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rosanna-writer · 4 months

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Love at First Sight's for Suckers (1/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally... Warnings: None

A gift for @the-lonelybarricade, for @acotargiftexchange! @lbs-secret-santa is me!

LB, creating this for you has been such a blast, and I am definitely the luckiest secret santa in the world to have such a gem of a giftee. It's rare for someone to have both a talent AND a heart as big as yours—you're truly the High Lady of Feysand, not just because your fics are incredible, but because of the way you make new writers (including me earlier this year) feel immediately welcome and how you handle fandom nonsense with such grace and tact. I'm so glad to call you a friend <3

And sorry for an author's note that reads like an annoying award show speech, but there are SO MANY people I want to thank. The event organizers did such a thoughtful job creating an event that brought so many people together across the fandom; not just secret santa/giftee pairs, but people reaching out to new betas, roping new friends into secrecy shenanigans, and getting hyped about other gifts! @iambutmortal, @thesistersarcheron, @itsthedoodle, @wilde-knight, and @ablogofsapphicpanic have been the best betas/saucy Rhys pun brainstormers/secret keepers/DM screaming session partners, and the daily headlines would not have happened without their beautiful brains. I had SO MUCH FUN watching the excitement and creative energy grow and grow in the lead up to this reveal. And also @reverie-tales, thanks for being my unwitting cover to throw LB off my trail!

Anyway, you can find the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore. Happy Holidays!

One Heir to Share? Rhysand's Rita's Threesome

Baring it All at Starfall! Rhysand Stuns in Daring Deep-V Shirt

Rhysand's Baby Blues: Heir's Latest Fling Spotted Shopping for Baby Clothes

Future High Lord’s High: Witchberries, Fae Wine, and Wild Starfall Benders in the House of Wind?

Lady of the Night or FUTURE Lady of Night? Rhysand's Girlfriend Shocks Royal Family at Nynsar

Un-Rhys-onable: Night's Heir Refuses to Kneel to High Lord

Heir Head! Rhysand Forgets Alphabet During Library Community Service

Rhysand had a reputation.

A big reputation.

Perhaps that was why after selling him the newspaper every day for the better part of a year, Feyre Archeron had long since decided that he was far too full of himself to be ashamed of anything.

As he did every Saturday morning, Rhys appeared on her corner like clockwork, wearing last night's clothes and his trademark smirk. If Feyre wanted to know what lucky male or female had gone home on his arm, she'd only have to check tomorrow's society pages, which were always breathlessly detailing the exploits of the Night Court's handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir.

Not that Feyre cared. There were more important things to worry about than Rhysand's love life, like where her next meal was coming from. She only kept up with it because his scandals sold papers like nothing else.

And she definitely didn't feel a stab of envy every time she read about his latest fling. That would be pointless—a lesser fae shadow-wraith like Feyre would never be Lady of the Night Court. The stir Rhys's Illyrian mother had caused made that obvious enough, even if she was the High Lord's mate.

"Good morning, Feyre darling," Rhysand drawled, the way he always greeted her.

"It's noon, Rhys," Feyre said. The nickname might have been overly familiar, but Feyre had noticed his eyes glittered like stars whenever she used it with him. And besides, after being up since dawn, she wasn't inclined to fall over herself currying favor with someone who'd just rolled out of bed.

"Then let me be the first to tell you that you look delicious this afternoon."

Feyre rolled her eyes, positive she looked the farthest thing from delicious in her threadbare leggings and sweater. If it were anyone but Rhys, she would have been sure they were being cruel. But he had enough of her goodwill that he could pay her teasing compliments and not end up with his teeth bashed in for his trouble.

"Did you give them anything interesting to write about last night?" she said, leaning back against a streetlight and crossing her arms over her chest.

Rhys picked at an invisible piece of lint on his tunic, which almost had Feyre rolling her eyes a second time. Despite being in last night's clothes, he didn't look the least bit disheveled—probably some spell he'd cast to ensure he looked irritatingly perfect as always.

"Mor needed a wingman again," he said.

Feyre relaxed, relieved at his answer. Rhys's equally beautiful cousin was the subject of plenty of headlines of her own, and the two were frequently seen together. The people of Velaris were fascinated by the pretty blonde former Hewn City princess–when the Herald ran a story about her, Feyre just had to shout "Morrigan" to turn heads and make sales. If the lead story was about her, Feyre could probably afford to eat tomorrow.

It had been a while, though, since Rhys had been spotted with someone new on his arm. Or with anyone other than Morrigan, his sister, or the two Illyrians he called his brothers actually. Feyre had rolled her eyes at the rumors of a secret relationship or a hidden love child—if you asked her, the most likely explanation was that there were only so many attractive people in Velaris with a weakness for violet eyes. Rhys was bound to run out of people to fuck eventually.

"Is that the truth?" Feyre said, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Or did you actually find someone to settle down with?"

She'd meant it as a joke, but Rhys didn't smile. There was something hungry, almost predatory, in the way his gaze slid over her. Feyre found herself flushing, even as she stared right back. "Would you care if I did?" he said.

It felt like a challenge; Feyre lifted her chin. "Of course I'd care if you stopped causing scandals. I'm a newsie, and gossip sells papers."

"Of course," Rhys said, something in his expression seeming to shutter. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a gold coin, handing it to her. The value was far more than a single paper was worth, but he'd always insisted she keep the change.

Feyre pulled a paper from the bag slung over her shoulder and handed it to him, longways so there was no chance their fingers would touch. She'd let that happen once, and his fingertips brushing hers had sent a crackle of electricity along her skin that she'd been thinking about ever since. Her mind replayed it almost daily—and frankly, Feyre found that embarrassing.

She pocketed the coin. "Pleasure doing business with you."

When Rhys spoke again, he dropped his voice to a low, sensual purr that sent shivers skittering down Feyre's spine, heat washing over her despite the autumn chill that cut through her tattered clothes. " Everything is a pleasure when it comes to you, Feyre."

He flashed her one last feline smile, and Feyre tipped her cap as he winnowed away, trying not to blush. With her other hand, she fingered the coin in her pocket. It would go under the floorboard with the rest of the ones she'd stashed away. Only a few more until she could afford the one-way ticket to the Continent that she'd been dreaming of.

Velaris was wonderful— if you could afford a big, strong door to lock out the hustle and bustle. Feyre certainly couldn't, and she was dying to get away.

A flash of auburn hair and a shout of "High Lady!" across the street pulled Feyre from her thoughts. Lucien was striding towards her, a half-empty satchel of newspapers slung over one shoulder and carrying another paper bag in his hand. She raised a hand in greeting—she'd stopped cringing at the nickname a long time ago.

"Is the new spot over by the docks working out for you?" she said when he got closer, even though she knew the answer. Lucien could sell papers anywhere; he didn't even need the eyepatch and the sob story about being an Autumn Court orphan who'd found his way to Night—just his brilliant smile was enough.

Lucien shrugged, the gesture far too elegant for someone who'd spent his morning selling newspapers to sailors and fishmongers. "I can make anything work."

"Then why did you come looking for me?" Feyre said. With unsold papers still in his bag, there had to be a reason. The newsies bought the papers from the distributor each morning, starting each day operating at a loss until they'd sold enough papers to recoup the cost. Lucien still had work to do if he wanted to turn a profit.

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Isn't gazing upon your beautiful face reason enough?"

"You sound like Rhysand."

"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing. Trouble in paradise?"

Feyre resisted the urge to roll up one of the papers in her own bag and smack him with it. Lucien had overheard her speaking to Rhysand once and apparently decided the prince was in love with her. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"Rhysand isn't—"

" By the Cauldron, he'd follow you around like a lost puppy if you'd let him."

"He's just a flirt," Feyre said, the edge to her voice making it clear she didn't want to talk about this anymore. "What did you need me for?"

"Someone needs to finish my pickles," Lucien said, pulling a sandwich out of the paper bag. He handed Feyre half, along with the entire side of pickles it had come with, then sat down on the curb to eat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Feyre nibbled on the pickle, the first thing she'd eaten all day, and thanked the Cauldron for a best friend who hated them and shared them with her. Putting her papers aside, she sat down next to him. "Thanks, Lucien," she said, unwrapping her half of the sandwich. Lunch would be on her next—that had been their unspoken agreement for years, even when meals were sporadic and infrequent.

They lapsed into silence, more intent on eating than talking. It was comfortable, a much needed rest after a morning spent shouting headlines at passersby. Feyre's feet already ached from standing all morning.

After a few minutes, Lucien balled up the now-empty wax paper. "Now that you're fed, I think it's safe to mention that you're needed over by the Rainbow."

"Again?" Feyre said with a sigh.

"Bron and Hart are fighting over the same spot. The High Lady should step in."

Feyre wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but at some point, she'd found herself the unofficial leader of the newsies of Velaris. She'd always kept an eye out for newcomers and lended them a hand—advice on selling papers and navigating the city was all she had, but Feyre shared freely. When there was a problem, she was usually the one to resolve it.

At some point, "High Lady" had gone from an ironic nickname for a poor girl on the streets to a mark of respect for a young woman who took care of her own.

"I'll talk to them," Feyre said, finishing her food and standing up.

Lucien started to thank her, but Feyre had already called on her magic, her body becoming nothing but shadow. Incorporeal like this, she could slip through walls and travel unseen—and crucially, it was faster than walking. As a lesser fae, it was the only magic she had at her disposal.

Even in the brightest sun, Velaris was full of shadows. And for better or worse, Feyre had made them her home.

***

Rhysand had planned to give himself time to read the news before he was due for a meeting at the House of Wind. Yesterday, he'd told himself he'd be up early enough to look over the agenda ahead of time. He'd wanted to be prepared, and his father would have his head if Rhys was late for official court business again.

But somehow, the High Lord's ire seemed incredibly far away last night, when the Cauldron only knew how many drinks he'd had and Mor was dragging him back to the dance floor at Rita's again, and dawn had nearly broken when he'd finally stumbled home.

Late or not, though, he still had to see Feyre.

The most important part of his day had become buying the paper from her. It wasn't about the news and never had been—every day, Rhys hoped that would be the day she finally took an interest in him that went beyond trading a few teasing remarks and rolling her eyes. He'd never flirted so much, so painfully obviously before, just to have it all go ignored like water off a duck's back.

And that had already been going on for a few months before the mating bond snapped.

Their fingers had brushed as she'd handed him the paper. Perhaps that brief touch skin-to-skin had been all it had taken for the urge to claim and taste and scent his mate to hit him with all the force of a brick to the head. Before he'd done something stupid, Rhys had winnowed away without an explanation or a goodbye.

After that, Rhys had resolved not to tell her, at least not until she showed some sort of interest back. But in the months since, he hadn't gotten her to even blush. And even if by some miracle, she did want him that way and accepted the bond, there was no guarantee she wouldn't resent him after a few decades as future Lady of Night. Her indifference was painful enough—Rhys wasn't sure he could withstand her hating him.

For the short flight to the House of Wind, Rhys let the chill in the air clear his head of thoughts of Feyre. He was supposed to focus today. Some of the city's most powerful merchants had asked for a meeting with his father, and as the High Lord's heir, Rhys was expected to be in attendance too.

The meeting room was already full when Rhys walked in, brushing his windswept hair back into place. From the head of the table, his father glared daggers at him.

Rhys ignored it, dropping into the empty seat that had been left for him. "I hope I didn't miss anything interesting."

He kept the smirk plastered on his face, even as his father pushed past his shields to speak mind-to-mind. We'll discuss this later. For now, get through this meeting without embarrassing me further. That's an order.

Rhys made a mental note to let Mor know he'd likely have to cancel their plans to go to the theater that night.

One of the merchants—Rhys had met him before but had forgotten his name—gave him a cold smile and said, "We were just discussing economic policy."

"Carry on, then," Rhys said.

As the meeting droned on, Rhys forced himself to focus, even if the subject matter was painfully dry. One day, he'd be High Lord, and if he wanted to be the sort of ruler the Night Court deserved, one who made things better, he needed to be knowledgeable and willing to listen.

But even then, he wasn't immune to letting his mind wander. At some point, he'd found himself thinking about how the sunlight had brought out the gold in Feyre's hair, when the sound of his name brought him crashing back down to reality.

"…but you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Rhysand?" one of the merchants was saying, the sneer in his voice obvious.

Rhys felt his father's eyes boring into him, and it was clear this was some sort of test. He was supposed to be handling something, and Rhys didn't want to think about what sort of punishment might be in store for him if he made it obvious he'd stopped paying attention.

"Would I?" Rhys said, arching a brow in a way that he hoped looked imperious.

"With how many headlines you've been the subject of? I think by now you'd know a thing or two about what sells papers. If it weren't for you, we'd have gone under after the War."

Rhys's hands curled into fists under the table as he recalled exactly who this merchant was—Pulitzer, a newspaper magnate, the one who'd been complaining that circulation was down since the Treaty had been signed. Peace, apparently, was boring.

Peace that Rhys had bled for, had nearly died for when he'd been captured by Amarantha's army. Not that any of that mattered when profits were down.

"Then a bit more gratitude is in order," Rhys said, his voice low and deadly and all command, sounding every inch the future High Lord he was. It was so brief that Rhys nearly missed it, but his father's lips quirked up in approval. "If you have a request, I suggest you word it carefully."

It quickly became clear that Pulitzer and the rest of the owners of Velaris's major newspapers had come to grovel. Even if Rhys couldn't bring himself to care, it was true that the Night Court's newspaper industry was bringing in less money since the end of the war. They'd come to petition his father for assistance.

And to Rhys's relief, the High Lord's answer had been a quick and resounding no.

Of course, Rhys knew his father's answer had been more about safeguarding the Night Court's wealth more than anything else. That much was obvious when so many of their citizens were struggling, even in Velaris. It was something that Rhys vowed to change one day.

But Rhys's relief didn't last much longer. His father had told the newspaper moguls to figure it out themselves, and they'd quickly agreed that to fix their bottom line, they'd raise the price for the newsies who bought the papers to distribute each morning.

Newsies who were barely getting by as it was. Newsies who were already going hungry and sleeping outdoors even as the weather got colder. Newsies who'd been orphaned or disabled after the war and couldn't find decent work.

Newsies like his mate, and Rhysand certainly wouldn't stand for that.

#feysand #acotar secret santa #Love at First Sight's For Suckers

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carryingthebannershitposts · 2 months

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Some Newsies Headcanons

Jack:

This man 100% pretends to be all brave an tough and then proceeds to cry himself to sleep

Probably afraid of thunderstorms but hides it

Had a horse phase when he was younger (So did Race but not as bad)

Sometimes forgets words for things and decides to make them up (couldn't remember the word for cigar so he yelled at Racetrack not to let Les use his "fire leaf stick")

Still has nightmares about the refuge

That Santa Fe pamphlet is more important to him than most of the people he knows (with the exception of Davey, Les, Crutchie, and Race)

Has threatened to use a lasso to tie Racetrack to the wall at least once, and no, it didn't work

David:

Talks to himself when he's doing things

Can see right through Jack's bullshit/knows when he's pretending to be okay vs when he actually is

Cannot dance but tries

Fidgets with literally anything he can get his hands on

A modern David would cry after watching Dear Evan Hansen

Genuinely doesn't know how to smoke and legit inhaled the smoke and started dying the first time Jack offered a cigar to him

Dresses very formally literally no matter where he's going

Talks about Jack to Sarah because he is very gay and doesn't want advice from his parents

Sometimes questions his gender identity but always forces himself not to think about it because of what his family might think

Crutchie:

I will die on the hill that Crutchie is probably an age regressor, but keeps it a secret because this is Newsies and nobody tells anyone anything

Will beat you with his crutch if you insult his friends

Will apologize after hitting someone in a fight

Claims to hate being carried but does kinda like it

Will go to work even if he's dying of an unknown deadly sickness because he feels bad about others helping him

Race:

This is pretty much canon at this point I believe but Race is transmasc

Spot is the only one allowed to call him "Racer", he will protest if anyone else calls him that

Always has a cigar purely for the sake of having something in his mouth, not because he smokes it

Got his harmonica taken away by Jack after playing it nonstop at all hours of the night

Spot has offered to let him live in Brooklyn and he just kinda said no because he's fine making the walk every day

Acts like an idiot but is actually really smart

Probably hates basically everything about himself but acts like he's the best to hide it because this is Newsies and nobody tells anyone anything

Seriously all of these characters just need to sit down and have a heart to heart

"I can't wait for anything! The doctors call it ADHD- I call it RDHD, because my name is Racetrack!" (Bonus points if yall get that reference)

A modern Racetrack would show Spot that one song from Raggedy Ann, "It's hard to be king when you're short" and get yelled at

Spot:

Gets teased constantly for being short

Constantly looks like he wants to unalive the next person he sees

Steals Racetrack's hat to annoy him

Racetrack compared him to one of those small yappy dogs once and Spot now thinks about it constantly

Aggressively kind to the people he cares about ("DRINK WATER AND GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP, I FUCKING LOVE YOU")

Refuses to explain why he ran away from his family

Despises his real name because "it sounds like an old man name"

Anyways that's all :)

#newsies #92sies #jack kelly #david jacobs #crutchie morris #newsies headcanons #headcanons

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fearsmagazine · 5 months

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SAW THE MUSICAL: THE UNAUTHORIZED PARODY OF SAW Extends Off-Broadway and Announces National Tour.

After an astonishing New York run this Fall, SAW The Musical The Unauthorized Parody of Saw has extended its run Off-Broadway at AMT Theatre (345 West 45th Street) through Jun 23, 2024. It will also kick off a national tour in LA with a six-week run beginning Feb 29 at the Hudson Theatres Mainstage (6539 Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90038 in Hollywood) SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody began performances Off-Broadway on Sept 16, 2023, with its New York Opening Night on Sunday, Oct 1, 2023, and was called "Hilariously Absurd" by NPR. The run is extended through Jun 23, 2024, in Midtown's Theater District.

Danny Durr as Gordon and Jill Owen

The National Tour stops include Los Angeles, CA (Hudson Theatre Mainstage, Feb 29- Apr 7, 2024 ); San Diego, CA (Tenth Ave Arts Center, April 10 – 28, 2024), Las Vegas, NV (May 1 – 5, 2024), Portland, OR (Alberta Abbey, May 15 – Jun 9, 2024), Greely, CO (Union Colony Civic Center, June 2024), Chicago, IL (Jul 26 – Aug 18, 2024). Exact dates, locations, and tickets can be purchased by visiting www.sawthemusical.com/national-tour.

One of the most thought-provoking horror films of all time now is…a musical. SAW The Musical hilariously captures the events of the first movie, parodying the Saw that started it all, following from where Lawrence Gordon and Adam Stanheight find each other for the first time in the bathroom trap. Will they follow "the rules" as they discover each other's secrets? Will they escape the game in time and saw right through? A love story with fluidity (and lots more fluids), SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw is Little Shop of Horrors meets Avenue Q, pushing the boundary on sexuality and how to love. [Parental Advisory: Explicit Content]

"SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw brings the iconic horror film to life on stage with a wickedly funny twist. Now is the perfect time to laugh at the macabre as we blend horror and hair-raising laughter, creating a unique musical experience that's both hilarious and thrilling. Get ready for a love story entangled in traps, secrets, and unexpected humor, pushing the boundaries of entertainment with a dash of explicit fun." Cooper Jordan, Creator, and Producer

Created by Cooper Jordan (DEX! A Killer Musical, The Rat Pack Undead), SAW The Musical has a book by Award -Winning Writer Zoe Ann Jordan (Virtuoso - NYCHFF) and music & lyrics by Patrick Spencer & Anthony De Angelis (An Axemas Story), and directed & choreographed by Tony Award Winner Stephanie Rosenberg (Easter Bunny HOP! LIVE; Co-Producer: Moulin Rouge! The Musical, Anastasia) with music direction by Leigh Pomeranz (DEX! A Killer Musical) and fight direction by Dan Renkin (All My Sons, DEX! A Killer Musical). The Musical is produced by Cooper Jordan, Saw The Musical Parody LLC, Stephanie Rosenberg, Merciful Delusions Productions, Panit Chantranuluck, June Rachelson-Ospa, and more to be announced. Cooper Jordan is the Lead Producer.

SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw (New York) stars Danny Durr (National Tour: A Christmas Carol, Tony-nominated War Paint) as Gordon, Adam Parbhoo (NY: Home's Kitchen) as Adam, Gabrielle Goodman (NY: Open, Stay) as Amanda/Alli/Jigsaw and Voiceover for Detective Tapp is by the late Donnell Johnson, with Swings & Understudies; Andrew Caira (New York: The Importance of Being Earnestly LGBTQ+, Regional/Tour: Atlantic City Blues Brothers), Patrick Voss Davis (Film: Lucky Louie. Regional: Newsies), James Lynch (New York: Baby Powder), Thomas Skea (Film: Out of Water), Morgan Traud (Regional: Mame), Jessica Morilak ("A Sketch of New York") and Keaton Barry. SAW The Musical's National Tour Casts will be announced in 2024.

For an updated schedule, National Tour tickets or to purchase tickets, please visit SawtheMusical.com.

#theater news #play news #saw the musical #national tour #Unauthorized Parody

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artemis-lynn · 27 days

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hear me out.

DISCLAIMER: this is for 92sies since the livesies Jack & Medea can't be blood for obvious reasons (NOT RACIST)

Jack Kelly is biologically Medda's son.

-He crashes at her place sometimes to escape Snyder and everyone

-Although it pains her, Medda lets her son live as a newsie because she knows he'd only feel restrained if she tried to force him to live the 'normal' lifestyle

-He wants to go to Santa Fe because he believes that's where dreams are made of and he's just not satisfied with NYC.

-He would bring Medda, but he knows she's too attached to her theatre to leave

-No one, save for a few VERY close friends, know that Medda is literally his mom. She had a secret romance with his dad that needs to be hidden so he can't tell many people

#92sies #newsies 1992 #newsies #jack kelly #medda larkson

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joeythefrog · 4 months

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I see a lot of newsies Christmas or generally holiday fics this time of year that were late to upload so I’m giving my two cents on the characterisation of the newsies at Christmas

Race, can either be the child or the hyped wine aunt. Both work. He’s totally chilling with Les and bouncing with excitement to open gifts. On the other hand, probably dresses as Santa, as slutty as Santa can get wether there will be children or not. He’s generally written pretty well

David, who doesn’t even celebrate but gets roped into it every year anyways is perfect. Organises secret Santa, has backup gifts for if someone is disappointed or someone can’t afford to give a gift. Gets overwhelmed with the mess every damn time. He’s 50/50 in fics

Jack is living for it, he’s in the mess, partying with the adults and making it magical for the kids. Generally loves Christmas. Always characterised pretty well.

Spot always gets me annoyed because I see so many people say he’s not interested or sits off to the side. Nope, this is a sentimental boy. He is in the thick of it with a camera taking Polaroids, secretly wishing that he was allowed to participate and say he’s interested in the cheesy shit that everyone says is lame. This man wants lights and gingerbread houses even though he doesn’t like gingerbread. He decorated the tree with Race and they ended up wrestling in the tinsel which Jack photographed. It’s his favourite photo

#newsies #newsies Christmas #or holidays really #David is so tired after doing Hanukkah AND Christmas #the others are the children let’s be honest #sentimental Spot Colon #spot newsies #racetrack higgins #david jacobs #les jacobs #javid #sprace

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heliads · 2 years

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hi! idk if you still do newsies requests, and if not thats ok, but if so do you think you could write one with a fem reader with either jack, race, or davey as the love interest? im a sucker for the stories where the boy accidentally says something that could be perceived as hurtful and the reader takes out of context and the love interest has to make it up to her and comfort her. if you decide to do this i’ll give you the freedom to go wherever you want to with this and i get it if you don’t want to :)

no pls i always do newsies reqs. anything for my boys.

masterlist

Thinking about this moment, you realize that this might be the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. It’s hard to appreciate life while you’re still living it, like rose-tinted glasses only exist when you’ve started missing what you should have loved while you were going through it, but right now, you’re beating the odds. This is good, and you still have it to treasure in the palm of your hand.

Still, even the knowledge that what you have is good still stings, in a way. You’re catching at the golden grains of sand even as they fall down the hourglass. You can stretch these blessed few hours out for as long as you can, but eventually, they’ll end. Some part of you wants to play God until the end of time, to reach out and tie everything down, but everyone leaves eventually.

As of right now, though, this doesn’t include the boy next to you. Jack Kelly is special, the kind of boy who only appears once in a person’s life, blooming as bright as a forest fire before he disappears without a trace. Right now, he’s yours for the taking, but he could be gone as soon as tomorrow.

The two of you are curled into a fire escape landing really only meant for one person, a hazy tangle of stretched limbs and worn clothes. Tomorrow, your legs will cramp up from the knot they’re in, but you can pretend you don’t notice it now. You and Jack have been watching the sun cross the horizon, reveling in the glory of not having to work at the moment.

You cast a quick glance his way, letting your gaze rove over his messy head of dark curls. They pour like water over his eyes, shading out his normally bright stare. It must be the artist in him, but you swear that he always seems hyper aware of just about everything, like he could find you in a crowd of millions or spot the one person who needs him the most. At the moment, it’s you, but again, your best strokes of luck could change in a moment.

Truth be told, you’re afraid for when this will end. Jack has been your closest friend for a long time now, although you developed feelings for him a while back. He’ll never feel the same way, obviously, because one cost of knowing all of Jack’s secrets backwards and forwards is that you’ve had plenty of time to hear about all the times he couldn’t care less about the various girls who make Manhattan their home. Jack could have a supermodel asking for a date, and he wouldn’t give her a second of his attention if he didn’t feel like it.

That should mean that days like this, when you’re able to share his afternoons, should mean more than usual, but even being the brightest star in his line of sight still isn’t enough for you. You don’t just want his attention as a friend, you want his love. You want your fingers curled around his heart, you want to know that he is yours, now and forever.

The only problem is that Jack refuses to let himself be tied down. He’s restless, constantly searching for a way to get out, out of the streets, sometimes even out of the city. You’re certainly grateful that he’s here, but you’ve heard the way he talks about Santa Fe like it’s the greatest dream to ever bless his head. Someday, even you won’t be enough to stop him from going, and you’ll have to live with that absence for the rest of your days.

For this afternoon, for this month, for even this year, though, he is here with you, and that means everything. For a few blessed moments, you can convince yourself that this is going to last forever, and that’s enough for you.

Jack looks at you now, the corners of his lips tugging up in something like self-consciousness. He’s usually confident, the boy who could be yours, always walking around the other newsies like he’s never doubted himself for a second. You’ve been able to learn the difference over the course of the past couple months. Witnessing the moment his facade breaks down is stunning, and the first time you saw it you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

By now, you’ve learned that the difference in him is normal, that he likes to pretend he’s something more just to make sure none of the other boys have to worry about themselves half as much as he does. You’re not sure why Jack thinks it’s okay to let down his guard around you, only that you’re glad to see it, and not just because it gives you a false hope that he could feel the same way about you as you do about him.

Jack rubs the back of his head, further mussing up his hair. “What?”

You repeat the question right back at him. “What?”

Jack makes a face. “You were looking at me. Do I have something on my face?”

The way he says it, so full of fear that you’d think he was worried about a deadly serpent instead of a smudge of dirt, makes you laugh. “No, you’re fine. Besides, you’ve literally never worried about that before.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Well, excuse me for wanting to look my best. Some of us have standards.”

You arch a brow. “Does that mean I don’t?”

Jack gestures at the haphazard mess of limbs, the aftereffects of both of you trying to cram yourselves into this narrow fire escape. “It’s incredibly improper for you to be up here with a boy, you know. Who knows what could happen?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I live in a house with thirty other boys. Also, we’ve been cloudwatching. The only thing that’s happened is that you’ve come close to falling asleep four times now.”

Jack frowns. “That’s so wrong. Maybe two times at most. I am very invested in these clouds.”

You chuckle. “Of course, I should have known.”

Jack’s eyes flash to you again, lingering on the tilt of your chin as you laugh. You wonder if he’s mapping you out in his head, tracing where he’d draw the shadows on your face. Regardless, it takes him quite a long time to manage to drag his eyes away once more.

“Listen, Y/N, I was thinking–”

Whatever Jack was thinking, he’s cut off by the sound of someone shouting his name from inside the Lodging House. He makes a face, and you swear you can watch his usual confident exterior wrap back around him like a shell, protecting him from having to take a single thing seriously again. Jack tries to ignore the summons in the hopes that the caller will go away, but when his name is yelled again, he groans and starts to stand up.

“One of the boys probably twisted an ankle again, I bet. Either that or Race dropped his box of cigars between the wall and his bed and thinks someone stole it. I’ll be back soon.”

You nod, and watch as Jack grabs his cap from where it’s long since fallen from his head. He disappears back inside, then pops back out again just as quickly, looking oddly panicked.

“You’ll wait for me, right? I swear, I’ll wrap this up as soon as I can, but I really need to talk to you. You’re going to be here when I come back?”

You give him your best attempt at a reassuring grin. “This is the only place in the entire Lodging House where I can actually be alone for once. Trust me, I’ll be right here.”

Jack grins, clearly relieved. “Ok, great.”

He heads back inside, and you’re left wondering what Jack could possibly have to say that would be so important he’d have to check and make sure you’d still be here. Usually, he seems to take your presence for granted, but not today. Interesting.

You’re a little too curious for your own good, so after a couple of minutes pass and Jack isn’t back yet, you decide to creep inside the Lodging House and see if you can find out what was so important that he’d have to dash away for a while in the midst of his seemingly crucial conversation.

You climb back through the window, and after padding down the hallway for a few meters, hear the sound of voices coming from a nearby room. You know that eavesdropping is rude, but you hear your name tossed back and forth between the few assembled newsies, and you know you have to listen.

Albert is talking to Jack, you think, with maybe Jojo and Race there too. “Hey, we’se not saying anything. We just want to know what’s going on.”

Jack sounds frustrated. “Nothing, alright? Nothing’s going on. We’se just talking.”

Jojo interrupts. “Oh, ‘cause that’s totally true. You’ve been out there with her for hours. That’s not nothing.”

You have a feeling they’re talking about you, the afternoon spent out on the fire escape. Some part of you wants to know Jack’s take on the matter, so you lean closer. He doesn’t disappoint, either, and speaks up soon enough.

“Like I said, it’s nothing. Y/N’s just a friend, if that. Stop trying to look into things if there’s nothing there.”

You feel your stomach drop as he says it. Thankfully, Race seems to want clarification, which saves you from the trouble of having to burst in there yourself.

“What do you mean, ‘if that?’ Why would you guys be anything other than friends? Unless, uh–”

Jack cuts him off hurriedly. “Nothing like that, Racer. Get your head out of the gutter, kid. All I mean is that, well, it’s like we talked about the other day, right? Sometimes people have different expectations for what they mean to somebody, and sometimes they’re wrong. It’s like that.”

All of a sudden, you think you’ve heard enough. Not only does Jack know how you feel, he doesn’t feel remotely the same way. You feel sick to your stomach. How could you have thought that he’d even want to love you, he scarcely even thinks of you as a friend?

You slip back down the hall, but this time, you don’t return to the fire escape. Let Jack head back there, feeling all victorious for tricking you yet again. You hope he happens upon that empty space of iron railings, you hope the pleasure gushes from him and leaves him feeling half as useless as you do. You don’t want to see him anymore, and you certainly don’t want any more of his conversation. Jack can keep his secrets, and you’ll keep the last of your pride. He can’t have any more of it.

In the end, you don’t know how Jack reacts. You do your best to avoid him, which is fairly easy with the number of newsies crammed into the Lodging House growing by the day. You can eat your meals at different times, sell your papes in different places with different partners, and stop seeking him out as you once did. All the while, you nurse your broken heart like a shattered bone, and no matter how few times you see Jack’s face, the hurt of it all still threatens to kill.

It won’t last forever, but you still weave this protective shroud of solitude about your shoulders, pretending it brings you warmth so you can at least feel something other than devastating chill. You can’t believe Jack would say such a thing, which makes it all the worse. It seems as if both of you have been recently disappointed by the other.

Despite this, Jack takes it upon himself to track you down after a week and a half of your supposed exile. You thought you were doing a good job of losing him, and then you round a street corner only to see him bearing down on you. You try to double back and lose him, but it’s too late by now. He’s seen you.

Jack jogs up to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders partially as a friendly gesture and also to make sure that you can’t run anymore. “There you are, Y/N. It’s funny, I almost thought you were avoiding me.”

He casts you a sharp look as he says this, daring you to confirm his suspicions. You just shrug.

“It’s a big city, Jack. It’s not impossible to go a day or two without seeing you.”

A furrow deepens in Jack’s brow. “See, that’s what I thought at first, but it’s been a week. Big city or no, I would have run into you at some point before today.”

When you refuse to elaborate further, he sighs. “Look, I just want to know what’s wrong. When I came back to that fire escape and found you missing, I assumed the worst. Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

You waver, but cave under the force of Jack’s beseeching stare. You’ve never been able to hide anything from your friend, apparently not even your feelings for him.

“I was going to wait on the fire escape, but I went inside briefly. I came in just in time to hear you talking about how I didn’t mean as much to you as some of the boys thought.”

A dawning look of horror is growing on Jack’s face. Rather than bear witness to it any longer, you shake loose his arm and take a few quick steps away.

Jack shakes his head hurriedly. “That’s not what it was like at all, I swear. I would never say something like that.”

You fold your arms across your chest, doubtful. “Then what was it like?”

Jack rakes a hand through his hair. “The boys were confronting me about you again. They have all these crazy ideas about how I feel about you, and I didn’t want them spreading rumors that weren’t true, so I tried to shut them down. Looks like I was a little more overbearing than I needed, huh?”

Jack tries for a weak laugh, but you don’t join in. Instead, you’re just disappointed. Sure, at least you know that Jack doesn’t hate you, but you’re just back to square one of him not loving you.

“Why did the boys want to confront you about me? Has this happened before?”

Jack looks oddly nervous. “What? Oh, uh, no. Never. Why do you ask?”

This makes you more curious. “You said they were confronting you again. Like they’d talked to you about me before. Why?”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to quail beneath your inquisitive gaze, and like you, he’s unable to withhold the details.

“They think I like you,” he mutters under his breath, “they have for a while. Not sure why, of course, but—”

A slow smile is growing on your face. “And do you? Like me, that is.”

Jack looks away frantically, but no rescue is in sight. At last, he sighs, and nods slowly. “Yeah, I do. And you’d better not say a word to the other boys, because they’ll never let it go.”

You laugh. “Why would I say a thing to the other boys? Unless we wanted to, of course.”

Jack squints at you. “Wait, ‘we?’ Does that mean that you like me too?”

“Of course I do,” you say, “Have for a while, actually. That’s why I thought you were having that conversation in the first place, because you had to convince the boys that even if I was crushing on you, you didn’t feel the same.”

Jack stares at you for a moment, as if processing the whole conversation. All of a sudden, his face splits with a breathtaking grin. “Shoot, you like me. We should have talked about this earlier.”

You arch a brow. “Why, what would you have done differently?”

Jack looks oddly proud of himself, and seconds later, you figure out why. “This.”

When he kisses you, it feels perfect. Not too rushed or too slow, just the perfect conclusion, the one the two of you have been rushing towards perhaps since the moment you met. It is you and Jack until forever, and you couldn’t ask for anything else.

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

#jack kelly #jack kelly imagines #jack kelly x reader #jack kelly oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live x reader #newsies live oneshot #newsies jack kelly #newsies jack kelly imagines #newsies jack kelly x reader #newsies jack kelly oneshot

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kentucky-fried-thea · 2 years

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hey yall, it's almost halloween!

I'm planning a secret spirit

(like a secret santa), where we can trade fanwork!

if you would like to take part, please send me an ask with your wishlist, and with what mode of fanwork you are willing to gift.

on October 1st, I will assign everyone their spirit, and we'll get spooky!

once you've finished your fanwork, you can send it anytime you want

the fandoms will be Les Miserables, Newsies, Spring Awakening, Dear Evan Hansen, Hadestown, Be More Chill, If/Then, and Percy Jackson!!!!! but if you have another one to add, I'll be happy to add it!

if you have any questions, my discord is Moth's Wing#5343

let's get spooky!!

#secret spirit #gift exchange #les miserables #if/then #newsies #spring awakening #dear evan hansen #hadestown #be more chill #percy jackson

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baura-bear · 10 months

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What are the *official* newsies drinking game rules?

Ok so the way we are playing is very much that these rules can be interpreted any way you want depending on how much you want to drink and also I haven’t show Maria the rules yet… sooo they might change but I made these with the help of everyone who commented on my earlier post so thank you anyone who did that :)

Drink when Davey loses item of clothing (we love character development)

Drink when someone messes up choreo (looking at you Christian Bale)

Drink when there’s a pelvic thrust in choreography

Drink when lyric is different from livesies (you might die if you do this accurately)

Drink when Jack has solo emo moment (basically the entirety of Santa Fe)

Drink when Race talks about betting

Drink when Sarah smiles (Added this rule for Maria)

SHOT when Jack/Dave have a near kiss (tie pull, seize the day hug, jack’s escape)

Maria and I each came up with our own rule, the catch is that neither of us know what the other’s rule is. So as we watch we have to try to guess what the secret rule is. (I’ll tell you guys once she guesses)

#literally threw this together last night half awake #subject to change #Maria and I have VERY different tolerance levels so we may each be playing a bit differently than each other

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daveyfvckingjacobs · 10 months

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ok erm i didn’t finish my writing yet but here’s some hcs while u wait

on the rooftop, crutchie and jack are happy to let any of the newsies stay overnight. often they hang out and share stories

jack has drawn every single couple together at least once. like getting a portrait done. most of the newsies actually hate getting this done because it’s a long and tedious process and they have to sit still for a really long time lol

jack is trans. end of story LMFAO

racetrack higgins is also trans. END OF STORY.

crutchie is a very good listener, and that’s why he knows so much random shit that jack tells him about Santa Fe, 90% of which probably isn’t true

jack has most definitely ( but kept secret ) drawn crutchie riding a palomino, ridin in style.

race chose his name *very* wisely. he had a selection at hand and he chose racetrack bc let’s be honest if u could choose a badass newsie name you would want RACETRACK. i know i would

ok bye enjoy my writing is actually based on some of these hcs so you’re welcome

take your time!! I am chill waiting

oh :((( when one of them has a nightmare or is reminded too much about their past, has a bad selling day or is just generally feeling low they get to spend the night without needing to ask. sometimes they just sleep with the quiet, less chaotic comfort of the pair or they’ll chat. whatever the newsie needs

jack drawing all the newsies is one of my fav simpler hcs for him but honestly I’ve never thought about him sitting down the couples that’s so cute I cannot. most of them are horrible fidgets and sometimes he has to resort to memory or drawing while they’re curled up asleep, racing to get it done before they wake up and ruin the pose or get embarrassed

TRANSRACETRANSRACETRANSRACE. I’m always down for all trans hcs, race is my personal fav along with some other gender fuckery of handful of others I love but jack is one I’ve never put any thought into. I am intrigued tell me more I’ll swap you for mine

jack has no idea how to draw someone on a horse. he loves the drawing anyway, even if it’s a little wonky. it’s in his pillowcase so crutchie won’t ever come across it accidentally and it makes the lines a little smudged and blended but he likes the effect. it makes it look old, like some prophecy or foretelling of their dream

the idea of race sitting down and choosing racetrack instead of being dubbed it is so funny for the thought he would put but also sad for the connotations. choosing a new name to fit it? forget his old one? endless possibilities

#what hcs is it based on #I’m excited #newsies #newsies the musical #newsies hc #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #crutchie newsies #crutchie morris

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the-lonelybarricade · 7 months

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HELLO!

It's your secret santa, back in your inbox with a few questions :)

1. A little birdie (and by "birdie" I mean "internet stalking") told me you like musicals...which are your faves?

2. What elements of a fic (tropes, settings, etc) make you go "HELL YES WE NEED MORE OF THAT" when you're browsing the Feysand tag?

3. If you were a kitchen utensil, which one would you be and why?

Hi gorgeous!!

Is it bad that I'm giggling and curling my hair at the thought that you were stalking me? Sounds like flirting 😌🤭

hehe and to answer your questions YES I love musicals!! My first love was Les Miserables (hence the username) and my current love is a toss up between Hadestown and Newsies. I have to be in the mood for Hadestown or Les Mis because they'll put me in my feels but I can ALWAYS bop to The World Will Know.

Also I have a VERY specific hyperfixation with the way Jeremy Jordan's neck vein pops out during that number in the pro shoot 😂 Allow me to share it:

(this might be the most important gif I've ever made)

As far as favorite tropes - honestly if Feysand so much as LOOK in each other's direction I'm already a puddle on the floor 😂 I especially love when Rhys is absolutely suffering from his pining because he is so in love and Feyre is completely oblivious. I will also take ALL of the classics. You will never catch me saying no to one bed, misunderstandings, forced proximity, fake marriage/dating, etc. Load those puppies UP, I will sip them like a fine wine 😌

And if I was a kitchen utensil... hmmm for some reason a whisk is speaking to me. I guess I'm a bit chaotic and like to mix things up?

I hope this was helpful and I'm sorry it took me a few days to get to this!! Sending you loads of love!

#secret santa

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swiftie-as-a-coursing-river · 5 months

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Hello! From your secret Santa I wanted to know what are your favorite ship, character, (grishaverses or not) and show/movie? P.S what’s wytthias?

Oooh ok, I’ll just make it all grishaverse for the first two so it’s easier

Favorite ship: Kanej, but I genuinely love all of the crows ships

Character: NIKOLAI LANTSOVVVVVV

Movie/tv show: favorite movie is either Thor: Ragnarok or Newsies (the Broadway version on Disney+)!

Oh and Wytthias is a crackship we made up on my discord server between Wylan and Matthias. It was a joke and then we RAN with it.

#grishaverse swifties #grishaverse xmas

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crimmson · 9 months

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bro WHY is there a 50/50 chance that melatonin is gonna give me the most visceral gut-wrenching heartbreaking dreams

it started off with like... being an astronaut or something similar but it was me a two dudes who were just supposed to be doing baby's first little scouting mission that was like, go to this one little rock and back

but there was this weird cloud that was like a cross between static and a bunch of gnats in space

next thing I knew, I was in some warped version of Times Square where there was an odd mix of people, food, items, and fashion from a huge range of time periods and places. and I was looking at one of the screens showing a garbled news report where it was pretty clear that everyone thought I was dead while my two astronaut fellows were getting some medal.

somehow some woman dressed like a newsie is leading me around and explaining shit, and this place is some kind of weird limbo where lost shit winds up. Not everything or everyone, but a fraction of it. and now they have a whole-ass society. unfortunately that society still appears to have a class system and rely on a crude recreation of capitalism. the streets were lined with tents and stalls selling all kinds of things. some of these shops were obviously nicer than others. and at the top was a dude whose name I have immediately forgotten but he was dressed like a cross between a leprechaun and Santa Claus.

at some point after watching a woman argue with the produce stand lady (which, as it was explained to me, apparently sometimes during the Mystery Teleport To Limbo, food does weird shit; there were some blue strawberries and a frankenlemon) I made an offhand comment about why you would do this. everyone here is just suddenly thrust into this situation, and you're all trying to survive. and you seem to get enough food and supplies for everyone. so why hamstring each other? why not just... dole it out?

this apparently sealed my fate for the rest of the dream, which I would not find out until my gruesome end.

first, at some point, newsie lady pulled me to the side and let me in on a "secret." there were people who had the same thought I did, and they were planning something. then she pulled her shirt to the side and showed something stuck to her skin. it looked like a few poker chips with some wires running between them. but she told me she was there to blow herself up and make a point. and that originally she was just going to do it, but now she wanted to give me the chance to leave the area.

instead I sat down on a little wall and kicked my feet like a child and mumbled that I didn't want her to go.

and then she was like "oh. I didn't know that." and she just. didn't do it. (also I am now beginning to suspect that it was never a bomb and it was just a test)

there was either a little time skip or I just don't remember what happened for a bit. I think it was just me learning to live here for a bit? but the society thing was still bothering me.

AND IT'S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE.

I was walking with the newsie lady again, and we were getting into the "nicer" section of streets and stalls. and then there was this very long stretch of tables, draped in honest to God velvet, with display cases of pristine watches and jewelry and gemstones. and I looked up at the dude running it, and it was Green Santa. and I just started climbing over the tables until I got to him, and sat down on the table in front of him, and was just like... "why."

I gave some long rousing speech, and everyone seemed uncomfortable, and Green Santa started to look a little weepy.

then there were thumps coming from "upstairs." logistically this makes no fucking sense. upstairs is just sky from out there on the street. but when I asked wtf that was, and he was like, that is a problem, and we're going to need everyone. quickly, go upstairs and hold the door.

so I ran up the rickety stairs behind him, which had a little wooden landing, and then 180 degrees was another set of stairs. even more rickety. I felt like I was on the inside of a rotted wooden barn. there were huge gaps in the slats, nothing looked secure. but despite the huge gaps, it was impossible to see anything other than fuzzy shadows on the other side of the walls and doors. and it looked for all the world like a bunch of skeletal wolves with antlers were THROWING themselves against the double doors.

so I stretched myself out as much as I could and dug my heels into the shitty crumbling floor and LEANED as hard as I could against the door to hold it shut. because everyone was going to be coming up those stairs to help me.

right?

lol. lmao even.

no. everyone was in on it. everyone was a part of it. I absolutely could not hold those doors. apparently I was a sacrifice. they busted through and I had to watch from my first person POV as I got mauled. at one point I managed to hold up my hand and it was SHREDDED. I could see muscle and bone. thankfully I did not have to feel much. usually I feel shit in my dreams but I guess this time even my brain was like "that's a bit much isn't it?"

BUT THAT IS NOT THE PART THAT HURT

at some point while these things are using my larynx as a chew toy, newsie lady walks in with a hunting rifle. at this point I already have put everything together. with no real warmth, she asks, hypothetically, if I would prefer a bullet in the head at this point. I am choking on sobs and my own blood. and in the saddest gurgle I can manage, I say that I thought she liked me.

"I do. That's why I'm offering."

AND THEN I WOKE UP AND STARED AT THE CEILING FOR 20 MINUTES

HELLO????????

#crimm has weird dreams

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ill-say-anything-i-hafta · 9 months

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Eyoooooo it's my first fic ever on tumblr! This is sort of inspired by this answer from @riding-palomionos-every-day and my ongoing frustration with Jack acting like an asshole in Santa Fe (Prologue).

Run

Crutchie has never been in the Refuge.

He is Jack’s second and he takes that job seriously. He burnishes Jack’s legend whenever he gets the chance, and keeps all of his secrets – the ones Jack chooses to confide, at least.

But when the Refuge comes up, Jack don’t act like himself. He says stuff that don’t make sense. Crutchie knows better than to ask for details about his time there.

Still, there is some facts he needs to know. To be prepared.

There used to be a boy called Walter the Crip who hung around St. Paul’s Chapel on Fulton Street where Crutchie would sell the afternoon edition. Walter was a bum, not a newsie; both of his legs was stiff and he used two crutches to get around. But he was nice enough to talk to. Then one day, Crutchie didn’t see him no more.

Folks said the bulls got him for begging. Crutchie knows where they must’ve sent him. Now, he might as well be a ghost.

Racetrack was in the Refuge for the first time last year, a three-month sentence for loitering and smoking on a public thoroughfare. When he got out, Crutchie asked him what it was like. “They takes away your shoes,” Racer said darkly. “So’s you can’t run.” He wouldn’t say much more.

When Crutchie was little, he used to have two crutches, like Walter. That made it easier to get around, for sure, and he don’t remember his back hurting him back then. But you can’t hold up a pape with the headline showing if you ain’t got no free hand. You can’t count back change. You can’t pop a fella hard in the mouth if he tries to roll you.

Crutchie takes pride in being a good seller. He’s gotta eat, and he’d gotta be able to defend himself, too. He’s got a rep of his own to maintain. And it’s hard to explain, but to him, two crutches just looks worse. Makes him look like a fella he don’t wanna be.

But there ain’t no denying in – he is not as steady with just one.

Specs has done several stints in the Refuge – more than anyone else Crutchie knows. He’s been picked up for skipping out on trolley fare. For fighting, when bigger kids jumped him. For other minor crimes he didn’t even do. “It ain’t so bad in there,” Specs said, when Crutchie asked him. “The boys is rough, but they’se OK. You just gotta make friends with the right ones, and it’s fine there. So long as you ain’t on the Spider’s bad side.”

Specs is tall for his age, with straight, strong limbs and a handsome mug. People usually take to him, ‘cept for the folks who hate him on sight for who he is and what he can’t change. He’s a good scrapper, a good seller, an all-around good fella. He sticks out, but he’s used to getting along, like Crutchie is.

“You knowed any crips in there?” Crutchie asked him.

“A few.”

“How’d they treat 'em?”

Specs takes off his glasses and rubs his nose. He never likes to say things people don’t want to hear. “Just fine,” he says. Crutchie is embarrassed that he even asked such a stupid question.

They have all slept in shared rooms for years. Jack don’t flinch when he catches sight of Crutchie’s leg, like some of the other fellas do. He understands that it never growed right. He’s sketched the muscles that ain’t there and the way the foot twists inward, considering the leg like it is something interesting and not a tragedy. Jack don’t even mind touching it, on days when the pain is so rotten that Crutchie needs a little extra help.

He knows perfectly well that it ain’t gonna get no better. When he says that, he don’t mean it to hurt. It’s another stupid yarn, a pretty story that makes Jack feel safe.

There are boys’ names carved into the walls of the Refuge dormitories. Ractrack told Crutchie that one day, out of the blue. “I spotted Jack’s name there,” Ractrack said. “From a long time back.”

Is Walter the Crip’s name somewhere? Maybe. Racer don’t remember seeing it. And Crutchie ain’t gonna ask Specs nothing else.

It’s all a waste of time to think on it too much, and for a newsie, there’s already too few selling hours in a day. Crutchie ain’t a dreamer, and he don’t need to run nowhere. His real life is here. It’s better for him to concentrate on the here and now, on being out, on staying out. On watching for Mr. Snyder and taking care of the littler bkids. On which headline is better today, the World's or the Journ's. On what Kloppman’s missus is gonna make for dinner.

FIN.

He can make it on his own just fine. He’s been doing it for years. And he’s got friends. No need to be fast when you’ve got friends.

MORE NOTES: I feel like I should also point to this fantastic post from @newsiesquare, which very much informed my thinking about what the hell Jack and Crutchie are even talking about on the roof.

#newsies fanfiction #crutchie morris #jack kelly #specs #specs is Black #ableism #racism #precannon #newsies #livesies #racetrack higgins #trauma #fans have though about the rooftop scene way more than the creators ever did

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