skin behind in the lodge house.”

Suddenly, Davey feels sick to his stomach. Of course the newsies don't believe in selkies. They believe in poachers.

“Listen, I can explain. I promise, this is all a big misunderstanding!” he stammers. Crutchie's harsh eyes soften just a little.

“I sure hope it is, and I sure hope you can explain. But not to me. I don't need explanations. Jack's down at the harbour, with whatever the hell remains of that poor animal.” Crutchie looks like he's done speaking, then adds- “You broke my little brother's goddamn heart, David, and you're damn well gonna fix it up again.”

Davey nods meekly. “I will. I swear.”

He leaves Les at the lodge house and runs.

There are three things that Davey can trust his instincts to lead him to- the ocean, his pelt and Jack. There's a perfect harmony thrumming in his bones as his legs lead him to all three at once. He reaches the harbour as soon as he can- feet hammering against the ground, heart hammering against his chest. Jack is easily spotted from here; his crimson shirt sticks out like a sore thumb against the grey-blue of the water. Davey's heart sinks at the sight of the hunched-over figure at the end of the pier.

“Jack?” he questions softly, approaching the boy.

Jack turns around, his eyes wet and narrowed in outrage. Tear-tracks bleed through the dirt on his cheeks.

“How could you?” he splutters, the bite in his voice softened by grief.

The pelt is clutched to his chest, the fur wet in patches from being wept into. Davey's instincts are hot behind his ribs, urging him to snatch back his pelt and reclaim his second nature. Despite this, some other feeling that always swells in his chest when he's near Jack is weirdly comfortable seeing Jack's fingers against the sealskin, hugging such a crucial part of Davey so close to him.

“Jack, it's not- not what it looks like. I promise, I really-”

Davey starts to speak after a few moments of silence, but Jack quickly interrupts.

“Yknow, I'd never’a pinned you down as one to go around slaughterin’ innocent creatures. That seal hadn't done nothin’ wrong to you! He was… he was my friend…”

“I know. He's not gone. He's still your friend,” Davey tries to explain. Sitting cross-legged next to Jack, he takes back his pelt, feeling a blanket of relief settle over him as he cards his fingers through the fur, gently untangling small knots.

“How?” Jack asks. His tone begs for an answer more than it demands one. “You think I don't recognise the little fella’s skin when I see it? And out of all’a the seals in New York you could’a done this to, it had to be the one who meant the most to me? I'm so used to losing people, Davey. I'm so tired of it. You know that. I thought I could at least trust you not to be the reason I lost anyone else!”

It breaks Davey's heart to see Jack look so horribly betrayed. He’s never realised how much Jack trusts him until now, not really.

“Jack… the answer is- it's easiest to show you. You won't believe me if I use words.”

“Sure,” Jack hisses, his voice hollow and defensive.

In a single practised move, Davey wraps the pelt tight around himself and draws his head under the hood with his eyes shut tight. When he looks back up at Jack it is with the same big wet eyes he first looked at him with when he poked his head above the water on that rainy afternoon in late May.

“Dave?” Jack breathes, using the nickname he reserves only for special situations like this. It's a world away from the Jack who was there just a moment ago. His face is a mask of utter shock. “You was... that seal was... it's you."

Davey barks an affirmative. Jack's face buries in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

“Are you okay?” Davey asks, unwrapping himself from his pinniped form and rushing to console Jack. His answer is a nod as Jack lifts his head, his mouth open in silent laughter, tears of mirth forming in the corners of his eyes. Awkward as ever, Davey just sits there, unsure what to say but happy at least that Jack isn’t upset or angry.

“Oh my god!” Jack says once he's finally calmed down enough to speak. “That little honky bark…sorry, I shouldn't'a laughed, but it was so hilariously adorable.”

“It was?” Davey asks, confused.

“Yeah!” Jack chuckles, then groans slightly in embarrassment. “Oh god, I said so many things I regret now!”

“It's okay. You didn't know the seal was also me.”

“Fair, but, I mean- I did say some kinda embarrassing things in hindsight.”

Davey flashes a wicked grin. “What, like ‘hey there, water doggy’?’ ‘Want some fish, cutie patootie’? ‘Awww, stop lookin’ at me with those big ol’ wet eyes’?”

“Alright, okay!” Jack laughs. “Point well made, Mr Jacobs.”

Then he turns his puppy eyes on Davey, the ones that Davey hasn't learnt to say no to yet.

“Can we pleeeeaaaseee forget that ever happened now, Davey?”

“Fine,” Davey concedes. He doesn't add “you can still call me cutie patootie though”, but he wants to.

Instead, he adds, “If you're wondering, and I don't blame you, I'm a selkie. So long as I have my pelt with me, I can be a human or a seal depending on which is most appropriate at the time. Without my pelt, I'm just plain old David.”

“Hey, you ain't plain!” Jack interjects kindly.

He pauses.

“Sorry I- well, actually that me ‘n’ all the fellas jumped to conclusions.”

“Its fine.” Davey murmurs as he nuzzles the pelt against his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent. His chest-feeling thrills a little at the fact he can smell Jack on it too. “Not the most logical of conclusions, is it?”

Jack shakes his head and offers out his hand as a silent peace offering, which Davey gladly accepts. Their hands pull away slowly when it is over, fingers lingering for want of touch.

“What's the writin’ on it mean, then? The, uh, the word on the skin bit.”

Davey's gaze breaks away from the point in the middle of the sea he's been staring out at.

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, pointing to his mother's writing.

“Yeah. That word. Dàibhidh,” Jack reads, lips forming around the word in the clunky way all non-speakers’ lips do. His brow furrows in concentration. He looks so desperate to get it right. Davey's lips quirk up in a small smile, finding the effort utterly charming.

“Dàibhidh,” Davey repeats, tracing a thumb over the letters. His tongue wraps around the word from his birthplace’s tongue like he's greeting a long-lost lover. “My name, in the language of where Mama and I were both born. So mine and Sarah's pelts don't get mixed up.”

“So it's a family kinda thing? Damn, I wonder if my folks used t’be selkies?” Jack muses, idly drawing swirls and stars on his arm with a piece of charcoal he's taken from his pocket.

“There's only one way to know that. Have you ever felt a longing for the sea so bad you couldn't do anything but follow your feet down to the beach and dive in?”

Davey trails his fingers wistfully in the water as he waits for Jack's reply. A warm laugh bubbles up from his best friend’s throat.

“Not for the sea, no. But I can tell what you mean.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Santa Fe.”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head in confusion as he turns to look at Jack, who has an old paper set on the planks of the pier and is drawing on it. Curious, he scoots over to see what the picture is of. It's him, just a moment ago, laid flat on his stomach with his arm dangling downwards from the pier. It's in that moment he realises that Jack hasn't drawn Santa Fe in a long while, and that most of the drawings that decorate the Penthouse are of him. In that moment he also realises how tenderly Jack's looking at him, how soft his smile is (oh, those dimples will be the death of him) and how, if he ever did have to give up the sea forever, Jack is the one person he'd do it for. Maybe that's what love is, then. Maybe that's the name of the feeling in his chest. Maybe it's the name of the feeling in Jack's chest too. Now that it's been named, the feeling swells and swells until it bursts and Davey knows.

For just a second, Davey hesitates before he passes the sealskin to Jack. Something suddenly has made him braver than he's ever been in his life; braver than on the swim to America with his pod, braver than the day his dad got into the accident, braver than he was during the strike.

“You know,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady, “when a human gives a selkie back their skin, it counts as marriage in our culture. Well, not marriage exactly, more like eternal commitment, but it's got the same level of cultural importance. It means we trust that person enough to let them have control over our future, and they respect us enough to let us choose. The stories always say you know who you'll give your pelt to when you find them. And I know, I know, Jack, that it's you.”

Jack's mouth opens in an ‘O’ of surprise, his eyebrows raising as he realises what Davey just said, what Davey just did. His fingers trace lines between the spots on the pelt, feeling its warmth, Davey's warmth.

“An’... an’ you want me to…”

“If you don't want to, that's okay,” Davey clarifies, a horrible nausea settling in his stomach at the thought he's misread this situation. Jack probably doesn't want this. Maybe he’ll hate Davey now and never talk to him again. Or he'll take off running with the pelt and Davey won't ever see him again and won't ever be able to come back to the sea again, no matter how much the yearning in his chest hurts him.

“You can just put it down and I'll pick it up and we can forget this ever happened. That's probably what you want, isn’t it? I'm sorry, I'm a fool, I should have asked, shouldn't have assumed. I’ll just- just go, should be getting back to selling-”

He stops as he feels soft fur against his hands. Jack's callused fingers brush against his soft ones. A gasp escapes his throat as his sea-glass green eyes meet Jack's driftwood-brown ones. Then he's enveloped in a hug, strong arms closing around him and giving the exact amount of pressure that he likes. This feels right, feels comfortable. His instincts are gladly adapting to the change, labelling Jack as husband, dearest, darling, mine.

“How the hell are we gonna explain this?” Jack asks with a fond smile.

“I don't know. But I don't doubt we'll find a way. You're an extraordinary man, Jack Kelly, you know that?”

“No less than you are, Davey Jacobs.”

#hitch writes what he knows #newsies #newsies fanfic #selkie au #davey jacobs #jack kelly #crutchie morris #les jacobs #:3 👍 pip thank you for this wonderful au gdushsja i love selkies so much

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artemis-lynn · 2 months

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NEWSIES FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS!

Ok. So. I've been needing to make this for a while, so I'll just put down my favorites in no particular order, it's SO hard to pick...

Summer Camp AUs :3

Mountain Ridge Camp for Boys by timetogoslumming

Javey & Sprace, T, 22/22

This is a really good summer camp AU of newsies! I love how it combines canon plot with a modern AU!

Summary: David was just looking for a summer job when he applied to work at Mountain Ridge Camp for Boys. He had no idea how much would change. For the first time in his life, David is part of a brotherhood, but not everyone is on the same side.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by studentnumber24601 (Itsy Royal)

Javid & Specs/Dutchy (Sputchy?? Idk, but I <3 this ship) & Blink x OC, T, 40/40

The prank war in this is honestly the best + the reluctant ladies man Mush is LOL, it had me guessing the ships till the very end, especially with Blink.

Summary: Modern-day newsboys at summer camp. Will wacky hijinks ensue? Gee, ya think?

Make Off Like a Band(it) by thespiritscalling

Sprace, G, 14/14

OMG. It's the funniest summer camp au I've read that sheds light on band camp (I'm an orchestra kid so this was hilarious to me). I especially love the That's Amore remix near the end lmaoo

Summary: It's the summer after graduation. Race is ready to hit the road- metaphorically, of course- but before that happens, it's time for one last stint at the Camp To End All Camps: band camp. Armed with nothing more than a French horn, two best friends, and reckless abandon, Race decides it's going to be the best final year of camp anyone's ever had. It'll be full of excitement, laughter, music, and an absurd crush on the lead trumpet player. Wait. What?

Canon Era :3

Their Mistake Is They Got Old by PenzyRome

David & Katherine, but the side ships are Newsbians and Javey, T, One Shot

You're gonna need the tissues for this one. I literally sob every time I read it, it's literally one of the best fics I've ever read. It's poetically tragic and heartbreaking and beautiful and HOLY CRAP!

Summary: Katherine Plumber, 17, had been so sure that she could stay the same, that she could stop the world, that she'd stay young forever. The world kept moving, though, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, and it forced her to move with it.

When Manhattan Met Brooklyn by warrior_sif

No ships cause they're kids, T, 4/4 (but the second one isn't finished :( )

Wow. Just wow. This one is honestly sad and I love the brother relationship between Jack, Race, and Spot and how Jack feels abandoned, like Race chose Spot over him. READ IT.

Summary: The only Manhattan newsies that Spot Conlon deals with are Jack and Race. A look back at how they met, eight years before the strike, when neither Jack nor Spot were leaders and Race just wants to sell at the racetracks.

False Rumors and The Truth Behind Them by FrogmanFae

Sprace, M, One Shot

This one is...heavy. The Refuge is such a bad place :( I love it though, the writing is beautiful.

Summary: Rumor has it that Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins met when Race started selling in Brooklyn because of his love for gambling. That isn't as true as the other boys in their lodging houses tend to make it seem. Though, they don't necessarily mind the false rumors. They hide the much darker truth. The truth that still causes Race to make the walk from Manhattan to Brooklyn in the middle of the night sometimes, even several years later. Or...It's pretty easy to form connections with someone you're forced into sharing a bed with while you're both being tortured.

The King & The Cowboy by goldenbiebah

Sparah <3, Spot/Sarah/Jack love triangle, T, 11/? (not completed :sob: )

I love this one, it really touches on how Jack is kinda toxic and how Sarah can have someone wayyyy better *cough* Spot *cough*

Summary: Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly are the fearless leaders of all the newsies in Brooklyn and Manhattan. They have a perfect system and hundreds of boys who respect and look up to them. But what will happen when the two leaders let selfishness and pride break up their friendship? And what happens when Spot's dark past begins to catch up with him? And where does Sarah Jacobs fit into all of this? Find out in The King & The Cowboy. Fights will break out, romances will clash, and lives will be lost in an epic struggle to salvage both new and old relationships.

Modern AUs :3

We Are Newsies by VeronicaWeasley (this is my sole ff.net one but likeeee it's too good to be ignored)

There are so many ships that I can't remember but I do know Sprace is one, T, 80/80 (I know that's a lot but it is SO worth it holy frick)

Ok. So. This one is like SO good. It's my fav high school AU because it has a really genius way of incorporating the canon plot with the perfect amount of angst, fluff, and more! :D

Summary: The same old story, the same old song. A tale in which the newsies of Lower Manhattan go on strike, and David Jacobs gets roped into it. High School AU set in 1999. Told through the eyes of multiple characters.

Captivity by Hexmari

No ships :), M, One Shot

I LOVEEE this one it's so crazy and you're in for a wild ride when (it's so cute that you think I'm letting that be an if :) ) you read it.

Summary:

“Ma– you seriously can’t do this to us!” Jack argued, “I mean it's Halloween!”

Charlie was quick to back his older brother up, “Yeah, do you want us to become hermits? Because that's what keeping us captive here all night will do!”

Medda rolled her eyes, “You will not become hermits by staying in for one night. It won’t be too bad, you can break into our Halloween candy and put on some horror movies, and Ester will be here with David soon. No kids are going out tonight, it’s just a safety precaution. Especially because of recent events.”

~🎃~

When a kid in their town goes missing, paranoid parents decide to keep their kids home on Halloween. Even after their mom forbids them from going out Jack, Race, Charlie, and their friend David sneak out, coming up with a theory that their old neighbor is behind the boy's disappearance.

The Beast of Brooklyn by ArtemisRayne

Sprace + side Javey, M, 26/26

This one is soooo worth staying up late for, it's amazing in every way and my heart aches for Spottie boy. And Race. And Jack. And David. But mainly Spot :)

Summary:

Racetrack Higgins always thought it would be his own vices that got him into trouble one day; turns out it's his Ma who does it for him. When Ma Higgins crosses the local drug lord and leaves him high and dry with a target on his back, Race's saved by a mysterious stranger who gives him a safe place to hide—a short-tempered and anti-social stranger covered in horrifying scars, with a past as dark as the marks on his body. However, the longer Race spends in the Brooklyn house, the more he comes to discover about the boy beneath the scars: a boy who is just as trapped as Race and twice as damaged. Befriending the two men who live in as hired help, and chipping away at the mysterious "boss" and his walls, Race might even manage to find a place to call home.*Beauty & the Beast/Beastly AU fusion*

Forever With You by 손 현숙 (safarikalamari)

Sprace, T, 14/14

ajlskdfjalkjdkajl this one is so sweet. The concept of it is super interesting and I just LOVE ittttttt.

Summary: In 1899, Spot Conlon is the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, writing away his thoughts and hiding them inside his desk for safekeeping. Meanwhile, in 1999, Tony Higgins receives an antique desk for his birthday and finds an old letter stuffed in one of the slots, the name, Spot, his only lead in this mystery. What becomes of that summer is a series of time-traveling letters, falling in love, and the realization that Spot and Tony know each other better than the two ever could have imagined.

Pirate AUs :3

The Truth About The Stars by ArtemisRayne

Javey + side Sprace, T, 10/10 (long chapters but it's worth it!)

OMG. This one is amazingggggggggggggggggggggggg I love the fantasy/pirate twist on the best movie/musical on the planet Earth!

Summary: The rest of the world might not think Jack Kelly is destined for much, but Jack knows better. He just needs to get away from the city, to some place where he can be more than just another nameless orphan in the chaos of New York City. So when someone offers to pay his way to Santa Fe in exchange for crossing the Wall and retrieving a fallen star, he jumps at the chance. He just wasn't expecting the star to be so, well, human. Jack makes a deal with the fallen star named David to get them both home, but the magical kingdom of Stormhold has so much more in store for them both. People are tracking David, secrets from Jack's past leave him in danger as well, and injustice is rampant in the kingdom. Throw in a climate of political upheaval, a renegade noblewoman, and a crew of fugitive sky pirates, and soon all of Stormhold will know that change is coming.

A Pirate's Life Is Never Easy by ChaosFairytale <3

Sprace + side Blush & Bumlets x Swifty, M, 9/? (it's an ongoing one shot series that has frequent updates)

OML I LOVE U SO MUCH CHAOS YOU'RE MY FAVORITE FANFIC WRITER AND I LIVE FOR YOUR WRITING TYSM FOR EXISTING!!!!! Her writing is the best and this is such a good story! (read Toss A Coin To Your Pirate first)

Summary: A Pirate's story doesn't start easy and it won't end easy, but there are many fantastic stories to tell throughout it. A series of One-Shots set in the "Toss a coin to your Pirate" universe containing different POVs, Backstory of a lot of characters and shorter stories about the relationships of the characters over the years.

Toss A Coin To Your Pirate by ChaosFairytale <333

Sprace + side Javid and Blush, M, 2/2

YUSSS CHAOS AGAIN!!!! <3 a million kudos. She writes almost exclusively about 92sies and I'm so here for it! READ THIS!!!!!!

Summary: Racetrack hadn't expected to see his hook-up ever again and had certainly not expected him to be the feared pirate Spot Conlon, but he also didn't have time to worry about that right now since his captain, Jack, desperately needed his help. He'd wonder later how he could maybe seduce the pirate captain once more. Because you'd miss every shot you didn't take, right?

Drumroll please...my all time favorite fanfiction....

FIVE by stress

Sparah + Davey/OC/Jack love triangle <3, T, 11/11

I finished reading this last night and got literal chills. The plot twist is wild and I love it so much, but you might need the tissues again! Can't spoil, but you NEEEEEEEEEEEEED to read it >:( It is the absolute best piece of reading on the Earth and I can't get over this. It's just...wild.

Summary: A lot can happen in five years. Don't believe me? Ask David. Ask Spot. Ask Jack, or Racetrack. You can even ask Oscar Delancey. They know. They're the five who've been waiting for this moment. Waiting for what? They'll never tell - but this story will.

Idk if I should be doing this....but I'm gonna plug my own work and also give a fanfic update!

What Feels Like a Thousand Years by yours truly, ArtemisLynn

Sprace + mentioned Jatherine, G (?), One Shot

I'm honestly so proud of this one, it's one of the best pieces of writing I have ever done...

Summary: War has always been a foreign concept to Racetrack Higgins.. Even when America goes to war in 1941, he never gives it much thought....until it hits a little too close to home and his secret boyfriend, Spot Conlon, is drafted into the U.S Army. Will he make it home safely, or will Racetrack's one and only love be lost overseas...forever?

I also have chapter 1 of Jack Kelly's Guide to Being a Parent out, though I don't know if I'm going to complete it....

Fics I'm working on: -I have a couple chapters of this one boarding school newsies modern AU I'm doing done but not posted

-A Sparah fanfic that currently is in the early stages

-A Sparah princess bride AU in the planning process

-I'm toying with the idea of a newsies Descendants AU....thoughts?

Damn this post became long. ANYWAYS. Bye and have a great (insert timezone)!!!

<3 Artie

#if yall can't tell by now im such a fricking sparah shipper it aint even funny #newsies 1992 #92sies #newsies #spot conlon #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #racetrack higgins #newsies broadway #newsies live #even more charactesr i dont feel like tagging :)#newsies fanfic #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list #i'll add more later #bye bye now

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yetanotherkris · 2 months

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you guys are smart

anyone got newsies fics i can read? I don't mind whether it's livesies or 92sies, whether it's angst or fluff, whether there's ships or not, i wish to read about the silly little guys

#newsies #92sies #livesies #newsies live #newsies fanfic

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we-are-inevitable · 5 months

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you asked for restaurant au requests so!! restaurant au javid?? and if there is a sauce-related incident i'd appreciate it?? (no pressure though!) - @pigeonwit

OHHH!! absolutely.

edit after writing: this got out of hand. i love them so so much.

———

“Corner!”

That’s all the warning David gets before a body rounds the corner and rams straight into his own. He sees it first, a curly mop of blonde hair, a high-pitched yell, a tray flying out of hands— all too suddenly, David is splayed on his back on the kitchen floor, and all too suddenly, his white shirt is soaked in something chunky and wet.

Racer immediately kneels down next to him, eyes wide as one of the big pans they use to cook up all of the fries. “David! Oh, shit! Man, are you okay?”

“I— Yeah, I’m fine. Get me up,” David says, but as soon as he sits up, there’s a distinct pain in the middle of his back. He winces, and that must be noticeable, because Racer instantly starts asking questions.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just—“

“No, you’re hurt, aren’t you? Fuck, I am so sorry, I didn’t know you were right there, I’m sorry—“

With a sigh, David grabs onto Racer’s shoulder, slowly pushing himself up to a standing position despite the blossoming feeling of ow currently pulsating through his body. “Kid, you’re okay, okay? You’re fine,” David says through gritted teeth.

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at them by now. David slowly turns to give them all a glance, noticing that something is missing— and just at that moment, Jack walks into the kitchen, smelling like cigarette smoke masked by a high-end cologne.

Jack stops just before the mess on the floor, taking it in with wide eyes, and he quickly looks up and makes eye contact with David. “What the hell happened?”

David sees the nervous look on Racer’s face, so he concedes and says, “It’s my fault. I was leaving and ran into Racer, I fell down and dropped the food. I’ll clean it up.”

“Clean yourself up first,” Jack comments, gesturing to David’s shirt, smeared with all sorts of colors: red and green salsa, garlic aioli, ranch and ketchup— a menagerie of condiments for a menagerie of burgers. “You didn’t get hurt when you fell, did’ja?”

“No, I—“

“He fucked up his back,” Race says from the side, and David gives him a nudge with his elbow. “He’s movin’ slow and it looked like he hurt when he sat up.”

Jack takes the information in, and gestures to the dishwasher. “I’ll give you a ten if you clean this up,” he says, gesturing to the pocket his wallet resides in, and the dishwasher responds with a curt nod. Turning to his linecooks, Jack nods to them as well. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Rush isn’t startin’ for another twenty minutes, I’ll be back in ten at the most. Got it?”

“On it,” Specs pipes up, not even looking away from the task at hand.

With that done, David watches as Jack reaches out, then sighs at the feeling of Jack’s hand on his shoulder. They walk slowly to the manager’s office- a larger room off to the side of the kitchen, with a couple of comfy chairs and a place for staff to eat their food.

“Don’t bother Charlie with this, please,” David says, head lolling just enough to look at Jack. “I’m fine, really.”

Jack clicks his tongue a few times, then pulls out his keyring and unlocks the door. “Charlie ain’t here,” He murmurs, pushing the door open and leading Davey inside, only to lock the door behind them. “He’s runnin’ up to the bank. Register’s almost outta change for customers.”

“Ohhh, okay, makes sense,” David nods, then takes in a deep breath. “So… can I go, if he’s not here? I have tables I need to check on.”

“They can wait. Your health is more important than a table,” Jack says like it’s the easiest thing to understand, and Davey wants to agree, but he never knows. A few good tips could be the difference between eating and not.

But he doesn’t bother arguing with Jack, because that’s never gotten him anywhere in the past.

Jack, after rummaging around in a locker for a moment, comes back to Davey with a clean- albeit wrinkled- white shirt. He sets it down on Charlie’s desk, and walks back to David, and suddenly, there’s a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before— a carefully concealed care. Jack cups his cheek, and leans up to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

With that, Jack makes gentle work of untucking David’s shirt, working the buttons open until he can push the fabric off of his shoulders.

David gulps, and says, “I wish you were undressing me in a different circumstance right now.”

That quip gets a grin in response, Jack looking up at him with bright eyes. “Turn around, you dumbass.” And who is David not to comply? He turns, feeling Jack’s hands on his back. “Hm… It looks a little red,” He mumbles. “You sure you feel okay?”

David hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, I just… I guess I’m taking it slow today,” he murmurs. “If it gets worse, I’ll call out tomorrow. Racer owes me a covered shift anyway, I’ll talk to him if I need to.”

“If you’re sure,” Jack says softly, kissing the back of David’s neck. He then gently turns David around in his arms, running a hand through his hair. “Make sure you let me know if you need to go home, okay? I got a lotta sway over Char.”

David just grins and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Jack’s lips. “I’d rather go home with you,” He says softly, then sighs, grabbing the shirt off of Charlie’s desk. “I need to go check on my tables. I’d love to stay in here and have you all over me, but…”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t all over you. I was makin’ sure you weren’t hurt,” He defends, though his smile is more than telling.

With a shake of his head, Davey finishes buttoning his new shirt, tucking it into his belt. It’s a little loose on him- it’s likely Jack’s- but he rolls the sleeves up and smiles in Jack’s direction. “Thank you, ahuví,” David says, and gives Jack one last kiss on the lips before they both walk towards the door.

“Ready to hate each other again?” Jack asks, and David squeezes his hand three times. They both walk out, discarding the dirty shirt into one of the trashcans in the kitchen, and David walks back to the front of house with a new smile on his face.

#this is so. RAHHHH i love them #thank u for the request pidge!!#jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #newsies #livesies #newsies musical #ask a jac !#racetrack higgins #specs newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #newsies broadway #newsies live #west endsies #newsies uk

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orangesand-lemons-234 · 29 days

Text

So remember my headcanon that Splint and Albert were siblings, but Splint was the only person who knew? Remember that? Yeah, okay, so I finally wrote something to go with it.

---

Dear Albert

I don't know if I'll actually give this to you. Maybe I'll get nervous at the rally, and this letter will remain in my pocket forever, but either way, I need to get this out of my system somehow.

I know for all these years, you've known me as the Brooklyn girl who's constantly breaking her arm and hurting herself, which is true. I am quite accident prone, but so are you! I've seen you get into reckless fights with the Delancey's on many occasions, and I must admit, I have cheered quite loudly when you defeated them. Nice to know we have the same slightly violent tendencies.

I'm getting sidetracked, so allow me to get back to the main reason for this letter. There's no easy way to say this, so here it is.

I am your big sister.

I don't even know if you remember me when I was at home. You were still quite young when I left and became a Newsie. You were tiny, but still as loud and fierce as ever, though. Your attitude seems to have stuck with you your whole life, and I'm glad. You certainly know how to stand up for yourself.

I'm sorry I left you in that house with mom and dad. I know how they could get after work and how they got when they were agitated.

I almost cried of relief when I saw you selling with Jack when you were six. While I wish you would've joined us in Brooklyn, I was glad to see that you'd gotten out, and I trust that Kelly boy to take care of you.

I'm so proud of you, I always have been.

When I saw you punch Oscar in the face, when I saw you selling for the first time, when I saw you chasing down the street after Racetrack and JoJo, knowing you'd found things you enjoy and people you really care for, I was so proud.

I hope you always remember that. Your big sister loves you so much and is so proud of you.

Soak 'em Red.

~ Your sister, Splint Constance

Albert sobbed as he read the final line of the letter, tears now spilling down his face like a river.

"It was in her pocket when we found her. I thibk she was going to give it to you at the rally, but..." Spot explained, tears pricking her own eyes as she did. "I'm so sorry, kid."

"She's gone, Spot." Albert whispered, most hope gone from his voice. "She's gone before I even got to know her."

Spot stayed silent for a few moments, wiping her eyes quickly. "...She loved you, Al. Even if it was from afar. You were her little brother, and you mattered so much to her."

"I know, Spot." Albert said quietly, rereading the last few lines of the letter again. "I know."

---

#ANGST!#HELL YEAH!#anyways #splints real name in my mind is constance #i think it fits #but anyways!#i kept thinking about this headcanon and eventually this was the outcome #enjoy!#newsies #uksies #newsies headcanons #splint newsies #albert dasilva #spot conlon #newsies fanfic #brooklyn newsies

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youaintnothinbuta · 5 months

Note

I’m so glad I found a person who writes for newsies! Can you write something about Jack being super protective and caring about the reader? They aren’t dating yet but whenever the Delancy bros bother her or another newsie he’s like 🏃 “gotta go protect my girl”

Thank you!!!

“You don’t need to put up with their nonsense.” - jack kelly x reader

Summary: ^^^

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 413

Warnings: none, fluff, probably typosss you know how I am

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You navigated the crowded sidewalk, your focus set on the task that was getting your stack of papes for the day. You dreaded this point in the morning, as the Delancey Brothers were never particularly kind.

As you approached the gates, Oscar and Morris intercepted your path. A pair of mischievous grins painted their faces as they watched you, you knew their snide remarks were about to begin.

“Look who we got here, you lost little girl?” Oscar quipped, a sly grin playing on his face. You startled slightly as he jumped in your face out of nowhere.

Morris joined in, “What's the matter, sweetheart? You’re not scared of me, are ya?”

“Please, just gimme my papes.” You sighed, trying to brush off their comments, determined to maintain your composure. However, the relentless jabs persisted, wearing down your resolve with each passing word. Amidst the taunts, Jack, who had been preoccupied with sorting through a fresh batch of papes, caught wind of the commotion. His eyes narrowed as he observed the Delancey Brothers harassing you, a protective instinct flickering within him.

Without hesitation, Jack swiftly approached, his stride purposeful and his gaze piercing. “What's going on here?” he demanded, a subtle growl underlying his words.

Oscar, ever the provocateur, responded with a dismissive laugh. “Just having a little fun with the girl, Kelly. Nothing to get your feathers all ruffled about.”

Jack's eyes flashed with a mixture of concern and a simmering anger. He positioned himself between you and the Delancey Brothers. “What a poor excuse of a man you are to be picking on a girl like this.”

Morris scoffed, locking eyes with Jack. “Save the hero act. She ain’t bothered, are ya honey?”

You looked at Jack, your eyes asking him not to leave. Jack reached to your hand and took the pennies from you, he smacked them down in front of the Delancey brothers and snatched a stack of papers from Oscar, handing them to you. Jack's hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you away from the Delancey Brothers with a protective gesture. “You don't need to put up with their nonsense. Stick with me, I won’t let them harass you like that again.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Your cheeks were tinted slightly pink by his words.

As you continued on your way, Jack maintained a protective hold on you, casting a lingering, meaningful glance over his shoulder to ensure the Delancey Brothers got the message.

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eri3ne · 2 months

Text

hope less romantics

sprace fanfic

Racetrack Higgins was a newsie, a gambler, and a troublemaker. A jack-of-all-trades if you will. He was all these things to the public, and on his own time, he was something of a hopeless romantic. Hopeless, not in the way that he spent all of his time consumed by the idea that love would come along and everything would be alright. That one day he would meet “the one” and know immediately and without any issue “true love” and all that. He was not naive enough for that. But, sometimes, late at night or on days when business was slow, he would let his mind wander. He would imagine what it would be like to love, and be loved. To share his life with someone he cared about. To share the boring, mundane parts or life with. But, another thing that Race was, is a realist. And he had accepted that that just, wasn’t gonna happen for him. He could imagine and daydream as much as he wanted, but he didn’t lead a life where romance was anywhere near his top priority. It probably shouldn’t even be in the top fifty things Race should be thinking about. And yet, here he was.

Spot Conlon was The King of Brooklyn, feared by newsies throughout all of New York. But, in reality, he was just another kid, another kid with, what felt like, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew that he had grown up all too soon, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Though, sometimes he wondered what it might be like to not have all of his responsibilities and such a reputation to uphold. But, he would never pass it on to someone else, he couldn’t imagine not doing what he does. Most of the time he enjoys it. Well, as much as someone can enjoy being a newsie and being “in charge” of at least fifty of your peers at any moment. But there were perks to it, like friends that became family. Spot loved his life despite the less than desirable work conditions and the stress he often felt. He’d accepted his place in the word and decided to make the most of it.

Race was running down a sidewalk in Brooklyn heading for the bridge and back into Manhattan when he ran into Spot Conlon for the first time. And he did just that, ran straight into the guy, didn’t even realize he was there. The two boys fell to the ground at the collision. Race scrambled to apologize as quickly as possible while jumping up and running off simultaneously. Spot just sat there for a moment confused. No more than a few seconds later, Spot saw an older looking man running in the same direction yelling, but he couldn’t quite tell what the man was saying. And that only made him more confused. Who was that kid? Who was the man chasing him? Why was that man chasing him? The boy, in his haste, had dropped and left his bag. And out of curiosity Spot picked up the bag, its contents were quite minimal, a couple of newspapers and a hefty handful of change. Now, Spot didn’t know the boy this bag belonged to, but he was pretty sure that he knew where its home was.

Usually, after he was finished working for the day, Spot would go back to the lodging house, play cards with his friends, grab a bite to eat, and then go to sleep. But, today, he missed out on his nightly routine to take the long trek to the Manhattan newsies lodging house. Despite his fantastic reputation, Spot is a pretty nice guy, he normally wouldn’t go this far out of his way to return a lost belonging, maybe he was just feeling particularly generous on this particular day. So off he went, the stranger's bag in hand.

It was a surprisingly pleasant walk, and eventually Spot arrived at his destination. The door was propped open so Spot decided that that was an invitation to just go in. The first face he saw was a familiar one, Crutchie, one of the newsies always hanging around Jack Kelly.

“Jack around?” Spot asked when he noticed the confused air of the boys around him.

“Haven't seen him in a few.” Crutchie continued with a smile, “But, I could take a message if you needed?”

Spot thought for a moment, “Nah, no need.” He held out his hand with the boy's bag, “Just return this to its owner. I’m pretty sure one of your guys left it over in Brooklyn this afternoon.”

“Oh!” Crutchie and Spot heard from a distant corner of the room over the sound of a boy jumping up and promptly falling back down. They looked over and saw a boy making his way over. “That- that's mine. Gimmie just a sec…” The boy reached them, slightly out of breath, and stood directly facing Spot. He stuck out his hand, to either shake Spots hand or grab his bag, both of the boys were quite unsure. So, Spot quickly shook the boy's hand, and immediately handed the boy his bag.

He turned to leave and, so as to not be rude, said, “That's all, night fellas.”

And, as he was leaving, Spot heard a quiet “Thanks” from the boy. Who had seemed just as flustered then, as when he had sprinted directly into Spot a few hours beforehand.

Race had no clue what to do with himself. His whole day seemed to be a big string of disasters. He had managed to sleep an hour late, and not a single one of his friends had thought to wake him up. So he got a late start, he went and picked up some papers and headed off to work. By the afternoon, he found himself over in Brooklyn. Playing cards. With a group of rather terrifying men who were easily twice Races’ size.

And, maybe he’d cheated a few times during the game, and maybe he gained money when he shouldn't have. But, what the men didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. And besides, it was in his nature, he couldn’t help it, the risk is what makes playing the game so much fun. That is, until someone notices. And that is exactly what happened. And the guy Race had been “stealing from” seemed pretty serious about getting his money back.

So, Race made the most logical decision.

Start running.

And lucky for Race, he was fast, and this guy didn’t seem like he could say the same. So, he gathered his things, newly earned money included, and he was off. He was weaving through the streets and alleyways, street vendors and commuters with ease. Until. Until he turned his head to see how far he was from the man who was chasing. And-

Whack!

Race ran into something, well…someone. And, full disclosure, he was pretty much just planning on jumping back up and bolting. That is, until he glanced over and noticed who exactly he had run into. The Spot Conlon. All he could think for just a moment was, wow. This was Spot Conlon, the king of Brooklyn, right in front of him. And then, Race dropped back into reality. He was being chased by a grown man and had just run Spot Conlon to the ground. That thought of “wow”, quickly turned into a mental stream of “fuckfuckfuckfuck.” As he quickly said sorry, and did as he had planned to as soon as he fell down.

Race ran all the way back to Manhattan and somewhere along the way he lost the guy chasing him. But by the time he got there he had honestly, sort of forgotten why he was running, he had gotten a bit caught up in doing it, and the horrible interaction that he had along the way that he didn’t even care about the situation that got him there. He had gotten out of it, and that was really all that mattered to Race.

By the time he got back to the lodging house, Race had come to two conclusions.

Number one: Well that was embarrassing

And number two: he had lost his bag along the way.

He had lost his bag. Along with the money. But, he supposed there was nothing he could do about it. It was gone and he was pretty sure that he would never get it back.

Race had gotten over the embarrassment and the loss within a couple of hours. He had gotten engulfed in some random conversation which was no doubt being blown out of proportion, when, out of nowhere, it felt like the air had been sucked right out of the room. And everyone’s attention turned to the doorway.

Race half expected there to be some sort of fight going on at the door, but he was wrong.

Spot. Conlon. Was at the door. He was having a conversation with Crutchie, but from the far corner of the room, Race couldn't tell what they were talking about. But after a moment he saw Spot hold up a bag. Race’s bag. Well, he got it back. But right now he kinda wished he hadn’t.

In a moment where Race had evidently lost any control of his own body, he found himself getting up from the table where he had been talking with his friends, walking over to the door and saying the words, “Thats mine,” as well as some other muttering that no one, not even Race, could quite make out. But he eventually got up to the front of the room and retrieved his belongings. Race had no clue what to do with himself after the fact. So. He just stood there for a second, and sorta just looked at him. Spot that is. Eventually, Spot turned to leave and Race finally found it in himself to say thank you. But, honestly, he wasn’t quite sure the words actually came out of his mouth because absolutely no one reacted. As soon as Spot was gone, Race turned back around and went right up the stairs and lay in his bed just staring at the ceiling.

Well…that was fuckin’ embarrassing.

So. New lesson learned. Apparently Race lost any and all control that he had ever had over his actions in the presence of Spot Conlon. Good to know.

For quite a while after he ran into that boy on the street, Spot Conlon had been curious about the boy. His name, who he was, and what on Earth he had been doing in Brooklyn? That last question was paired in Spots head with the question of how he didn’t know that there was a newsie from Manhattan in Brooklyn. For years, Spot had made it his business to know everyone else’ business but somehow.

After multiple days of asking around, and receiving nothing but shoulder shrugs and confusion as to how he didn’t know who was spending time on, as many of Spots friends had pointed out, his turf, Spot finally discovered who the mystery manhattan boy was. Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly's second in command, a teen with a smoking problem, and even bigger gambling problem, and the part which most interested Spot, a boy from Manhattan who spent more than his fair share of time in Brooklyn.

Now, Spot Conlon wasn’t nosy, he let people have their space and he expected the same in return. However , every so often, when something piqued his interest, he was known to…forget about that. So maybe he learned from a few of his boys Racetracks' usual selling spot in Brooklyn. And maybe he would find himself passing by more regularly, and maybe he ended up selling papers just across the street from Racetrack a few times. But it was just because he was curious. An odd kid, who shouldn’t be there, was there and Spot was just keeping an eye out. No ulterior motives to be seen here.

Race spent a lot of time thinking. He didn’t have all that much else to do with himself. He thought himself to sleep at night and made up little stories in his head on slow days. He knew that he had a habit of overthinking things, but he supposed that that was the price he paid for his hyperactive mind. Recently many of those thoughts had been filled with questions about one Spot Conlon.

Did he know who Race was?

Did he hate Race?

Did he think about that one horrible interaction as much as Race did?

Was he stalking Race?

How was he so intimidating?

And why was Race thinking about him so much?

These were the things that filled Race's head all day, every day. And he had an answer to only one of them.

Spot Conlon was most certainly stalking him. Every single day, for almost a month, Spot had been there. At some point in the day, at least. Race started to notice about a week in, he had never seen him around before, and now, Spot Conlon was everywhere.

And maybe it wasn't about Race at all but that wasn’t a thought that would ever cross the boys mind, not in a million years. Because rational thoughts never came to Races mind. But rather, stupid, irrational, and to those he might share them with, utterly ridiculous and/or insane (he’d been called all of the above by those close to him). And this habit was continued on one faithful day, after about a month of being haunted by Spot Conlon.

Race noticed that Spot had been standing directly across the street from him. In the same place, for hours. Usually when he’d show up he would be gone again within the hour, but this time, this time he lingered. And Racetrack wanted to know why. So, he crossed the street as soon as the woman Spot had been talking to left. Maybe he nearly got hit by a car on the way over but that was not his greatest concern, Race was on a mission.

“Heya Spotty,” he said as he approached and, why the hell did he say that, why did he call Spot Conlon a nickname? They didn’t know eachother like that. They didn’t know each other at all.

And evidently Spot felt the same way, “Don’t call me that.” Nothing else. No pleasantries exchanged. Neither of the boys really knew what to say. Spot had no clue why Race was there, and, well, Race had never been very good at planning out his endeavors.

“What do you want Racetrack?” Spot finally broke the uncomfortable silence. So he did know who Race was.

“Well, the funny thing is, is that, that's actually what I was gonna ask you, Spot. I’ve never seen ya over here before and I was just wondering why I started to recently.” and at this point Race knew he was rambling and he really had no clue what to do about it. He just kept talking and was quite frankly praying that Spot would interrupt him.

And for a good while, he didn’t. Race was getting extremely embarrassed but he just. Couldn’t. Stop. Talking. Finally though Spot interrupted him. “Wait wait wait, whaddaya mean you wanted to know why I’m here?” no reply from Race, who was catching his breath from his little rant. “‘Cause, my bein’ makes perfect sense to me, me living here and all. It's you I’m a tad confused about.” Race knew that it would probably be more productive to shut up at this point, go back to his corner, hell, maybe even back home for the rest of the day. But, Race had never been particularly good at doing what he should, the “smart thing” if you will.

“Well, Spotty,” WHY OH WHY DID HE SAY THAT AGAIN , “I’ve spent plenty of time here over the years and I’d never even seen you in person til a few weeks ago. I mean, I was startin’ to think you were just, like, a myth to scare people away from here. But like I was sayin’ I spent plenty of time here and I’ve been selling over here most days outta the week for like…a year now. And you just recently started poppin’ up. Everywhere I go.” Silence and complete indifference from Spot. “Well, what I'm gettin’ at is, are you following me, Spotty? I mean why else would you be everywhere I am?” Now, Race had meant for it to be at least halfway a joke. He honestly had really just wanted to talk to the mysterious boy. But Spot did not appear to find any humor in anything that Race said. In fact, he seemed pretty irritated at him, or maybe that was just his face? Race wasn’t quite sure.

“Get outta here Racetrack,” Spot finally said as he turned to leave.

And, not wanting to anger Spot further, for once in his life, Race actually did what he was told to. He gathered up his few belongings and returned to Manhattan for the rest of that day.

With full intentions, of course, to return to Brooklyn the next day.

#newsies fanfic #newsies #newsies fandom #racetrack higgins #racetrack newsies #spot conlon #sprace #spot conlon/racetrack higgins

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