#newsies race oneshot

[heliads]

All in the Words

Based on this request: "race and some of the newsies are hanging out with yn and yn is acting all tough. They keep trying to make her drop that attitude by making jokes, and race flirts with her as a joke. Yn gets all nervous and blushy so he just keeps going thinking its adorable until yn fires back and he kinda dies"

me when i flirt with someone and they instantly perish

masterlist

Dawn comes and goes, and you are not there to see it. Normally, this would fill you with more than a small amount of fear– miss your morning schedule, and you’ll be hours behind when it comes to selling newspapers. Newsies live in the daylight hours, shouting slogans and catchy headlines as long as there are still people out on the street who can see enough to hand you coins. It does make it difficult to get up so early each morning, but it’s not like you have a ton of options otherwise.

Yet when you open your eyes this morning and see not sunrise but a well established day, you feel not a bit displeased with yourself. After all, why should you? Today, as it turns out, all newsies across the city will have a day off. The newspapers don’t like printing on holidays, so you can get off scot free for the whole set of twenty-four hours. Nothing says special like that.

For newsies, days off are a bit of a mixed bag. There is, of course, the immediate response to hearing that you won’t have to get up at dawn and spend too many hours out on the streets hawking papes. That would explain the shrieks and calls of glee from some of the younger newsies. Older ones, too. The second Jack Kelly heard about the holiday, he muttered something about having to talk to someone and hurried off in the direction of the New York Sun. You have a feeling he’s tracking down a particularly pretty journalist.

It’s great to think that you won’t have to work. However, you aren’t a newsie for the thrill of it. Not working means you don’t get paid, and that’s far less fun than one would care to imagine. That’s why you’ve been carefully saving your pennies for weeks now, just trying to make sure you’ll have enough to cover today’s costs before your job comes back the next day. It’s a life spread thin, to be sure, but it’s what you’ve got, and you don’t intend to waste it.

Still, sleeping in is pretty nice indeed. You allow yourself one last moment of leisure before dragging yourself out of bed. Most kids in the Manhattan Lodging House have partaken in the same delights– more than half of them are still sleeping peacefully in their bunks. You do your best to get ready as quietly as you can, and shut the door silently behind you.

By the time noon rolls around, the rest of your friends are up and at ‘em. Most of you are choosing to either kick back and relax in the Lodging House or go look for trouble somewhere else in the city. You heard Spot popped in once to check on a deal with Jack, but other than that, there are no threats in sight.

None to your physical health, at least. Threats to your peace and quiet still exist. You’ve barely sat down on your favorite threadbare armchair in a corner of the main room (the title being won by a good few rounds of fisticuffs, all solidly settled in your favor) before your name is being tossed around by some of the newsies nearby. You have a feeling that they’re trying to be discreet, but their whispers sound more like shouts when you’re indoors instead of yelling to be heard in the streets of Manhattan.

Four boys are causing trouble today, as it appears. Race, Jojo, Albert, and Romeo. All of the newsies are good friends– you have to be, at any rate, or you’ll lose your head with the godawful conditions of being outside all day– but these four are no exception. They’re the closest of anyone here, exceptions being Jack and Crutchie.

Today it seems they’ll be proving their camaraderie by trying to get a rise out of you. This isn’t anything special. You have a bit of a reputation for being stone cold, but can they blame you? Girls have to fight twice as hard to stay alive in this city, so what if you’re more here to keep yourself afloat than make friends? You’re nice when you have to be, but you keep your distance when you want it. Just because you’re not flirting all the time doesn’t mean you hate the rest of them.

The ‘Hattan boys know you don’t hate them, but that doesn’t stop the four newsies nearest you from trying to win you over anyway in the only method they know best:  being annoying and turning everything into a joke. Romeo tries his luck first, shooting his shot with a tip of his cap and a wink. You arch one derisive brow, which is all it takes for him to give up and head back to his friends.

Albert is next. He starts off strong with a story about a dream he’d had last night about pretty girls going out with him, but you cut him off thoughtfully with a recollection of a dream you’d had recently where all boys left you alone under pain of death. Struck out, he gestures for Jojo to take over.

Jojo’s attempts at flattery are so awful that you give up on trying to entertain yourself by watching them fail. You reach over for a paperback Katherine had left behind on her last visit to the Manhattan Lodging House. The book serves the dual purpose of letting you ignore the laughter of the boys and also hiding your face for the last of their attempts.

See, you can ignore Albert or Romeo any day. They’re just friends, just coworkers. You’ll never see them in any sort of romantic light. The problem comes with Race. Race is charming. Race is cute. Race is the only one who has ever been able to get through the strongest of your walls. It doesn’t matter if he’s just doing it as a joke, if Race flirts with you in the slightest, you will be affected by it.

Best to make sure he can’t tell, then, so you prop up the book in front of your face and pray he can’t see the slight smile that makes its way across your lips when Race tries his hand at flirting. It wasn’t even a good pickup line. Still, it worked, and that is absolutely devastating to your reputation.

The worst part is that he knows it, too. Even though you do your best to act as if you’re absolutely fine, you can tell by the triumphant tilt of his head that he knows it. Y/N’s got a weakness at last, and it’s Race. Of course it is.

The other boys don’t seem to have caught on, though, they’re just laughing raucously amongst themselves about the usual. Albert calls something out to Race about wanting to go take a tour of the shop next door, but Race doesn’t even look back, gesturing for them to go on without him without turning even once.

“You should go with them,” you say as indifferently as you can.

“Why?” Race asks, cocking his head to the side, “I’ve got a far prettier sight in front of me right now.”

You roll your eyes, but even you can feel the slight heat pricking your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“Apparently not,” Race muses, “or you wouldn’t be smiling at me.”

You do your best to hide the offensive expression away, but your best attempts at staying serious just make your smile more stubborn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says happily, “it’s not just because of me, is it? I bet Y/N L/N would never be susceptible to something like a boy.”

“Not even to a cute boy?” You ask, eyes wide with pretend surprise.

This, of all things, makes Race stutter over his words. You didn’t think it would be possible for Race to get nervous over someone flirting with him, but apparently you were wrong, because he’s all but shaking in his boots right now.

“That’s sweet of you,” he manages to eke out.

You grin. The tables have turned. “Funny,” you say, “I didn’t think Race Higgins would ever be susceptible to something like a girl.”

“I love it when you pay attention to me,” Race retorts, but it carries far less of the easy confidence he’d had earlier. In fact, Race looks like he can’t believe his eyes.

“I’m sure you do,” you muse, “Shame it doesn’t happen more often. If I knew you were going to react like this, maybe I would have started flirting back earlier.”

“I think you should keep doing it anyway,” Race whispers.

You laugh. “Only if you flirt back.”

“Oh, always, sweetheart, you know that,” Race says.

It’s easy to smile after that. Maybe Race has been flirting with you for a while, but maybe he’s meant what he said all along, too. It’s good that you’ll have plenty of time to figure him out, then. Yes, plenty of time indeed.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

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

[loiteringandlurking]

Albert lies on Race's bed. It's 8:34am (or so Race's clock tells him), he's groggy, and he can hear Race's microwave and coffee machine.

He blinks a few times. He remembers what had happened last night; he wasn't THAT drunk, and he remembers it was fucking embarrassing. He dreads facing Race as he will inevitably have to.

Race, the cute guy in apartment 309 that now knows it was Albert leaving him meals after he overheard on the phone Race hated cooking, Race who smells faintly of smoke and has a crooked smile, Race who he shared a bed with last night, Race who gave Albert his hoodie. Race who, Albert is certain of it, he is completely and totally crushing on.

He drags one foot to the floor, then another, pushing himself upright. His sweatpants are creased, the neckline of his- Race's- hoodie is askew, his hair is knotted and all over the place; he can tell just by running a hand through it. He follows the noise of the coffee machine to Race's kitchen.

There he is.

God, Albert nearly faints. His hair is adorably tousled, his shirt is loose and hanging barely onto his shoulders, he has his back to Albert, letting him drink in all of his sharp lines, curved musculature- or at least what he can see under the shirt.

Albert clears his throat.

Race turns, brandishing a mug. "Morning! How'd you sleep?"

Albert tears his eyes from Race's figure to look at Race's coffee machine.

"Uh.. alright. I'm a little hungover, though. I might get a glass of water?" He clears his throat again, looking down to his feet. "Sorry about last night."

Race is all smiles and bounces as he fills a glass with water and brings it to Albert, smiling softly and, dare Albert say, sweetly and lovingly, as he hands Albert the water and pats his shoulder.

"That's totally okay, man. I get it, I get you. I'm sorry about how fucked up and awful your emotions must be. But now we get to eat yummy breakfast together!" Race points at the microwave. "The food you made last night! I have no idea what it is, but it looks and smells delicious!!"

"We?"

Race looks away, takes his hand off Albert's shoulder- Albert's shoulder is cold.

"Well.. I mean, unless you don't want to..."

"No! No, I want to." Albert steps closer to Race, putting his own hand on Race's shoulder. "I just.... I was scared you didn't like me."

Race looks shocked.

The coffee machine stops brewing.

"No, Al, I..." Race sighs, looking away. "I don't know. I'm confused."

Albert sags, a little defeated. "That's okay. Take your time figuring it out. I'll be here for you, if you want me to be."

The microwave beeps.

"That would be lovely."

#back on my ralbert shit #this is the continuation of my other ralbert oneshot from recently #the one where Albert's drunk and sad #anyway hope you enjoyyyyyyy #newsies #newsies broadway #Albert newsies #Albert dasilva #newsies the musical #uksies #newsies uk #racetrack Higgins #race newsies #ralbert #ralbert newsies

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ OUTLAWS OF SANTA FE

ᯇ summary ! ✦ “You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?” As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight." aka the wild westsies au i've had in my drafts forever ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe ,, @fandomtrashcollector (taglist form is in my pinned post!!) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing, alcohol consumption, violence, use of guns ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ here are the meanings of the wild west slang words in here:) paintin' his nose - to get drunk corned - drunk fogy - a stupid fellow dynamite - whiskey ANYWAY, i've had this in my drafts for forever and i just wanted to finally finish is so sorry that the ending is really rushed el oh el. also i recommend listening to Billy the Kid by Tex Ritter before reading!! as always, reblogs & comments are always appreciated <333 ALSO READ IT ON AO3 THE PLAYLIST 2883 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

WANTED Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly $1,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery, murder, and disruption of the public. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED The Delancey Brothers $500.000 REWARD Oscar and Morris Delancey are wanted for robbery and attempted murder. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE Deadwood David $5,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery and murder, on a large scale. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A proud cowboy listened to the chatter of customers outside of Spots Shootin' Saddle Saloon. A cocky smirk played at his lips as he pushed through swinging doors. He heard gasps and the sound of multiple pistols being dragged from his holster. Then, the saloon went silent—save for the high-pitched squeak of wet glass being towel dried.

The bartender didn't even spare him a glance. "Well, well. If it ain’t the famous Jack Kelly."

“I could say the same to you, Spot. Lookit you, got yer own saloon and everything.”

One of the saloon boys perked up. "Jack!” The boy gave a half-hearted excuse to the men he was serving, he made up for his departure with a wink. He eagerly made his way behind the bar and began fixing the ex-cowboy a drink. "What brings you into town?"

Jack gratefully took the drink with a tip of his hat. “You’re a good man, Race.” He downed the drink before addressing the question before him. "Can't a lonely cowboy just visit his old friends?"

"Why, sure he could!” Racetrack grinned, already refilling his glass.

“That is, if that's what he was really doing." Spot added quickly. “Besides, can’t really be calling yourself a cowboy anymore. Not when a wanted poster names you an outlaw.”

“I can call myself whatever I please.” The cowboy realized it was a fight not worth fighting. He waved him off and dragged the newly poured whiskey closer. "Howd’ya know it was me?”

Spot laughed. "What, when you walked in? Yer the only fella I know who quiets my saloon like that.”

Racetrack leaned forward against the counter; his arm wrapped lovingly around Spot’s waist. He rested his head in his own hand, his elbow digging into marble, and gave Jack a pointed look. "Not anymore. Say, Jack; you heard of that David feller, yet? He paid us a visit couple’a days ago. Shoot, we didn’t hear much noise in here ‘till the next day!”

Jack's fingers squeezed his glass, before they relaxed and stretched. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Fill 'er up again, would'ya?"

Spot took the glass and kept his gaze on the outlaw whilst he poured the whiskey. He placed it in front of the boy with a thump, then glared at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you really here for, cowboy?"

"Just paintin’ my nose, Spot." Jack pushed away from the bar, drink in hand. He sat down with a boy who was lazily pulling at the strings of his guitar. “Tell me a story, Al."

The boy responded with a toothy grin, then tipped his hat up and out of his eyes. He slowly looked up and made eye contact with the outlaw. “Long time no see, Jackie." He plucked at his guitar more rhythmically than before. "What'cha wanna hear?"

"Why don’t you tell that one about ole Billy the Kid?”

"Only because you're an old friend." Albert chuckled. He took a deep breath before he put on his story-telling voice. His demeanor demanded the attention of those around him, and he always got it when he was performing. "Some folks do a lot of good in the world, that encourages us to do good. A few people start off on the wrong foot - their black deeds serve as a warning post to us. The song I'm gonna to sing for you now, fellers, is about a boy who sorta wandered off the straight and narrow trail, took up a crooked course. As usual with all outlaws, he paid with his life. His name,” a pause, “was Billy the Kid."

His singing was mesmerizing, just like his stories, and everyone in the saloon slowly began to sing along. Some of them absentmindedly hummed along as they gambled, and others gave the man their full attention. They swayed merrily back and forth with each other, their glasses raised to the gods as they hooted and hollered.

"I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid. I'll sing of the desperate deeds that he did. Out in New Mexico, long time ago, When a man's only chance was his own forty-four."

While everyone sang along, a boy slipped in through the doors, entirely unnoticed. He whispered to Spot and kept his head hung low. Had he made any noise, it had been covered up by obnoxious singing. The boy pushed a couple of coins across the counter before he slumped farther into his hat.

"When Billy the Kid was a very young lad, In old Silver City, he went to the bad. Way out in the West with a gun in his hand- At the age of twelve years, he killed his first man."

Racetrack wanted to tell Jack about the man at the bar, but Spot had instructed him to keep quiet. He had been told to loosen the outlaw up, and he did just that. Race kept a close eye on Jack’s drink and made sure he never reached the bottom of his glass.

"Fair Mexican maidens play guitars and sing A song about Billy, their boy bandit king. How ere his young man-hood had reached it's sad end, Had a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men."

To say the drinks had loosened him up would be an understatement. Jack pranced around the table­—dragging Racetrack along with him—with his glass raised. The whiskey sloshed over the side and splashed his boots. He jumped atop the tables and managed to gain the attention of all the customers. It wasn’t long before everyone was shouting and throwing their drinks into the air.

"Twas on the same night, when poor Billy died, He said to his friends, 'I'm not satisfied, Twenty-one men I have put bullets through. Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two."

Jack tried to sing along, but his mouth had other plans. He rambled to Albert, who just smiled as he sang, about his recent affairs. “I could take down the sheriff!” He bragged. “No! I could take down big ol’ Deadwood David… with my eyes closed!” Al shook his head and his eyes flitted quickly to the man at the bar.

"Now this is how Billy the Kid met his fate. The bright moon was shining, the hour was late. Shot down by Pat Garrett, who once was his friend. The young outlaw's life had now come to its end."

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep, Kelly.” Spot warned with a sigh. Racetrack cocked an eyebrow from his place next to Jack. He raised the pitcher in question, and moved away from the table when Spot shook his head. The cowboy waved off Spot’s warning as the bartender whispered lowly to his customer.

"There's many a man with a face fine and fair, Who starts out in life with a chance to be square. But just like poor Billy, he wanders astray And loses his life in the very same way."

Everyone cheered in unison for the song; although, some might’ve been cheering for their gambling wins. Albert smiled and tipped his hat before he went back to strumming mindlessly at his guitar. A small grin made its way onto his face as Jack drunkenly droned on.

"D’ya hear Spot? Talkin’ bout promises I can't keep!" He scoffed; a drunk burp made its way up his throat. "I mean- Listen, I've got way more kills under my belt than Billy the Kid had got." Jack took a sip of his glass. Race had been filling it with coffee, but he was much too drunk to notice. “He would’ve never died if he was as experienced as me. Besides, this Deadwood guy’s a total poser. I betcha I could take him on with my-” He looked confused for a second. “With my- my eyes closed!”  

“So you’ve said.” Albert shook his head and chuckled. "Anyhow… the song ain’t a challenge, Cowboy. It's a warning. Don’t mess with something that ain’t botherin’ you.”

"You’re starting to sound like my Papaw, Al.” Jack bumped Albert’s shoulder with his cup. “He don’t look good on you. Oh! You know who looked good on me, though? Them gals over in Tombstone.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" He slurred. "I mean, practically a different girl each night. Gorgeous women too. Unlike any lady out in these parts."

An obnoxious scoff came from the boy at the bar. He circled his finger around the rim of his glass as he spoke, his head still down. “I sure ain’t heard any Tombstone ladies bragging on about pirooting with a Jack Kelly.”

All conversation ceased at the boy’s words. The notes on Albert’s guitar suddenly became more dramatic, and Jack would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so offended. Spot let out an exasperated sigh, but the rest of the customers were visibly tense. Every man had a hand on his gun, waiting for a showdown.

Jack turned and stared the boy down. "Maybe you ain't talked to the right ladies.”

"Maybe you just ain’t worth bragging about.” The boy took a sip of his drink. Racetrack let out a short giggle, then nervously ducked under the counter to make a drink that nobody had asked for. “Or, maybe, you ain’t really been with as many ladies as you claim.”

Disgruntled, Jack got up and made his way to the bar. The boy laughed as the outlaw tripped a little over his own feet. Jack grabbed the man by a shoulder and forced him to spin in his chair. He shoved a mean finger into the man’s chest. The man at the bar snickered, his face still covered by his hat.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

“You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight."

Spot cleared his throat. “I won’t have you dunderheads havin’ a showdown in my saloon. Be respectable, boys.”

“There wasn’t gonna be no showdown, anyhow. This feller’s too drunk to do anything. He couldn’t shoot at me even if he had his pistol to my head.” Deadwood flicked a coin to Spot. “Thanks for the dynamite, Spot.” And with that, he proudly walked out of the saloon.

Jack watched the man leave and stood tall with fake pride. After the man was gone, he made a drunken attempt to sit down but instead accepted his place on the floor. Racetrack sighed and raised the outlaw by his armpits before sitting him on a barstool. Spot scoffed as he handed the outlaw a glass of water. “I told you not to make promises you can’t keep, you stubborn ole fogy.”

"I'm fixin' to keep that promise. But right now,” He started to gag, “I think I'm gonna be sick."

“Steady, Izar.” Jack mumbled. “Ain’t too far from here.” His horse neighed, almost as if she was responding to him. She even sighed as he stumbled into her. Jack could almost hear her complain about his recklessness. “I ain’t that drunk, Izar. Honest.”

He led her into the stable behind the Conlon home. “Spot was kind ‘nough to give us a nice little place to stay in for the night.” Jack looked around the stable and flinched at the smell of manure. “Well, he offered to let me stay in the house. But ya know I can’t leave you, mama.”

“Second I heard about you, Jack Kelly, I knew you were insane.” A voice muttered from the corner. “But I never would’a figured you was the type of insane to talk to yourself.”

Jack groaned. “Fuckin’ Spot. He knew you’d be here. Ain’t that right, Deadwood?”

“Yup.”

A tense silence fell over them, but Jack was far too tired (and drunk) to start a fight. He began to take off Izar’s saddle. “I wasn’t talkin’ to myself. I was talking to Izar.” He explained and gestured to his horse. Though, as Deadwood laughed, he realized that wasn’t a much better excuse. “Listen, I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you.”

“Yet here you are. Doing it.” Deadwood snorted as he pulled his hat further over his face. The hay he was laying in enveloped him as he snuggled deeper into it. “Now, I promise not to kill ya if ya promise to shut up.”

Jack grunted in agreement. His intuition screamed at him not to let his guard down, but Izar had already nestled herself into the hay. At that moment, he figured his awful gut feeling was just the whiskey from earlier. Besides, Izar had a good judge of character, most of the time. She curled around Jack as he rested against her, and the two slowly drifted off to sleep, just inches away from one of the deadliest men in the country.

Yelling voices and the sound of cracked wood startled Jack awake. Once he came to his senses, he realized that Izar was no longer behind him. Panic filled his chest and he scrambled to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to barely make out what was happening in the shadows.

Deadwood had a lanky boy pinned beneath him, his pistol to the person’s head. Another boy laid up against the wall of the barn; he was surrounded by splinters and his own blood. His head lolled against his shoulder, the blood from his nose pooled on his leather vest. The boy had a gun in his hand, the safety off and his hand on the trigger.

David lifted the boy underneath him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “I knew you were pathetic, Morris. But going so low as to kill a man in his sleep? We may be outlaws, but we have some sense of morality.” His hand in the Delancey brothers’ shirt tightened as he pushed the boy farther into the wall; Jack could hear the wood cracking beneath him. “And you don’t kill a man’s horse. Not unless you’re too much of a pussy to kill the owner.” Then, he dropped the man to the floor and spit at him.

Morris used a dramatic hand to wipe off his face before he scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he moved to grab his pistol. “You place a single finger on that gun, and I will break every single one of your fingers-” Deadwood growled and grabbed the boy’s wrist. “One. By. One.”

After he let go of Morris’ wrist, the boy tripped over himself as he picked up his brother. Oscar barely seemed alive; his only sign of life had been the elongated groan he let out as Morris lifted him. David stopped the two before they could hurry out the door. “You two better never point a pistol at my Cowboy or his horse ever again. Next time, you don’t get a warning. I’ll line you two up and watch the bullets go straight through both of you.”

The two hesitantly nodded (Oscar moved his head down, and that was enough for David). Morris dragged his brother out the door, and it wasn’t long before the sound of galloping hoofs grew quieter and quieter.

“What the hell was that about?” Jack demanded. Deadwood rolled his eyes and led Izar out from behind his own horse.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cowboy. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re losin’ it if you think I’m gonna let this shit go,” Jack argued as he moved to pet Izar’s neck. “They got you riled up enough to call me your cowboy.” He scoffed. “And you called me queer.”

David cocked his pistol in retaliation. “I defended you while you’s was asleep, but I’m not against shooting a man who’s awake.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, Deadwood. I won’t tell no-one ‘bout this. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation, anyhow. Cowboy don’t need no-one to save him.” He closed his eyes, an amused grin on his lips, and went back to resting against Izar.

The infamous outlaw stared at him, before he broke into laughter. “Spot was right. You are a stubborn ole fogy.”

#okay #hope you guys enjoy my pride and joy LMAOOO #this au is my child #newsies #livesies #jack kelly #david jacobs #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #wild westsies #92sies #cowboy jack kelly #cowboy david jacbos #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // oneshots ❥ #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // wild westies ❥ #also this is me announcing that there will be a full length fic based around this au #guys im so nervous posting this #ive worked on this for months years decades #my heart is fr racing #also sorry if the delancey brothers are inaccurate #i've never written them before

[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

[miryum]

A Roll of the Die (Spot Conlon x Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” Y/n deadpanned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you just… push me?” Spot gaped. 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that.” 

 “Where do you sell, doll?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not usually.” 

Spot hummed. “You should.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who was the kid?”

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

“Spot Conlon?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Do you know him?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing about life is fair.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#spot conlon #spot conlon x reader #spot #spot conlon imagine #spot conlon oneshot #spot conlon x y/n #Newsies #newsie #newsies musical #Newsies The Musical #new york #newsboys #newsies movie #scabbers #Jack Kelly #jack #race #racetrack higgins #weisel #weasel #joseph pulitzer #strike #fluff #one sided feelings #one sided enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #manhattan #brooklyn #brooklyn boys #brooklyn’s hereeeee

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

Blond-Haired and Blue-Eyed

(Note: Okay, so I know I said I would never write any Delancey x any newsie, but the person who requested this was very nice about asking and I consider them a friend, so I made an exception. Oscar has always been a fun character to write, especially since being the character really gave me an insight into his personality, so I hope you enjoy this!)

    Something about blond-haired, blue-eyed boys always irked Oscar Delancey. 

    Maybe it was the loud, annoying personalities that these boys tended to have. Maybe it was the fact that when he was younger, the blond boys always, for some reason or another, gave him a hard time. Or, hell, maybe it was even a sort of jealousy, those cherubic idiots always seeming to possess the right qualities to drive him up the wall.

    Well, whatever the reason was, Oscar couldn’t stand Racetrack Higgins.

    The kid was resourceful as hell and quick on his feet, he had to give it to him- but every moment Oscar was near the kid made him want to punch in the boy’s skull. Not to mention Racetrack’s blatant disrespect for anyone he didn’t like, tossing endless flirtatious jokes and unbearable insults every which way.

    During the strike, Oscar hadn’t been a friend to many of the newsies, which was quite obvious. After all, he’d been paid to subdue them, and he’d be damned if he disobeyed orders. But despite his and Morris’s best efforts, the newsies pulled through, and Oscar had found himself stewing in failure for around two weeks now, enduring countless taunts and pranks from the victorious (and now, cocky) kids that couldn’t seem to understand the words “leave it be”.

    It wasn’t much worse than normal, save for the sting of losing to the idiots that he sold stacks of newspapers to, and for a while Oscar simply coasted through the days, waiting for the solace of a day off.

    And so, of course, a blond-haired and blue-eyed boy had to ruin it.

    It was Race’s fault, really. The other boy had mouthed off one too many times, and it was natural that he deserved a good beating- though Oscar hadn’t quite expected him to fight back. He’d sort of underestimated the strength of the half-starved street rat, and the fight hadn’t ended so well, with Oscar heading home sporting a nasty bruise on his eye and a bloodied nose, along with a single thought running through his mind.

    I’m going to kill him.

    Sadly, he wouldn’t see the idiot again until the next morning. The newsies had lined up, yawning, to buy their papers and Race had sauntered up with a smug grin, slapping a few coins into Oscar’s hand and chuckling at the sight of his still-healing face. “Rough night, Delancey?” he teased, and Oscar tried to keep his face from burning red as a laugh went through the newsies’ ranks.

    “Move along,” Oscar ordered, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re holdin’ up the line.”

    Race gave him a wink and skipped off, leaving Oscar fuming and wishing he had his brass knuckles with him. Moving through the rest of the line quickly, Oscar sighed as he and Morris prepared the cart for the next edition, lighting a cigarette and sighing as the smoke filled the air.

    “That Higgins sure is an annoyance,” Morris commented, and Oscar nodded.

    “Tell me about it.” Oscar took a drag from the cigarette. “God, I wish he’d get run over by one of those racehorses he won’t shut up about.”

    Raising an eyebrow, his brother lifted another stack of newspapers onto the wagon. “What’s your problem?” Morris asked, chuckling as Oscar shot him a glare. 

    “Racetrack Higgins is my problem,” the younger boy spat, rolling his eyes. “He’d better watch himself, or he might find out real quick what happens when you piss off a Delancey.”

    Morris grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, that’s the only reason, I’m sure…” Ignoring Oscar’s sputter of indignation, Morris finished loading the papers and swiped his hands together to rid them of dust. “Go smoke somewhere else,” he chastised his younger brother. “You’ll make the papes turn yellow.”

    Without another word, Oscar turned and stalked away, turning the thought of Morris’ words in his mind. What could he have meant? He despised Racetrack Higgins, that was for sure. He couldn’t stand the sight or even the thought of him. But, as he thought about it, sometimes his pranks were an annoying sort of endearing…

    Whatever. It didn’t matter. Oscar shook his head and put out his cigarette on an old brick wall, dropping it on the sidewalk as his feet crunched the ground where the road turned to gravel, the air of the city calming his mind. 

    Soon enough, it was time for him to return to the wagon, dreading (or awaiting- he still couldn’t quite tell which- the arrival of the most annoying blond-haired, blue-eyed boy he’d ever seen.

#newsies #fanfiction #newsies musical #racetrack higgins #oscar delancey #morris delancey #the delancey brothers #oscar delancey x race #this is probably the only Delancey x newsie oneshot I’ll ever write lol

[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

[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

[the-realest-spot-conlon]

Newsies Fanfics

Here is where you will find all of my Sprace Fanfics (short summary for the series') I will update this as I go

Sprace

New York at Hogwarts (on Ao3)

Its in the name tbh just Sprace at Hogwarts

The Best Brothers Aren't Blood Related (In progress, will be updated as I write)

A Different storyline.

All parts on ao3

Summary: Spot and Race dated for four months before it fizzled out... and now Manhattan is starting a strike

A Sweet Little Symphony all parts on Ao3

Summary: August 8th, 4:30. The exact moment in time Sean 'Spot' Conlon was shot. Now he's caught somewhere in between life and death, but the choice is his whether he stays or goes.

Shared Dorm Syndrome

Spot Conlon and Race Higgins are both roommates at the same college. All parts on Ao3, in progress, updated st least every Sunday.

Neighboring Graves

Race is chatting with Albert when he gets the news...

Newsbians

Cherries and Cigars

Oneshot of Sarah and Katherine talking about their day after work

#92sies #spot conlon #newsies #racetrack higgins #davey jacobs #jack kelly #sprace

[pigeonwit]

hey mista wouldja recommend a poor starvin kid some nice long javey fics to read in these rough times

ive hit a total slump in reading fic and i would love if ya had any good ones to recommend + you have an incredible taste so ofc i have to ask the expert!!!

(also hows it going???)

SNEEP my beloved i have MISSED you!!! so funny you ask cause i've been waiting to say this: sneepy i am eepy. so very eepy, sneepy. my whole body feels weighed down my brainf eels like sludge its a LOT. but im gettin through it! im writing something self indulgent and fun and trying to focus on my assignments before i get to requests, but i can absolutely get you some recommendations sneep, lets go.

losing my mind because i find you in it by PenzyRome - jack and race are getting married and he is so close to getting over his ex who is consistently crushing it and is friends with celebrities and is obviously so much happier without jack except oh! race hired him as their wedding planner! excellent! almost every relationship in this is a hot mess and i love it. everyones a bit of a disaster but thats how love is, huh. its disastrous and awful and fucks everything up and you can either give up on it or make it worth it. that's what this fic is about. making it worth something. penzys fics really stick the landing for endings that feel not just satisfactory, but earned. for all the shit the characters are put through, its more than made up for. also, davey is allowed to be messy! he's not a saint! he made mistakes, he is flawed, he has insecurities that he takes out on others! i love break-up fics that dont make jack the sole bad guy - dont get me wrong, he fucks up too, but both of them need to work to make this worth it. ALSO also, sprutchie. nough said.

too many colours (enough to drive us all insane) by scarlettroses - i think everyone knows this one but on the offchance you dont, its really good. it takes that joke-prompt of 'straight guy worries hes being homophobic towards gay roommate, realizes hes gay instead' and runs with it. because if that DID happen, how would it affect you? you wouldnt just go 'welp, guess im gay now!' and swan-dive into a relationship with your roommate. the fic really explores both davey and jacks relationship with identity and self expression and how discovering your sexuality is a big part of self acceptance and self love; jack takes time to connect with his home and his friends and realizes his sexuality is a piece of that, thereby feeling more whole and at home with himself. davey is allowed to learn that simply being gay is not an expectation and there is no requirement needed to meet a certain amount of Gay - he can just exist the way he wants to. and he gets a nose ring and buzzes his hair, which is 90% of why im reccing this. it does an excellent job of exploring this idea that a person does not make you whole - only you can do that. but a person can make you happy, and you deserve that, too.

Auspicious Beginnings (and the entire May Look At A King series) by ArtemisRayne - my favourite newsies series ever. this fic itself (as well as most of the fics in the series) is a oneshot, but put together you get a long and lovely road through davey and jacks relationship set in a really interesting au. i know the whole idea of cat-human hybrids might feel weird to some people, it is an idea thats been VERY tainted by the internet, but like with 'the crime of being small' i just love fics that explore this recontextualization of humanity. how WOULD a race of cat-human hybrids go about their existence? what accommodations would need to be made, what prejudices would they face, what strengths, what difficulties? the author explores it really well and if you can get past any awkwardness you might have with the trope itself you get one of my favourite javid relationships ever written. they support each other! they fight for each other! they fight for themselves! they cross boundaries and hurt each other and learn how to do better! its really sweet and was one of my big inspirations for 'vice vermin virtue' so i highly recommend the whole series.

#newsies #javid #javey #fic recs #fic hoard #sneepsnoopboopideeboop #ask

[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

[jumpy-frog]

sprace oneshot !!

summary: "[W]hen Race returned to the Lodging House after finishing selling his pape’s for the day with Spot wandering in behind him, the Manhattan newsies were most certainly not happy."

or: the manhattan newsies are scared of spot, and don't believe race when he speaks kindly of him. they quickly realise that race is right.

#newsies #1992sies #livesies #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace

[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

[we-are-inevitable]

Do you think you may write more queer elders newsies stuff at some point? Perhaps more oneshots with different newsies giving their queer knowledge onto people who need it (Begging for trans elder Race)

honestly ... i rlly want to

i think the one i have in mind is trans race and gay spot being happy and in love in brooklyn,, and also everything in me is telling me that newsbians are 100% together in this au as well ?? i'd love to write more !!

#ask a jac ! #sprace #newsbians #livesies

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱MASTERLIST !! ♡  ꒱꒱

any writing that isn't newsies related will be on the account: @eyesintheheat

✦ - ONESHOT || ✹ - MULTI CHAPTER FIC ☀ - FLUFF || ☁ - ANGST

SHIPS I. RELFECTION OF DECEPTION jack kelly's mirror lies to him, and david jacobs would rather take a lifetime of bad luck than let the mirrors continue with their deceitful schemes ↳ JAVID || 823 WORDS || ✦☁ II. BROOKLYN RED in manhattan they'd call it a sin, but race's wearing brooklyn red for him ↳ SPRACE || 1249 WORDS || ✦☀

masterlist updated every time i post any sort of writing

#☄. *. ⋆ vienna's ... masterlist