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kellyscowboy · 17 days

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Jack Kelly wasn't a family guy, but he always wished he was. Not that he didn't believe that the newsies were his family, because they were. Just not in the way that he would've liked. Jack found often found himself needing a hug, some encouraging words after a long day at work, or even just a pat on the back. But he never received them. Not from the newsies, no. He was always the one offering, but he never received.

Not until he met David Jacobs. His first interaction with Dave's family had been slightly awkward. He observed as the family worked around each other, how they seemed to understand each other perfectly. It was as if Jack hadn't even been there. Never one to overstay his welcome, and not one to stay in a situation he felt out of place in, Jack left the second the opportunity came about.

The second time he was around the family, he felt much more incorporated. Esther bossed him around as if he were her own, and Mayer gave him the long-awaited fatherly pat on the back as he told Jack he was 'welcome to stay anytime.'

They took quickly to Jack; they insisted he came over during every holiday and there was never a day he visited that he didn't also stay the night. Soon enough, they were sending him daily lunches and attempting to enroll him in classes at David's school. And although Jack kindly denied the classes, he appreciated the sentiment more than he could express. He was never one who enjoyed being fawned over, but the feeling of familial love had started to change his mind on that fact.

After David and Jack's first fight (the first one post-strike), the latter was ruined. He felt as if he had no-one to turn to. Esther and Mayer had been there for him at every instance since he had met David. It didn't feel right to now talk to them.

Jack didn't know who to talk to, or where to go. He found himself wandering the streets. Beating himself up and wallowing in some form of self-pity. He hadn't even realized they had been in a fight until David had stormed off and told Jack to never speak to him again. It made the boy sick to imagine a life without the Jacob's family.

Santa Fe came to mind. All Jack had to do was run away and pretend like these people had never existed. And he almost did it too. Tears stained his red cheeks and his head pounded from how many times he had hit himself with his palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid, chanted aloud with each smack.

But as Jack counted his money and planned his escape to Santa Fe, a gentle hand grabbed his own. Through teary eyes, he looked up to see Esther smiling softly down out him. She kneeled down next to him and wiped at the child's cheek. "Oh, poor boy. Are you alright?"

"Don't need to do me more charity, Mrs. Jacobs." Jack replied coldly. "Dave already told me where I stand with your family."

Esther shook her head. "David gets passionate about things sometimes. You should know that best. You did lead a strike with him after all."

"Well, I guess I don't know 'im as well as I thought."

"Listen, Jack." Esther started, gently. "You're family now. Family doesn't abandon family. Do you think Mayer and I were entirely thrilled when David came home on his second day of work and told us he was involved in a strike?"

"... I 'spose not."

"But we backed him up anyways. No matter how scared we were. Now, family's fight. I mean, Sarah and David fight all the time! I mean obviously you and David had a different..." Esther paused, contemplating her words. "Relationship than them. But that doesn't mean that you two can just have one fight and never speak to each other again." She pushed Jack's hair back lovingly and rubbed his cheek. "Now let's get you up to the house and get this all figured out."

And just like that, Santa Fe had disappeared deep into the back of his mind. All it took was Esther's soothing voice and the caring touch of her hand.

#me after i write something that only makessense to me #didnt even edit this #sorry guys this is just me yappin!!!!!#newises #92sies #newsies 1992 #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid

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youaintnothinbuta · 4 months

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No one else is writing Newsies stories as good as yours! Please give yourself a pat on the back from me, your friendly neighborhood anon. :) I also have a request. Could you write a reverse hurt/comfort where Jack is injured or sick and the reader takes care of him?

A/N: thank you so much, this made my day the moment I read it :,)

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: Jack got into a fight with Oscar and Morris and didn’t tell you, despite having some pretty nasty bruises. You found out, of course, and help him.

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 520

Warnings: fluff, mention of fighting/injury.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The late morning light spilled into Jack's room, casting a soft glow on the worn wooden floor. Pretty much everyone had finished their paper hawking and most the newsies were gathered outside, hanging out, like every other day. You, however, were focused on Jack.

You approached him, eager to greet him with a hug. As your arms wrapped around him, you expected the usual reciprocation, but something was off. Jack winced, a sharp intake of breath escaping him.

“What's wrong?” you asked, pulling back slightly, concern etching your features.

“Nothin', just a bit sore is all,” he replied, attempting to brush off the discomfort.

Your gaze narrowed, detecting the faint wince in his eyes. “Jack, don't lie to me. What happened?”

He hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Just a little scuffle with Oscar and Morris. Nothing I couldn't handle.”

Your worry deepened, and you insisted, “Let me see.”

Jack, reluctant but compliant, peeled off his shirt to reveal a canvas of deep bruises scattered across his sides, back, and shoulders. Your eyes widened as a small gasp left your lips, a mix of concern and mild frustration coursing through you.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?” you scolded gently, your fingers grazing over the contusions.

“It ain't that bad, really,” Jack muttered, clearly trying to downplay the situation.

“Jack, you can't keep this stuff from me,” you chided, “I would have seen eventually. Have you at least done anything to help your body recover?”

He sighed in response, not really knowing what to say.

Guiding him to sit on his bed, you hurried to fetch some ice and a tea towel from the communal area. Returning to Jack's room, you pressed the makeshift ice pack against his aching bruises. The tension in his muscles slowly eased as the cold numbed the pain.

“Better?” you asked, your gaze meeting his.

Jack managed a half-smile, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Yeah, better. But, Y/N, you don't have to worry about every little fight.”

Your expression softened. “No, Jack, I do. I’m your girl. I’m supposed to be there for you.”

He nodded a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that held you both.

“You’re my girl.” He repeated you, patting your hip gently as a ‘thank you’.

The minutes stretched into an unhurried cadence, your touch provided comfort as you gently traced the edges of the bruises. Jack, usually the protector, allowed himself to be vulnerable in your care.

After keeping the ice on his bruises for a little while longer, you took it off and let the rest of the ice melt in the sink, leaving the tea towel to dry.

“I’m sorry for not telling you when it happened,” he admitted, his voice laced with regret.

You smiled, sitting back down next to him on his bed. “I’ll never be angry with you, not for fighting the Delancey’s, you know that? I will get angry though, if you don’t let me look after you when you need it.”

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that resonated deeply.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, placing a kiss on his cheek.

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thewritersofdeceased · 12 days

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“You deserve to feel safe. And happy.”

MISS MEDDA + NEWSIES || COMFORT ||

"Medda?!" A voice called out aloud, a figure passed out in this voice's arms. A boy with blonde hair was being carried by one with red. Well, ginger red, specifically. The blonde in his arms was a boy by the name of Antonio, or Racer to the others Newsies. The one carrying him and Miss Medda were the only ones to know his true name. Antonio had a couple cuts and bad bruises, shiners, as he'd call them. "We had a run in! Might need some bandages!" Thankfully, all the shows for the night were complete, so nobody would overhear them.

Medda Larkin, the woman who the boy was calling, poked her head out from where she'd been cleaning, her eyes widening upon noticing the boy being carried. "What happened!? Who did you have a run in with!? Was it them Delancy's!?" She'd ask quickly, dropping whatever had been in her hands and going over to take the practically passed out boy from the redheads arms. "They wouldn't stop, Miss Medda! I's tellin' you, true! They's don't like us for no reason! We ain' do nothin to 'em but sell our papes and get 'em sold! Then they's decide to always mess with us!"

The boy explained as Medda took Racer into her arms, her eyes filled with worry. "Did the hurt the other boys? Where are they?! Albert, please, I need answers!" Of course Medda would be worrying. These boys were her kids. Going to place Racer down somewhere comfortable, in her dressing room with a rather comfortable couch. Albert merely followed as he tried to explain. "Jack took it at the sign of the bulls. That's what the Dalancy's are makin' up.. He'll be here soon enough, I know it." Albert explained quickly before hearing the sound of the backdoors open, then slam shut right after.

"Speak of the devil." Albert spoke before turning to Medda and looking back to the slamming doors echoing. "Do you want me to-?" He went to speak, but Medda only waved him off with her hand. It took a couple seconds for the famous Jack Kelly to appear in her line sight, being followed by two others. "Miss Medda! Did- did you see-!?" Jack was out of breath, that could be seen just by how his chest rose and fell rather quickly.

Medda, having placed Race down, went to where Jack was, her arms already held out as Jack had quickly ran into her arms, tightly hugging her. "They almost got crutchie, Medda.." Jack whispered in Medda's arms, his body trembling as the woman held him close.

"Shh.. Shhh... you're okay.. it's okay.. Davey, is Crutchie on his way?" Medda asked, looking to David, who nodded his head. "Most of the boys are, yes Miss." David would reply, letting out a sigh after as the doors behind him opened and closed again. "Speaking of them.. I'll take care of the other boys, okay, Miss? Take care of Jack and Race." Davey explained softly as he began to walk away. Medda nodded her head, having gone off to tend for her boys.

___________________

As the boys got taken care of, Medda's mind had slowly began to overfill with much more worry. The stress, the way she had to keep the theater running, everything of the sort. But that wasn't the worse of these all. As the boys were out on the stage, messing about and sitting together, Medda sat in her dressing room, hands in her hair as she tried to keep her breathing at ease.

These boys deserved to be safe and happy. Of course they did. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, before feeling them begin to slide down her face. The stress bubble at finally popped, resulting in these tears to fall. All the stress was finally being let out. Her eyes were shut, her face hidden in her arms before the sound of footsteps had snapped her head up.

No, no, no. Do not come in, please, please, please-

Her eyes were shut tightly as the voice of one of the boys rang through the air, just outside of the door. "Medda? Can I come in? It's Jack." Oh, Medda could never deny Jack. She wiped her eyes with a makeup wipe just in front of her, trying to push away the flushed red color that had been on her cheeks due to the tears. "Come on in, Jack." Jack, after a couple of seconds, pushed open the door that had separated him from his mother figure.

Medda remained quiet before hearing the soft click of the door closing behind Jack. Though the boy didn't move forward before he had noticed the red on her cheeks. "Medda? Were you.. crying?" He'd ask, his eyes widening slightly and frowning right after. It took a few seconds for Medda to truly answer before she attempted to cover her shaky tone. "No, dear. Why would I be crying?" She'd ask the brunette, her voice shaking as she spoke. Jack could feel his heart shatter in his chest.

"Your face is flushed red. And you're voice." Jack would explain, taking cautious steps towards his mother figure and standing beside her. "What's got ya' feelin' like cryin'? Did we boys do somethin' to upset ya?" He'd then ask, resulting in Medda shaking her head almost automatically. "No, no, no. Not at all. It's just-" She had to take a breath in, standing to her feet.

Walking over to one of her drawers, she would kneel down to take out a paper. The Newspaper Katherine had published about the strike. The photo on it covered all the boys. She held a small frown on her face, taking in a shaky breath before beginning to explain her reasoning.

"You boys, all of you boys, deserve peace. Deserve to feel happy... Deserve to feel safe. And happy. I am only one woman, it's difficult for me to make sure you all are happy, mainly with the Delancy brothers and even Pulitzer. I practically adopted all of you boys into my arms. I just wish you could all be happy."

Medda began to explain, taking a shaky breath in. What she hadn't known was the other boys remaining outside the room, just silently listening in. Race had been leaning against Albert, his ankle a bit busted up, David was quiet, and Crutchie remained where he was, leaning slightly on the wall with his crutch.

Jack could feel his heart shatter in his chest as he gently took Medda's hand and pulled her into a hug. "Medda, youse' don't realize how much we appreciate you, do ya?" He'd ask,looking to Medda, who continued to hold a frown on her face. Medda avoided eye contact before hearing yet another one of the boys voice.

"Youse' is the reason majority of us boys stay alive." Race commented, having now entered the room fully with the help of Albert. Between the two, the blonde continued to talk. "Youse' let us use the theater for the rally. Youse' helped us when we were all bloodied and bruised from the Delancy's."

The ginger he was leaning against only smiled at this, nodded in return. "Racer's right. Youse' treat us like your kids, Medda. Even if we's ain't biological. Is that the right word, Davey?" He'd ask the brunette by the door, earning a nod of approval.

Davey kept quiet however, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't know Medda as well as the others, so he stuck to remaining quiet. Though Crutchie spoke with a smile on his face. A smile that spreads like butter, as he'd say. "Youse' the best we could eva' have! All of us boys appreciate it." He'd explain happily, making his way over to Medda, who was now quiet as she looked between all of the boys.

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world. You boys are my children. It's my job to make sure you're all safe and sound."

#newsies #Medda larkin #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #writing #ralbert #newsies writing #newsies 1992 #newsies 2017

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mostlybroadway · 11 months

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racetrack higgins’s first love was robin hood.

a child of ten couldn’t help but be enamored by the hooded vigilante, stealing from the rich to give to the less fortunate. race himself was one of the less fortunate: his mother had died while having him and his father wanted little to do with him. like robin hood, race decided to make a life for himself with his friends. he just needed friends.

and then came racetrack higgins’s second love: spot conlon

she and race did everything together. when race happened upon the brooklyn newsies on a regular trip to the sheepshead, he was instantly enamored. finally, newsboys—news girls—who were just like him. or how he used to be.

spot and race were partners in crime. they sold together, ate together, and lived together in the small brooklyn boarding house. as they reached eleven, twelve, thirteen, they started to do more. they saw others kissing and wanted to try for themselves. their hugs lingered a little longer, their hands brushing against each other suddenly meant a little more. race had found his maid marian. and spot thought she had found hers, too.

racetrack higgins’s third love was jack kelly.

race had seen jack around. he made his way through lower manhattan now and again, seeing how the boys sold compared to the brooklyn girls. they needed some pointers, surely, but they were good company. they always wanted to play games with race if he asked them to. race wanted to spend the most time with jack, though. the newly appointed leader, the cowboy. race was happy with spot, and kissing spot, and loving spot, but his love of jack kelly was something entirely new.

race caught himself looking at jack’s chest and wishing his own vest and shirt sat flat against his breasts. race looked at how jack carried himself—so tall, so manly—and race wanted it too. race needed it.

when race told spot he was leaving to join the lower manhattan boys, she was not happy. she swore at him, she threw a few good shoves at him, but he remained strong. he still loved her. he figured he probably would always love her. but she loved someone that no longer existed.

racetrack higgins’s fourth love, albert dasilva, took him entirely by surprise.

albert welcomed race in immediately, just as spot had all those years before. but something about albert was different. while spot was loud and domineering, albert let race take charge. albert listened. albert was soft, and caring, and had that red hair that could make anyone fall at his feet.

albert dasilva helped racetrack higgins accept who he was. he helped him bind correctly. he made sure the other boys respected race’s privacy while changing. and he loved race no matter who he was.

and that made all the difference.

#this is for gray i told you i would write something #i love you <3 #newsies #uksies #west endsies #sprace #spot x race #ralbert #this is based on uksies and the brooklyn girlsies <3 #trans racetrack higgins #i will die on the trans race hill #race x albert

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zmediaoutlet · 9 months

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a vessel

pairings: Sam/Dean(na), Dean/Lucifer, pining!Cas warning: non-con length: 2700

What if Jack wasn't Kelly Kline's son, but Deanna's?

---

Deanna can't stop chewing her thumbnail. It's down to the quick, smarting, but she keeps sticking it in her mouth anyway, biting at it anyway. A rush of coppery salt makes her jerk and blink and finally tear her eyes away from the tome of celestial theory. Red riming the bed of the nail. She could get up and get a band-aid but it'll have to wait because Sam, the stupid self-sacrificing idiot, is in a submarine seventy-three years and an ocean away from her, and nothing really matters but getting him back.

"Him and the Hand of God," Castiel says, extra-gravelly like if his voice is even lower she'll take it more seriously.

"Yeah, Cas," Deanna says, but she doesn't know why he bothers with clarifying. Like they haven't known each other for almost a decade. Like he doesn't know what her priorities really are.

Sam shouldn't have gone. Of course there was no choice but to let him be the one to go. Not the first time she's wished she was born a guy. A submarine in the forties full of male soldiers—no way she'd be able to sneak around, find what needed to be found. Of course, his stupid hair would make him stick out like a sore thumb, too, so technically—but he'd only given her that so-patient look, waiting for her to come to the obvious conclusion. For all the arguments to the contrary over the years, she isn't actually stupid.

They'd hugged. Nothing else, not with Castiel right there watching, waiting almost impatient, and he'd wrapped careful arms around her shoulders and pressed his lips down against the top of her head. She can bring to mind exactly how he smelled, right in the center of his chest. The shirt he'd worn for two days, the faintest trace of rain-fresh deodorant but also the smell of his skin. Salt. She'd said told you you should get a haircut, and he'd huffed and said, yeah, and then kissed her hair brief and easy, and stepped back to where Cas was waiting with that hard strange light in his eyes. Getting ready to jump. See you soon, Sam said, and Cas clamped a hand on his shoulder and then—

She blinks hard at the book. It's gone blurry. Her thumb hurts, and she sucks it clean of the blood and then wipes her hands hard over her face, pissed at herself—there's work to do, there's no time for this shit—and on the next page, there it is. A spell.

"Can you do it?" she says, dumping the book in front of Cas. "It calls for the power of an archangel, but—"

Cas looks it over. Irritated at first—he has been since he came back sogged out from the ocean, which Deanna did find entertaining until she realized what it meant and bloomed into full-on panic—but then considering. "It can't hurt to try," Castiel says.

Her gut's one hard furious clench. She thought he'd say something sadsacky and Cas-like, something about his powers being fragile. "I don't know how much time he has," Deanna says. Cas ignores her, looking at the ingredients. "The whole time travel thing—do you know how long we have, until the sub goes down?"

"We have time," Castiel says, barely looking at her, and she—how does he know? How can he possibly?

The majority of the ingredients are simple if gross, fetched from the catalog in one of the archive rooms. She washes her face in cold water in the WC and puts her hair up in a half-bun and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyelashes dark spikes like she's been crying. Her lower lip so bitten and chapped she might as well be a kid again. When she remembers telling Sam, who kept chewing his lip, hey, quit it, use Blistex like a normal person, and had tugged his lip out of his mouth so many times when he was fourteen that he'd bitten her thumb once in pure bitchy retaliation. He'd stopped, though. All that work to get him to grow up and she couldn't, couldn't. Wouldn't.

In the library Cas is working, steady. Willing to try, no matter what. No matter what else has happened between them she loves him a little, for that. Only—

"Cas," she says, helpless. He dumps vervain into the steel bowl, ignoring her. "You're not strong enough. It isn't going to work."

"Deanna," he says, rough, and pauses. He picks up the butcher knife, dragging the preserved brain closer. "Have faith."

Where has he been. As though there were any point in having faith in anything but—Sam, and sometimes, on occasion, what Sam and her could do, together, and when all else failed what their friends could manage. She presses her fingertips to her eyesockets, pressing hard just under the brow bone, and she wants—more almost than anything she wants—to go back. When their problems were easier. Just a quick apocalypse or two. Sam at her side, the two of them turning to people who knew better for help—like standing in Bobby's house, getting easy answers. Getting an eyeroll and getting called stupid, but the answers came anyway, easy-peasy.

Her eyes open. Bobby.

"Wait," she says. Cas sighs. He drops the mangled flesh into the bowl. "Wait, you—we can power you up."

"How," he says.

"Use me." Cas pauses, still holding the knife. Deanna drags in air, certain. "You touched Bobby's soul, way back then, to get me and Sammy back from the past. Use me, take—whatever you need. However you gotta power up, so you can do that spell and you can get Sam back. You can do that. Can't you?"

"I… can," Castiel says, looking down at the bowl of reagents. "But I'm sure I don't need to, Deanna—"

"You can't be sure," Deanna says, quick. She comes close, sets her hand on his sleeve. "Cas, please."

Later she'll know it all went wrong—there. Right then.

Cas laughs. He never, ever laughs.

Deanna steps back. Instinct, inbuilt from age four. "What?"

"It's so strange," Castiel says. He turns, leaning his hip against the table. Weird and casual. "I'm working so hard to get Sammy back, and I'm letting you boss me around like—what, like you're interesting? You've got the connection to Amara but there's nothing about you that's ever, ever mattered to me. Isn't that funny."

His voice odd, high. Deanna takes another step back and runs into the other table. She grips the edge of it with one hand.

Castiel drops the knife onto his table and then he's—there, crowded up against her, his hands hard on her wrists. Bruising, shocking strength. She doesn’t breathe, looking up into his eyes. Unfamiliar blue.

"I always focused on Sam, you know," Castiel says. He smiles down at her, shrugs. "Girl that got away. Just hated him to bits. But you, you were always just the irritating little gravel in my shoe. Little bitch that Sam kept pining after, making him say no to everything I wanted to do. Even when I finally got in there, it was you that caused all the problems. What was it he saw in you? I never could figure it out. When, to me, you're just some stupid slut who never served her purpose. My brother never even got to take you for a ride, so what is the point of you?"

Her tongue, caught fat and shocked in her mouth, finally unfreezes. "I don't know, Lucy," she says, her voice coming from some distant place. "Must be above your pay-grade."

Lucifer smiles wider, all teeth. "Took you long enough, dummy," he says, and then backhands her so hard she falls back against the table, the legs screeching a foot backwards on the floor.

Pain's nothing—it rings in her skull, blood sluicing down from her nose, but so what—and she knows, knows, there's an angel blade on the bookshelf under the scimitar and there's another on the bar, by the crystal decanter she hasn't refilled in too long—and even if they won't work on Lucifer, at least it'll give her time—and all that goes through her brain in quick flipbook succession, knowing how to roll off the table and lunge for the bar and grab it and spin and stab him in the chest, in the fucking brain if she has to, no matter whose body he's in—but. This isn't Cas, this is an archangel, and he knocks her back to tabletop in an instant, crushing her down into the wood, not letting up. She blinks hard, tears smarting, and Lucifer arranges Cas's face into a little playact of pity, looking down at her.

"Aw, sweetheart. Feeling tough?" he says.

She lets her head thunk back onto the table. Rage ripples down through her throat and lungs and gut, chased with a liquid shot of fear. She wants the mark back on her arm. How she could tear into him, with the blade back in her hand. No matter the consequences that'd follow.

Lucifer looks all over her face, clearly entertained. "Well, that is kinda fun," he says. He transfers her wrists to one hand, squeezing so hard the bones feel like they're going to snap any second, and flicks her hair back away from her face. Smiles, softer. More awful. "You know, Cas said yes to this? He knew I was your only shot at fighting back Amara. First decision he made that wasn't grade-A idiot. But you know that wasn't the only reason. Don't you?"

Deanna breathes shallowly. The cage. Sam stuck in there, all her terror proved true, and when she broke in Lucifer beating them both bloody, her bones shuddering and Sam nearly gone and Cas shoving Lucifer away from them, from her, and—she can't—she was holding Sam, curled over him like she could protect him from what was coming, and Cas said—Cas—

He drags cool fingertips down her cheek, denting the skin. Down her throat, hard enough it hurts. "All those dumb protective urges," Lucifer says. Cas's fingers on her collarbone, and then dragging at the collar of her henley. Revealing the edge of her bra. Her heart thuds thick and slow and calm, a vast coiled beast under her skin. Lucifer's lips twitch. "All that envy. What he'll never get. And he just wants to protect you, anyway, you know that? You and Sammy. He knows. You know that, right? About you and your brother."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Deanna says. Wishes, immediately, that she hadn't. Another stupid instinct from all those years in the dark.

"Honey, you're dumb but you ain't that dumb," Lucifer says. His hand drags down, glancing over one breast and then down to her stomach. It sucks in without her say-so. "So," he says, soft. "I'll get your brother back, so I can take the Hand of God out of his big mitts. Then I'll gut him, because I am so, so tired of that stupid hangdog face of his. And I'll keep you safe and sound in my palace, a caged kitty while we work out how to take out my bitch of an aunt. But I think, first, it's only fair to give Cas a little treat, for the favor he's done for me—letting me free to take out Mork and Mindy, once and for all." He drags her hips to the edge of the table in a hard cruel haul, and smiles at her. "Mindy was kinda hot, don't you think?"

He flips her onto her stomach. Maybe he thinks that's more humiliating. She breathes slow. Not like it's the first time. Her belt snaps. Her jeans and panties hauled down to her knees. She braces her boots on the floorboards. Buzz of a zip. "Wow, not the most embarrassing vessel in the world," Lucifer says. She wants to say, Cas. Cas, stop. It's me. Cas, you can stop, it's me, please, don't let him, don't let him do it, you don't want to hurt me, Cas, can't you—can't you take control, take some goddamn responsibility, Cas, please—except there's no point in saying anything like that because if Cas were going to stop it he would have stopped it, already, and while she's thinking that his cock blunts stupid up against her, already hard, and she opens her eyes wide and sees every fleck and color of the woodgrain and then it's shoved inside. Thick. Not the thickest or biggest but she's dry and it hurts. Of course it's meant to.

She grips the edge of the table, takes it. Her hipbones grind into the wood. "Don't be afraid to make some noise," Lucifer says. He grabs her hair, pulling her face away from the safe shadow of the table, hauling her back onto Cas's dick. "We gotta make a nice highlight reel for Castiel, don't we?"

Like he's taking a walk in the park. She braces, tilts her hips so it hurts less. Because her head's been pulled up she keeps her eyes fixed on the telescope, at the far end of the library, and lets the room bob dizzily between each pummeling thrust. Her toes curl, scrunched inside her boots. Her heart a distant, steady drum.

"You're good at this, huh?" Lucifer says. He's not. His hips move like a piston but there's no imagination, either to make it hurt more or to humiliate her by making it good. Never was human and apparently never bothered to learn, either from Cas or Sam or poor doomed Nick, all those years ago. Just hard meat, cramming in where she's soft, over and over. Slick now because that's how bodies work. She doesn't know if he's ever done this before, in any body, but Cas is hairsbreadth from being a virgin so it can't take that much longer.

Sure enough: "Let's give him a show," Lucifer says, and pulls her upright by the throat. His breath coming in odd little puffs. He's not choking her but the clutch is hard enough to make her dizzy. She squeezes her eyes closed and focuses: the pole slotting in and in and in, the grip around her right wrist, the bruises throbbing up on the bend of her hips and now maybe on her thighs where she's getting crushed against the table. His chin over her shoulder, prickly stubble against the side of her neck, his voice soft while he says, "We better show Sam, too, before I kill him. Make sure he really sees. Big sister, dripping. Just like he used to, you know? Back then, when we were roomies."

She makes a sound. Not meaning to but the air chokes in her throat. He squeezes hard, laughs high and goofy.

"You're all so easy," Lucifer says, laughing, and then he pulls her in tight and pushes her own hand over her crotch and says, "Feel that," while he jerks inside, coming. She can't, other than the thickness. It should be—boiling hot, like the demons used to be, but then again he's an angel. Despite everything.

When he pulls out there's a sting. He pushes her hand down further, cups against the loose-wet gap, and she feels that first trickle, dripping. Thick.

"Too bad Michael never got to try you out," Lucifer says, soft against her ear. She opens her eyes. The library, the telescope. A little smoochy kiss against her neck. "Would've been fun to break you both in. Oh, well."

He shoves her. Deanna catches herself against the table.

"Ooh, stay just like that. Be right back, lickety-split."

A flutter, like wings. How didn't they notice that before?

She pulls her hand out from between her legs. Sticky. No red. She's surprised, considering, but then Jimmy Novak's dick wasn't all that big. Her breath and heart and mind are still slow and calm as a hibernating snake. In her pocket, a knife. She drags her jeans mostly up, folds her fingers around the silver handle. Angels and blood. Her thumbnail stings, where she tore it.

The wingbeats come again and there's Sam, in an old-time sailor uniform and his face pale and his eyes going right to Deanna, ignoring the danger at his left side.

"Dee?" he says, taking her in, and then steps forward. His face changing, seeing what was left for him to see. Behind his shoulder Lucifer smiles at her, broadly satisfied. Happy to win the battle, no matter the ultimate stakes of the war.

#my writing #wincest #dean/lucifer #non-con #shinelikethunder #i think this was your idea #really thinking about writing a longer-form version of how that'd go #but this is like -- the prequel #and what a perfect opportunity on timing

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corpusdiem-seizethedead · 1 year

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"These were the nights when Jack, steady, level, Jack, would jerk awake screaming bloody murder, unable to recognize where he was or what was happening, only knowing he had to escape."

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blurglesmurfklaine · 7 months

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@newsiestober2023 Day 7: Rain

I'm incredibly late to the party, but I was so inspired by @the-woild-is-y-erster 's Jack/Davey art that I had to write a teensy little something for it!

*****

It's not that Jack can't afford an umbrella for himself.

He's saved enough over the years to splurge on something nice like that if he wanted, and New York is close enough to the coast for something like that to be considered a necessity. Especially when you work outdoors.

Jack Kelly can damn well afford an umbrella if he needs one. What he can't afford is one for himself, and one for Crutchie, and one for Racer, and one for--well, everyone else. So if he has to sell out in the rain for a couple of days a year with only his hat for shelter, so be it. But he'll be damned if he's going to be the only newsie to make it out of this downpour dry while everyone else gets soaked to the bone.

Rain or shine, papes have to be sold. Jack tucks the last remaining copies of The World into his bag and hunches over it for good measure. People hardly want to buy the paper when it's not soaked in rain water.

If he's not watching where he's running, it's certainly not his fault. When he bumps into a solid form and his bag goes flying right into a puddle, Jack's initial reaction is anger.

"Dammit!" He cries, wiping rain from his face and chastising the stranger he's run into. "Look what you've gone and done! That's half a day's pay right th--Davey?"

"Jack!"

Davey's face is ecstatic, despite the gloomy weather and their combined clumsiness. Jack is less than prepared for the way Davey reels him in beneath his umbrella for a bone crushing hug, he nearly loses his grip on the concrete.

His chin hooks over Davey's shoulder, and the shelter of the canopy above them offers Jack short reprieve from the heavy raindrops on his back. If there's a shiver that runs down Jack's spine, it has nothing to do with anything he might feel for Davey, but--Christ, he hadn't even realized he'd been freezing until he felt Davey's warmth.

Jack's never believed in magic, but this makes him want to.

"Crap!" Davey cries, reaching down to pick up the soaked copies of the news. "Your papes. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'll get yours for you when I go selling for the Friday evening edition."

Davey pulls away and the absence of his body heat drags Jack back down to planet earth, where summer is over, and Davey's been back at school the last few weeks. Where Jack only sees Davey on Friday nights and Sundays.

"Don't worry about it," Jack finally manages. It's impressive to even himself that he sounds as composed as he does. "How's school been?" Jack asks the question, but isn't sure he really wants to know all the great times Davey's probably having without him. All the new friends he's making.

But he's not ready to say goodbye yet, either.

Davey shrugs nonchalantly. "Same old tired thing. Boring. I'm headed there now, actually. It's hard to go back to, you know. After doing something that matters."

"School matters."

"Yeah, sorry. Guess I should be grateful and all."

"You should stop sayin' sorry so much."

"Oh, uh, sor--" Davey exhales a laugh of relief. "I hate when you do that."

Jack grins. "I'll keep doin' it, and one day, you actually won't say it, and all will be right with the world."

A comfortable silence settles between them, the kind Jack's come to more than just appreciate, but long for. He knows the natural progression from here is to say goodbye. No matter how he dreads it.

"I uh. Guess you'd better get goin', huh? Wouldn't want you to be late."

"No. Guess not." Davey must realize he's staring, because he clears his throat in that way he does when he's feeling awkward and scans the ground around them. "Did you drop your umbrella, or--"

"Don't have one," Jack replies easily.

"Don't hav--in this weather? Jack!" Davey scolds. "Take it," he orders, firmly pressing his umbrella into Jack's unsuspecting hand.

Jack scoffs. "I ain't taking this. You're gonna get your school clothes all wet!"

"Ma'll wash and dry them."

"I don't know when I'll get a chance to give it back--"

"Jack." Davey grasps Jack's other free hand, staring him down compassionately. From afar it must almost look like they're locked in some sort of dance. "Shut up and take the damn umbrella."

If Jack didn't know any better, he'd say they are. Stuck, in this back and forth of almost flirting and near misses and entirely too many emotional exchanges between them than is appropriate for two young men.

Except Jack does know better.

Davey is miles smarter than anyone he's ever met. He's dedicated, and passionate, and while Jack's the one with the reputation for being a sweet-talker, it's Davey who's got a knack for persuasion.

Davey is going places.

Jack will be stuck in some sort of storm forever.

"Okay," Jack finally says in quiet resignation. He doesn't miss the twitch in Davey's brow--the slightest confusion at Jack's surrender--as Jack grips the smooth wooden handle.

"Bye, Jack."

"Bye, Dave."

Watching Davey walk away is just something Jack will have to get used to, and he decides to start right then. He might never hold Davey as close as he did a few moments ago ever again, but at least he has shelter from the rain.

#javey #javid #newsiestober #newsies #uksies #SORRY IT GOT SAD IVE BEEN FEELING ANGSTY LATELY #wow look at me im writing!

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ethereal-bumble-bee · 4 months

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Goodnight- Jack Kelly

Note: Trigger warning for death, grief, graveyards, and mentions of homophobia (this one’s not fun, folks). Enjoy some angst!

There it was.

It was a small grave, nearly nothing compared to the ornate tombstones scattered around the graveyard, but it was all the newsies could afford. The headstone looked as if it was already crumbling, slightly tilted from not being put in the ground correctly. When they first bought it, it had no name on it, no chance to identify who was below the stone.

Jack had carved the name in himself.

Stepping back, blinking tears from his eyes, Jack could just barely read the inscription on the headstone. A pocket knife doesn’t do much in the way of carving rock. The words were a bit lopsided, tapering down at the end, but Jack could make out the letters and that was enough.

David Jacobs- Our Beloved Friend.

It was a shitty inscription, but the newsies couldn’t think of anything else to put on it. What else could have summed up the life of someone so amazing? What words could have described the way Davey had cared for them, for Jack, loyal to his friends until his last breath? Race had suggested looking around at other graves, but Jack couldn’t fathom taking someone else’s final words about someone and using them for his own. He’d done enough taking in his life.

They could have done something better if Davey’s family had wanted to pitch in, like Les had begged them to, but they didn’t have anything to do with their son up until his death. Even Sarah had turned away from him when he needed it most, and that’s what angered Jack to no end. The dirt beneath his feet was damp from rain, feeling as if it had soaked up all of the grieving tears shed upon it. Jack could practically hear the sniffles of the younger newsies and the barely-choked-back sobs of the older boys, and he was struck just for a moment with how unfair this all was.

“Sorry, Dave,” Jack whispered. “It ain’t enough, I know, but please forgive us. We did the best we could.”

Not that Davey would be angry. Jack knew that if he were here, the boy would understand, and he’d go and reassure each and every one of them that it was alright. He was kind like that, always there to lend a helping hand if you needed him.

If they hadn’t kicked you out, if you hadn’t’a gotten sick…

He knew that there was no use crying about it now, that Davey was gone for good, but tears poured freely down his face anyway. It didn’t feel real- like Davey would walk up, hug him from behind, and ask him what was wrong any moment. Davey had fallen ill so suddenly, deteriorated so quickly, that Jack could hardly process that he was gone.

Sometimes, Jack wondered what would have happened if Davey’s parents hadn’t turned him out, if Davey had never gone to them with the confession of his feelings for Jack. He wondered if Davey would still be here, laughing up a storm at something Race had done, and squeezing Jack’s hand when he got nervous. He wondered what Davey could have been- Jack knew he would have gone far. Would he have gone to college? Could he have been a doctor? A scientist? A schoolteacher?

It doesn’t matter now. You’ll never get to see.

Slowly, Jack knelt next to the grave, wishing he had something to leave there. Flowers, a note, anything for the grave to look less…dead. He brushed a hand across the headstone, knowing that now, he had nothing keeping him tethered to New York anymore. Since the moment Davey died, the strings connecting him to Santa Fe began to pull at his heart again, and he had made up his mind to leave as soon as he said his goodbyes.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmured into the empty air, clearing his throat of the tears that choked his voice. “I’m sorry it ended like this. You deserved so much more…”

It was getting later in the night now, and Jack could barely see save for the light of the moon, the words he’d carved on the tombstone now shrouded in darkness. He didn’t know what to say, how to send his dearest friend and love into the endless night.

So he merely sat there, wishing he could kiss Davey one last time and hold his hand in the moonlight. He’d tell Davey just how much he cared for him, how wonderful he was- everything that Davey had died without knowing.

“Goodnight, Dave,” he whispered instead, a single tear rolling down his face and landing in the freshly turned dirt. “I love you.”

#newsies #newsies musical #fanfiction #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack kelly #angst #death tw #grief tw #tw death #tw homophobia #poor davey #racetrack higgins

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shallowseeker · 11 months

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Jack was always doomed. Look at these idiots:

I mean, who thought it was a good idea to give them someone to raise?

JACK: BOOM- Ow! CAS: *shaking his head slightly in disappointment* Uh, "adequate" job. JACK: *telegraphs physical pain* CAS: *looking off to the side distractedly* Get up, you're fine.

///

JACK: BOOM- Whooooa, ow. *dazed* DEAN: *touchy feely* Good job, buddy! Lemme help you up!

///

Before you start in on SAM being the one to baby him... You KNOW that Sam would in fact pitch a fit initially, but when Jack says he's going to do it anyway, Sam will flip a switch and be all, "Well, it's his choice to break down the door, so I have to stand back, I guess. Eternal woe."

///

Jack needs to be adopted by Jody. But somehow, I think even that would go badly. Probably. Jack would bring along all that Winchester-chaotic dumbass energy.

///

Rowena: "It's not easy being a parent. Never knowing when to hug your child and when to kill him." (And when to tell him to SMASH THROUGH THE DOOR ofc)

///

KELLY WOULD CHANGE HER MIND SO FAST IF SHE GOT TO SPEND A DAY WITH TFW

...or worse. Maybe she'd surprise us all and join in on the unhinged antics.

#dumbass energy for your dash #tfw + stupidity #tfw + idiosyncracies #jack & sam & dean & cas #jack sadly thinks about how cas used to heal every little scratch and still heals dean's every little scratch #growing up is so hard #jack has graduated to the sam expectation of dealing with injuries i.e. WALK it off unless it's REALLY bad #oh well at least dean still kinda babies him...when he's not trying to kill him anyway #adolescence...

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ao3feed-newsies · 4 months

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Adaptation

by, Hexmari by Hexmari Five months ago Jack Kelly lost both of his parents in a car accident. Not wanting him to end up in a home, Jack gains custody of his fifteen-year-old brother Racetrack and moves him into his studio apartment in the heart of Manhattan. Where Jack learns to adapt to these unpredictable circumstances, Race doesn’t handle them with as much grace and gives Jack a hard time every chance he gets. Little does Jack expect that the breath of fresh air he needs would come from falling in love with Race’s English teacher David. Words: 2629, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Newsies - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Jack Kelly (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins, David Jacobs, Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Crutchie (Newsies), Spot Conlon, Albert DaSilva (Newsies), Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin, Jack Kelly's Father (Newsies), Jack Kelly's Mother (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins' Mother, Racetrack Higgins' Father Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer Additional Tags: Bisexual Jack Kelly (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly Are Siblings, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Past Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Child Neglect, Past Character Death, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly-centric, Jack Kelly Needs a Hug (Newsies), Artist Jack Kelly (Newsies), Protective Jack Kelly (Newsies), Racetrack Higgins Needs a Hug, Gay Racetrack Higgins, Racetrack Higgins Has ADHD, Racetrack Higgins Being a Little Shit, Jack Kelly-centric (Newsies), Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Therapy, Anxious David Jacobs, Jewish David Jacobs, Gay David Jacobs read : https://ift.tt/FdJgAta - January 03, 2024 at 04:58PM

#AO3feed #newsies #fanfic #newsies fanfic

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vaicomcas · 6 months

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That tow-truck driver lady in s10e2 was the luckiest character on SPN.

Why? because she had one nice thing to say about Castiel ( great guy you have there) and did not get brutally killed.

Compared to anybody else who had any kindness or positivity to Castiel. It doesn't matter how big or small their role is.

Yeah, we know: in the show nobody is allowed to tell Cas they love him. But also: nobody is allowed to genuinely admire Cas or show kindness to him. Those who did admire him have to be killed, made villain (and then killed), or shown as "vapid hysterical fans" (such as Godstiel's female admirers who witnessed his miracles; or the angel army characterized as a "cult"). Sometimes they have to be killed by Cas himself, just to twist the knife some more.

Anna, Balthazar, Samendriel, Gadreel, Muriel, Hannah, even Bartholomew and Malachi (they were his enemies but they praised him); Meg, Crowley, Rowena; Kara the Biggerson's waitress who was nice to Castiel in that one scene in "The Great Escapist"; Charlie who thought Castiel was "dreamy"; Cecily, Crowley's NSA spy who thought Castiel was "hot"; Kelly who had faith in Cas.

One other exception of this rule is Gas-n-sip manager Nora who gave Cas a compliment (you are special) but didn't get killed; however she made up for the "sin" by taking advantage of Cas for free babysitting, so she got a pass.

To be fair, most characters on the show got brutally killed. So I'm going to stress only those I think were killed because they were sympathetic to Cas. (therefore I don't count Meg and Crowley because the characters were meant to be killed off for reasons unrelated to their relationship with Cas; or Charlie who was more killed to...actually I'm not sure why, to give Dean some man pain to showcase I guess)

Anna was killed to make the point that Cas would readily go against someone who was important to him to protect the Winchesters.

Balthazar was killed to make the point that Cas was so corrupted and evil that he would kill someone who was his friend.

Samendriel was killed to make the point that Cas was so under control he would kill without intention (but does it have to be the only angel who defended his character?).

Hannah was killed to make the point of the degree to which all angels, even one who loved him, were his enemy because he "chose the Winchesters".

Another observation from this list: those who have been (however briefly) friendly to Cas were mostly in the earlier and mid seasons. After season 12, he was so isolated, he simply had no more real relationship with anybody else, therefore certainly nobody left to admire him and then get killed for it. Writing and killing off a Cas-positive character was too much trouble.

So then, after I tediously re-established what is already known that Cas was not allowed any friends or allies of his own, let me ask: did the main characters, who were presented as his "found family", ever gave him an earnest compliment?

No, I don't count "and you do help, you are always on our side" as an earnest compliment to Cas. It was just telling him his worth was not his own. (Both Dean and Sam had given this "compliment").

No I also don't count "my devastatingly handsome friend", it's just Dean needing to be center of attention when the waitress was into Cas, not him.

Is "surprisingly tough for a nerdy little guy" close to a compliment? No, I don't count either--this was just excuse Dean gave Sam and himself for abandoning Cas injured and comatose in the past (as a result of helping them).

Or is "don't ever change" considered a compliment? No, not taking it either; this is Dean saying, your other version (even though willing to die for me) sucked, but I'm glad this version of you is still useful to me.

Damn, after two years as bitter Cas fan I am still surprised by Dean's awfulness.

I can't think of Sam or Jack giving Cas an honest compliment either. Jack never acted like he admired Cas, only the Winchesters. Sam hugging Cas after Cas healed him in Season 9 was the closest, I guess, but once again, it's about what Cas did for him, not Castiel's own qualities.

It's possible that it happened and I just don't remember it. But if it did, it certainly never rose to the level of what Cas deserved.

#castiel #bitter Cas girl #justice for castiel #warming up to bitter cas fan days #anti Dean Winchester #Dean critical #Winchesters critical

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