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kellyscowboy · 10 months

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꒰✧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.”

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miryum · 1 year

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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.

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ethereal-bumble-bee · 4 months

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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

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medoraiscarryingthebanner · 8 months

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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

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munsons-maiden · 2 years

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𝐀 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Here’s the Orpheus & Eurydice AU oneshot I promised - it’s angst WITH a happy ending though because Eddie Munson deserves all the happy endings. I hope you enjoy it! - Love, Kiki ♡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | With the love of your life dead in your arms and your heart shattered to pieces, you’re ready to make that deal with God and swap places. Everything to bring Eddie back. But the only God in this dark place, frozen in time and filled with monsters, is not a benevolent one. And when you agree to his deal to play the game of gods and monsters and bring Eddie back, you know you it might be a losing game. You heard that story before - and it never has a happy ending. Now it’s on you to trick the fates and rewrite Eddie’s stars.

Inspired by this ask I got ♡

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, a bit of smut

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | death but not permanent (I mean he has to die first if we want to bring him back from the dead), angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence, contains traces of SMUT as a treat (not explicit but definitely implied so 18+ only please!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

*whispers* This is for you, Eddie.

You’d known you were too late when you raced towards the swarm of bats pouncing from the sky, a maelstrom of wings and talons and teeth, the air pierced by their blood-curdling shrieks – and Eddie’s scream.

A battle cry fading into a howl of pain that bled into the air.

You’d known you were too late when you finally reached him, tearing and ripping at the beasts pinning him to the ground, devouring him alive while the first of them started to falling from the skies.

Known you were too late when you fell to your knees with a cry of his name, and his dark eyes found yours.

When flashes of lightning bled through the thunderclouds above to paint the skies a deep, dark crimson. The same deep, dark crimson that bloomed on the white fabric of Eddie’s Hellfire shirt, like red roses on fresh snow.

Running from his lips as Eddie’s dark eyes found yours while you pressed your hands over his wounds, a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding, buy more time –

But there were too many wounds.

Too much blood.

Coating your hands, sticky and warm like the tears that ran down your cheeks as you whispered, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

It wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You both knew it.

The smile curving Eddie’s blood-smeared lips was a real one. Sad and proud and loving and bittersweet all at the same time. It was an unspoken farewell.

“I didn’t run this time,” he breathed.

It took everything in you to suppress the sob clawing at your throat. “No. No, you didn’t. You’re a hero, Eddie.”

“Told ya it’s gonna be my year.”

“It is. It is, okay?”, you breathed, “It’ll be. It will –“

“When you walk that stage…,” Eddie choked, “And grab your diploma…flip Higgins the bird for me, yeah?”

“You’ll flip him the bird yourself, Eddie. When…when you snatch your own diploma, okay? You’re gonna do it, and then we’re going to run like Hell out of there. Out of this fucking school, this fucking town. Just…away. Together.”

“Hey, sweetheart?”

The sob ripped free at the sound of the term of endearment, so beautifully familiar. “Yeah?”

“I love you. You know that, right?”, Eddie whispered, and the tenderness in his gaze even in death was so him, so Eddie, “I always loved you. It’s always been you.”

“Please don’t say goodbye, Eddie,” you whimpered, the flood of tears choking you, “Please. You…I need you to stay with me. Okay? Stay with me. Stay with me –“

But like the flame of a candle snuffed out by the wind, the light vanished from Eddie’s beautiful umber eyes, still trained on you as if he’d wanted to make sure you’d be the last thing he would see.

For a heartbeat, time froze.

The world stood still as more and more of the bats fell from the skies, hailing down all around you, the whirr of their wings and the thuds of their bodies hitting the ground the only sound to fill the silence.

And something broke.

Shattered.

Deep within your chest, your heart, your very soul.

It took you a moment to realize that the anguished scream piercing the cold air of this forlorn realm was your own.

Because the moment the life had been snuffed out of Eddie’s eyes, stolen, his body going limp in your arms…everything in you turned as cold and dark and dead as this realm around you.

You didn’t feel the cold anymore, the pain in your own body where the dying creatures had hacked teeth and claws into your own skin as you’d started to rip them away from Eddie. You didn’t care anymore why they were dying, or what would happen to Hawkins. To the rest of the world.

Why would you? A world without Eddie was as empty and forlorn as this one.

With the blur of tears veiling your vision, Eddie’s limp form in your arms and his blood coating your hands, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“You took him.” Your voice was broken, barely a whisper, while the shards of your shattered heart were piercing and tearing at your insides as everything in you was falling apart. The words weren’t a plea, but a command as you breathed, “Take me too.”

You waited.

For your bones to snap like twigs.

For the God of this forsaken realm to claim you like he’d claimed the love of your life.

The bats kept falling from the skies, fewer and fewer of them, their tails trailing behind them like lonely paper streamers at the end of a party.

The spores kept floating through the air, like the slow flurry of snow trapped in a snow globe, with you sobbing over Eddie’s body, a nightmare forever frozen in time behind polished glass.

But Vecna didn’t deign to take you as well, out of this world that had lost all its light and all its reasons to be saved because it had turned into a world without Eddie, without his sunshine smiles and warmth and kindness, his singing and his weirdness and his laughter.

The tears kept falling from your eyes while your body went numb with the agony of your overwhelming grief as you bent over, your forehead resting against Eddie’s, and wept.

For the boy who’d always fought the odds with the cards the fates had dealt him.

Who’d chosen kindness over and over again when it would have been so much easier to let the scorn and bullying he’d faced for being different turn his heart hard and cold.

Who’d dreamed of leaving this small-minded little town behind with you. Of walking that stage, and finally snatching that diploma.

For the boy you’d always love more than everything in this world.

You’d sell your soul to turn back the clocks, to unravel the tapestry of time, grasp the frayed ends and weave the threads back together into a happy ending.

Or simply to rewind time like a VHS tape, and press pause in one of the countless happy moments. Maybe to be frozen in a tiny little snow globe world wasn’t bad if the moment was a good one.

And there had been so, so many good ones.

You would have followed Eddie Munson out of this cursed town. You’d have followed him everywhere.

You didn’t know how long you’d wept – but it couldn’t have been long. Eddie’s blood had yet to dry on your hands, the warmth yet to fad e from his skin.

And with grim determination, at the frayed dark edges of the grief pulling you under, an idea took root in your mind.

The lyrics of Max’s song echoed through your memory.

And if I only could make deal with God, I’d get him to swap our places.

You would. Without a second of hesitation. Trade your soul for Eddie’s, bring him back, put the life back into his beautiful umber eyes.

If only there was a god.

If only, among all the monsters, there was a god who would listen.

But…there was.

You just needed to make him hear you.

Grim determination flooding you, you slowly raised your head.

Eddie’s gaze, unseeing, was trained on the skies above, the ghost of his smile lingering on his blood-stained lips. His dark hair formed a midnight-black halo around his head, the white particles settling in his curls like tiny snowflakes. Like stars in a night sky.

“No matter how this story ends…I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson,” you breathed, before you leaned down to place one last kiss on his forehead, the soft curls spilling from the black bandana tickling your cheeks.

And with all this love and grief flooding you, sweeping you away, a newfound determination, grim and fierce, blazed through your veins as you slowly rose to your feet.

Where you would go, you couldn’t take him.

Your voice was steeled with the force of your blinding wrath at the unfairness of it all, of loss and grief and that wild, desperate flutter of hope as it rang through the still air of this dark place.

“VECNA! COME AND GET ME!”

The bats had stopped falling.

There was no wind in the air, no noise apart from the thunder in the distance, crimson lightning bleeding through the clouds, the exact shade as Eddie’s blood coating your hands, slowly drying.

“DO YOU HEAR ME?! COME AND GET ME, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!”

You grabbed the discarded makeshift-spear from the ground. It had fallen out of Eddie’s grip when the bats had sunken their teeth into his skin, forced him down.

“IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO?!”, you screamed into this frozen void. You didn’t care if it would draw in more monsters. You didn’t care for the monsters of this realm anymore – all you wanted was to face their god. “IS THAT IT?! SENDING YOUR BEASTS WHILE YOU STAY IN HIDING LIKE A FUCKING COWARD?! COME AND FIGHT ME!”

You felt him before you saw him.

There was a shift in the air like ripples across a lake, raising the hair on your necks, a tingle like a swarm of spiders skittering down along your spine.

Max had described him to all of you, after she’d escaped him in the graveyard.

Rotten flesh, covered by writhing creeping vines.

Eyes as cold as the realm he’d made his home.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you as you whirled around, your fist tightening around the makeshift-spear – because the eyes staring back at you weren’t the icy blue you’d come to expect.

They were dark, a beautiful, familiar shade of umber so opposing to the hollow coldness within them, sharp and hard as the edge of a knife. So out of place in Eddie’s eyes.

“No,” you breathed, shrinking back, away from this monster which dared to wear the face of the love it had just ripped from you.

“Is this not what you wanted, girl?”

The voice filling the air as he spoke wasn’t Eddie’s. It was the thunder in the bleeding crimson skies and the shriek of distant monsters in the air. It was the writhing of creeping vines on the ground, the vibration of the earth; an echo of a thousand voices that had become one.

He wasn’t here, not really. You knew how you looked like right now, outside of this illusion Vecna was creating – your body rigid, eyes white, frozen in place beside Eddie’s lifeless form on the cold ground. You’d seen it once, when he’d nearly gotten Max.

Vecna tilted his head, his face – the face he’d stolen – a frozen mask as white spores settled in his dark curls, the lack of light turning the dark chocolate brown into a deep inky black; curls you’d run your hands through countless times, playing with the strands, Eddie’s head in your lap as he read The Lord Of The Rings to you. Curls tangling around your fingers as you drew him closer to deepen a kiss, to whisper confessions of love.

Bile rose in your throat, bitter and burning and acidic, at the cruelty of Vecna’s mask.

Eddie’s eyes – but void of the warmth and kindness and humor they’d been brimming with. Eddie’s lips, void of the tender smile which had always played them when he’d looked at you.

Vecna had taken what you loved the most and twisted it into a nightmare to drive the blade deeper into an already fatal wound, simply because he could.

He was watching you; that predatory, icy gleam shining so horribly misplaced in Eddie’s gentle eyes that you wanted to break down and weep all over again.

“I want him back,” you breathed. “Take me instead. I won’t fight you. I won’t try to escape. Give him back, and I’ll follow you willingly.”

Vecna stepped closer, the expression in his eyes the sharp gleam of a bird of prey ready to pounce, to hack its talons into his squealing, writhing prey as he drew every last drop of anguish from their minds, feeding on their pain like a leech sucking blood.

Your grip around the makeshift spear was so tight that you feared your knuckles might pop with the strain as you refused to shy away any farther.

“I have no need for you to follow me willingly. I can take whatever I want to take.”

Vecna’s hand came up, slowly – the gesture of someone who knew he had all the time in the world – and nausea churned in your guts as the pad of his thumb caught one of your tears, his eyes, these beautiful dark eyes stolen from Eddie, locked firmly on yours.

“You already have,” you whispered. “You can’t take anything else from me because you’ve already taken everything. And I’ll take it back.”

I ran, Max’s words echoed in your mind. I ran, and then I was in that…that place. Where he’d put all the others before me.

Every realm had its god, and every Underworld its king. And every king…had a castle. You only needed to find it.

With a swift motion, you thrust out the spear, the red face of the demon glaring on his Hellfire Club shirt turning into the bulls-eye for your blade.

And with Vecna’s howl – not of pain but fury – booming through the air, you whirled around and ran.

Stumbling over writhing vines, not looking back whether Vecna was following behind, you raced into the looming woods at the edge of the trailer park, towards the fog in the distance, the crimson light seeping through the swirls and wisps like blood.

And when you reached it, hands outstretched, the edge of this illusion Vecna had created in your mind, the ground shifted, sending you stumbling to the floor, the skin on your palms tearing open as you caught yourself and pushed back to your feet to face your new surroundings.

It was just like Max had described. Crimson light, the hollow, distorted ticking of a clock, floating debris. The door with the red flowers made of stained glass like a heart at the center of Vecna’s lair.

Doors and stairs leading into nowhere.

Pillars reaching into the low, crimson skies – and on these pillars…

Vecna’s victims.

All of them.

Their bodies disfigured, limbs broken; hollow sockets where their eyes had been, mouths agape in frozen screams, forever muted in death. Like a horrid assortment of butterflies, their fragile wings pinned and preserved beneath eternal glass cases to decorate a lepidopterist’s walls.

That’s what Vecna was.

A collector of souls and horror.

The scream lodged at the back of your throat ripped free to form his name, Eddie’s name, as you fought for your feet to move, fought your body’s urge to bend over and retch as if somehow, magically, it would chase the cruel images away.

But there was no time.

And so, you stood still, feet anchored to the ground as you spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the collection of horrors preserved all around you.

The Creels; mother and daughter side by side. Chrissy and Fred and Patrick.

And –

“Eddie.”

Your voice was less than a whisper as you stumbled the last few steps towards him, tears streaming down your eyes in hot rivulets as you reached him.

Eddie was bound to the pillar closest to the solitary stained-glass door; thick, writing creepers wrapped around his wrists to hold him in place, curling around his throat in a deadly chokehold.

Another beautiful butterfly trapped in Vecna’s collection.

But unlike the others, Eddie’s limbs weren’t broken; his eyes not amiss but closed, his features serene as his dark curls spilled around his face. A horrid, twisted version of sleeping beauty.

And in this story, true love might not be be enough to break the curse.

“Eddie,” you breathed, your hands reaching out, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “Eddie, I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here. Just hold on. Hold on a bit longer. Please, please hold on, do you hear me?”

There was the softest of flutters of his eyelids, fleeting and ephemeral enough to make you wonder if you’d simply imagined it.

With a barely suppressed howl of rage, you ripped at the vines around Eddie’s throat, tearing them away as your fingertips dug into the gooey black tissue of the creepers.

They came away writhing and hissing, their black blood seeping over your hands, mingling with the crimson stains of Eddie’s blood on your palms as screeches and hisses rose like a chorus of echoes in the air.

He knew. If Vecna hadn’t already known you were here, he would, now.

And time was running out like sand slipping through your fingers.

One by one, the vines came away beneath your hands, revealing angry red marks crisscrossing the pale skin of Eddie’s neck that only fueled your rage, this blinding, white-hot wrath that felt like it was burning you alive.

You wanted to hurt Vecna, hurt every last thing in this forsaken realm.

When the last of the creepers around Eddie’s throat came lose, his head lolled forward, against your shoulder, and a tremor ran through his body as you moved on to free his wrists, the black blood of the vines cold as it ran over your down your arms while you dug your nails into the creepers to shred them beneath your hands like paper.

It was easy, you realized when they came loose, Eddie’s wrists slipping free as he fell forwards, a limp weight in your arms.

Too easy.

“Do you truly think you can save him?”

There was mock in Vecna’s voice as it boomed through the air from behind you while you sunk to your knees in an attempt to support Eddie’s weight, keep him from falling over as, with a weak susurration, Eddie pleaded, “Go. Leave.”

“Not without you.”

Eddie’s hands came up to cradle your face, his skin cool, colder with every second that ticked by as the life drained out of him, and the tears – of despair, this time – started flowing as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t die for you to die for me, ya know,” he breathed, his nose brushing against yours as his eyes – his eyes, so warm and gentle and brimming with love – found yours, the ghost of his old humor laced in his voice. “Go. Live.”

“Not without you,” you echoed your own words once more.

Vecna’s chuckle rose in the air like a horrid echo. “You are a fighter for sure.”

A cry ripped from you as something cold and wet wrapped around your left ankle, dragging you backwards, away from Eddie as Vecna mused, “Stay with me, and you stay with him.”

“No,” Eddie’s weak whisper floated through the air as he reached out for you, a desperate attempt to grab you as he sunk to the ground, his mess of black curls spilling around his pale features.

You fought with every last ounce of strength left in you, every remaining dreg of willpower as you thrashed against Vecna’s creepers as they curled around your ankles, your wrists, pulling you away from Eddie and backwards to one of the still empty pillars, rendering you so utterly, utterly helpless as desperate sobs ripped from your throat.

Not for yourself, but for Eddie, cowering on the ground.

“Your suffering,” Vecna droned, stepping closer, the façade of his stolen face crumbling, the pale skin on his cheeks rotting away to reveal tendons and muscle beneath as those stolen umber eyes watched you intently while he drew closer, a predator stalking its prey, “Is almost at an end.”

The vines had reached your throat, cold and slippery, squeezing as your back met the pillar while Vecna’s mask melted away, wilted away, his form decaying in a gruesome, cruel promise of what would happen to Eddie’s body if your desperate attempt to save him failed.

And failing, it was.

Once again, Vecna’s hand found its way to your face, a long, sharp fingernail dragging along the side of your cheek, tracing the glittering streaks of tears as Eddie hissed, “Stay. Away. From her.”

Over Vecna’s shoulder, you could see how Eddie fought himself to his knees, ringed fingers digging into the dirt for purchase as he pushed himself off the ground with every last ounce of strength left in him while the creepers and your own tears choked your voice.

“Don’t try to put up a fight you cannot win, boy,” Vecna crooned, his eyes still watching you and his voice almost gentle as his other hand raised in the air, a flick of his index finger enough to make more creepers sprout from the ground, wrap around Eddie’s ankles to rip him off his feet again – but Eddie didn’t surrender. His dark eyes locked on you, the bandana slipping off his head to release the mess of his wild curls as he struggled and fought against the creepers, he hissed, “I said. Don’t. Touch. Her. You ugly. Fucking. Boogeyman.”

For a split second…Vecna flinched as Eddie called him Boogeyman. As if the insult had actually hit home.

Of course it had, it dawned on you.

All this doling out judgement, deciding who lived and who died, his message for the little girl which had defeated and banished him here – in his own eyes, Vecna was the god of this mirror realm as much as he was in yours.

A banished god, but a god nonetheless.

And if the stories humankind had been telling since the beginning of history had taught you one thing…it was that gods got bored.

Before the creepers slithering up your throat, your chin, could reach your lips to mute you, you spat, “Let’s play a game.”

Your eyes found Vecna’s, icy blue seeping through the warm umber of his irises as his mask kept melting away.

“I don’t play games.”

“Don’t you get bored?”, you choked out, the creepers’ grip around your throat tightening further, “Banished by a little girl. Banished over and over again. Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to hurt us all for what we keep doing to you?”

“Yup, um,” Eddie choked, “Sweetheart…you’re not…helping –“

“I am hurting you right now,” Vecna crooned, Eddie’s voice dying with the tightening of creepers around his throat, and rage burned in your chest as Vecna dragged the back of his index finger along your jaw.

“Not as much as you could,” you breathed, oxygen running out. You could see the gleam of cruelty, of interest, in those eyes, fully blue now, like a lake frozen in eternal winter. He was listening.

You needed to make it count.

“Let us go,” you forced out, “And see how far we can run. If you’re as powerful as you think you are – there’s nothing left for you to lose and a lot of entertainment to win.”

The smirk playing on this creature’s rotting lips was sickening, when he crooned his reply. “I have a better idea.”

You waited for the vines to squeeze your windpipe, throttle you, snap your bones – but their grip…loosened.

You fell to the ground, on your knees in front of Vecna’s decaying, mutated form, your teeth gritted as a claw-tipped index finger locked underneath your chin, tilting your head up to force you to meet his cold eyes when he drawled, “You wanted to make a deal. To stay with me in his stead.”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“NO!”, Eddie howled, but the vines clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide as tears of panic and terror and despair streamed down his face, smearing the soot and the blood on his cheeks.

“Here is my deal, girl,” Vecna cooed. “Run. Run away and leave him here with me and don’t look back. Not once. If you look back before you’ve reached the edge of my realm, I will keep both of you. If you don’t, and if you make it past my army – I will give him back to you.”

You knew what Vecna was doing. You knew the story and you knew it didn’t have a happy ending.

A tale as old as time.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”, you hissed.

Vecna tilted his head, the skin on his cheek shriveling away with the movement to reveal pale bone and teeth beneath.

“You won’t. I might be many things – but I am no liar. But you better hurry if you want to save him,” Vecna droned, trailing his finger down your throat, over the vines that heeded his command, loosening, slithering down to the ground, “Because time is running out. There is only so much even I can do when a heart has ceased beating for long enough.”

With these parting words hanging in the air of his lair, Vecna stepped away from you, and the rest of the vines retreated to set you free.

As if on cue, there was a last deep, distorted tick of the grandfather clock floating in the distance.

With a last glance at Eddie, his eyes screaming at you to run, you did exactly that.

You turned heel, and you ran.

At first, nothing happened.

You’d anticipated monsters, another swarm of bats, vines, something.

The absence of all these things could only mean that Vecna had something else in store for you.

Something worse than his vines and his monsters.

But the one thing you could do right now was continue to run.

And you did.

Breaking through the wall of mist, you were back in the woods, beneath the crimson thunderclouds glaring through the naked branches of the trees, your pants echoing through the air as your legs carried you faster than you’d ever run, the edge of the woods already in sight –

A scream pierced the air. Laced with raw, primal anguish.

Eddie’s scream, calling out for you.

You froze dead in your tracks.

A trick. It was a trick. Eddie was with Vecna. Eddie was still there, left behind because that was the deal, and this was nothing but a trick to make you turn around and lose the bargain.

To condemn Eddie and yourself to eternal Hell in Vecna’s lair.

A second scream rang through the air of the woods, even more tormented than the first one.

“HE TRICKED YOU! VECNA TRICKED YOU!”

No. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t –

Why couldn’t he?

It was the game of gods and monsters you were playing.

You’d left Eddie behind, in this horrible place, among the rotting souls of Vecna’s victims, his collection of butterflies, all for a monster’s promise?

“MAKE IT STOP!”, Eddie’s screams filled the air, “PLEASE! PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP! HELP ME!”

“It’s a trick,” you whimpered. You knew the story. Vecna sure as Hell knew it, too. Orpheus turns, Eurydice stays damned, they both die in the end.

But these screams, the pictures they painted in your mind…they were made from the fabric of nightmares.

He had Eddie. He still had your sweet, gentle Eddie, locked up in this place of horrors.

And with a glance at the trailer park in the distance, the trailers dark silhouettes against the crimson skies, you realized that Vecna hadn’t needed to trick you. You’d done that all on your won.

Because of course you were still trapped in Vecna’s vision.

Without music.

Oh god.

In all your grief and despair, so hellbent on bringing Eddie back…not once had you thought about bringing yourself back as well.

You didn’t have music to break the curse. And Dustin – Dustin was with the others, having sought them out because you and Eddie had sent him there, out of harm’s way.

There was no one left to put a pair of headphones over your ears.

And Vecna had known it all along.

That’s why he’d agreed.

It had been a losing game all along.

“No,” you whispered, slowly sinking to your knees while the tears started falling again, Eddie’s screams filling the air, and your hands pressed over your eyes as if there was any chance to keep the flood of images at bay of all the horrible things Vecna could be doing to Eddie right now, doing to him because you’d left him there. “No, no, nonononono NO! STOP!”

But it didn’t stop.

“MAKE IT STOP!”, Eddie’s scream laced with your own, “PLEASE! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! HELP ME! PLEASE, COME BACK!”

Your head snapped up at these words, breath catching in your throat.

These screams couldn’t belong to Eddie.

It was his voice, but these weren’t his words – because Eddie wouldn’t scream for you to come back. No matter the torture Vecna could concoct for him, Eddie would want you to run, to leave him in that place, because he’d wanted you safe. That’s why he’d cut the rope, had darted out of the safety of the trailer and right into certain death to buy more time. Not for the others, but for you.

Which meant Vecna was trying to trick you right now.

Which, again, meant he knew there was a way out, other than with music.

A hidden path to break the spell from within.

And he was distracting you so you wouldn’t find it.

Hands pressing over your ears to drown out the screams, your mind was going a mile a minute.

What had Max told you?

The red realm, the pillars, Vecna’s victims. The remains of Creel House, the floating clock, the light seeping through the red petals of the flowers in the stained-glass window.

Music, Kate Bush’s voice ripping the fabric of Vecna’s curse, opening a window back to reality.

I thought of when I was happy.

Happy.

Happy memories.

If Max was sure she could hide in a happy memory – maybe a happy memory would be the key to unlock the door even without music.

Your eyes squeezing shut, the screams that weren’t Eddie’s in the air, you thought of him.

How you’d always watched him in English Lit class, the movement of his hands as he drew little doodles to the pages of his books, all over his notes. Bats and guitars and random chords, little demon faces and monsters. Admiring him from afar, this dangerous looking guy with the mane of dark curls that wasn’t black but the soft brown of dark chocolate, with his tattoos and rings and ripped jeans and leather jacket, the guy most people steered well clear of because he was a freak dealing drugs.

How one day, he’d caught you watching him in class – and had given you the most timid yet dazzling smile you’d ever seen.

How with that first smile, you’d known you’d fall for him.

How, a few days later, there had been a little doodle of a vampire bat waving a wing in greeting slipped through the slits in your locker door, the word “hi” scrawled at the bottom with black sharpie. The answering “hi” with a rendition of a waving bat of your own you’d slipped through his locker door – and all the little doodles and notes which had followed.

The first time these clandestinely swapped slips of paper had turned into a real conversation.

Fleeting touches and lingering glances, until one day, there had been one of his doodles of a bat playing the guitar, with a note inviting you to one of his band’s gigs at The Hideout.

The first kiss in the moonlight outside of the bar, and all the kisses since.

Eddie Munson, who was your first kiss, your first love, your first everything, and who’d always be the last because you knew with all your heart that there never could be anyone you loved as much as you loved Eddie.

And with this burst of happiness as these memories flitted to you, like a swarm of fireflies lighting up this eternal night of pain and grief and loss and fear, you grabbed one.

The newest one.

Yesterday night.

His dark curls were tousled, even messier than usual with the way you’d raked your hand through the soft strands as he’d kissed you, both of you breathless. A fresh wave of need flooded you as Eddie’s fingertips wandered down along your spine, the warm, smooth metal of his rings a beautiful contrast to his hands, calloused from years and years of playing his guitar.

His breath ghosted over your collarbone to elicit sparks in its wake; your body turned into a live wire beneath his caresses as his soft lips trailed kisses down the column of your throat. Another moan tumbled from your lips, and you could feel his smile against your sweat-soaked skin as you mused, “Don’t you think they’ll know what’s up if we stay away any longer?”

Eddie chuckled, the sound vibrating through your body with a pleasant shiver that seemed to travel straight to your core, stoking the need for him once more. God, you would never get enough of this. Of him. All of him.

“We’re a couple,” Eddie breathed, teeth grazing the sensitive skin above your racing pulse point as he pressed closer against you, his thigh creating enough friction against your heat to send your senses spinning all over again, and one of his hands came up to gently tilt your chin, granting him even better access to the sensitive skin below your ear. “We snuck away half an hour ago. I’m pretty sure they know exactly what we’re doing.”

“Have been doing.”

“Are still doing,” he corrected mischievously.

“Is this a radio show or a secret make-out session?”, you teased, and Eddie snickered in reply, before he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, those beautiful umber eyes brimming with warmth, his pupils still dilated with arousal as he whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I love you too,” you breathed, and Eddie’s expression changed as he saw the tears brimming in your own eyes, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

“What is it?”, he asked softly. His voice was a dark croon, still laced with his afterglow, his breathing ragged, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared to lose you, Eddie.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded, overwhelmed with his own emotions as your words burst the happy little bubble the two of you had created, reality catching up with you again. Of the plan for tomorrow. And the thoughts of everything that could go wrong.

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the strain of tears.

“You won’t,” Eddie crooned. His breath was warm as it fanned over your lips, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket. “I promise you won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

There was a beat of silence, before Eddie’s hands left your cheeks and he reached up to remove his necklace, a few stray curls tangling in the tiny links as he pulled it over his head.

“Wait, let me –“ you breathed, already moving to help untangle the strands from the necklace, “What are you even doing?”

The last few of his curls were freed beneath your fingertips, and with another of his sunshine-smiles, Eddie gently put the necklace over your head, the guitar pick dangling from the band warm against the skin below your collarbone as your hand flew up you grasp it, eyes widening in surprise.

“You –“

“Keep it safe for me, sweetheart, will ya?”, Eddie smiled softly, pulling you closer before he nuzzled his nose against yours. “And when we’re out of there, safe and sound, and that goddamn son of a bitch is six feet under, you can give it back.”

The lump in your throat was growing, throttling you. “And what if we don’t?”

The expression in Eddie’s dark eyes was stern when he breathed, “Then you’ll have to find me in the next life to give it back.”

“I can do that. I’ll find you in every life. I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

“Good,” he replied, the softest of smiles on his lips as he gently tilted your head, “Because you won’t get rid of me again, sweetheart. Promise.”

And his lips met yours, to kiss away the fear and the sorrows once again.

Tears running down your face, your hand flew up, fingers wrapping around Eddie’s guitar pick charm resting over your heart, its surface smooth and warm against your skin, love flooding every cell of your body, every corner of your soul, like sunlight piercing through thunderclouds.

And when you lifted your head, it was there, at the edge of the woods, where the trees stopped and the trailer park began.

A rip in the fabric of Vecna’s curse.

The way out.

The screams that weren’t Eddie’s behind you, you climbed to your feet and started to run.

You didn’t turn around.

You were winning, you realized as you drew closer, your ragged breaths filling the air, blood rushing in your ears.

You were winning this twisted game of gods and monsters.

There, beyond the veil of Vecna’s curse, was your silhouette, still as a statue, head raised to the skies. And there was Eddie, his lifeless body on the ground beside you, his heart still as frozen and still as this cursed mirror realm.

Not much longer.

You were close, so close –

There was a shriek in the air, blood-curdling and high-pitched, a million voices forming one.

And then they were upon you.

Bats; hundreds and hundreds of them.

A sea of claws and wings and teeth.

You screamed as they reached you, leathery wings slapping your face, talons scratching and tearing at every inch of your skin, drawing blood, pain shooting through your body as you fought to keep going, to keep pushing forwards.

This was what it had felt like for Eddie, you realized. The last minutes of his life.

Panic and pain, drowning in a sea of monsters because he wanted to draw them away from you.

Only that for him, it had been real while this, right now, was nothing but an illusion.

They weren’t real.

They couldn’t kill you.

Only Vecna could do that.

With a howl of fury and anguish, you darted forwards, towards the rip, towards Eddie, the real Eddie.

Who needed you to run.

To make it, for the both of you, before he was so far gone that not even Vecna could bring him back.

A final cry ripping from the back of your throat, you leapt through the torn, frayed edges of Vecna’s spell.

With a gasp, your eyes flew open the moment your knees hit the ground, hands splayed in the dirt to catch your fall, body racked by tremors as you fought for your lungs to fill with the Upside Down’s toxic air.

The bats were gone, vanished. So were the screams.

You’d made it. You’d actually made it.

“EDDIE!”, you cried out, voice breaking as you scrambled to your feet, towards his lifeless form.

“Eddie”, you sobbed, falling to your knees beside him, your hands shooting out to grasp his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “I made it out. You need to wake up now, okay? You gotta wake up.”

Any second now. He would tilt his head and smile at you and everything would be okay, the rip in your own chest mended, the pain chased away by joy.

You waited.

For Eddie’s chest to rise with an intake of breath.

For the warmth and light and life to return to his umber eyes.

For his lips to tug into one of his sunshine-smiles as he realized that you’d done it, that you’d brought him back.

But nothing happened.

His chest didn’t move.

His umber eyes stayed fixed on the bleeding skies, hollow and unseeing and dull.

“Eddie?”, you breathed. Pleaded. “Eddie, you need to wake up.”

You shuffled closer, your hands running through his dark curls, the strands coated with dried blood as you cradled his head, the pad of your thumb caressing his cheek to swipe away some of the soot and dried blood.

His skin was cold beneath your touch.

“Wake up, Eddie. Wake up. Come back –“

But he didn’t.

It felt like breaking all over again.

Your head thrown back, you screamed at the skies, voice shrill as it rang through this eerie new quiet.

“YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED TO BRING HIM BACK YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

There is only so much even I can do when a heart has ceased beating for long enough.

You’d been too late, you realized.

And Eddie…he would stay in this horrible place.

Alone and scared, another beautiful dead butterfly pinned to Vecna’s wall of horrors.

You had left him there.

“No,” you sobbed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, his curls tickling your tearstained cheeks.

This couldn’t be the end. Not in this cold, dark realm frozen in time. Not now, when there would have been a whole lifetime ahead; when there were so many dreams to live, memories to make.

It wasn’t fair –

There was a sharp intake of breath, a soft shudder running through his body.

Followed by a muted, “Jesus H. CHRIST.”

Your head snapped up – and your eyes met Eddie’s.

Warm and brimming with life and relief and tears as you stared at each other in utter shock and disbelief before his lips found yours, his fingers gently grasping your chin to tilt your head up and deepen the desperate, greedy kiss, so fierce and full of everything neither of you had the words to phrase right now, of heartbreak and relief and happiness and love.

Tell me this is real, your lips moving against his seemed to beg, tell me it’s not just another of Vecna’s cruel tricks.

The kiss tasted of blood, of your tears mingling with his own, of him, and a suppressed sob of relief ripped from your throat as Eddie’s hands settled on your back, trembling when he pulled you closer against him as if he, too, wanted to be sure that this was real.

The dark realm of the Upside Down blurred around you like watercolours running over a canvas while every fibre of your being was filled with raw, radiant happiness.

Because no matter what would happen now, with Vecna, with Hawkins…everything would be okay. Eddie was back. That was all that counted.

Nothing else mattered but this, right here. Eddie’s lips on yours, his skin warm against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he held you close.

Your hands found their way beneath the remains of his torn Hellfire shirt, roaming up his chest – careful not to graze the bite wounds, his skin coated with dried blood beneath your searching fingertips – and Eddie pulled away, a little bewildered. “Um, like…right now?”, he panted, “I mean – here?”

“Your heartbeat,” you breathed, dumbfounded. “I want to feel your heartbeat.”

There was a second of silence before you both burst into tear-stained, relieved laughter.

You’d thought you’d never hear that sound again, the beautiful melody of Eddie’s laugh.

Your favorite sound in the world. It made sobs rack your body all over again as Eddie shuffled closer, his arms coming around you once more to pull you against him as he cooed, “It’s okay. I’m fine. You did it.” With your cheek pressed against his collarbone, you could feel the soft, incredulous laugh rumbling through him as he added, “You fucking did it.”

He moved, one of his hands finding yours underneath his shirt to gently guide your own hand upwards, placing your palm over the warm skin of his chest, right above the steady pounding of his heart.

“See? You made it,” he whispered, a half-sob, half-laugh bubbling from his lips, “You fucking made it. You fucking brought me back. We’re gonna need to have a talk about your crisis discussion with the undead eldritch entity ‘cause I was pretty sure my soul left my body for a second time in a row when you recounted how we all repeatedly sat his ass on fire but you fucking made it.”

“That was pretty metal of me, huh?” you whispered.

“Hell yeah. You totally stole my thunder, sweetheart. Just when I thought my guitar solo was the moment of the day you drag my ass out of the goddamn Underworld.”

You sniveled, the tears still rushing down the sides of your face – of relief this time.

Your free hand, the one that wasn’t resting over Eddie’s heart, flew up to grasp the guitar pick dangling around your neck and pull the necklace over your head, but Eddie’s hand folded over yours to stop you. “Keep it,” he said softly, “Just…I…you went in there for me. You did that.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t saved me first,” you breathed, a smile on your lips. “That was pretty damn heroic yourself, Munson.”

There was a beat of silence, before Eddie said quietly, “I’d do it again to save you. Not a second of hesitation.”

“I know. So would I.”

His hands came up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently brushing away the tears from your face as he whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. I love you so fucking much.”

“And I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

---

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things imagine

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the-realest-spot-conlon · 4 months

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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

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ao3feed-newsies · 30 days

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Come Right Back

by, V4MP1R3S by V4MP1R3S Race ends things with Albert so their relationship wouldn’t ruin his family’s “perfect” reputation. After realizing his mistake, he attempts to drink his problems away, ending with a very tired Albert having to go out and take him home. Dialogue in 1st half is taken from Young Royals season 1 episode 4!! Words: 1003, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Pete’s Ralbert Oneshots (tm) Fandoms: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Newsies: The Broadway Musical! (2017), Newsies - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Albert DaSilva (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins Additional Tags: Race is a mess, albert is also a mess but not as much, they’re so cute i love them, referenced/implied alcohol use, race’s parents kinda suck read : https://ift.tt/taWLFnV - March 29, 2024 at 01:07AM

#AO3feed #newsies #fanfic #newsies fanfic

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newtsies · 3 years

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Wish You Were Sober || Ralbert One Shot

a/n: this one shot is based off the song ‘Wish You Were Sober’ by Conan Gray! anything italicized and bold is lyrics of the song! its from Alberts perspective but its 3rd person if that makes sense idk. includes both 92sies and livesies characters. albert and race are based off of the livesies characters

tw: mentions of alcohol, drunk race, swearing, mentions of weed, mentions of possible drink spiking

modern college newsies au!

word count: 2,401

this party's shit

All Albert wants to do is leave, but he couldn’t do that. Race was drunk, even though he would deny it, it was obvious. Now usually that wouldn’t stop Albert from leaving but, Racetrack had driven himself. He couldn’t let his drunk friend drive himself home.

“Racer,” Albert yelled into Race’s ear over the loud music.

He grinned widely at him and threw his arms around Albert, “Albie!! Have ya had a drink yet? C’monn, juss take a sip!”

Albert winced at the smell of alcohol on the blonde boys breath and shook his head, “You’re drunk, Race. Let’s go. You’re gonna have a horrible hangover tomorrow!”

“Aw, I’m not drunk, Albie!!” He slurred, “C’mon, have some fun! Don’t be soo tense!”

go anywhere but here

“Racetrack, I really don’t want to be here,” Albert begged, “Can’t we go to McDonalds or something? Get you coffee and get you sober?” Race shook his head.

“Noo, they have good drinks! Just try the beer, you’ll see!” Race raised his can but Albert pushed the cup away from him. Race shrugged and walked away into the crowd.

Albert stood on his toes in attempt to follow his friend through the crowd. Race walked towards Jack Kelly, the football captain, who had his arm wrapped around David Jacobs shoulder. As Racetrack sat down, he was offered a blunt from Skittery.

don’t take a hit

Racetrack pulled it to his lips and inhaled. Albert frowned as he watched his friend blow out the smoke and smile. He repeated this action a couple more times.

Albert shook his head again and made his way back to a couch. He sat down, trying to get away from the loudness. The music still boomed, even in the farthest corners of the house. People bumped into his leg and shouted over each other. He closed his eyes and covered his ears in an attempt to escape his reality.

A few seconds passed before he felt someone sit next to him. He opened his eyes to see Racetrack, still holding the joint. Albert was met with a tired looking smile, but he knew his friend was anything but tired. Race started to lean into his face, but Albert pushed his face away lightly.

don’t kiss my lips

Race frowned for a second but shrugged and went back to smoking. Eventually, he got up and handed the blunt back to Skittery. Albert watched as he danced to the music, carefree. Acting as though there was no one else in the world.

Albert was memorized and watched him with a grin. The song ended, Race made his way to the kitchen. Albert jumped up and followed him, pushing through the crowd.

“Race!” He called, finally pushing into the kitchen.

and please don’t drink more beer

Racetrack brought the can of beer up to his lips and chugged it down. Albert winced once more and attempted to pull the drink away. However, he was ignored and pushed away as his friend continued to drink.

“Race, you’re cross-faded,” Albert groaned, “I really think you should go home. I’ll drive you, or walk you.”

“I’m fine, Albie! Honestly. It’s a partyyy, this is supposed to happen!” Race stated confidently, his words slurring every so often. Albert shook his head and looked at Race desperately. His friend ignored him and instead grabbed onto his hand and pulled him through the house.

“Albert! Racetrack!” Spot called out to them, “Hey guys!”

“Spott!” Race slurred and giggled. He pulled Albert towards to Spot.

Spot had a beer in hand but placed a hand on Race’s chest to hold him up, “Jesus, Race. You’re drunk as hell. Having a good time?” Racetrack nodded excitedly at him. Spot smiled and looked at Albert. “Haven’t had a drink yet, man?”

“He wants to goo, can you believe him?” Race scoffed.

“Albert! C’mon, man! You gotta just let loose some times!” Spot quirked his eyebrow and held out his drink to Albert.

Albert shook his head, “No thanks, Spot. This really isn’t my kinda place. Thanks though, it was pretty cool. I had fun.” That was a lie. There was nothing fun about this to him, but you wouldn’t catch him dissing the football captains party.

i’ma crawl out the window now

Albert pulled away from Race’s hand and pushed his way to the front door. Sarah Jacobs was using the door to support her back as she giggled her way through kisses with Elmer. Elmer too was laughing as he kissed her and ran his hands through her hair.

Albert sighed and swerved towards an open window. He climbed through it and fell onto the grass. The grass was cold and wet, possibly from dew or possibly from spilled alcohol. He groaned and walked out.

cause i don’t like anyone around

He was grateful to finally be away from everyone. The music was a lot quieter and he could only faintly hear people talking. Although he had no beer, his head was pounding. He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

kinda hope you’re followin’ me out

He heard someone fall through the window and turned around to see who it was. Instead of being met with Race, as he hoped, he saw Henry on the floor laughing. Henry jumped out and shouted at the boys as he pulled himself back in through the window.

but this is definitely not my crowd

Romeo was passed out on the stairs, his head hanging off the step. His arm was hanging off too but his hand was wrapped firmly around a can of beer. Mush and Kid Blink were making out against the door too, except on the front side. They weren’t giggling either, just kissing each other.

A baseball flew threw one of the windows and nearly hit Albert, who ducked just in time. The whole window was shattered. Albert shook his head and continued to walk throw the lawn until he got to the sidewalk.

19 but you act 25 now

Albert was stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder, weakly attempting to hold him back. He turned to see Race who was panting and smiling at him. Albert smiled a little back at him and helped him stand up straight.

“They had so much alcohol! It was all amazing- They had- They had the best brands too! The wine made me feel so fancy!” Race rambled.

Albert chuckled a little, “You’re 19, Race. How do you know so much about alcohol? You can’t even legally drink it yet.”

His friend grinned and shrugged as he kept talking about the party.

knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Race was all but wobbling, leaning against Albert for support. Nonetheless, he continued to talk about his adventures clearly.

“I downed like 5 cans,” He stated proudly, “Hey, did you know Crutchie is like amazing at chugging! He downed like 8 beer cans! Oh, today. Spot taught me that space doesn’t stop expanding, isn’t that crazy?”

Albert nodded, pretending as if they didn’t learn that in 8th grade. Race looked at the cup in his hand, noticing it still had liquid in it. He grinned and brought it to his lips, drinking the practically full cup in just one gulp. Albert sighed.

ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Race shivered as cold air hit his knees through the rips in his jeans. His flannel blew behind him and presented the white tank top underneath it. He held the empty cup in his hand.

Albert couldn’t help but watch Race. His friend was very attractive, he wouldn’t deny it to himself, only to other. Racetrack crumpled the cup and tossed it into some yard.

“That’s not good for the environment,” Albert sighed, but Race just shrugged at him. Albert continued, “What was in the cup?”

trade drinks, but you don’t even know her

“Dunno! Me and this reallyyyy pretty girl traded drinks!” He grinned.

“Who was it?”Albert asked.

“No idea,” Race chuckled, “Never seen her before! Didn’t ask for her name, music was too loud.”

“Race!” Albert groaned, “The drink coulda been spiked!”

“Nah,” He laughed, “Saw her drink out of it before we traded. Plus, I feel fine. I left anyways, so it’ll be okay.”

save me ‘til the party is over

“Anyways, I noticed you were gone. Thought you were kidding. Decided I’ll keep you company ‘til the party ended. Consider it me saving you,” Race grinned, his words slurring even more than at the party.

Albert forced a smile and shook his head.

“Give me your keys,” Albert stated. Race tilted his head in confusion but gave him the keys anyway. They walked together to Race’s Rover. Albert held the door open for Race and helped him inside. He then closed the door and climbed into the drivers side.

kiss me in the seat of your rover

As soon as he got into the driver seat, Race grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. For a second, Albert forgot his friend was drunk. He slid his hand into Race’s hair and kissed him back, until he opened his mouth and Albert could taste the alcohol Race had drank. Albert pulled away and pushed away Race’s hands away as his friend attempted to pull him into a kiss again.

real sweet but i wish you were sober

Albert looked up and held his eyes open, attempting to hold back tears. He closed his eyes and banged his head gently against the steering wheel.

“Why did you pull away,” Race whispered.

“You’re drunk,” Albert choked out, “You’ll forget tomorrow, anyways. I can’t kiss you. Just drunken feelings, Race, that’s what you’re feeling. I don’t feel that. I got real feeling, sober feelings. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

trip down the road

Albert turned the keys and started the car. Driving off towards Race’s house. Nearly halfway there, the car started sputtering. He pulled off to the side, only to see the gas tank was empty.

He groaned and got out of the car, pulling Race out too. Albert called Tripple-A.

“We can take you boys home,” The tow-truck driver offered. Albert shook his head.

“We’ll walk, it’s only a bit from here,” Albert stated and pulled Race along the sidewalk.

walking you home

Race couldn’t walk straight. Albert was holding his hand and pulling him, but he kept tripping. Albert sighed and ducked under Race’s armpit and supported him. He wrapped his arm around his blonde friend’s waist and held him up.

Albert continued to walk himself and Race towards the rental house his friend lived at. After a bit, they finally arrive at the house. Albert walked him up the porch.

you kiss me at your door

Racetrack grabbed Albert’s face and pulled him into a kiss again. Albert sighed and pulled away, resting his forehead against Race’s. Race sighed too, the alcohol on his breath filled Albert’s nose. He groaned and grabbed his friends keys.

He pulled Race into his own house and sat him down on the couch, moving to the kitchen. Albert quickly made coffee, black coffee, and sat down next to Race. He brought the cup up to Racetrack’s lips and made him drink it.

Race’s nose wrinkled at the bitter taste, but he drank it anyways. Albert brought the cup down and place it on the table.

“Finish drinking the coffee. Take this,” Albert placed an ibuprofen on the table, “Then go to sleep, okay? I’ll come check up on you tomorrow.” He started to get up.

pulling me close, beg me stay over

Race pulled Albert close to him, and looked at him with sad eyes.

“Stay, Albert. Please,” He begged, “You can stay on the couch. Don’t leave me here alone.”

but i’m over the roller coaster

Albert sighed and kissed Race on the forehead, “Not this time, Race. You’ve kissed me twice today, and you’ll forget that in like 5 minutes. I’m tired, man. It’s been a crazy day. Tomorrow, I’ll be back. I promise. I gotta go.”

i’ma crawl out the window now

He placed the house keys on the table and moved towards the door. Albert figured that Race wouldn’t get up, meaning he wouldn’t lock the door behind Albert. So, he locked the door for him then crawled out of Race’s window. He closed the window behind him and watched Race’s hand lazily lock the window.

getting good at saying, “gotta bounce”

Albert didn’t expect to drag himself home. Usually, he would just go along with what Race said. “Stay,” was all it usually took to get him to stay.

He’s just getting better at saying goodbye, he figures.

honestly you always let me down

Race was always dragging him to things, promising to not drink. It never happened. He would always drag him home and make sure he didn’t die. But, no matter how many times Race let him down, Albert would still go along with him.

Albert grumpily walked into his house, angrily slamming the door behind him. He kissed Race twice today. His friend wouldn’t even remember. He shook back tears before climbing into bed and falling asleep.

He woke up early the next morning due to a consistent ringing of his door bell. A hand banged on the door repeatedly while the door bell rang. Albert climbed out of bed and opened the door.

and i know we’re not just hanging out

Albert didn’t even get a minute to register who was at the door before he was pulled into a kiss.

“I didn’t forget,” Race whispered into his ear before pulling him back into another kiss. Albert grinned and finally kissed him back.

No trace of alcohol was in Race’s system.

He was sober.

#hope you enjoyed!!#ralbert #race albert #racetrack albert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #racetrack newsies #albert newsies #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #newsies oneshot #oneshot #newsies #ralbert oneshot #ralbert fanfic #conan gray

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theycallmemoosey · 5 years

Text

Thunder and Lightning

Davey x Kelly!Reader

A/N: The newsies fics are making their comeback ladies and gentlemen! This pairing was requested by @imboredandneedwritingprompts and the ‘plot’ was inspired by a massive storm we had recently where I live and I realised just how much I love thunderstorms. It’s fluffy, it’s long and I live to forever serve my readers. Just to let you know that the fic continues after the keep reading sign. Just wanted to make that clear cos I managed to cut it right where a decent ending would be and it might be misleading and the best part is after the cut and I need to stop rambling on to let you read the fic. Ok. Oh, and thank you to my little reader for reading yet another one of my fics. You have no idea how much I appreciate you. Enjoy reading. Moose :)

---------------------------

“What you doing up here, squirt?”

You jumped, not expecting to hear a voice from behind you, “W-what?”

“You know this is MY penthouse, right?” Jack laughed, climbing over the last ladder rung onto the roof, placing himself down next to you, your feet dangling over the edge of the building. He threw the blanket he had brought up with him over your legs, shuffling up next to you so he could share the blanket with you.

“You’ve shared everything with me since I was born…since when did that stop?” You teased, wrapping your arms around yourself as the bitter wind made you shiver.

“Apparently, never” he laughed, copying you in staring at the sky, watching as the streaks of light flashed through the sky, shortly followed by a loud crash of thunder. He looked down at you, noticing you stare at the sky in awe, “I don’t get it”

“What?”

“When you were a baby, you used to be afraid of storms…when did you grow up?”

“When I had to,” you said plainly, “When they took Dad”

Jack looked at you shocked, almost offended, “Huh?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’ve done great raising me and all, but…you’re just as much a child as I am, Jack” you breathed deeply when another crash of thunder rang through the air, “We both had to grow up…too quickly”

“Well, you and me, kid…we’re going to get out of here”

“Yeah” you laughed, “Course we are”

“No, no I mean it, Y/N. We’re going to escape far away from here, to this place called Santa Fe”

“Santa Fe” you repeated, watching as the lightning flew across the dark sky, the stars faintly appearing.

“As soon as I get enough money, we’re going home” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you as the thunder approved.

Jack kept his promise. Well, to an extent. The thunder crashed, just as it had 5 years previously. You sat and waited for Jack and return to collect you, but as he explained in his letters, you knew he couldn’t get the money to do so. He had left, not long after the strike had settled and the newsies had won their battle, to go and live his dream in Santa Fe. He said he would stay until there was enough for the two of you to go, but you begged him to go, saying that you would only be happy if he was, so he kissed you goodbye and climbed on that train to Santa Fe. That wasn’t to say you weren’t happy - you lived with your family in New York, making your keep by selling papers to the upper glass gentlemen that looked down upon you daily. You also spent all your spare time with your boyfriend, Davey, who landed a job at the local council after his time with the newsies. Nothing too big yet, but he made the money to not only support his family weekly but also to rent his own apartment, where you spent most of your time. You promised the newsies you would stay until your 18th birthday in the lodging house, when you would then move in with Davey, supposing you two were still together. You hoped so, because-

“Y/N!”

The loud shout from the top of the ladder made you scream. It was no louder than the thunder that echoed through the night, but the sudden cry from Davey’s lips made you shake in fear.

“Davey?”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

You stuttered, not sure what to think fo the soaked boy storming towards you angrily, “I-I-I just-“

“Y/N, you're soaking! What are you doing outside in the middle of the rain?!” He shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around your shoulders as his hair dripped on your forehead.

“I-er…thunderstorm” you pointed up towards the sky, unable to form a sentence from the combination of shock and pre-hyperthermia, only just realising how cold it was outside when the warmth had finally wrapped around your shoulders.

“Yes!” He laughed, still somewhat mad at you, “You’re out in the middle of a thunderstorm with not nearly enough clothes on…I mean…what exactly are you wearing? Pants and a…a linen shirt? No vest? No coat? No hat or gloves? Have you gone mad?”

“Probably” you scoffed, looking back over the city as the lightning flashed across the sky repeatedly.

“Please, come back inside…to the warmth” he begged, pointing back towards the ladder.

“No…no I’m not moving” you stated firmly.

“Y/N, please. Don’t make me drag you” he joked, although you could feel a sense of seriousness in his voice.

“Davey, you can argue with me all you want, but I am not moving” you glared, the thunder backing you in perfect timing as you finished your sentence. You saw Davey flinch at the sound before he looked back down at you with pity in his eyes. His clothes were soaked through and his shirt had become see-through with the pouring rain.

“Y/N, I’m not going to ask you again”

“And I’m not going to tell you again!” You reinforced.

Davey opened his mouth to speak back, the rain becoming a singular noise to fill the silence between the two of you, but he decided against his better judgment to argue with you. Huffing, he turned back on you and made his way back to the ladder, stopping briefly before descending back down into the warmth of the dorms.

“What is with her?!” Davey huffed, shaking his hair like a wet dog all across the wooden floor.

“She up on the roof again?” Race asked, toying with his cigar between his teeth.

“Sorry, a-again?” Davey asked, grabbing a towel from the heater by the bathroom, wrapping it around his shoulders to find some warmth in his damp clothes.

“She does it a lot. Always when there’s a storm out” Crutchie added, leaning against the bed where Race was sat.

“Not always” Davey laughed, realising that neither Crutchie or Race were joking, “Surely? I mean…she’s not up there a lot”

“Well thunderstorms aren’t exactly common in New York now, are they?” Race laughed, nudging Crutchie who also giggled along with him.

“She always sits up there? In the middle of a storm?” He asked, still confused as to what he was not understanding.

“It’s something the Kelly’s always used to do together. Jack and Y/N would sit up there and watch the storm until it passed over. It’s just something they both really liked. When Y/N was a baby, thunderstorms calmed her down somehow and she’s loved it ever since. Well…that’s what Jack used to tell me” Crutchie shrugged, “I guess she’s missing Jack a lot today”

“She always misses Jack” Davey sighed, “I just wish she would come back in and not freeze to death out there”

“You’re not getting her back in” Race laughed, “No way. We’ve all tried to every storm there’s been since Jack left”

“Jack only left a couple years ago” Elmer butted in.

“Yes, thank you for that, Elmer. Don’t butt into conversations you ain’t a part of!” Race shoved him away, throwing a pillow towards him for good measure.

“I know you don’t like the fact that she’s sat there in the rain…but I don’t think you want her sat up there alone either, do you, Dave?” Crutchie raised his eyebrow.

Davey sighed, nodding his head, “Does anyone have an umbrella?”

———————

The rain continued to fall, and you stuck your tongue out and felt the drops of water fall gently onto the tip, making you smile. The chill of the bitter wind had started to bite you once again, as Davey’s coat had now become just as wet as the rest of you. The lightning surged across the air once again, making your eyes open wide and your smile grew wider. Suddenly, you felt the rain stopped falling upon your head, the light from the moon got dimmer right above you. Looking up, you saw an umbrella placed above you, and soon after a blanket was draped over your shoulders.

“If I can’t convince you, I’ll join you” Davey smiled, taking a seat next to you and draping another blanket over both of your legs.

“I thought you didn’t want to be up here”

“I don’t” he laughed, “I brought supplies to make it survivable though”

“Such as?” You smiled with him, looking towards the bag that Davey was shuffling through.

“Take my coat off”

“What? Why? It’s warm” you argued.

“Because this will be warmer” Davey held up an old flannel shirt of his, “For a start, it’s dry. And Romeo said you could wear his jacket. And I brought a couple pillows up because let’s be honest, this roof isn’t exactly comfortable”

“Jack and I used to sleep up here in the summer,” you said simply, sliding the warm flannel on your own soggy shirt.

“Yeah, but you Kelly’s are superhuman”

“No, it’s just the roof is more comfortable than the streets” you glanced at Davey, noticing him swallow thickly from the awkwardness, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to-“

“Well, it’s true” Davey cleared his throat, pulling a towel out of the bag to dry his hair with, “I just hope that I can offer you more comfort than you currently have. Comfort that you deserve”

“You know you already do more than enough for me, Dave” you smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.

“You will move in with me next year, won’t you, Y/N?” He asked, a sort of worry on his face, “When you leave this place, you’ll come and live with me?”

“Of course” you smiled, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted since we became, ya know…official”

You raised your eyebrows at him suggestively, making him giggle, “Four years next week”

“You’re a saint” you leaned into him, feeling his arms wrap around your shoulders as the thunder continued to crash across the sky, the lightning dancing as an accompaniment to its song.

“I am?”

“Yeah, for putting up with me for four years”

“I am” he laughed, jumping slightly when the next thunder rang in his ears.

“You aren’t scared of thunderstorms are you?” You teased Davey, seeing the worry on his face.

“No, I just don’t like being outside in the middle of them” he sighed.

“You don’t have to be out here, you know”

“No, I do” he smiled down at you, “Can’t have you dying of pneumonia. Or hyperthermia. Or the plague”

“The plague?” You asked, confused.

“I had to say a third sickness. Rule of three. It was the first one that came to my mind”

“Not Influenza? Common cold?”

“Those would have been more viable options” he laughed, realising his mistake.

There was a comfortable silence as the thunder continued to crash through the sky, the two of you watching in awe as the lightning bolts flew across the sky. It was honestly the most beautiful thing you had seen in a while. You felt contempt with Davey, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your knuckles as the two of you stared into the sky. You looked at him momentarily, watching as his eyes shone when the lightning came, the way his breath hitched when the thunder followed. The way he was thinking about something so intensely. It felt like you were the only two people on earth.

“You heard from Jack recently?” Davey asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“Not recently. Last I heard from him was about 4 months ago. It takes time for letters to be delivered back and forth from different states”

“So, he’s out living the dream then, huh?”

“Yeah” you laughed, almost coming out as a jealous scoff, “He got a job working at the largest ranch in the state, apparently. He’s taken to looking after the animals. The guy who owns the land, Mr Samson, has given Jack so much. And he pays well. Jack says once he has enough, he’s going to send me the money for me to go to Santa Fe and be with him. Apparently, they have a job for me when I go”

“And are you going to?”

You looked up to Davey, “No”

“What?”

“I promised you I’d move in with you. Home is where you are, Davey”

“Really?” His smile was childish but full of love, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer towards his lap.

“Yes,” you laughed, feeling his hands warm on your waist, “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jack…but he’s my brother. I’m not exactly willing to live with him forever. Like you. You moved away from Les, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes but-“

“But nothing!” You interrupted Davey, “I love Jack, but I love you more. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll let me”

Davey smiled, smiling contently, “I’ll always let you, Y/N”

“When I move in, can we get a dog?”

Davey laughed loudly, “My landlord wouldn’t let me”

“Cat?”

“It would get lost”

“Fish?”

“From where?!” He kept laughing, “I doubt we’ll be able to get anything!”

“A fly?” You asked after a small moment of silence.

“I might just be able to do that” he nudged you with his shoulder, placing a kiss on your temple, “Although, we will have to look at buying a bigger bed”

“We both fit perfectly fine in the one you currently have”

“Yes, it’s fine for now,” he said, nuzzling his chin on your shoulder, watching the sky calm down from the earlier storm, “But for every night? We’re going to need a much bigger bed. You’re not going to want to sleep right on top of me every night”

“I never said that” you argued back, kissing his hand that was wrapped around your chest.

“Alright then, I don’t want you sleeping on top of me every night”

“You don’t mean that”

“No, you’re right I don’t” he smiled, kissing the very top of your ear, “Although I have no doubt that our kids will want to sleep in the same bed as us too…so we will need a bigger bed at some time”

“Sorry…kids?” you asked, almost stuttering.

“Well, eventually we’ll have children, won’t we?”

“Jesus, Dave, I’m only 17!”

“Well…I don’t mean right now!” He laughed, stroking your arms gently as the stars started to peek out from behind the clouds, the thunder rumbling quietly, “I mean in the future. When we’re married”

“Who says we’ll even get married”

“I do” he whispered, “I’d ask you right now if I had the ring”

“Again, Dave…you may well be an adult, but I’m not”

“Does that matter? My mother married my father when she was 16. A-and there’s this girl at work who got engaged just last month, and she’s only just turned-“

“Dave, I get it, I get it” you laughed, trying to shuffle out of his grip, “But I’m not taking that as a proposal”

“I’m not expecting you to” he kissed you once again, “I’m going to propose to you properly one day. And that’s a promise”

“I’ll hold you to that…and what’s with all the affection?! I’ve never been showered in so many kisses before”

“What? I can’t show my love for you now?”

“No” you giggled, “You can’t”

“I just love this” he smiled, the rain coming to and turning into a very light mist, “You and me, sat here high above the rest of the world. Just the two of us. I can see why you like it up here so much”

“You’ve come to your senses” you yawned, shuffling further down into a more comfortable position, still wrapped up in Davey’s arms.

“You’ve made it so” he smiled, kissing the top of your head gently as he also made himself comfortable underneath all the blankets and in amongst the number of pillows he had brought up with him.

“What else do you see in the future for us, Davey?”

“Loads of things” he sighed, starting to stroke your hair as your eyes fluttered shut, “I think about waking up with you every morning. Waking up with you in my arms as the sun comes in through the windows. You’ll want five more minutes in bed each day so I’ll get up and make you some eggs or porridge or whatever we have in our little apartment for breakfast. You’ll wake up with your beautifully messy hair and we’ll have breakfast at the table overlooking the square outside the circulation gate. I’ll go to work in the morning and you’ll go to yours, at the theatre where you can put your talent and passion to work. We’ll meet at Jacobi’s for lunch, which will be more than just a glass of water each. We’ll arrive home at the same time and we’ll both collapse on our bed, taking a short nap before you make us the most amazing dinner each night and I’ll run you a hot bath that we’ll end up sharing because God knows we’re not that wealthy, and I don’t think we ever will be. We’ll end up going to bed every night at around 10 or 11, both exhausted, and we’ll fall asleep in each other's arms…like you already have”

Davey looked down and saw you breathing deeply in sleep, your eyes softly shut and your snores barely audible. He smiled softly, kissing your cheek as he laid down on the pillows, carefully lying you down with him. He looked up into the night sky, the thunder had left, taking the lightning with him. The sky, instead, was littered with stars, and the moon shone brightly, illuminating your face perfectly to show everything he loved about you, which happened to be everything.

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heliads · 11 months

Note

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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finchartssometimeswhenhesabinch · 5 years

Note

dude ily so much, your sprace prompt fic killed me! but I have to ask if they ever get married?

oml tysm anon!

also what a good question! answer below!

I’m sure as you can see, the many chronicles of sprace don’t come without difficulty. They’re not married yet but picture this;

Spot had everything set out perfectly in their little shared apartment. And by set out he meant mentally prepared, this was no big deal.

Somehow he’d managed to get the tiny black and while appaloosa foal to calm down with the shiniest of red apples, gladly taking the time to sit with the young stallion and remind him he was a gift. A special gift with a gorgeous black leather bridle and a light chain around it’s throat.

Now, you could just about imagine the reaction that came out of Race when he got home that morning from an over night shift at the five star Italian restaurant he called a job. Most of it containing a gasp of surprise and, “We must name him immediately.”

But he didn’t notice the silver band on the chain.

In fact, he didn’t notice the entire day, having spent it with Dal—he’d chosen the name after short deliberation, it being short for dalmatian—at the old racehorse retreat. There, he was able to get the young foal situated with his favorite mare Apples and muck around with a bit of training. He actually sort of hoped that one day he’d be able to race him around, maybe even bet on him.

Gently coaxing the foal into the stable, Race picked up the bucket of soapy water he’d prepared earlier, sponging Dal down with tender care. He was so, so lucky to have Spot. Not just because of the gifts but the immense thought and care he put into everything he did… it was just wonderful.

He soaped the foal from head to tail, taking gentle care when taking off the bridle and sort of dog-tag-like chain off his neck, hosing off the hyperactive horse when he was finished. He hung up the bridle reaching for the chain.

Oh.

He hadn’t noticed that before.

On the chain dangled a simple silver ring and on the inside of the band was engraved a simple ‘Hi’.

Fucking damn Spot Conlon.

#Newsies #Sprace #newsies oneshot #oneshot #sprace oneshot #requested #racetrack higgins #race newsies #race higgins #racetrack newsies #spot conlon #spot newsies

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nerdsies · 5 years

Text

Goodbye From the Refuge

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hauntedbyvisionsof-flight · 5 years

Text

Ms. Claus

Katherine lay in her bed, listening for the footsteps to fade. It was around midnight, and the Pulitzer household was finally settling. The night shift maids were settling down in their rooms, and soon Katherine would strike.

As the clock outside chimed one in the morning, Katherine slipped quietly from her bed. She opened her closet and pulled out the pair of pants and socks she had taken from the pile in the Lodging House. She pulled on a blouse and red overcoat before twisting her hair up and shoving it in a matching cap. Glancing in the mirror she nodded, her identity concealed as long as no one looked at her face.

She grabbed the two brown sacks in her wardrobe, slung them over her shoulders, and stalked towards the window.

After the last fire that destroyed the Pulitzer mansion, Joseph had fire escapes installed at every window, which made it incredibly easy for his children to sneak out. Especially when one made sure to oil the whole thing once a week like Katherine did.

Making sure to leave the window unlocked and slightly cracked, Katherine went on her way. She had no time to waste. Unfortunately, she couldn’t risk being out long enough to go to all the houses, but she did have time for one. The Lodging House.

Katherine walked surely, staring straight ahead. Her sacks bumped against her legs, causing a rhythm and slight discomfort to work their way into her gait. Luckily, she was only a few blocks away from Duane Street.

She made it to the building soon enough. As per tradition, a candle was lit in every window of the building, to guide weary souls home. Katherine knew that a lot of older kids thought it was bullshit and hated lighting them every night, but the little ones believed it would bring Santa to their house.

Most kids knew the truth about Santa, though. It only took a few Christmases with nothing under the tree and an empty stomach to ruin their faith in the immortal being. So tonight, Katherine was giving them a little bit of faith back.

She climbed up the fire escape that Jack used when he came to visit her in the dead of night. Since Davey and Les were staying the night, she’d asked the older to make sure the window was unlocked. He knew about her plan, but no one else. He may have a horrid poker face, but when it came down to it, Davey could keep a secret.

Sure enough, the window was unlocked, and she crawled through with ease. There was a slight thud as her boots hit the floor, and the nearest newsie stirred, but they didn’t wake. Exhaling silently in relief, she hoisted the bags inside and set them gently on the floor.

Taking the packages out one by one, she stacked them under the tree, making sure that the tags were clearly visible. She wished she could tie them to the tree like in her house, but the poor thing was so spindly that she was surprised the popcorn strings didn’t fall off.

Readjusting all the bows, she leaned back and surveyed her work. She straightened a few more things before she stood, satisfied. There was one last thing to do, and then Ms. Claus needed to get back home.

She took a sack in her hand and walked to every bunk in the lodge. Each boy had a sock on the end, for Santa to put some little toys in. Jack and Davey and a few of the older ones had already tried to fill them as best they could, but they were still dreadfully empty compared to hers at home.

Pulling out two items, Katherine went around the room and dropped them in the stockings. A few newsies stirred as she passed, but none woke. When she came upon the bunk Jack and Davey were sharing, she put two of each in Jack’s stocking.

When she finished with all the stockings, she was pleased to notice that there were still quite a few leftover. Smiling, she took out a ribbon and note from her pocket, before tying them together and setting them under the tree.

Still grinning to herself, Katherine slipped out the window and into the night.

She showed up to the Lodging House around eight that morning, wondering how many boys had found their treats yet. It was silent when she entered, which she found quite alarming until she remembered that Christmas was their one day to sleep in. Come to think of it, she didn’t think the bell had even tolled that morning.

Kloppman wasn’t even at his desk as she passed, climbing the stairs to where the boys slept. She opened the door and giggled when she saw them all still asleep. When she stepped forward, the door slammed behind her and she winced. A few boys sat straight up in bed, clearly a conditioned response to avoid Kloppman’s bizarre wake-up strategies.

“Hey! Kath’s here!” Elmer called, scrambling out of bed. A few other boys greeted her, and slowly the lodge began to come alive.

Smalls was the first to notice. “Guys! Our stockings!” She grabbed hers from where it was stuck to her bed and quickly upended it to see what was in it.

“Holy shit!” Race yelled. “There’s a whole motherfuckin’ orange in here!”

Jack came up and cuffed him on the head. “Not in front of the kids, Racer.”

Race grumbled an apology before peeling the orange in front of him.

“What’s in this package?” someone called.

“A cake, I think?” someone called back.

Soon it was a cacophony of noise as the newsies tore apart their stockings to get to the treats that many of them could never afford.

“Guys! The tree!” Buttons yelled.

Heads whipped around in fear, obviously expecting the tree to be on fire or something. However, their looks of fear quickly turned to those of delight as they clambered forward to investigate the gifts. Katherine leaned against the doorway and smiled as they handed out packages to each other. They were all wrapped in brightly coloured paper and ribbons, which the newsies appreciated for about twenty seconds before tearing it off to get at the substance beneath.

They oo’d and ahh’d at their new clothing, books, and toys. She had tried to get them one useful thing, and one thing to play with, and it seemed that they all appreciated it.

“Who’s all these from?” Race asked, scanning the room. One by one they all shrugged, nobody owning up to it.

“Why don’t ya read the tag?” Davey sat on Jack’s bed, taking a bite out of his orange.

“From: Santa,” Race read. “But -”

“I told ya Santa was real!” Peanuts shouted, shoving at Sniper. Sniper caught his wrists and the two began wrestling. The other kids moved their presents out of the way.

“So. Santa, eh?” Jack’s arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her close.

“Mmm hmm,” she agreed. “It’s a Christmas miracle. Guess he heard about the strike and wanted to reward the kids for being so good.”

“Must be it,” Jack grinned. “So what are you doin’ over here, Ms. Plumber?”

“Told my family I was taking a walk. We won’t open presents for another hour anyway, have to wait for Ralph and Petunia and our grandparents to make it over. Honestly, Father is probably only now settling down to take his coffee.”

“Should ya scoot, then?”

She hummed. “In a minute.”

Les bounded up to them just then, wrapping his arms around Katherine’s waist. “Hiya, Kath! Didya see what Santa brought me? I ain’t even Christian but he still brought me something!”

Katherine laughed. “Did he?”

“Yeah! I got new boot laces, and a book, and a little wooden duck! It’s great!”

“Maybe Santa wanted to reward you for being so good during the strike this summer. Y’know, I think you being so intimidatin’ was the real reason my father backed down.”

Les’ eyes shone. “Ya think so?”

“Yep!” Kath ruffled his hair. “Why don’t you go see what Tommy Boy got. I think he’s itchin’ to show you.”

With that, Les scampered off, nearly colliding with Davey as he walked over. Davey scolded him, but it was lost in the din of the room and he merely grinned to himself as he continued over.

“Why hello, Ms. Plumber. I’m delighted to see you arrived in time for our Christmas miracle,” Davey greeted, sharing a knowing look.

“Indeed I did,” Katherine replied, smirking.

Jack looked back and forth between them. “Did I miss something?”

“Not at all,” Davey spoke.

Jack looked down at the sack enclosed in his fist. He had grabbed it before the naughtier kids could, and was holding it until the kids who didn’t sleep at the Lodging House would meet up with them after lunch. The tag was written in beautiful and very familiar cursive.

Jack studied the tag as Davey and Katherine shared mirthful glances, silently laughing to themselves as Jack pieced it together.

“You-” he pointed at Kath. “And you-” at Davey, “were in this together? Is that why you were so concerned with making sure the window was ‘locked?’ And why you grinned so hard when you saw that red coat in the store last week?”

Kath and Davey glanced at each other before collapsing into giggles. Jack’s confusion slowly turned into delight as he grinned at his two best friends.

“You’se real smooth, Plumber, I’ll give ya that.”

“Thanks, Jack.” She pressed a quick peck to his lips. “I should be going though. See you around three?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned back, waving as she left the door as silently as last night. Come to think of it, this also explained why she’d been so good at sneaking lately.

“Hey, Jack.” Boots pulled at Jack’s vest. “I saw someone in a red coat last night, but I t’ought it was a dream. D’ya reckon it was Santa?”

Jack glanced at the unlocked window across the room. “Y’know what, kid? I betcha it was.”

Tag List: (if you want to be added, reply or shoot me an ask!)

@minikker02

@newsieofnj

@nymphadoratonksx

@races-cigar

@rebecko

@thesmallestbits

@stuckinmyneverendingheadspace

@sparkleystallion

@thatshiscigar

@actually-races-erster

@albertdasilva

@alixismad

@anna-exe

@ben-cook-can-cook

@thebookofbella

@broadwayandbookblog

@cattt420

@bwaysrose

@daeynore

@daveys-pet-snake

@delanceys-pantsies

@elmers-half-a-cup

@esyazzmean

@fandomscraziness22

@heytheywascoronas

@ishouldprobablyworkoutmore

@i-got-personality

@mcoomcoo

#newsies #newsies fanfiction #newsies live #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #jack kelly #davey jacobs #les jacobs #racetrack higgins #race higgins #broadway #broadway fanfiction #fanfiction #grace writes #brooklyn writes #christmas #christmas oneshot

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