#once and for all. && davey

[ihateswansmorethananything]

More Javey AUs because I love them

[jack-kellys]

omfg r u stupid or WHAT.

[honeyywoods]

rewatching livesies again! except it’s only the parts with Davey and I pause every 5 seconds whenever he does anything just bc he consumes my every waking thought

[loving-jack-kelly]

i think when jack crutchie and race are all together in one room everyone else in the room instantly has a headache because they are So Annoying.

[i-aint-got-santa-fe]

What's your guys favorite song from newsies act two

[more-sonorous]

I don't know if you're still on your car ride, but if you are, I have two questions.

1. Would you rank the songs from liveries?

2. Would you rank the Newsies characters? (Not all of them nessacarily.)

Have a good time!

1. yes— here is my official livesies song ranking (without the millions of reprises):

1) Once And For All- 10/10 no notes, goosebumps, chills every time. If this song doesn’t make you cry it’s been staged wrong (glances at uksies)

2) Carrying the Banner- certified banger. need I say more? iconic, show stopping, jaw dropping way to open a show.

3) Watch What Happens Reprise- some of the best harmonies in the show + my Davey soft spot is showing

4) Brooklyn’s Here- NOW THEM SUCKERS IS IN FOR A SOAKIN!! WHAT A SAD WAY TO END A CAREER.

5) Santa Fe— actually sang this for a genderbent cabaret at my college this semester 🤭

6) King Of New York- earworm, can’t get it out of my head

7) Seize the Day- Only this high bc of Davey’s solo I fear (it’s also a banger power anthem hype song and the HARMONIES UGH DONT GET ME STARTED)

8) The World Will Know— Jack Kelly goes feral and I’m HERE for it!!

9) Santa Fe (prologue)- sweet cute precious little number

10) The Bottom Line- yes it made my top ten, NO I AM NOT ASHAMED. the harmonies make me giggle and kick my feet every time guys I LOVE TIGHT HARMONIES.

11) That’s Rich- Banger but just not banging enough to make my top 10

12) Letter From The Refuge- darling boy 🙏 always a tearjerker

13) Watch What Happens- this song can be… so annoying. it has to be done right. I have seen SO many annoying Katherine’s do it. but it can also be so beautiful and lovely and empowering

14) Something To Believe In- good melody, strong solos, I hate the harmonies when they sing together at the end. In short, could be better if it finished stronger, yawning, next

15) Finale- salty about the davey erasure, plus I don’t know if I vibe with the mashup of previous songs for the finale?? Can’t decide if I would’ve enjoyed a new original banger for the finale or just something less jatherine centric. like let ALL of the boys celebrate the whole time

16) I Never Planned On You/Don’t Come A-Knocking- my friend and I wrote a third part for Davey and now I can’t enjoy the song without it happening at the same time… Jack’s part is lovely but the BBeauties part pisses me off so I can’t in good conscience rank this high

17) The Bottom Line (reprise)- listen I know it’s short but I had to put it on here because ‘like the pied piper you knew what to play’ serves every god damn time

2. I actually don’t think I could do this, because I love so many of them and those that I don’t love I just don’t know anything about?

the ranking would just be davey stealing #1 and everyone else fighting for the death over #2 I fear

as always thank you for the ask my friend <3

[snap-my-kneecaps]

Hey! Does anyone know what the lyric changes are in the UK Newsies version of Once and For All? 

The line in the broadway version is:

Joe, you can stop counting sheep We're gonna sing ya to sleep You've got your thugs with their sticks and their slugs Yeah! But we got a promise to keep!

But in the UK version ‘You've got your thugs with their sticks and their slugs Yeah! But we got a promise to keep!’ is different and I can’t tell what they say.

If anyone can help it would be so appreciated!!

[concernedbrownbread]

Guess who just watched newsies

ID: Digital sketch of the newsies poster, where a boy holds a newspaper while jumping in the air, the word "newsies" across the canvas. END ID

Reference:

ID: Poster of newsies, the broadway musical. END ID

[boneblushed]

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

[what-the-newsies]

NEWSIES HEADCANONS:

1. Mush is literally the CLINGIEST person EVER, like if he likes you, that's it,he is physically latched onto you whenever you're around.

2. When race goes to see spot in his lodging house (he has to climb to up to a window so nobody sees), he always calls spot a princess in a tower and it drives him INSAINE.

3. Skittery is the typa guy to just randomly start laughing and giggling hysterically out of nowhere, and everybody just kinda stares at him (he's a little insaine, but that's okay)

4. Davey was on the debate team when he was at school, but his speeches were always too long, and he got frustrated when he couldn't get his point across fast enough ao he quit (that happened to me)

5. After almost every race, Race goes down and tries to convince the owner to let him go pet the horses,they only said yes once and he won't let it go

6. In Brooklyn, if somebody is refusing to get out of bed in the morning spot will literally just pick them up and throw them off the docs into the water outside 😭

7. Davey and his dad have the most unbreakable bond ever.

8. Jack picks up on 'fancy' words davey uses and then uses them incorrectly when talking.

9. Crutchie is the WORST sleep talker ever. He just babbles in his sleep but doesn't say anything that makes sense

10. Blink has no filter at all. The first thing that comes into hisbdead is said out loud. Good or bad.

[morganbritton132]

was thinking about that wayne buying little steve cereal text post and was wondering if you still plan to write the fic its inspired? if so i am definitely looking forward to it and am cheering you on. if not that's cool too, i was just curious!

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever actually write the fic. But! I will tell you what I had in mind because it wasn’t supposed to be a sad fic!

Wayne starts noticing this kid around town.

He shouldn’t. He doesn’t notice any other kid, and this boy is well-dressed. He seems polite enough and well-behaved. There’s no reason that Wayne should pay him any mind, except… the hair. It’s a mess. It’s brushed up and backwards like the person who fixed it didn’t quite know what they were doing.

He keeps seeing that hair everywhere.

It’s asking questions at the hardware store about lightbulbs. It’s distracting Bob at the Radio Shack. It’s taking up half the aisle at Melvard’s with a cart it can’t see over, and asking Wayne, ‘Mister, can you reach the floss for me, please?’

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, honestly, but Wayne feels a might uncomfortable every time he sees this head of hair (a bit more stylish than the last) doing something that a parent might do. Especially because he never sees a parent.

It comes to head when he’s three people back in line at Melvard’s and people are complaining. He sticks his head out to see what the hold up is and sees that head of hair again, counting out quarters and dimes at the counter for a box of cheerios.

Davey, in front of him, swears under his breath and bounces on his feet like he’s about to say something, but Wayne beats him to it. Wayne takes the few steps up to the counter, looks Donald in the eye and wishes that it had been Joyce Byers instead.

He sits his carton of eggs and gallon of milk down on the counter next to the kid’s cereal and tells Don to ring it all up together. Then he tells the kid, “Put your money away, boy.”

He tries to talk to him outside the store, but the boy squeaks out ‘thanks’ and is running before Wayne can get anything out. He doesn’t see him for a while after that, and he can’t stop thinking about how hungry he looked.

A month and some change later, Wayne finds himself sliding into a booth at the diner across from the kid with the hair. He’s devouring slices of toast, pennies and nickels counted out on the table next to him.

The kid startles, and Wayne cuts to the point, “You hungry?”

The kid nods in that skittish way that reminds him of his nephew and Wayne orders two plates of pancakes. He lets the boy eat before he asks where his parents are. He gets no answer. He asks if he has enough food at home. The kid’s eye flicker to him and then back down, “Usually.”

He clicks his tongue, swears internally, and asks how often he’s left alone and hungry, and the boy says, “Their flight got delayed.”

The boy shrugs his shoulders and explains the money they leave him, and how sometimes he’s runs out but he’s learning better. It crushes Wayne just a little that he seems so proud of himself. Wayne gives the kid his number and tells him that if he’s ever hungry to call him.

For a while, Steve would call sporadically. Sometimes goes weeks, sometimes months. They’d meet at the diner and eat. This eventually lead to Wayne cooking for him in his trailer, then to him teaching Steve the basics, then to them cooking together.

Steve got older. He got a credit card. He got busier with school, and sports, and his friends. He didn’t need Wayne to feed him anymore, but they still tried to have dinner at least once a month.

When Eddie came to live with Wayne, he told him that Stevie came to dinner every third Saturday of the month. Eddie assumed Stevie was Wayne’s girlfriend.

The first Saturday that passed, Steve had to cancel because he had a basketball game. The second Saturday, Steve’s parents were in town so he couldn’t come. The third, Steve no showed, called the next day delirious with flu and apologized to Wayne.

The fourth Saturday rolls around and Eddie is thinking, “Man, this chick does not like Wayne. He needs to break up with his girlfriend before it gets really sad.”

Then there is a knock at the door, and Eddie opens it to the biggest jock asshole in the school.

Eddie stares at Steve in horror, and Steve stares back in total confusion, and then they both get annoyed like, “What are you doing here?”

Then cut to Eddie calling Steve out on bullying and Steve tattling about Eddie walking on the lunch tables. They bicker and argue, and Wayne secretly loves it.

[brainrotcharacters]

Call me Back Please

tags: redacted ASMR post inversion, redacted David x Angel

--

It was eleven at night when Angel's socked feet paced towards the door. On top of the security system installed in their house, David said he had magical force fields put up around the perimeter. It wasn't going to ping for either one of them exclusively. "Davey?"

No answer.

Pouting, Angel released a breath and made their way to the kitchen. There must be some leftover chips somewhere.

1:19 struck on the wall clock by the time Angel sent a fifth text message to David. Hey! I know phones aren't allowed on the clock but I just wanted to check in. Call me back

The microwave oven made a droning sound that sounded uncannily like the magical ward that covered everyone during the inversion.

Call me back please. I love you.

It was 2:46 when Angel sent a voice note to the group chat. "Hey, guys. I'm okay, don't worry. Um..." They bit the inside of their mouth to keep from crying. "Have you-have any of your mates reached out? Nothing's wrong, I'm just... let me know when they're okay. Thanks."

A little more than five gruesome minutes later, Asher's mate responded. You're up, too.

3:30 flashed on Angel's devices as they adjusted their seat, facing the direction of the front door. "This is stupid. I'm being so stupid. This is clinginess! I'm being clingy."

But the room felt just as quiet as when they waited on the outside of that ward without guarantee that David was still alive.

"Christ," Angel curled their body into the smallest ball possible, sobbing into their arms. David's hoodie notwithstanding. "Where are you... Please..."

At some point, they padded to the floor leading to the front door and sat there. 4:15 arrived before Angel realized they had slept against the wall, and their body ached all over. And someone arrived through the door.

"What are you doing on the floor? Get up. You'll catch a cold."

Angel weakly peered up at David. Something in their face made his eyes soften, and he set his bags aside, arms open towards his mate. "Come on, Angel. Let's go to bed. Come on."

Normally, Angel was hyperactive and shrieking whenever David scooped them up in a bridal carry. Now, Angel curled their arms around his shoulders, face buried on his neck while their legs hang limp over David's arms.

See? The condemning, reasonable voice in their head snapped. He's right here. You're so stupid. Clingy. Childish, even!

David spotted the tearstains on the hoodie Angel wore. He nudged open the door to their bedroom before he said. "Thanks for staying up for me."

The voices stopped for a second. Angel made a noncommittal noise.

"Did you try to sleep?" David set them down to bed, brushing stray hairs out of their face.

Angel fidgeted with the strings of the hoodie, and croaked in a small, guilty voice. "Yeah. Sorry I couldn't."

"That's alright. I appreciate that you tried." He brushed his hands across Angel's arms, soothing. "I'm not mad, Angel."

They managed to look at him through the tears welling up in their eyes. "I also ate chips. And noodles. And drank coffee. I'm so sorry. I know we already talked about it. I-I am trying to cut back, but I was panicking. I knew I was panicking. I needed comfort--"

David kissed the back of Angel's hands once before he dove, putting his full upper body weight as he embraced his mate into the bed. He already knew Angel's unhealthy coping mechanisms, and it wasn't as bad as they felt it was. Darlin' had been the one to tell them about Angel checking in among the mates.

"You're not in trouble. You're alright." He rocked them back and forth, letting Angel sob into his shoulder. "Here's what we do, Angel: you wait while I change out of these work clothes, and then I'll spoon you to sleep. How's that sound?"

Angel was already nodding, even as they gently pushed him away. "Go. Hurry back." they whimpered.

They already lifted the blankets by the time David returned and climbed into bed. Angel slithered onto him within seconds. "Come here, Angel. My angel."

[pagesupinflames]

what the shaw pack boys reactions would be like if the waiter took their plate away while they’re still eating

(because i miss them dearly)

david:

just … confused

the waiter comes by nd swoops it away mid bite and he just looks at them like

“what … what the fuck ????”

his side eye is stanky and he knows it

mouth is just silently agape and you’re trying so hard not to laugh because he doesn’t even look mad he just looks fucking concerned

like the face a cat makes when it’s professing something that it sniffed

that’s davey

he just sits there in silence staring you down like he’s tryna burn holes into your skin until the waiter comes back and you come clean that you set it all up

trust—he’s not saying anything to you. he just continues eating while still glaring daggers into your soul and growling nd grumbling something under his breath

you’re gonna get it later

milo:

seething. absolutely seething.

sets his fork down, takes one sip of his champagne, nd the waiter comes and snatches his plate up like a bird with its prey

he’s choking on his drink and making weird noises to symbolize his confusion becuase he doesn’t even know if he has any verbal words for what just happened

he turns around in his chair and tries to consolidate the waiter while still trying to keep his cool (by now you’re cracking the fuck up)

“aye— ‘s not funny, sweetheart. what the fuck just— ‘scuse me. i— i wasn’t done with that— what the shit ???? y’see what just happened ? i’m not goin’ crazy, am i?”

he’s trying to get the waiters attention but they just keep walking away until theyre out of his sight and he

is so pissed off

when you can’t hold in your laugher anymore and through your cackles you mumble out the meaning of the prank he looks at you and goes:

“really. really. y’know i don’t play about my food, sweetheart, i could bite your hand off right now if i could. you’re lucky that’s a felony ‘cause your arm would be halfway down my throat right ‘bout now.”

you apologize to him by letting him steal some bites of your plate which he takes with stubborn reluctance

asher:

desperate. that’s all i gotta say.

his hand shoots out before the waiter can even snatch it up and he’s mumbling out something like:

“oh— sorry, yeah, i wasn’t done with that. i wasn’t— hey—“

you’re trying to hide your phone from under the table but it’s so hard not to laugh because ash is literally playing tug of war with this fucking waiter for his chicken katsu

after a few minutes of him trying to reason with the waiter, the waiter eventually gets the high end of the stick and snatches the plate out of his hands, walking away while trying to keep their own giggles in

ash is frozen in place

sitting there

astonished

taken aback

trying to mentally process if the lighter in his car would be a good fire starter to burn the place down

he slowly turns to you and just starts whining about the whole situation, letting out some laughs himself (becuase seriously what else can he do)

“so …. so are they gonna give it back or ……….. ??oh— oh they’re walking away. they’re going back into the kitchen. oh my god. baabe. did you see that ????? the pack is never gonna believe me holy shit—“

when the waiter gives the plate back, he just starts bursting out laughing because he doesn’t realize that it’s a trend and he for real thinks that this is a once in a lifetime experience

you never tell him that it was a prank because you feel like it’s funnier if he thinks it was a real thing

[marstonsboy]

had another evil thought that spiralled out of control. indulge me for a moment:

over the years, people start arriving on a near empty plot of land west of blackwater. it’s uncertain who got there first: bessie matthews, beatrice and lyle morgan, eliza, isaac morgan, etc.— but more and more people show up until it’s something of a community. jenny kirk, mac and davey callander. then soon after, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o’shea, eagle flies, susan grimshaw. more and more in such a short amount of time. arthur morgan is the last, and suddenly the deaths stop.

after a sudden stretch of years with little newcomers, a house starts taking shape. soon enough the house is a home, and peculiar things can be found all over: a dog barking where no one can find it. echoes of campfire songs going late into the night. photos of john and abigail’s wedding, attended by what remained of their family. a taxidermy squirrel that appears back on the mantle no matter how many times you throw it out, wearing a very familiar hat. in just a few years a heartbreakingly young girl comes home, bearing a strong resemblance to one abigail marston.

then, gunshots. john marston and uncle are the next to arrive.

in the next few years, the house is eerily quiet. the residents see it falling into disrepair, but they can’t do anything about it. the dog stops barking, the campfire has gone cold and won’t relight. abigail marston is next, and though they’re happy to see her, the arrival brings up a question. what happens to jack now?

the livestock are gone, and the house is dusty, all but stripped of the knickknacks and personality that built up over the years, like someone found it all too painful to look at. john’s hat and guns, once tucked away inside a box beneath the bed, vanish the night after abigail arrives. newspapers come to the door, announcing the death of former government agent edgar ross.

soon after, a wanted poster, bearing the name “john marston jr.” and a sketch resembling the boy’s namesake so much that it has john himself stumbling back. jack was only a boy when he left, and now he’s wanted dead or alive, with a price over his head that could rival some of his uncles and aunts back in the day.

every year that passes without any sign of jack is a relief. the house doesn’t change much, still abandoned, but letters come in. mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, sadie adler, charles smith— old friends and family, checking in on him. none of them reach the recipient, as he is not home, but they’re filled to the brim with love, letting him know that he isn’t alone. that he always has a home with them, if he wants it.

one day, john spots a book he doesn’t recognize on the shelf by the piano, and he stops. “Red Dead” by a J. Marston. it doesn’t take much to figure out who that could be. he opens it, flips through, and reads it to abigail. the kinder parts get read to their daughter, ecstatic to learn about how her older brother is doing. their son did become a writer after all, even if everything he’s written speaks volumes of his grief, his anger. the loneliness he’s endured since losing his family, and killing edgar ross.

arthur morgan opens his old journal to find several entries and sketches from john, but also many new ones from jack. his handwriting is just as clumsy as his father’s, but his drawings are more refined. little portraits of the gang members that lived and scribbly sketches of what the world is becoming in their absence decorate the pages. war, cars outnumbering horses, and a very detailed drawing of a revolver none of them have ever seen before.

he’s all grown up, and good lord is he angry. he’s mourning, and hurt, and he’s lost so much, but he’s still undoubtedly jack marston. he draws dogs and writes about missing rufus, slipping strays some food from his bag whenever he sees them. sometimes he’ll write a dry, sarcastic joke that speaks of his father’s influence, or mention missing his momma’s cooking, “even though it was hardly edible,” which makes abigail roll her eyes. he hates fishing and prefers to lose hours of the day with his nose in a book. the best maintained part of beecher’s hope is the graves on that hill, which gain new flowers every week. sometimes, if they listen close, they can hear him talking, telling his ma and pa what he’s been up to, though he saves the grisly details for his book.

and when jack marston finally does walk through that door, much older than when anyone he knew last saw him but far too young to die, he is welcomed home with open arms. because no matter what he’s done, and no matter how much he may hate himself, he will always have a home here with people who love him, and who can’t wait to get to know him all over again.

[f1lncer5]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ the pack wedding hcs! ˎˊ˗

some things that PROBABLY(?) happened during and before the wedding!! just some silly headcanons by yours truly!

!! no credit for any of the characters, that’s all our lord and savior eriks !!

______________________><_______________________

sorry they’re so lengthy ..

angel and davey!!

Angel was TOTALLY stressed out about the planning of the wedding. They wanted things to be perfect but didn’t let themselves be too overbearing for David’s sake.

David was 100% choked up at seeing Angel in their wedding attire. He tried to keep his composure, but his watery eyes betrayed him as the inched closer.

Angel improvised their vows and didn’t stutter once. Their love for David was so unmatched they said everything from their heart. There was at least one inside joke that made David laugh through teary eyes.

At the reception, there were a few moments when Angel and David locked eyes from across the room, exchanging whole conversations in just a glance. ‘You okay?’ ‘Yeah, you?’ ‘Okay, perfect’ looks like that.

If David wore a tie, he might have Idly played with it throughout the evening. He’d fix it, straighten it, hold it all absentmindedly.

bäbe and ash!!

Asher didn’t let go of bäbe for a second. Whether it was holding their hand, wrapping an arm affectionately around their waist, it didn’t matter. They were GLUED together.

Ash absolutely teared up seeing bäbe walking down that isle. Not just a little misty eyed, he had to full on bite his lip to stop from crying.

Andd when they finally did reach him, he whispered a ‘You’re so beautiful,’ because he couldn’t help himself.

Definitely threw a “You’re literally the most beautiful person alive, I can’t believe I get to love you for the rest of my life.” in the mix of lovely words said to bäbe. (haha lovely. no? mk)

Tore UP that dance floor with bäbe and milo. and..occasionally sweetheart when they weren’t ordering people around with darlin’.

others because i love all of them!

——————-

° ↳ Dear got absolutely HAMMERED with Gavin. Lasko and Huxley had to PRY them away from the shots.

° ↳ Sweetheart SOBBED to those vows I just know it. Milo saw them in the crowd and def got teary eyed.

° ↳ Freelancer held Sweethearts hand during the vows, asking the gods above why they had to be sat next to such a sap.

° ↳ Sam and Darlin’ did some of the slow dances once things calmed down since Darlin’ was making sure people weren’t actin up.

° ↳ Milo recited some of his speech with Sweetheart before like a week before the wedding. He was hella nervous as we all know

° ↳ Some beer pong action with Freelancer and some random pack members, plus Milo.

° ↳ Lasko got nervous when Milo ushered him to make a toast, and almost pissed himself.

° ↳ Dear was Angels biggest hype man. I feel like they’re close after the inversion.

GUYS STOP I PROMISE CONTENT WILL BE SO COOL AFTER THIS. Also send requests for what I should do. Headcanons, oneshots, smaus, im for it all honestly!

[more-sonorous]

What's your favorite newsies character and/or song? :3

favorite character has to be davey by a long shot— in every newsies universe, too! I just have such a soft spot for that guy. maybe it’s because we’re so similar lol

and my favorite song is once and for all, no competition. that key change is something heaven sent and magical and it drives me crazy every damn time

thank you for the ask my friend <3