#like i barely know anyone who likes newsies

[hanhwrites]

When you meet another newsies 1992 fan who also loves the dancing in Broadway and you both come up with a plan to get your other friend to watch even though you're all very busy

[conjectureand-gloom]

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ welcome! ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

important information ⬎

alex

they/he/xe/it

non binary 💛🤍💜🖤

lesbian ❤️🧡🤍🩷💜

youreverydaydemikid -> conjectureand-gloom (15/01/24)

minor (february 8th)

multifandom

fanfiction writer

GMT +10:30

INFP-T

2w1

lyn lapid fan blog @tlit21c

i stand with palestine 🇵🇸

my new main account is @holesofmy-sweater

links ⬎

my ao3

my spotify

my pinterest

my instagram (that i’m barely active on)

hamilton fanfic recommendations

2023 reflection post

fandom list, fanfiction request masterlist, written works, wips, asks, tags and mutuals under the cut

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ fandom list ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

hamilton (feel free to request for any hamilton ship, i love them all so much, alexander is the absolute DREAM for a multishipper. alexander is my main target for angst! this is my main fandom)

jesus christ superstar (jesus/judas or jesus/judas/mary mainly for jcs, but feel free to ask for any other ships and i’ll consider it!! and no, i am not religious. i have been raised christian, but just ended up with religious trauma)

a good girls guide to murder (pipravi fluff and angst :) but i’ll so gladly write fics about sal and andie, or becca. ravi is my comfort character, and i just torture pip relentlessly)

nevermoor (personally i’m more of a cadence/morrigan girly, but fics for nevermoor will mainly be gen! i love found family, so jupiter & mog fluff or angst is my favourite)

in the heights (canon ships mainly, but feel free to ask for other ships! i’m not in the ITH fandom much, so these are going to be much more inaccurate)

newsies (again, more gen fics, but i do ship dave/jack. also i love angsty crutchie fics. this is one of my smaller fandoms, so these will be super inaccurate)

keeper of the lost cities (preferably marella/linh or tam/keefe! but again, feel free to ask for any ship!!)

hunger games (gen, preferably. but i’m team peeta in case anyone was wondering. fuck gale.)

maze runner (okay i haven’t read or seen TMR in ages but newt/thomas)

divergent (canon ships only. and no, christina/tobias is not canon.)

six (gen all the way. found family. also i love katherine howard angst over any other queen)

the song of achilles (achilles/patroclus? literally what other ship is there????? this is my favourite book)

wednesday (wednesday/enid. i feel like this requires no explanation. also. angst fics. i almost exclusively write angsty wednesday fics, rather than enid. i love the whole of the addams family, and i love familial hurt/comfort)

marauders (i’m not in the marauders fandom much at all, like i really only know the actual hp canon marauders. so.)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ fanfic request rules ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

i’ll write for any fandom listed above, i love them all! however i am much more active in hamilton, agggtm, jcs, nevermoor and kotlc, so those fics will be much better than the other fandoms’ would be

i’ll write any genre other than smut, and angst/whump is my absolute favourite. any AUs you could think of, literally anything, i’m not picky!

i won’t write romanticised abuse, non/con, or anything like that. that’s not to say that my fics can’t have dark aspects, but i won’t romanticise any of that.

on that, i’m not going to write any non/con, romanticised or not

also, i won’t write omegaverse, nor will i write y/n or self insert fics. nothing wrong with those genres, i just don’t write them!

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ written works ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

It’s Only A Matter Of Time - A Hamilton Watches Hamilton Fic

i wish i could say that was the last time

call me son one more time

when they surround our troops

then a hurricane came

take a break

and his right hand man…

she was holding me

the great war

we got traffic on the west side

steal into my affections

the fact that you’re alive is a miracle

fools who run their mouths off wind up dead

my father wasn’t around

philip, you would like it uptown

i may not live to see our glory…

an outrageous demand

stay alive

my dear, angelica

to convince you that i love you

but this situation’s helpless

like mother, like daughter (agggtm)

“but now this room is spinning…”

“i’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”

“like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon”

me in your sweater, you said it looked better on me than it did you (gifted to @holes-in-my-false-confidence)

baby it’s cold outside

the entire exposé (inspired entirely off of @jittyjames’ fanfiction series ‘the price of his war’)

my world is burning (yet another fic based off of jami’s series ‘the price of his war’)

i’m sorry if any of these links are incorrect, i spent over an hour on just this section

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ wips ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

achilles, come down (last two works in series still need to be written)

je m’appelle… lafayette? (one chapter to go)

lams (taylor’s version) (a few chapters to go, unsure if it will be finished)

you’re the one who disappears (agggtm, unsure if it will be finished, or when)

judas’ death (jcs angst fanfiction)

untitled (hamil-gang liminal spaces au longfic thing idk)

febuwhump drabbles (possibly)

be my valentine challenge

so big/so small (so big/so small from deh but hamilton and his ma)

bloom like rose thorns (a longfic that may or may not ever be finished)

rewrite of ‘i wish i could say that was the last time’ and ‘call me son one more time’

baby don’t cut (lams angst based off of a song with the same name)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ collaborations ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

fem!hamilton au with @jittyjames and @firebalda

if anybody is interested in collabing at all, please hit me up!! i love writing with other people!!!!

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ asks ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

please send me any asks at all!!! and also please put fic requests in my ask box, i did say that i would have your request out in 6 months, but i have had one sitting in there for over a year (sorry jami.) but um. i promise im trying to get better at that

also, feel free to ask for fic recommendations!!!! i’ve linked a post earlier in this post with a huge list, but it’s not fully updated with some more recent fics :)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ tags ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

asks- all the asks ive answered, these are also tagged with the url of the blog, or with anon dearest if it was an anon ask

akeyla ml- posts about/with my incredible incredible partner @holes-in-my-false-confidence who i love so much ❤❤❤❤❤❤

tag games- self explanatory, tag games :)

sleep is overrated- me trying to fix my sleep schedule in 2024

personal- personal vent posts. please block this tag, i have had someone unfollow me before because of these posts :)

₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ mooties ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

@jittyjames

@like-the-stars-i-shine (irl friend for 5 years now)

@holes-in-my-false-confidence (my partner, irl <33333)

@felizusnavidad

@weeping-in-the-willows

@swiftieannah

@the1laff

@anixknowsnothin

@purpleblobfrompluto

@starduckys

@now-thats-his-bride

@kwilooo

@evilteapot (irl friend)

@my-dear-gal

@idontwanttobeabuzzkill

@mynightsoutofsight

@cc-horan28

i have more mutuals, but this is everybody who i interact with more often and i actually consider to be my friend. if anybody wants to ever message me or actually become friends with me, please do!!!! i love talking to you guys, please message me, i promise im not scary <333

[companionjones]

The Favor

Pairing: Jack Kelly x Reader

Fandom: Newsies: The Broadway Musical

Requested by: Anon

Request: Jack Kelly x reader where the reader gets roughed up bad by Brooklyn Newsies and doesn’t tell jack who did it but since she’s his number two, they need to go to Brooklyn on business and they run into the Newsies who beat up and she gets nervous and jack gets protective?

Warnings: Cursing, Violence

*******

    Limping your way back to the lodging house, you cringed with every step. You wanted to make it back to your bed unnoticed, but that plan immediately went off the rails as you approached the building.

    It started off with somebody yelling from the window, “Hey, everyone! Y/n’s back!”

    Chatter immediately filled the night, coming from the lodging house, and the door opened for you.

    Racer came out toward you. “Hey, Y/n! It’s been a few hours since anyone saw you, are you--” The words died on his tongue as you came into the light.

    “I’m fine!” you called out to him. “Don’t--”

    “Jack!” Race called over his shoulder. He then looked back into the building to the boys by the door. “Get Jack.”

    You sighed as Racer walked up to you and helped you inside. “You don’t need to get him. I’m fine, seriously.”

    Race scoffed, “Yeah. Tell that to your black eyes.”

    “What the hell is this I’m hearing?” Jack was descending the stairs as you made it inside. He had fire inside him as he locked on your eyes. “Who hurt you?”

    “Jack--” you started in a calm tone.

    His jaw clenched. “Don’t start with that. Who did this to you? Tell me right now, and I’ll--”

    “Take me upstairs,” you told him once he had fully approached you.

    Jack huffed as he looked at you. He glanced around the room out of the corner of his eyes before settling his gaze back on you. He nodded before supporting your weight, just as Race did, and helping you back up the stairs.

    “This is one of the days where I don’t want to live on the roof,” Jack commented as the both of you were worn out from climbing all those stairs.

    “I know what you mean.” You laughed as Jack carefully set you down, but those laughs turned into quiet coughs.

    Jack was still standing as he asked, “Are you gonna tell me who did this to you now?”

    You looked away as your eyes grew glossy and you bit your lip, which hurt because that bit lip was split.

    Seeing you like that caused Jack to take a knee next to you. He put a hand on your shoulder. “Hey...You can tell me.”

    You took a deep breath before answering, “Do you remember, a few weeks ago, we were sitting up here, and I asked you what you were thinking?” You looked at him.

    Jack took a full seat next you and leaned on the same brick wall you were against. “Yeah, I do.”

    You smiled at him. “You wouldn’t tell me. I don’t know why, but you were so desperate for me not to know what was going on in your head that you asked for a favor.” You tilted your head as you looked at him. “...I’m calling in that favor.”

    You saw Jack’s gaze harden and his nose flare. “But...they hurt you, Y/n. You...you can barely stand.” He moved in front of you and put a hand on your knee. “Y/n...I want to kill them.”

    “I know you do,” your voice remained soft. “And that’s why you can’t know.”

    The following month, you spent recovering. The other boys sold your papes for you, and Jack barely let you leave the penthouse, no matter how much you complained.

    Once that month was over; however, you were back on your feet. You and Jack almost got into a physical fight over you going, but you ended up going with Jack over to Brooklyn to meet with Spot Conlon regarding Newsie business.

    “Y/n--?”

    “--Yeah?” You had been peering down an alleyway, but your head snapped toward Jack when you heard your name.

    Jack looked at you like you were acting weird, which you were. “Why are you so nervous? You’re the one who wanted to come with me in the first place.”

    “First of all, I’m not nervous. Shut up. Second of all, I wanted to come with you today because I’ve spent every day for the last month up on the roof twiddling my thumbs. You know that’s not me, Jack.”

    He replied immediately, “I know that’s not you. It also wasn’t you to have to’ve been laid up for the past month with injuries that you won’t even tell me where they came from!”

    Yes, it was true. Jack hadn’t let up on bothering you about the origins of your injuries, and you had yet to open your mouth.

    “Would you hear that, boys? The big bad Jack Kelly wants to know where Y/n L/n’s boo-boo’s came from. Why don’t we let ‘im know?” Three Brooklyn Newsies appeared from the alley across the street from the one you had been peering down.

    They were behind Jack, but when he turned around and saw them, you knew he must’ve had a bad feeling because he immediately started backing up to cover you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

    The leader of the three’s eyes shifted to you. “Y/n, why don’t you tell your boss how we know each other?”

    Jack glanced over his shoulder to see your shaking form that you were trying to distract from with a pissed-off look on your face. He slowly moved his gaze back to your enemies, and Jack asked a one-word quotation, “Why?”

    “Because you’re doing too much, Jack,” the leader clarified in a raised voice, “You think you’re getting all this power when you’re really not. You needed something to remind you of your place.”

    Through a clenched jaw, Jack lowly responded, “You went after Y/n because of me?”

    The leader was close to laughing at Jack. “That is correct.”

    Jack actually growled before jumping forward to go after the three Brooklyn Newsies.

    “Jack, don’t!” You held him back from doing what he wanted to do. “You can’t attack them.”

    “Why the hell not?!” Jack snapped.

    “Because I’m Spot’s second-in-command!” the leader remarked with a devilish look on his face. “Spot didn’t send me to take care of Y/n, but he might as well have! Jack you’re becoming too powerful for your own good, and we all know the one and only King of the Newsies is Spot Conlon. And what do you think Spot’s gonna do if he finds out you roughed up one of his best guys? I can’t imagine it would be far off from what you want to do me right now. And if that happens on both sides?”

    “A war would break out, Jack,” you finished.

    He thought a moment before quietly asking you, “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me who hurt you? Because I would start a war?”

    With tears in your eyes, you nodded.

    Jack then full turned to you and put a hand on the back of your neck. He tilted his head toward yours. “Did you ever consider that your worth fighting a war over?”

    That question stopped your heart from beating.

    “Alright, that’s enough with the theatrics.” The leader of the small gang approached you and Jack and put a hand on Jack’s should to get him to turn away from you.

    Jack did so, and he used the momentum from it to punch the leader in the face.

    So, Jack took on that guy, and that left you to fight his two minions. You dodged the first blow from the first guy, then caught the second guys fist and kicked his knees out from under him. You then threw the second guy into the first guy, resulting with both of them on the ground. To make it clear who won, you then leaned down and smashed their heads against each other, knocking them out.

    You were about to turn around to see how Jack was doing, but that was made clear when you were grabbed by the neck and yanked to your feet.

    Suddenly, Jack was looking helpless in front of you while the leader choked you in front of him.

    “Let them go,” Jack spat, “Let Y/n go, or I swear I’ll--”

    “You’ll what?” your attacker teased, “Right now, I’m holding all the cards. I think--Stop-fighting!” He was talking to you.

    You had yet to give up. You used all your strength to pull his arm just a little away from your throat, then you used all that space to get some windup before whacking your head into his nose.

    The boy stumbled back from you before you talked him to the ground and started in on punching his face. You got 9 or 10 blows in before deciding he had had enough. You got to your feet, out of breath. You told him, “I would’ve won the fight in the first place if you hadn’t surprised me.” You spat on him. “Fucking coward.”

    “You sure got that right.” Spot Conlon appeared with a large group of Brooklyn Newsies.

    “Have you been here the whole time?” Jack, who was standing next to you, asked.

    Conlon shook his head. “After these three briefly disappeared from my ranks about a month ago, I’ve sent a couple of my younger recruits to keep an eye on ‘em. They came and reported this to me as soon as the fight broke out.”

    Jack asked, “So, they weren’t working by your orders?”

    Spot scoffed, “No. Not even a little.” He looked down to the rogue leader’s bloody form. “And what the hell is this ‘King of the Newsies’ shit you were spoutin’ Timmy? You know we don’t work like that.”

    Timmy was barely able to speak. “I was trying to make you look good--”

    “Fuck making me look good,” Conlon cursed, “This is making me look shitty.” He looked back up to you and Jack. “Sorry, gotta cancel our meetin’ today so I can take care of these buffoons.”

    “All good,” you immediately responded.

    “Fine by me,” Jack was right behind you.

    The Brooklyn Newsies cleaned up their bodies and cleared out just as fast as they got there.

    Jack hugged you as soon as he could. He then brought you to arm’s length so he could examine you. “Are you okay?”

    “I’m doing just as well as you. Look at that shiner!” you laughed, referring to a bruise that was already forming under one of Jack’s eyes. You then looked into his eyes, and you saw an emotion that you had seen there many times before, but it was an emotion that you could never put a name to.

    Things fell silent between the two of you.

    “Ask me again,” Jack softly asked.

    “What?” you wondered.

    “Ask me again what I was thinking that night.”

    You didn’t have to ask what night he was talking about. “What were you--”

    Jack pulled you forward and kissed you. “...I was thinking the same thing I’m always thinking. I was thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you.”

    “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

    Jack smiled, “And more,” he told you, then leaned back in.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, you should check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[jack-kellys]

welcome to: rizz's extensive uksies notes, which will discuss differences in characterization, sure, but also more important things like staging, scenic and dance changes, and directorial choices (i do talk about the principal characters at the bottom so i'll forgive you for skipping down there if you wanna). i haven't looked at anyone else's posts since i didn't want them to influence my thoughts, but i'll be whipping out the third-of-the-way-through stage management degree for this shit so buckle up. spoilers/major reveals will be in this post, and this post (among all the others relating to major reveals/moments in this version) will be tagged with #newsies spoilers!!!

lets get into it, starting with the reason this show was able to be as much of an experience as it was: the space.

i think it's very important context to this version of newsies that the troubadour theater, previously, had been housing an immersive peaky blinders (popular tv show) experience. this review gives a pretty good idea of what immersive theater is, and it is... a big feat. it's more of an experience than theater, and that same goal was at the heart of the way newsies is done, too, which worked so well. both are historical fictions and are based on real things that happened, which makes it kind of easier to involve an audience imo and lets them believe what's going on.

the stage is a sort of round thrust-style in the shape of what i'm guessing is a flash/flashbulb in reference to obviously the pics we have of the strike and how "big photos attract readers" (aka the audience in this case :)). as yall know from the photos its got the same tower/skeletal setup as bway...to an extent. for bway, that's tbh all they have, but by losing the proscenium stage and moving into a space with so much more free reign, there didn't have to be one big scenic element, and it didn't have to be the only thing to steal the show. like the "big moment" for bway is when the three towers track forward in once and for all, and there's like....at least three different moments just like that in uksies and they don't even need the towers for any of them! because they didn't rely on one thing, they did so many things, and they did them everywhere. to the walls, to the aisles, to the landings, to the air, this show made sure it used every definition of the word 'space' to its fullest. initially it sounds distracting, but making sure they're all around us and making sure that ensemble characters are able to be on their own without the principals near them really humanizes the ensemble as a group of real kids who fr went on strike. i'll come back to humanizing stuff in a bit, but since we've been talking about the theater space, lemme talk abt these scenic elements because damn...

there was a slide jack used a couple times through a hatch door to escape the delanceys thru (with a little >:) wave) and escape the strikebreakers

there were mini trap doors in the stage where items were stored and revealed, and they kind of looked like the grates that sidewalks have/used to have for like rain to drain into in cities <3

there was a rope jack used to swing through and kick a strikebreaker in the face!

the penthouse actually felt like a home rather than literally just a bare bway balcony lmao, like they had mini portraits sticking to a skeletal roof-like overhang that jack probably built on his own, his art was much more obvious and hung up and personalized.

the cart with all the papers on it actually got to be used in staging in really fun ways- it was both chariot and podium for jack and crutchie mainly but they like rode around in it it was cool

medda has a huge lit-up sign for her theater instead of like. an overhang or whatever it is for bway, which is the upgrade she deserves <3

the children's crusade banner wasn't a projection, it actually dropped as a huge literal banner from one of the line sets and jack stood as a shadow behind it with a fist raised >:)

the tables for king of new york weren't the longer bigger ones from bway, it was like actual restaurant-style table for two's like in 92sies!! and they were on wheels, so they had table-ography– this was also possible due to how much more depth, physically, the stage had, like they wouldn't have had room on a proscenium. davey was pushing les around on a table and the kid was just flying around it was super cute and rly well done

speaking of 92sies, remember at the end of their king of new york when the one newsie grabs the ceiling fan and spins around? yeah, uksies does that with these huge practical lights that fly down from above- newsies get to not only hang off of them and do some acrobatics, but they can spin on them, and they not only go insanely fast, but they also are able to go higher the faster they go. seriously one of the most insane displays i've seen in a staged musical of all things, like it felt like a show and not just a musical.

The abundance of scenic and spatial elements leaves a director/choreograoher (because this guy was both, and it is visceral even in the scenes that he's both and it's perfect) with so many options, and fuckin man, did this guy absolutely use all of them to the fullest. i hadn't realized how like....recycled the blocking had been through bway and also touring, because idt they're allowed to really change it. but guys. we'd been watching the same exact movements for years, and NOW THEY'RE ALL NEW!! everything they do, each location of the stage people move to is all different than we've ever seen as a fandom, which is major, because staging is a storytelling device– since if it wasn't, we wouldn't have it. where people are in a space, where people are in relation to others in a space is also huge. the other main thing again is that it isnt a proscenium stage, so it's much easier not to stage people "in a line". think back to the livesies staging for right before the world will know when jack is telling davey about "if your father had a union". picture where they are on the stage in relation to the cart w all the newsies. its in a fucking line, bro.

this show? abused depth beautifully. the stage pictures were extremely memorable, so choreographed, and set the dynamics for scenes so effortlessly. davey is way downstage when jack's trying to convince him to join the strike, so we can see his exact thought process before the final "i guess...you do, mr. president". (speaking of, ryan kopel is genuinely the first davey to actually make that line a weirdly emotional journey?? like davey takes so long to finally say it, like he's getting over the stakes and letting jack's words sit before finally, yes, agreeing.) or when jack has his pre-seize the day monologue (of which i might make an entire post for for personal reasons and i'll link it here if i do), the three scabs are center stage, arranged in this triangle with their backs to each other and their heads down so jack gets to circle them while addressing the stage at large- it just looks so intentional and frankly very pretty to watch since they're all dancers and their posture is so clean. even something to believe in's scene staging is more dynamic because the towers themselves aren't even in a line- they're angled downstage, so even when jack and kath are high up on a more skinny platform there's still depth and an upstage and downstage they can travel on!! it's so thought through. i'll also make a post about more individual moments, but a lot of people have done that so im making the more important post first lmao.

the staging ofc was very intentional, but the transitions were also...like seriously integral to the narrative. idk if you guys know this or not but transitions can make or fuckin break a moment fr and some directors fucking suck at them LMAO but wow. these? the newsies taking on katherine's platform with the same "mornin' miss" air to their movements and kath saying a small 'thank you' to them before she sits for watch what happens, versus the transition into the bottom line where newsies push pulitzer's platform on with heads and backs bowed down, pushing slower, with more effort, like it looks painful when they push on his platform. newsies lifting medda's footlights and sort of "working at the theater" with their movements mirroring dramatic vaudevillian theatre. it was all so fluid and nearly all of it was done by the newsies and none of it was really...hidden, either, and seeing them literally "work" onstage cemented them as "the working boys of the city" really specifically, and in a very special way. like yeah, the invisible workforce, of course they're doing the transitions. beautiful, a+.

among other added elements were the new orchestrations. newsies has never sounded like this before, even excluding the new music they added. there was more base, guitar, and drums, and the tinny trumpet was much more subdued which felt more...realized and less disney, which is for me always welcomed lol. honestly it made the music sound less disney as a whole. very grounded sound overall- ALSO the sound design was so fucking excellent like you walk into the theater and it's the sounds of the city in 1899 and it's so cool...but! yes! there was new music because guess fucking what: every single dance break was extended. every single one. they all of course had new choreo (finallyfinallyfinallyfinally) but also literal new parts to the dance breaks. each by like 3-5 mins. cemented this as a show more so than only a musical which i fucking adored. in a diff post i'll go through each song (though it might. be after i see it again) and talk about the extensions because just....come on director/choreographer!! yes!!

rounding out this post specifically, im gonna nail down some characters and relationships, since honestly they were very different than we've seen before, but there's merit to all of them for real, and i appreciate a shift from how we're used to interpreting them, and honestly i hope it changes our characterizations as a fandom and adds more depth/possibilities!

starting with the romantic hero of the year, jack kelly.

he is distinctly a romantic hero in this- not in the perceived lovesick/floaty way. he's a very raw version of himself, and he's almost a loose canon (until he's forced not to be via blackmail). he's staged very intimately with others when talking one-on-one, which i know is a usual jack trait, but at michael's jack's core is "come on, look at me." every moment with those he loves is personal to him, is treasured and valued. a baseline example is crutchie, of course, who he says "look at me" to in the prologue after crutchie gets discouraged with himself. they aren't staged outward toward the audience, because jack doesn't let it– he is in line with crutchie, really looking at him, and making sure crutchie's looking back. he does this with the scabs too, except he gets to move around them because of how that trio is staged (my god that scene looks and is so beautiful..fuck).

but i think this is very exemplified with davey, actually, because what i love about michael's jack is that the emotions he wears on his sleeve aren't only ones of love- it's all passion, which includes anger. jack and davey do not get along initially. the exchange of "well if he's the best then what's he want with me" is kind of charged, which is exciting- davey really is just there for his family, he doesn't need eyes on him, and he wants to shut it down....but it's shutting it down via undermining jack, which is made clear by jack's reaction that that isn't something that happens around here. "cause you got a little brother" really feels like an 'i don't need you,' in how it's said, and any back and forth they have through that scene is an interesting animosity... which changes the moment davey and les are in danger, when snyder appears and they run (they run SO MUCH in this show oh my god, they run everywhere across everything and up and down), and once they run to the theater and jack gets them out of that situation and davey is seriously like. 'who the fuck was that guy, we had to go through that bc of you, that wasn't okay', and the way jack explains who snyder was...for the first time, jack doesnt match davey's animosity and instead just explains, in lieu/as an apology, the details on who snyder is and to steer clear of him. and instead of saying "right" as davey normally does, he says "thanks for the advice", with the staging squared and head-on to jack. and it isnt sarcastic, it's just genuine, and from that moment on, davey gets the "look at me" treatment. and jack even holds the back of davey's head during i think seize the day and lets his hand slide down his shoulder to daveys chest and daveys hand is on jack's shoulder and they're staged square and not outward like the moment is just for them.

jack's emotions are more visceral than they've been, he's very hot-blooded and it just makes everything hit more. the fucking seize the day monologue. poc fans we finally won. michael took so much time with it, making sure each line was heard and intentional and the audience was doing that thing they do at more serious straight plays with the little "mmhs" when they agree with something and like. he just made sure it was taken so seriously, same with the something to believe in scene. "what is this.. about, for you?" just the way michael structures jack's word is so smart and emotional. he also has this sort of break in his speaking voice that reminded me of jerjor actually, but it obv is just the way he acts and a choice for jack, this cracking of the self when he's vulnerable with someone at the expense of himself.

lemme say that again. this jack's voice literally has an emotional crack in it when speaking vulnerably at the expense of himself, which is SO FUCKIGN SPECIFIC GOD I LOVE HIM FSKDFJSDJ FUCK. it's genius. he does it with katherine during "i ain't stupid, i know that... girls like you, don't end up with.. guys like me." oh my god the FUCKING NOISE THE AUDIENCE MADE. oh it was heartbreaking, like it was genuinely crushing. made me tear up for sure, for obvious reasons lmao. michael is the jack i've always wanted- a little vain (he admires himself in a hand mirror during carrying the banner<3), absolutely turbulent, and painfully, horribly aware of his own stakes in this all. and black LMAO I WONNNNNN HAHAH I WON!!

speaking on crutchie next because he is the narrative of this production.

the fandom has sort of strayed away from the jack+crutchie team and fallen into this jack+race team, and this production makes damn sure that doesn't happen. it is so jack and crutchie, all the way, to the end of the fucking line. he is with jack, central, through all of act one's staging and major numbers- by jack's side for carrying the banner, with him on the cart when it spins around center and moves around the stage for world will know, he leads the newsies up to the world's door to make way for jack, les, and davey to enter it, he's included in seize the day choreo moments, he cries out for jack to get away ("jackie, run! run!!" im. i am. a mess) at the end of the brawl when he knows he's in a situation he can't get out of.

he also has this hug with jack and race when he returns from the refuge that nearly made me yell out loud LMAO (me and @roideny grabbing hold of each other in the theater and all), and the three of them have a personal spot of the stage together looking over the paper when davey makes his first appearance- crutchie is just staged very intentionally near anyone with leadership, cementing him as a leader and is certainly no longer jack's kid-brother anymore. any infantilization is really worked on getting completely gone in this production, the effort is apparent likely especially bc the actor (matthew duckett!! sweetheart supreme!!) is disabled himself!

another really key thing about this crutchie is how loud he is, in every way he possible could be. his color palette is the most stark right along with jack's, he's wearing overalls which no other newsie has, his speaking voice is almost abrasive- it's not rough, per say, but it's sort of coarse and nasally (he's so new yorker and im in love w it), and very distinct. he's also taller than jack (michael my beloved is 5'9", furthering my jack is 5'9" agenda) and like... most of the other newsies tbh.

this production does not give you a choice but to notice him, does not give you a choice but to look at him, does not allow you to ignore crutchie in any way. it's visually and audibly impossible, and that is spectacularly intentional.

he is also like... sunshiney in a rough-around-the-edges way, in a this-is-all-i-have way. he's so himself, he's abrasive and almost snide in how he talks. very self-aware, but choosing actively to be brighter about it even though you can tell his situation weighs on him. crutchie is genuinely so dynamic in this show and he's amazing to watch, and he is finally, finally, truly shown as equal to the rest of the newsies, and certainly to jack.

this is so specific but the "we have the right to starve, let's just get our papers" line is so decisive of him. like i'm realizing that that line hasn't given him power before, but it does in this show- he can raise a definitive solution to the group without being jack, and i.. don't think anyone else does this, at all, when they're discussing the strike. it's just crutchie who states what he believes they should do. like. that's never been emphasized before thats so fucking cool for him idk

alright davey time woooooo

davey is the king of defensiveness in this and i genuinely fucking love that choice for him. because he is trying to find a 'way out' within the text but also metaphorically within the story before world will know. so like– this production had davey try and contradict every time someone comments on what davey says. he'll start to say "i didn't say-" "that's not what i-" "i didn't mean-" before cutting back into the script's dialogue again, which is SO fascinating. since initially, davey is trying to separate himself from the newsies, so he uses ad-libs like that to break away, but then after world will know, those same ad-libs are used inversely it felt like, like he'd say something in a way that didn't quite fit and he'd try to rephrase so that it did? very interesting to watch.

he also was very nervous to speak in his first appearance when getting his papers, like he was very nervous about speaking in front of wiesel. this davey had sort of trouble finding words in a timely manner, but what he always has are the right ones, which was a good dynamic for he and jack. he does know what to say, and what he says is intentional, he just isn't great at saying it until act two which is so. cool. even in act 2 at the rally he's still finding his footing, and then when he's at pulitzer's office with jack and spot, he's in his own. he's nearly flippant about his words, since he's found his confidence in them through jack uplifting them the whole show. it almost..... like he and jack kind of have a mentor-y relationship? jack really feels like he does show davey the ropes (despite how biting the "well my father taught us [indicating that jack shouldn't lie so easily in front of les] not to lie" is), and davey learns from jack while jack learns from davey.

speaking of les though wow is mans protective as fuck. his arms are always around this kid, he rests his chin on his head really casually and les is so easy with it too like yeah they're brothers asf. and their moments in king of new york are so precious, and they have the center table together at the start of act two.

speaking of act two! can't talk about davey without discussing wwh reprise :). the way he talks to jack in this scene is so confident that jack's "have they busted up your brains or something" feels like it's more about that- davey hasn't spoken against jack since before world will know, and jack isn't used to the dynamic davey is trying to establish. he's so persistent, and urgent, and like... in it. "won the battle, jackie think about it" like this davey wants to win. at every single turn in this show, davey wants what he believes to win. he will speak against anyone, he will try and change his words' meaning ("that's not what i mean-"), and he will persuade whoever just so that he can win. he feels so competitive and it shines in different ways and everything he says really is so argumentative. maybe he's a little quieter, his voice is shyer, but davey isn't shy, and that's made clear. also ryan kopel hugged me at the stage door and i love him and he's so fucking sweet wowowow

ok katherine and we'RE DONE i promise.

staging made absolutely sure to ground her. she was watching a lot of the scenes she wasn't in, like she appeared during world will know in one of the aisles- felt very much like those moments in 92sies when we'd just see denton around takin notes, which i loved. showed her as a very active journalist. she also like... spoke like an american newscaster?? like she had a News voice lowkey? which was a fun choice.

her scene with jack when she's asking him questions is so serious for her and i love it, it really makes sure that she cares about what she's writing and who she's writing for. jack's "we both got a lot riding on you" takes her downstage as her desk gets set up, and we get to see jack's words weigh on her which is fuckin nice as hell.. like she just felt more grounded than she's been. she still got to be bubbly, but she was more aware of the situation than like... kara lindsay's katherine. she knew the stakes for the newsies i feel like, which is why the name reveal was more intense and the STBI pre-scene was... the best i've seen. she was embarrassed at herself for lying to jack- not telling him everything, and when she defends it she knows it's weak and doesn't try to back it up.. i just appreciate it bc that scene normally feels so superficial despite its context and what they're talking about, but kath and jack really did everything they could to save that scene's writing... they reeeeally fuckin tried LMAO. this katherine was more willing to put herself in the action for sure

her back and forth with jack in jacobi's was so fun, and the defining line of their arc through the show was definitely "this is entertaining...so far." because it's fun to flirt, until it isn't, and someone you care about his ruining his name at the city-wide rally, or revealed to be the daughter of the man sending cops to beat kids into submission. whew. they're really good together.

very quickly: THIS PULITZER IS >>>>>. HE IS SO GOOD. I CANT LIE LMAOOO HE'S SO EVIL I HATE HIM!! and MEDDA WAS SO. that's jack's mom. she also really does serve independence, and i love it so much.

anyway thanks for reading this far guys LMAO i now this is so extensive and i didn't even talk about the ensemble fr... but that's for the second viewing. the direction this production underwent took major precedence, since it's so different and so much more fleshed out.

hope this gave a clear picture on the vibe of the show and the principal characters/relationships!! more to come asf!!!

[pigeonwit]

for the fic thing: "i wish i was me, whoever that is, so i could just be and not give a shit" (its an AJR lyric) (sorry for it being long)

it's taking me SO long to get to these fucking requests. i'm so tired all the time and it sucks. but i'm here! and i'm chugging away!

ANYWHIZZLE, this is a good one!! it really fits for both jack and davey i feel - they're both very confused about who they are when no one's watching. is davey a hard working, scholarly family man, or is he only that because he has no choice? is he actually funny and brave, or is that a performance he puts on so the newsies keep on tolerating him? and jack is almost two completely different people at once, a larger than life cowboy who'll fight to the death for justice, but also a scared, sensitive artist who just wants to be left alone. so what i'm thinking is a sooort of play on that soulmate au trope of whatever you write on your skin being visible on the other person's - but not really. it's vague. i'll explain:

it's after the strike. davey and jack are still friends, sort of, except neither of them know how to speak to each other anymore. they've both seen the worst of each other as well as the best, and those two aspects are completely contradictory to each other. jack's this swirling kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that davey can barely comprehend, and davey's a constant static-chatter of words jack can hardly make sense of. so they both keep on performing, trying to lock the ocean of who they are in one little box, but it's there, just waiting to burst out. neither of them have an outlet anymore. neither of them have a place where they feel they can speak honestly - because neither of them know when they're being honest or not.

so jack, in a moment of frustration, draws an angry, jagged charcoal sketch on an alley wall. it's grotesque, but it's real. he can't describe how, it just is. it's real. it's him and it's real and he couldn't explain it to anyone if he tried. he goes back to the lodging house, because it's easier to perform than try to explain.

except davey's selling papers one day, and when he breaks for lunch, he finds a drawing on a wall. and it's real. honest. the most honest thing davey's seen in a WHILE, actually. it's poignant and rough and painful and beautiful, and just like that, he's been carved open. like a keyhole's been torn out of his chest, and all he can do is bleed. so he takes a bit of old charcoal and writes. it's a simple poem, nothing special, but it's the most honest he's been with himself for a while.

this goes on for some time; jack finds a poem, draws something, davey finds a drawing, writes something. is it always on the same wall? no. maybe. it's unclear. it's like these words, these drawings, are reaching out to them. asking to be seen. and how can they possibly say no? neither of them have any idea who this other person is, but they know each other. really, truly know each other. they've crawled through each others veins, lived in each others lungs, to the point where they know the shape of each other off by heart.

and then one day, when jack's going to draw something, he finds davey writing his next poem. and they both know. and it's scary. ugly. it twists them both up inside until they want to tear out of their skin. but it's beautiful and cathartic and really fucking painful, but it's honest.

"i-" davey tries to say, but he can't find the words anymore. they're hiding, lodging themselves in his throat. "i don't-"

"i know." jack says patiently, because he does. "i know."

and davey knows he does. and that's all there is to it.

(if any of the newsies keep finding little drawings, paintings, poems, prose on any random walls, they don't think to mention it. it doesn't feel important enough, really, just two people talking in their own private way. but they might look at it for a moment. try to understand it. they don't, but that's okay. the people who left those messages clearly do, and that's all that matters, really)

[nightmareworks]

After Action Interview

My name is Mu Ortena, with Union Historical Bureau, Active Front Correspondence Division, Kalacharri Commission. This recording is meant for historical context and further understanding of the events of Operation Seventh Step. My subject today is Allison Wax, who participated in Seventh Step as a mechanized frame pilot aboard the UNS-CV Oleander.

Miss Wax, would you please tell me how you came to serve aboard the Oleander?

"Yeah, sure, sure newsie. I was on the Oleander's spin as part of a Union contract, gray as all else could be. CO's had me giving orbital deployment training to a buncha oldtypes with grays so fresh-stiff they creaked when they saluted. Mostly mem-dump and virtu training, but the recruits-" Subject shrugs, tilting her head, dismissive "-too stuck with Gravity. Couple of 'em puked from the virtus I gave 'em."

Do you do much work as a trainer?

"No? It's boring as all hell, especially when CO wants me to teach a bunch of newborn little Auxes how to fly. They barely know how to handle themselves in Spin, too used to planetary weight!" Subject drums fingers against the table, annoyed. "Can't stand the smell of sick like that. The hell, like, they think bulking up on food will help them out or something, weigh them down more. Stupid, but I guess that's what oldtypes on their first trip upwell do." Subject shrugs again.

Please tell me what a more "normal" contract with Union entails for you.

"Well, its mostly me and my Loverboy, going pirate hunting. Union Grays just point me where to dance. Been a merc since I shed the weight, gotta outta my meat and got outta the Range." Subject smiles, referencing her homeland of Ketherese Station in the Auric Range; as well as her full-body prosthesis. "You see a lotta fighting, newsie? You ever see what the world looks like when you're really goin? Or is that just somethin for lancers?" Subject arches back, then ceases all motion for 3.8 seconds. "Maybe that's why the grays couldn't handle the mem-dumps, they just didn't know how to handle my kinda love. Goes a little too fast."

For the record, would you mind telling me what you mean by that?

"Ain't this whole thing a record, newsie? Ain't that why we're doin this?"

I mean that, are you comfortable with sharing what you mean about love when you say that? I understand that Loverboy is the callsign for... OCF-099bHMT?

"Yeah, that's my Loverboy."

I see. Is there anything more you would be comfortable sharing, or would you prefer if we stuck to only the most relevant details?

"[Subject sighs], you really are Gray, aren't you? I don't mind, don't mind a tick. When I fly, its about Love. My Loverboy and I do a dance, and we see who can keep up with us. Love is what waits for you when you cross the barrier-" Subject points two fingers at me, her thumb cocking as the hammer of a mock revolver "-And see the world at 2000kmph."

I appreciate your... candor?

"So newsie, are you gonna answer my question, you ever see that kinda world?"

No, I don't think I've experienced what you describe.

"That's a damn shame, to be stuck like that. You drift, you record, but hey, you ever see? Or is it all just stuff to go into the record- made into a Gravity?"

Let's return to the subject of our interview. Did you have any personal relationships with the members of the Mechanized Scouting Unit, as their trainer?

"I hate to be negative with you, newsie. Don't make for a good story, does it?"

It's alright, Miss Wax. History is made up of a lot of perspectives. Yours is just another part of the wider context, fleshing it all out as a primary source.

"That so? Make you more of a datahead than a newsie, don't it."

That's just the nature of being the first correspondent. If you don't mind, did you know anyone on the Mechanized Scouting Unit?

"Nah, yeah, not really. Just another set of gray new kids to teach how to fly second hand. Like I said earlier, I was mostly doing mem-dumps and virtus." Subject ceases all motion for approximately 1.5 seconds, then continues. "They handled the mem-dumps better than the rest of the grays I was supposed to teach. Think being in a mech before made it a little easier. Once you've tasted a live wire, you don't forget how it goes. The infantry kiddies, couple of them were spooked by a smart-circuit link, even if they said they got how the tech works."

May I ask what exactly the training programs were for the Mechanized Scouting Unit?

"Mem-dumps are spinning out bits of my brain for them to experience. Gotta layer in my matter, helps translates impulse to the body." Subject holds her hand out to me, palm up. "Push a couple of live-flight patrols I remember out an i/o." Subject pulls her hand back, touching against the nape of the neck. "Plug myself into a holo, and the new grays get to know what its like to really fly." Subject waves hand, removing it from her neck and setting it at rest again. "Virtus are spun up by Gray, same kinda holos as the mem-dumps, 'cept... tuned more for the Gray ways of flyin."

To finalize the pre-mission details, what did you know about Kalacharr when the Oleander arrived in-system? Were you aware of why the Oleander had diverted from its course?

"I figured a Far-Field shot lit a flare for help and Oleander was the closest Gray thing to get pulled into Orbit. I didn't know nothing about the planet. Can't stand planets. Too much Gravity, so I try not to pay attention to them. Kalacharr was just another place full of some paleo-oldtypes building shitty oldschool Babylons til Mr. Gray came and gave the shitheads ontop of the tower a few licks."

You've generally outlined your feelings on your deployment to Kalacharr, but would you be comfortable describing your opinion on the UNS-CV Oleander's actions?

"Which ones? Cause I was mostly-" Subject stops speaking, again ceases all motion for 2.4 seconds. I cannot see her breathing. "-like, okay, I don't really pay attention unless I'm flying."

That's alright Miss Wax, I mean, did the Oleander's Intervention mean anything to you, personally? Politically? Anything like that.

"I mean, its good to look at a pile of bricks and kick it over sometimes, isn't it? I think goin Gray will be good for them. Let 'em live as revolutionary ancestors for a little, these paleo-oldtypes."

And could you expand on that thought?

"I mean, yeah like. You Grays talk about levels of utopianism and all. Build up Gray thoughts, Gray words, Gray lives. Writings'd call you all the revolutionary ancestors. Too caught up in Gray to see much else. But Gray is better than the boot. And Gray'll leave well the fuck enough alone when someone sheds the weight of Cradle and steps past. You just make sure they step in a direction that don't totalize everyone else."

I see? Can I ask what you mean when you say Gray, specifically?

"Union. Good enough. Get along. Reasonable."

I've only read what's publicly available on your records, plus what's deemed necessary for context of Seventh Step's operations, do you mind telling me on record where you learned your terminology?

"I learned to shed my Gravity. I'm a spacenoid, you're an oldtype. That's just the way it is. Your soul's weighed down with stuff you can't see right, newsie."

Would you describe yourself as a posthuman, Miss Wax?

"I'm the future, newsie."

Throughout, subject has spoken without intentional malice, merely a rougher form of the Ketherean Cant. None of the tone shifts nor looping grammars registered as having insults in their meanings by translation C/Cs. I truly believe she also believes what she says. I have decided to continue the interview with the further noted context of subject's extreme differences from the Cradelian standard mores.

I see.

Did you know the other members of the Emergency Mechanized Strike Team well?

"Nah. Not really. Gray had me talking to infant killers all day, why the hell was I gonna talk to that soldier boy if I didn't have to? Soldierboy was doing the ground training, I was doing the flight training, didn't really see much point in comparing notes, yeah?" Subject cocks her head, begins drumming on the interview table. "And that tall girl reeked of Gravity. You talk to her yet? She's gonna give you a spin."

Everyone has their own perspectives on an event, Miss Wax. Its just my job to record your answers and provide what context is needed to understand your version of events. That's how you report on war.

"That sounds real nice, newsie, I can feel you on that, touch on the orbit you're offering. History's second-fiddle to memory. And I'm just saying, I remember the tall girl, and I remember she was heavy with Gravity, and she was always writin something. Cloak-and-needle kind of shit if you ask me."

And the Union Health Bureau NHP?

"Ivy-thinker was alright. Thinkers are like that. They've got that Gravity they can't shed, being stuck in a coffin. But she was good and helpful. Told me I couldn't share my Chronos with some officer, even though I was outta stuff to wager." Subject smiles, referring to a combat drug produced by IPS-N, graded for use by pilots with proper cybernetic implants to handle it. Given subject's full-body prosthesis and medical history of Temporal Dissociative Trauma Disorders, heavy use of the drug must be taken into account with her recollection of events. "Their rides were that bad, real slick machines- high grade stuff. Shame we had to do such a rush-job printing. A fresh print is bad for my Loverboy, he doesn't fly right without a warmup, you know?"

On that subject, would you mind discussing how your frame served on Kalacharr? I understand that Orbital Combat Frames aren't traditionally meant to serve in planetary actions.

"I can say, but it'd be better off if you asked my Loverboy."

I... don't see how I would interview an orbital combat frame?

"You know, for someone who spends so long out in the dark, you're terribly oldtype in your thinking, newsie."

I'm afraid I don't understand.

"I can do you a mem-dump from my Loverboy, I can send you his memories of the fight, when we're done here, yeah?"

If you have permission to show me... an NHPs memories? Do you have clearance for that?

"My Loverboy ain't one of the thinkers, he's just hisself." Subject waves her hand dismissively. She then produces a small lollipop from a pocket, beginning to eat as she speaks. "So I can get you his perspective. He was there same as me, and probably remembers better too."

Thank you, I'll include it at the end of this interview, as attached context.

"Yeah, that's stella newsie." Subject dances the lollipop across her fingers, then pops it back to her mouth "Do you have more, newsie?"

Yes, would you mind giving me your perspective on your performance under atmosphere?

"[Subject sighs] You got me newsie, okay. I was sick as one of you oldtypes when yall first come upwell, you familiar with the sensation? Awful stuff. My Loverboy, he don't dance so hot with a fresh print, and under Gravity he's gotta spend all his time adjusting his verniers." Subject stands, moving from her chair. She is walking on the points of her feet, speaking around her sweet. "My Loverboy n me, we ain't built for Gravity, for walkin like oldtypes. We were meant to fly, yaknow newsie?" Subject continues to pace slightly, stretching her legs? Running through memories? "So yeah, downwell, I run like shit and its hard. Hate doing it. But I do it better. Shimano Rail-Rifle and Trunk Security Special handle most everything you put in front of us." Subject shrugs. "Rest of the crew they handled atmosphere better'n me."

Could you discuss the logistical situation of Seventh Step?

“Yeah yeah, Oleander was in near orbit and the well was too strong to just drop shit, so all the baby Grays had to use their backs and landers and shift it down. Most of the weight was schedule printers and ‘mat for em. Had to put my Loverboy together on a fresh print.”

You’ve said as much, Miss Wax

“Oh, yeah. Anyways the printers and the bodies were most of the weight capacity coming downwell. Gray set up camps once the Percivals were done sending the ironboys truly to the fuckin stone age.”

Can you describe the camp?

“It was a camp on a front line, newsie, you must already know what it was like.”

Yes, I’ve been to several, including frontline encampments as part of Blue Nomad’s cleanup, but what's important is your perspective on things. You're the primary source here.

"Okay, fine, newsie. Fine. I had to sleep on the way down from the Oleander. I had to carry my borgrations and most of my Loverboy's core components, yah? Shit that's important gets heavy when you finally get downwell. That's just the tax Gravity makes you fucking pay, like the shit it is..." Subject returns to her chair, hopping over its back. She takes advantage of microgravity with natural grace. "But once we were down it was, what, a little town? Cramped, tents, weight, and plenty of fuckin mud. I can't walk right down there, ain't meant for dirt. Didn't have a bite to eat except halfa ration bar. You ever have a borgration? Humans can still eat 'em I mean, right?"

I haven't, Miss Wax. I am uncertain if my stomach could handle SSC products of that… processing level.

"They're sweet. Really sweet. Brains need a lotta glucose, right? So most of a borgration is sugars, and them diet-acids. Calories and bits just for fullborgs. I eat ‘em when I gotta be on deploy. Easier than Gray Meals on the stomach, at least under Gravity.”

You mentioned your mech’s core systems are something you brought with you from the Oleander?

“Had to get my Loverboy into his new body, once the printing was done. Few dozen kilos of hardware. Easier to handle upwell than down, yeah newsie? Hyperkinesis Module is hard to reprint and retool, so I just gotta rip out its canisters and carry em with me- otherwise my Loverboy’s mixtures are gonna be off. Gotta haul down his targeting comps and the mute drives too, so when I pull his trigger it goes just right.”

You, pulled most of your mech’s main computer systems out and brought them down from the Oleander?

“Only way to fly right. My Loverboy’s got silicon the way we got fat in our skulls. And he’s gotta be up to grade if we’re gonna be fighting. And we were fighting, that’s why we’re talkin.”

Of course. So that was your experience with the logistics of Seventh Step?

“Ah yeah. At least the parts I still remember.”

I noticed in the reports that you fought alongside native resistance forces, could you describe their logistical situation?

"Fuck if I know?"

... I see. Could you describe their basic armament?

"Swords? A couple of 'em got rifles from the Gray-n-blues? Paleo-oldtype shit."

I would like to ask something before we dig into your combat actions.

Subject makes a sound of affirmation. She seems more caught up in her sweet.

Why do you refer to the Kalacharrians the way you do?

[Subject pauses at the question, movement does not cease completely.]

“Because. Look. You Gray love your distinctions. I am not Gray. I am of the weightless. I’m a Spacenoid. You and yours are Gray. They, the knightboys and the inkgirls, they’re oldtypes like you. But they learned that there was more than mud about when the Oleander dropped into the atmo. Can’t even conceive of Gravity. Paleo-oldtypes. Just a statement of fact, of, how the line those admin types use? Material conditions.” Subject spreads her hands wide, speaking around the lollipop.

“I’m the future, they’re the past. Gotta catch up, newsie.”

I see. Would you like us to continue, to your combat experiences, or would you prefer a short recess?

“Let’s keep it going, newsie. CO is paying me to talk about shit I already did.”

Alright. How would you describe the forces you encountered during Seventh Step?

“Shitty. Recycled. Kinda an insult to frames, strapped together by the most dipshit kind of Babylon. They had like three Everests worth of parts they scraped together from fuck-knows-where.”

Records show it was the Mechanized Scout Company and repair parts stolen from logistics convoys.

“Huh. Makes sense yeah. Had damn more frames than three though. Mostly groundcars with mech bits stapled on and fuckin, the shitcan birds.”

Do you mean the... Bronze Thrushes?

"Where'd they get that fuckin name, huh?"

I don't know, that's merely what the Union combat record states the enemy forces were named, by Kalacharri forces. The Bronze Thrushes operated the artillery emplacement "Lilypad."

"I guess, they had birds on them. Real fuckin shitboxes."

First contact was on a convoy mission?

"Uh-huh, had to make sure the graytreads got where they needed to be, find and recover the mechkiddies who ended up murked. By fuckin dipshits in tinsteel fits, makes me a shamed to have trained them. And then the fuckin tinsteel assholes rolled up on us after we'd found the wrecks they'd stripped down. Just usin the mud to get shit trapped and jump it, guess that's all they could manage? My Loverboy gave 'em a warhorn blast, tallgirl ignited her frame, most of 'em got to runnin."

Do you usually attempt to break morale before engaging?

"I dunno about tallgirl, way she laughed about it? Probably. But my Loverboy wants folks to know he's here. I only got time to dance with folks that know their steps."

And the rest of the squad?

"Hell I don't know. I got moving, and one of the fuckin things, had himself some A/A guns and a hot printer. Had to fuck with him while tallgirl ate some fool."

I'm sorry?

"Yeah. Just let the swarm come outta her frame and swallow one of the big birds up, a proper frame-print, kinda. You know how GMS parts are, right? Even paleo-oldtypes can fit 'em together into technicals. She fed him to the fire and the butterflies. Only good taste she got was in butterflies. Soldierboy settled down to pick his targets, Ivy-thinker helped me tangle with the fucker with the printer, a couple of hellfire rounds and railshots solve all under heaven after all, newsie." Subject pulls legs up, crossing them underneath her before the spin-gravity settles her back to the seat. "So tallgirl started eaten 'em with that blackswarm she got, soldierboy slams a few big rounds home, Ivy-thinker lays down the fire on that printfucker and his A/As with me."

The... Miss Irene? The Karrakin Civilian Observer, is that who you mean by 'tallgirl'? I just want to clarify

"Yeah?"

I... see.

"So we bring down the printerfucker and his toys and then more of those fucking birds show up, yeah? More of the fucking technical-ass frames the birds slapped their mark on. They didn't last when Ivy-thinker and Soldierboy went to town, and my Loverboy he just laid his finger on the trigger and let it sing!" Subject cocks her head, listening to something I cannot hear. "That's what I do while I dance, I pull his trigger and make him sing for me. And when my Loverboy sings, everybody's gotta look or duck when the rifle barks behind him, [Subject giggles to herself, as though sharing a joke]. Then the graytread finally pulled its happyass out of the mud, which meant we get to keep fucking going. Which was... towards this oldtype town?"

By the records, this is when the forces of the Azure Cloth made first contact.

"Oh."

Do you... remember them, particularly clearly?

"There was this knightboy, Ram-" Subject refers to Ramaul Travail, leader of the Azure Cloth resistance movement. "-and this inkgirl, Clem." Sister Clemencine of the Holy Orders. "Tallgirl and Ivy-thinker, they talked to Ram about... something? Movin? Ram had to talk through Clem, and I was feeling the weight. Kept my endo linked with my Loverboy and listened to tallgirl and Ivy-thinker go through the routines. I think soldierboy was chewing out the baby-grays for driving into a fucking hole in the ground." Subject's shoulders shrug. "I can't blame them, Gravity sucks shit down. So does mud. That's why I fucking hate planets, newsie. Mud. What kind of nightmare shit do you oldtypes live with?"

Is there anything else you can recall about the first contact scenario, you say it was overseen by Civilian Observer Irene Sibyl and UHB-Ivy?

"Yeah like. I talked over radio a little bit, but I don't think the linguasofts could keep up."

Is there... anything else you remember?

Subject ceases all motion for approximately 2.3 seconds, then continues, annoyed. "I was hung the fuck over from the weight and the heat of my Loverboy rooting around in my fuckin endocrine through the lines he's got in my kidneys." Subject shudders, smiles. "When you've got a girl's hands in your implants, the weight gets off your shoulders for a minute. I finally didn't feel like spilling my guts onto my Loverboy's pretty console like I was still new to my body." Subject cocks her head, I can feel her staring at me through her bangs. "That's just the perfect kind of love, an antidote to Gravity. My lover's embrace is just the shit to shake free of all the shit I was dealin with. So no, newsie, I didn't really remember the first time I saw those paleo-oldtypes in their tinsteel fits."

Once again I appreciate your... candor, with me.

Would you mind describing for me the route you took to the town of Morta? I understand there was further enemy contact?

"Ram dragged our happy asses through the..." Subject's brow furrows under her hair, I assume from focus and annoyance. "Forest? It had plants, dug into the earth. Big stuff, couldn't survive on hydroponics, yeah newsie?"

I would understand it being very difficult terrain for your frame.

"I mean, it didn't STOP my Loverboy. It's not that different from an asteroid field, in terms of how you fly." Subject waves her hand dismissively.

The record describes the second encounter as another ambush, would you describe it as that?

"I mean, I'd say more a buncha the birds ran up on us while we was babysitting the paleo-oldtypes and the graytreads. They had trees that was nasty as all get out."

Trees?

"Yeah, ones that moved, tried to grab and pull and shred. Thorns and tendrils. Nasty shit, newsie. Soldierboy and Ivy-thinker handled the birdie-frames while me n tallgirl kept the trees busy busy. Butterflies on branches, and tallgirl and I painted 'em in fire. Things wouldn't fucking stop."

And that's when Percival squadron was dispatched to aide?

"Yeah. And you know, newsie, those flyboys could dance. And they had the heavy-busters we needed for the trees. I had to go up with 'em, show 'em the path to dance through the roots and twigs. Tallgirl burned it open behind me. And the flyboys dropped it home." Subject claps and smiles around her lollipop. "Wish they'd let me just keep going with that heartbreaking blue. CO started yellin at me about Minovsky interference with the flyboy's gear." Subject suddenly shifts to sighing, shoulders sagging. "Who the fuck doesn't account for Minovsky particle radiation?"

Most engines in Union don't provoke a Minovsky reaction, from my understanding.

"If you aren't pulling the bleeding speed, why would you use anything else?"

I don't think designers consider that level of speed required, in aerospace encounters.

"Well my Loverboy only deserves the best." Subject sounds quite proud.

Would you say that you participated in the bombing run by Percival 1-1 and 1-2?

"Yeah, course I would, I opened up the tanks and I moved right with them. Lotsa shots into the trees. I didn't bring any really heavy busters. Rail-rifle and a day-off special kind of gun." Subject makes a small crunch, informing me she has finished her sweets.

Would now be a good time to discuss your frame's specifics?

"Oh, you want me to brag about my Loverboy?" Subject is grinning at me. She seems smug.

I'm merely trying to follow your flow, Miss Wax- I feel it'll get me the best information for my report and articles. It's important to engage subjects for primary sources at their level. That is how I feel you get the best stories for the record- the people who lived it. I'm going to edit this interview with context points, an article that folds out like a flower.

[The subject smiles again me, using the stick of her lollipop to point in my direction.]

"Orbital Combat Frame Lot Zero-Nine-Nine, Bonney Model, Hi Mobility Custom Type. My Loverboy. He's the real deal, not like the basics those oldtypes in Trunk Security use. Overhauled his engines, all-theater graded with some parts I stripped outta one of those Cinnibars that the Smiths like to fly in."

The Smith-Shimano Cinnabar? The fleet asset?

[Subject nods, flicks her trash towards the bin, then continues. She seems happy to 'brag' and watch the small stick drift through the air.]

"Worked the All-Theater under his hood, hooked it to that minovsky core I got printed up, run him hot as he oughta be. Let the heat bleed out the fingers, a burning hand of sunlight- ain't that what every girl wants to hold?" Subject does not wait for me to answer. "Pulls speeds in excess of fatal for the oldtype, unconscious for the unborged, and perfect for me. Got my own replacement tendons and a couple of backup pumps layered here and there- just to make Her perfect for Loverboy's kind of movement. If I don't have to listen to reason, I can fly beyond the hold of Gravity. Even on a mudball like they sent us too. Kitted to bear against the nasty little shits you tend to run into with oldtypes and their skirmishes- chaff, hellfire launcher, a couple of my Loverboy's spare brain-drives set like gemstones in the guns. Mute-drives that help the rail-rifle scream and the trunk special to roar. Kitted to handle all fucking comers downwell."

That helpfully covers your frame and provides our future listeners with understanding of its use at tactical scale. At the campaign scale, it's still quite... odd, to use an Orbital Combat Frame as part of a ground invasion force, especially against a walled position like Morta, wouldn't you agree?

"Is... is that what the town was named? It didn't have walls when we got there."

Yes.

"Okay, well, the birdies had pounded it pretty fucking flat, no walls no trees, no nothing but for a half-full bin of ammoprinters and the biggest fucking rock-chucker I have ever seen. I used to work in asteroid mining back on Ketherese, right? We'd crack them open, use mass-drives to hurl the bits back. Paleo-oldtypes had done some whack shit, the most busted fucking rock-slinger I've ever had the pleasure of seeing." Subject moves her position again, gently pushing off the seat. She curls her knees to her chest, hands loosely clasped in front of her ankles. She seems to be enjoying the spin-gravity of the UNS-CV Paris. "Those tinsteel reactionary wet dream idiots had strung together a rock-flinger with some rails off a cannon one of the Everests had on it, they were acceleratin dumbfire rockets out of it instead of stone."

And that would be the Lilypad, I presume.

"It looked kind of like a cock."

Thank you.

"Do you think there's something about Babylon that makes oldtypes want to make giant dick-guns to lose wars with."

Would you mind describing the methods used to bring down the Lilypad?

"Yeah. Inkgirl had her stained fingers in a couple of pies, got a few locals who knew how to work shaped charges we had in the graytreads, a couple of squads of stiff-suited baby-grays to escort 'em to the rock-slinger and kick it over with plastique kisses. And we were gonna make sure the baby-grays didn't have a chance to lose their shit."

And how did the Mechanized Strike Team manage that tactic?

"Well tallgirl sallied up and started yellin at the Bronze Birdies in that great and grand pigshit crownfuckers call langauge."

Old Karrakin?

"Yeah that. Was declarin names and calling for trial by combat with the biggest, shiniest bird of all. This fucker had a command horn and everything on the shitbox ride some poor paleo-oldtype chained by the wet dreams of Babylon managed to scav together out of GMS parts. He thought he was such hot shit, at the head of his gaggle of Babylon-baby Everests. Stepped up with a swagger in that wreck, his boys at his flank, nodding along to tallgirl's routine. That's when soldierboy put one through his ride's thigh. [Subject laughs.] Loverboy took off and started laying the fire down from heaven, Ivy-thinker and tallgirl just started sprinting towards the birds. Then the rockslinger went off."

The explosive charges detonated early?

"Nah. Rockslinger fired, a big dumb shitty round directly at us. Loverboy n me, we were fine, easy to dodge a dumbfire. Ivy-thinker had to haul ass to get outta the way, and soldierboy dug the fuck in."

And Civilian Observer Irene?

"Tallgirl walked through the barrage like it was nothin, cause she was wearing the flames as much as they were trying to eat her. I'd call it beautiful if I didn't think she was gonna put a needle in your eye if you asked her what her family did to afford such a nice fuckin suit, or the name of the doctor what touched her meat up."

Subject ceases all motion for approximately 6.7 seconds, only beginning to show animation again when she finally gently settles back onto her seat.

"It was just a fight after that. Those scrap-Everests were nearly tough as real things. Don't know how much of their tinsteel I had to chew through. Remember that soldierboy got himself a crown."

Could you explain that turn of phrase for me?

"Headshot, clean as fresh filters. I folded a little paper crown for our soldierboy and hung it from the cannon of his ride before I left. Wonder if he ever found it?"

Would you say the Bronze Thrushes were above your expectations for the enemy forces?

"Mm." Subject has yet to move from her fetal pose. "Not too much more. They actually put us through our paces. But when you're good you don't sweat just getting up to tempo, right newsie?"

I suppose not, would you mind continuing your description of the battle?

"Oh yeah, Ivy-Thinker and tallgirl closed on most of the birdies, I saw the damnedest thing out of the thinker's ride. Just pinned one of the birdies  down like she was playing with samples in the lab. Big stake, hummed in silence, drove through. And I kept firing and she kept moving to go fight the birdie with the command horn. Tallgirl cleaned up the one that got pinned down. More and more and more of those shitbox rides, the half-builts, the not-even frames start pouring in, we're throwing up a ruckus and tallgirl actually gets wounded, which I didn't think that nice a suit would allow. My Loverboy gets dinged up in the spin of it all, so I suppose we just mark that up to being stuck in atmo, huh newsie?" Subject is now sitting.. normally? She has moved to lean against the table, holding herself millimeters above the chair. "We get rocked and roughed a little from the sheer numbers, but you know, I had enough ammo, and so did soldierboy. Professional that one. Good for him. Ivy-thinker's ride started puttin scapels into things and I just kept pushing dipshits closer to tallgirl and let that nice nice swarm she paid for handle it. Unpapered crowns are good for the garbage, I guess?"

Subject makes a noncommittal grunt and shrugs, settling into her seat at last.

"We kept going and going, until the tinsteel finally ran out and the inkgirls and knightboys got the hell outta there. And then the rockslinger cooked off. Reaallll impressive. Newcycle kind of vibes." Subject refers to derivatives cultural festivals of the new year, modified for nonterrestial cultures. "Very shiny. Fun as hell."

Were you aware of the follow up operation Union enacted after Seventh Step, Blue Nomad?

"Nope. I was tryin to get out of there quick as I could. Back up to the Oleander at the very least. Left the oldtypes to their own businesses. It ain't my fuckin problem unless Union decides to pay me about it."

So you left the front?

"Yeah." Subject gives another noncommittal shrug. "The Paris came by to start dropping shit off to support Oleander, and I hitched a ride on the Paris out this way. Supposed to be headed for the Long Rim. Anything else, newsie?"

I don't think so. If you could just forward me the information from your frame via omni? I believe otherwise our interview is over.

"Fantastic."

With the Union Historical Bureau, Active Front Correspondence Division, Kalacharri Commission, this has been Mu Ortena interviewing Miss Allison Wax. Thank you very much for your time, Miss Wax, and for your memories.

"Memories are the only Gravity you can't shed, newsie. So take the orbit and run with it."

[noxexistant]

Ok so I couldn't always see them great bc the fuckign World gate was in the way but a few things I both saw and remembered:

- Oscar's voice kind of hitched in his throat a bit on the "I guess he didn't take care of me" line. Barely noticeable but I noticed it, I heard The Angst

- Just before The World Will Know when Wiesel gestures for Morris to follow him and Oscar to stay, they started just smacking each other's hats until Morris was too far down for Oscar to reach

- When they were escorting Jack out of Pulitzer's office they wouldn't look at anyone. Oscar was a bit more subtle but Morris very blatantly turned his head away completely

- When the newsies are lining up to buy papers at the end someone (couldn't tell who, they were on the other side of the stage and partially obscured) stole the cash box and jokingly proposed to Oscar with it

- And not a Delancey Brothers observation but Delancey Actors, Owen Stringer was a pro ignoring a Very Big Moth continuously flying into his face when he was playing Bill jskdksd

absolutely screaming over these

owen oscar launched Very suddenly and sharply into aggression on the thursday matinee during the “i guess he didn’t take care of me” line, the idea of his voice hitching is Killing me. it was my first time seeing owen oscar (FINALLY) and he was fantastic, i absolutely looooved how angry and sharp he is

the Acting in pulitzer’s office always kills me too. it’s one of those moments where morris very frequently looks wrought with guilt, while oscar is doing his best to remain cold (ajh oscar used to always keep glancing at morris, his own expression wavering). i have some more notes in my askbox from someone else mentioning how morris basically dissociates in pulitzer’s office, and that always makes me [screams]. that scene, even though they’re both just stood silently, is just a beacon of their dynamic and their character complexities and i want to Eat it

also, i can so perfectly picture albert doing the cash box proposal 💀 oscar snatching it back and muttering, “ain’t even any a’ your money in it” while al just grins at him

and there was a moth at the thursday show too!!! 😭 it was around a lot but Especially in pulitzer’s office scenes, it loved the chandelier - and i believe largely left owen alone thankfully. mans is a Professional though. however, whoever was playing darcy/morris at that point (jack or rory) Fully accidentally chucked their rag while cleaning the printing press

do you remember who was on for morris? :’) was it george? i neeeed to see him and owen together finally. mentioned to owen how excited i was to finally catch him as oscar, and he was like “yeah, this is my first time on as him in…three weeks? i wasn’t sure i even remembered the choreo.” and then he did his lil ending choreo dancey-dance for me 🥲

[thefactsofthematter]

delanceys. what is their psychology. why are they the way they are. why do they wanna punch down on those barely a peg below them on the class ladder. why do they hate jack specifically. go go go -@jack-kellys

ty @jack-kellys for enabling me!! i’ll lay down some backstory thoughts here, and i got another ask where i’ll get into my thoughts abt their personalities n stuff!!

okay here we go:

- so. they’re the only people jack knows who spent longer in the refuge than he did. they were already in there the first time he got put in, and didn’t get out until after his second stint there, when wiesel finally came to get them (claiming to be their long-lost uncle, when he really asked snyder if he could take a couple kids to put to work at the newspaper, and was given 14 year old oscar and 12 year old morris just to get them out of the way).

- spending a good chunk of their formative years in jail severely fucked up their worldview and ways of thinking. their dad dropped them off himself, not wanting anything to do with them after their mom died, and they’ve only had each other ever since.

- they spent over 3 years in there, surviving by keeping to themselves and never starting fights, only finishing them. they watched jack constantly mouth off at the guards and go kicking and screaming whenever he got dragged out of the room for some kind of punishment - and they resented him for it, bc the guards would often be much more aggressive and mean after incidents like that. jack kelly came into the refuge, made things worse for everyone, and then found some clever way to sneak out… TWICE. it was infuriating.

- so they finally got out, and started their new job at the world, only to find out that jack fucking kelly was a newsie now, and a popular one at that. he had the same smart mouth that got him in trouble in the refuge, but all it did out here was make the other kids laugh - and he often put it to use against oscar and morris, with cutting comments and mean jokes that felt unwarranted at first, pushing them to really start bullying jack and the newsies in return.

- their job at the newspaper is miserable, but there’s no escaping it - they spend long days counting and bundling papers, and then they have to stand there and hand them out to the newsies, who just seem like they have so much fun. those kids live with their friends in the lodging house, and they roam the streets all day, and they’re always laughing and joking… while oscar and morris share a tiny bedroom at wiesel’s place, and don’t often get to be around anyone other than each other. they’re paid only in room and board - if they were to try to run away and leave the job, they’d be homeless and penniless, with both wiesel and snyder out to chase them down.

- a detail i’m gonna elaborate on eventually is that i think oscar, as the older brother, is much angrier than morris is. his entire life has been about keeping morris safe… something he’s largely failed at. no matter what he does, he’s forced to see his brother scared and hurt and exhausted and beaten-down, practically all the time. morris, while just as big and strong as his brother, is scared of wiesel, scared of snyder, sometimes even scared of oscar’s bad moods and temper, meaning all of oscar’s efforts to protect him typically backfire and make things worse.

- so they’re angry. they punch down because that’s all that’s ever been done to them. they don’t care about anyone other than each other, and they resent jack and the newsies for a life that looks better than their own isolated one, despite knowing that it’s just as hard out there for them. the older they get, the more people they start to take their rage out on - like beating up on trolley strikers, which is the only type of extra work wiesel allows them to pick up in the evenings, or doing snyder’s dirty work and dragging kids to the refuge as some kind of revenge for everything they’ve gone through.

- they suck, right? but in their situation, who wouldn’t? it’s hard to feel bad for them, given how cruel they are in canon, but it’s definitely interesting to take a look at where they might’ve come from. these poor fellas just never managed to catch a break, and it ruined them :(

[snow-shelter]

My highschool recently did newsies as their spring play. I was ensemble and went to damn near every rehearsal, leading me to see a lot of cast dynamics! I was also there for every show. Therefore, I am taking my friends' iterations of the newsies, as well is their in AND out of character dynamics- and making it an AU. Possibly a fanfic?? Shrugs

CHARACTERS & CHANGES

☆ so a good 40% of the cast were girls, which means I am keeping them girlsies for this! Most notable being Specs, Ike, Elmer, JoJo, Darcy and Bill!

☆ given how the cast portrayed these characters, I'm also adding those dynamics into this au! Again, most notably the pure hatred between Katherine & Race. (theater drama with the actors 😔)

☆ also taking into account... Cast appearance & voices. Our Jack, Crutchie and Race were all fucking beanstalks- Davey & Albert as well, just not to their level ykyk. Katherine is dirty blond with highlights- Davey is dusty blond and WIESEL IS GINGER? ;?!?!

☆ there was exactly TWENTY bowery beauties, and they were very interactive with the newsies! Specifically Les and Albert

☆ during scene in Jacobi's, Finch is. Always. Sitting in someone's lap. He doesn't sit on the table or on the benches, he sits on someone's lap. Also, when race offered to "tell wiesel himself" about the strike, Albert picks him up and spins him around and away from wiesel. (accidentally kicking mike in the head during one show)

☆ Ike & Mike are twins, Elmer being their older sister and looking a lot like Mike (actors were irl siblings)

☆ Snyder's actor was actually a sophomore. Family business refuge. Snyder being barely older than the newsies. Yeah.

☆ our jack was a lot more emotionally constipated. He was crying during Santa Fe on the last show and still managed to belt that last note??? Lord. (/pos) he's also very awkward when it comes to his jokes, often falling flat and nervously looking around for a response. He was a mess who I love very dearly

☆ Davey is just tired. He's tired of everyone's bullshit. Very sassy always... Nobody knows what his deal is but yk!! And Katherine is also a lot meaner, more firey. Less professional at some parts, even getting physical with the newsies before KONY

If anyone wants to know more about this pleeeaaaase lmk I'm suc

[redfish-blu]

“Newsie’s Dispatch is a collection of excerpts from the prolific Analog War correspondent News-a-go-go’s personal journal. Containing interviews, photographs, and first-hand descriptions of Battery City and its surrounding zones which have never before been published.”

Excerpt from the diary of Emilio Vega

September 3, 2012

Danny called yesterday around five. Said he was gonna take Jenna and try going north. And he’d call me at noon today when they settled down. He hasn’t called, but it wouldn’t matter very much anymore. Phones are all fucked. Mine is sitting here next to me dead. Riley didn’t bring the portable.

We’ve been sitting up on a hill all day. It’s burning out here but we left the beach umbrella in the car from the last time we went and we’re both sitting up under it. Riley is glued to her laptop, but apparently instagram isn’t working. Neither is facebook. Really off the grid. I wonder what reddit is saying about all this shit. L.A is looking like a lost cause. There’s towers of smoke coming from basically everywhere.

Last night was insane. I-5 was like a prison riot, we barely got passed the barricade. And then we didn’t see anyone on the roads for the rest of the night. We tried listening to the news on the radio but it was all static, creepy as shit until we got out of the city. Then we must have caught some guy’s signal, and we’ve been listening to him all day. He’s saying Blind are the ones who did the bombing, not the terrorists. I actually think he’s one of them. The terrorists. Then again, maybe he’s right about all this.

Probably the scariest part last night was at about midnight, L.A blacked out. All the way. Riley and me were already up in the hills and it started downtown, then the entire city shut down. It was so dark it looked like there wasn’t even a city there at all. The fires were so easy to see. The power stayed off until three in the morning. I think Riley was really scared but she’s just refusing to look at it now. It seems like nobody knows what’s going on. Except radio guy. He keeps saying, “the aftermath is secondary”. Maybe if this turns out to be the real end of the world I’ll get that tattooed.

[fluffydavey]

For the couples promt: Not wanting to leave their embrace please!!

does this follow the prompt? who knows. please enjoy this brain rot thank you very much <3 || relationship prompts

They’re laying on the cold hard ground beneath them as they hide out in Medda’s theatre, nothing but a thin sheet Jack had managed to find with some props to keep them warm. Davey's limbs are sprawled across him, and he can feel Davey's breath against his neck.

It isn’t something grand or some huge gesture, but Jack doesn’t think Davey minds that much. He wishes he could give this beautiful boy laying with him the entire world - but that still wouldn’t be enough. Because Davey deserves so much more than life has thrown his way, but he goes with the punches and makes the best of every situation.

Davey’s always been the person who takes care of everyone but himself. He’s the boy who left school to take care and provide for his family, who teaches the younger newsies alongside Les how to read and how to do basic math; who does his absolute best to keep all of them out of trouble.

(“You’re fighting a losing battle here Dave,” he had told him once, but Davey had walked right up to Spot Conlon without an ounce of fear and managed to get Spot to talk through an issue between some of their newsies. Jack was ready to profess his love right then and there - he'd never seen someone hold their ground with her like Davey had.)

Davey, who within a day of meeting Jack, had not only helped plan and execute the strike of the century; but had stayed by his side throughout it all, to help Jack run the union as smoothly as possible. And he’s never heard the other boy complain throughout it all. Davey, the boy who's turned his life around for the better, probably doesn't see himself the way the rest of the world does.

If he could, Jack would sit with Davey in the theatre watching one of Medda's shows holding his hand, walk him home every night and kiss him goodnight on the streets. But they can't do that - people think there's something wrong with the way Jack feels for Davey. Sometimes, that thought terrifies him. It sticks with him when he reads headlines about arrests, and when he hears comments on the streets. If he allows it, the thought festers in his brain and Jack becomes terrified of a future where he isn't always standing by Davey's side.

But the moments like now, where Davey is obviously fighting sleep so he can stay awake with Jack, are enough to soothe his worries and his fears. Nothing is guaranteed, so why get so hung up about the future now? Especially when the most beautiful boy in all of New York - no, the world - is holding onto him as tight as he can.

"I can hear you thinking," Davey says, and Jack snorts. Of course, Davey is barely clinging to consciousness and still knows exactly how Jack's brain ticks.

"I'm just thinking about how lucky I am that I get to call you mine," he answers, his fingers curling around strands of Davey's hair. He practically feels Davey melt under his touch, and he kisses the top of the other boy's head.

"Oh?" Davey asks, and Jack can hear Davey's smile. "You are pretty lucky, actually."

"Yeah?" he asks, grinning widely.

"Sarah's told me she overheard a few of the girls at temple talking about me. Sounds like I'm pretty in demand right now," Davey says, and although the idea should make Jack insanely jealous, he just laughs.

"Well, I guess I better up my game if I want to keep you away from them, huh?" he asks, and Davey lifts his head. He's laughing as he leans in for a kiss. Jack savours the feeling of Davey's bottom lip between his own, a barely audible whine escaping the back of Davey's throat.

"I think that you have ruined me for anyone else," Davey says, as he pulls apart from Jack. Jack can hear just how earnest the other boy is, and he thinks that this is what true happiness feels like. It isn't a place like Santa Fe, it's being with the person he loves, in a sanctuary all of their own. He holds onto Davey tighter, unsure of what to say to that, and he lets himself take everything in.

Let the world go on around them, Jack wants to stay in this moment forever. Davey's limbs are tangled with his, and there is nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. It mightn't be the most grand of places, but he's pretty sure Davey wouldn't want anything more either, as long as they're together.

[jack-kellys]

Title: hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing -el

this is just so sexy el thank u @roideny

send me a fic title and i'll think up a fic!

first thought: crutchie POV through the strike and the refuge. i think the mentality of the title really encapsulates his character tbh, since initially he was very decisive on just paying what they had to to survive- very realist, grounded pov. but something else about charlie is that he's sort of easily caught up in an idea when it's from someone he trusts (santa fe, and the strike as a whole). hope is dangerous because it's powerful and sweeping and crutchie knows that even though he falls into it because like. damn. believing in something feels powerful too, and getting to be active in that belief–striking, standing with his friends, going against the rich folk against them–is more rewarding than life has ever been before.

and then he pays the price for it. not jack's hope, or davey's strategy, but crutchie's belief pays for it, and he's taken away from it, literally. hope always sneaks up on him and bites him in the ass but he'd be damned before letting go of it if he rly believes in it. ugh. uksies gonna get me back into canon era fics i swear

second thought: definitely some sort of dystopian where all the newsies are split into little survival teams under a horrific and spreading government. star warsy without the magic and just the guerilla/grassroots fight against fascism. adults are caught up in the politics of it and trying to solve it through that but it's very clearly.... this is a fight we have to win yk. also i think i'd toss this into a steampunk aesthetic because i think that and bare-bones fighting tactics go hand in hand very nicely... dumpster-dive weaponry and invention is very newsies and their slingshots.

not to be dramatic but it would definitely start with esther and mayer being arrested (they're in grassroots politics) and davey and les having to escape so they aren't arrested too (or worse!! they have valuable information about rebellion and contacts and etc). they meet jack, charlie, and race while the trio is doing recon so davey & les get pulled into a chase and into jack charlie and race's world. medda's theater is an underground base. jack is an inventor "rather than" an artist (they are the SAME but just different MEDIUMS ok). charlie has a kickass prosthetic that jack made for him that sort of catches on itself sometimes so he still needs a mobility aid until jack can create something better. race has been running information for the resistance without jack knowing. the "strike" that davey offhandedly mentions is that guerilla tactic, which snowballs into small disruptions with big publicity, which draws in katherine- who is a reporter in this still and would totally be held hostage if anyone knew who her father was.

im sure there's an au like it out there (pretty hard not to align a plot like newsies to a more dramatic theme like fascism)...but like lemme try my hand at it the aesthetic would be so good. steampunk new york...say less rn

[icanfixhimclub]

"And who are you?" "Oh, ho ho, wouldn't you just love to know."

This is a Spot Conlon x reader, and it's Spot from the 1992 movie, just to clarify. Also part 2

Everyone knew the 'King of Queens' was not someone to be messed with. But something nobody from outside their turf knew, is that the 'King' is really a girl. But that's how they preferred to keep it, all anyone needed to know, was that Queens was not a force to be reckoned with.

"Blue! Jack Kelly and a few others from 'hattan are here, whaddya say we do?" Bolt, the second in command questioned, peeking into Blue's makeshift office. "Let 'em in." She beckoned, leaning back in her chair. Bolt opened the door and 3 boys walked in. "You must me the infamous Jack Kelly."

Blue spit in her hand, holding it out. Jack repeated her actions as she sat back down, motioning for him to do the same. Jack sat down in the chair infront of her desk as Blue finally spoke up. "Y'know, I'se been hearing talk from little birdies, that 'Jack Kelly and the rest of his goons are startin' a strike'."

"Well that's cause we are." An unknown boy spoke. Blue's piercing eyes looked him up and down with a snicker. "Who's this Kelly, the brains of this so called strike?" The girl cackled, throwing her head back, her hat falling of in the process.

"Well, yes but- hold on, you'se a girl?" Jack question, dumb founded. "Why else do you think Queens runs so well?" She snickered, moving her hair out of her face. She looked expectantly at Jack, waiting for him to continue.

"He is our brains, basically. You- you tell her Davey." "Yeah Davey, you tell me." Blue taunted, grinning. Davey took a deep breath, stepping forward slightly. "Well, I'se sure you know the recent price change for papes, so we're trying to make 'em drop the prices back to normal."

Blue contemplated it before speaking, "Whadda we get out of it? I'm putting my boys at risk, and for what, some stupid strike that I can't even be sure you'se won't chicken out when the first punch is thrown?" "Well you'd get the prices down for papes again, and if we at least get you to show up, the others might come along, even if Spot Conlon doesn't show."

Blue glared at Davey, scowling, "You say that idiots name again and I'm kicking you out." Davey nods quickly when Jack finally speaks up, "I'se bet ya, that if you show up and Brooklyn doesn't, you'll be higher up than 'em, because then Brooklyn'll seem like a bunch of Wussies."

"Alright then, here's my only deal. You go through the first fight alone, I'll have a scout there, and if they report back good, we'll join. If not, well you'se outta luck." Blue stuck out her hand, waiting for Jack to shake it. He did, a grin plastered on his face

As the three started walking out, Blue sat back in her chair and puffed. Well, thus outta be something.

"Well eyeball? How'd they do?" Blue sat back in her chair, resting her feet on the desk. "Did pretty well. Papes were torn everywhere, hell, Blue, it looked like winter. One of 'em even got caught and taken to the refuge, a crip with a crutch." Eyeball explained as Blue nodded.

"I see, your work is done, nice job." Blue dismissed him with a wave of the hand and closed her eyes in thought. "BOLT! IN HERE PLEASE!" She yelled, her second in command quick to enter. "Ya think we should do it? Eyeball said they did well and it would lower the price of papes."

"I'se say we do it, but you'se is in charge." Bolt reminded. Blue nodded, running a hand through her hair. "Alright then, tell the boys that we got places to be tomorrow." Bolt nodded, walking out the door and into the sleeping area as Blue shook her head.

With a single whistle, everyone looked up from the chaos, seeing boys surrounding the chaos, standing on buildings. "Hey, it's Queens!" A newsie shouted as Blue grinned. "Nevah fear! Queens is here!" One by one, every newsie from Queens lifted a slingshot and started firing.

Suddenly, more boys popped up from the buildings as well. "Nevah fear, Brook-" "Little late buddy." Blue cut him off, firing a shot right at a guy's neck. Spot huffed, signaling for his boys to start firing as well. Everyone knew that while Brooklyn had good shooters, Queens had great ones.

All hell broke loose yet again. "Cover me boys! I wanna get in on the action!" Blue grabbed a construction thing and zip lined down, kicking a guy in his face while landing. She rushes off, punching a guy in the face who was fighting a younger boy.

"Heya Blue!" Jack called, being right next to her. "Heya Kelly, how's it going?" She laughed, kicking a guy in the guy who tried to pull one of her braids. "Cover me Jack!" Blue quickly ducked under a punch and rushed to the gates.

Upon arrival, she grabbed both gates, swinging them open as Spot Conlon just barely behind her. She laughed as she wiped some sweat. "Always late, aren't you Conlon?" Spot growled as Blues and his boys started barreling in, yelling and pushing back the non-newsies.

When the gates shut, every newsie was celebrating. Blue made her way over to Jack, spit shaking with him as Bolt joined at her side. "Jack! Boys freeze!" An unknown man with a camera called. Quickly everyone paused what they were doing.

Every newsie sat in the dinner, Blue sitting with her boys as the others sat with theirs when she gets an unexpected poke on the shoulder with something that feels like a cane. She turns around to face a unpleasant Spot Conlon. "Just can't get enough of me, can you Conlon?" She taunted with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright, so we've established you know who I am." "I do indeed." Blue remarked. "And who are you?" "Oh, ho ho, wouldn't you just love to know. " Blue grinned. Spot was not pleased. "Oh, so you're just another newsie that's full of themselves." "Look who's talking." Eyeball snickered.

Blue stood up from her chair, standing a mere few inches from him, head tilted up slightly to look Spot in the eyes. "I'm Blue motherfucking Kingsley, and don't you forget it." She jabbed Spot harshly in the chest with her finger before sitting down again. "Wait, the 'King of Queens' is a girl?" Spot teases. "Yeah, a girl that can, and will, kick your ass."

Blue grins at Boxes comment while Spot scoffed and sat back down. One thing was for sure, Blue pissed Spot off, and everyone could tell there was something other than angry tension.

A/n: I plan on making a part 2, but enjoy for now!

[helnjk]

I Never Planned On You - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x reader

This is part of my showtunes fic list based on the song I Never Planned On You from the musical Newsies 💗 also i am SUCH a simp for Charlie it’s crazy 

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: when the twins bring their best friend to the burrow for christmas, charlie can’t keep his eyes off of her. 

Warnings: very brief mentions of death (minor character) & the war, injuries from dragons (?), mentions of food & alcohol consumption

- 

I’ve got no use for moonlight, or sappy poetry

Girls are nice, once or twice,

Til I find someone new

The pub was unusually packed, Charlie noticed.

As he scanned around the crowded room, his friends idly chatted around him. This was their usual routine, every Friday they would clock out of work and make their way here for a round of drinks and some fish and chips. 

He hadn’t noticed until she was directly in front of him, but one of the girls he saw around the reserve had made their way over. 

“Hello Charlie,” She drawled, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder, “It’s so nice to run into you here.” 

Despite the freezing temperature and the fact that everyone else was dressed comfortably, having come straight from work, the girl was wearing barely anything. Not that it mattered what any bird wore, as long as they felt confident in it and in themselves. But, as she bent down to be eye to eye with him, her breasts practically spilled over from her too tight top. 

It was obvious what she was trying to do. 

His friends watched with amused glints in their eyes, already knowing how this interaction would go. Her appearance was not out of the ordinary. Despite each incident involving a different bird, they had seen this kind of thing happen quite often when they went out with Charlie. 

“Erm, hello,” He muttered, trying not to make eye contact, “Louise right?” 

Her attempt at a sultry conversation was shattered as she replied, “It’s Leanne.” 

“Right.” 

Sensing that he was not at all interested in whatever was going on, Leanne huffed and turned on her heel. She angrily strode across the room, making as much noise and ruckus as possible, just to get a reaction out of the redhead, but her attempts were futile. 

Mark, one of Charlie’s friends, let out a low whistle as the girl left hearing distance, “That one was rather presumptuous, don’t you think mate?” 

Charlie let out a soft chuckle, “I don’t understand why they all think they can pull the same move and expect me to react any differently.”

“They’re all hoping to be the lucky one that the Charlie Weasley falls for, or some other crap like that,” He winked, taking a swig of his beer. 

“Reckon that won’t happen for a long time yet, mate.” The redhead replied. 

“You never know, Charlie boy!” 

He merely shook his head and took a sip of his drink. Dating wasn’t really on his mind anyway. 

Love at first sight’s for suckers

At least it used to be

The crack of apparition sounded through the pale morning light. 

Charlie landed steadily on his feet as he appeared on the top of a hill, just on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. Nothing had really changed since the last time he visited, the same silhouettes of different houses littered the landscape, the same sleepy neighbors about to begin their day. The familiarity of it all blazed in his heart like a warm fire at the end of a cold day, comforting and all consuming. 

The Burrow stood proud and tall in the horizon, and he couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. He was home. It was the Christmas holidays, the war had ended, and he was home.  

He took his time, trudging up through the blanket of snow surrounding the house. Smoke rose from the chimney signalling that his mum was already puttering about in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the army of people no doubt housed under her roof. 

“Mum!” He yelled as soon as he crossed the threshold, “Mum, I’m home!” 

As he banished the remaining snow on his boots with a wave of his wand, Molly Weasley came bustling out the kitchen door. Apron adorning her waist and a smidge of flour flecked on her fiery hair, she grinned and opened her arms. 

“Charlie,” She said as he bent down to wrap his arms around her in an embrace, “Oh love, it’s so good to see you!” 

“You too, mum.” He smiled at her, “Anyone else here yet?” 

From eldest to youngest, she listed off the plans of each of her children and where they were to spend the holidays. Everyone would be ‘round on Christmas and Boxing day, but the only ones spending the night that day, Christmas Eve, were the twins, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The younger ones of the bunch had arrived the day prior, but were still asleep from what she knew. 

Charlie nodded his head before he was sent away to unpack his things in his old room. His mum had kept it just as he left it, even though it had been many years since he moved to Romania. She said something about not being bothered to think of anything to turn it in to, but he knew that she kept it for nostalgia’s sake. 

As he made his way back down the stairs, the commotion at the front of the house caught his attention. Fred and George had arrived, noisily announcing their appearance, taking off coats and scarves and calling out to their mum. However, Charlie could also just barely see the outline of a third person behind them. 

She was nearly a head shorter than the twins, but when she came into view, he felt the air get knocked out of him. The light streaming in from the open door behind her seemed to glow in a halo around her, her eyes lighting up at whatever the twins had said and a laugh falling from her lips. 

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on. 

The twins took notice of Charlie’s presence, as he was paused halfway down the stairs, and called out to him. 

“Oi, Charlie!” George called, making his way to his older brother, “Nice to see you, mate! How’ve you been?” 

“Good-erm, good yeah.” He managed to stutter out, head still spinning at the sight of the beautiful girl, “What have you lot been up to, then? Who’ve you brought over?” 

“This is Y/N,” Fred said, motioning to his best friend. 

At the introduction, she smiled brightly and held out her hand for Charlie to shake, “I work with the twins at the shop, nice to meet you.” 

Charlie spotted Fred and George roll their eyes playfully. 

“Oh come off it,” Fred nudged her before turning to his older brother, “We’ve been mates with this one since Hogwarts. She was usually the one getting us in trouble, though.” 

“Oi!” She laughed, “Don’t make me sound like the bad influence, I was a perfectly good student.”

As Charlie watched their interaction, he had flashes of a little girl always in step with the twins and causing mischief in the halls of Hogwarts during his last few years there. Back then, she had only been a child, bright eyed and inquisitive, but now she had grown into a woman, confident and sure. 

“Nice to meet you,” He murmured as their eyes locked, “The more the merrier around here.” 

He might have been imagining things, but he swore he could see the faint beginnings of a blush creeping onto Y/N’s cheeks. 

The ruckus made from the twins & Y/N’s entrance was enough to wake the rest of the inhabitants of the household. It seemed like the Christmas celebrations had begun early as they all clambered into the slightly too small kitchen table and had a meal together. 

For the rest of the day, Molly had them all helping out in preparation for the real celebratory meal the next day. Charlie hadn’t had the time to strike up a conversation with Y/N and instead settled with (not so) subtle glances her way. 

Once or twice, one of the twins would catch onto his game and send him knowing looks. He paid them no mind, though, being used to their antics. 

“So Charlie,” Fred began, as the family was settling in around the living room after dinner, “Y/N, huh?” 

The pair of them leant against the wall in the corner of the room, away from any prying eyes or ears.

“Shove off, mate.” He replied with a slight shake of his head and his lips barely twitching into a smile. 

The younger brother rolled his eyes playfully, “It’s alright. Georgie and I have been fending off boys for years with our Y/N. She’s quite fit, but no guy’s been good enough for her in our eyes, or in hers I reckon.” 

“Don’t you go playing the protective best friend on me now, I haven’t even done anything!” Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder against his brother’s. 

“Nah, I’d never. Just wanted to tell you that she’s never been romantically involved with anyone.” 

“Well, that makes the two of us then.” 

-

The Burrow was uncharacteristically silent as Charlie crept down the staircase. It was definitely past midnight, but he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, tossing and turning from the moment his head met the pillow. 

He paused for a moment as he reached the bottom, not expecting to see light filtering through the open kitchen door at this time of night. His heart only picked up its pace as he noticed that it was Y/N who was sat by the counter, nursing a cup of tea in her hands and staring out the window. 

“Care for any company?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

He noticed her body jump slightly at the noise, but when she turned to face him, the smile she sent in his direction could light up any room, “I’ve just heard from a certain redhead that around here, the more the merrier.”

“Fred tell you that?” 

Her laugh was a sound he knew he would never tire of hearing, “And I see cheekiness runs in the family as well.” 

“Nah,” Charlie shrugged, taking the seat across from her, “It’s our good looks that you should be watching out for.” 

He flicked his wand and the kettle began to boil once more as a mug floated its way towards the counter. The pair of them had settled into a peaceful silence, taking in the comforting atmosphere of the winter night. 

It was Charlie who finally broke the silence, “So, how’s it been working with the twins at the shop? They drive you mad yet?” 

She gave him a knowing smile, “When you’ve spent nearly seven years in close quarters with them, you tend to get used to it. Plus it’s good to have steady company, especially when it comes in the form of Fred and George.” 

“What about your family? How’re they spending the holidays then?” 

The moment the question escaped Charlie’s lips, he knew he had made a mistake. The light in Y/N’s eyes seemed to dim and her grip on the mug in front of her seemed to tighten.

“Oh I’m sorry, you don’t have to–” He began.

“No it’s alright,” She assured him, “My parents died in the war. I was going to spend the holidays alone, but the twins refused to even entertain the thought.” 

“Well, I’m glad they brought you along this year.” He sent her a timid smile. 

“Me too.” 

But I never planned on someone like you

Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of cable knit sweaters and too much food. Y/N and Charlie found themselves tucked away in a corner or out in the snowy landscape taking a walk together more often than not. A quiet conversation at the dead of night did wonders for their budding friendship. 

It was as if they were magnets now, drawn to each other in a way that couldn’t be explained. 

Sooner than he’d like, Charlie found himself in one of the Ministry offices, hand tightly gripped onto a portkey. 

As he settled back into his daily routine at the dragon reserve, his mind often wandered to Y/N. The way her eyes lit up when she saw the snow fall, how her smile bloomed at any of the twins’ (albeit not so funny) jokes, the little crinkle in her nose when she had a particular thought in mind. 

“Look out, mate!” 

He only had a second to react as he saw one of the younger Welsh Greens open its mouth and shoot flames in his direction. Charlie had been so distracted by his thoughts that despite his best effort and his exceptional flying skills, he still felt flames lick his skin and singe his clothes. 

Full of adrenaline, he managed to land his broom properly before rolling onto the grass and performing the protocol for accidents such as these. Mark reached him quickly, as the rest of the team he was with went to settle the dragon down. A quick aguamenti charm at the still burning areas of Charlie’s clothes got rid of the remaining flames, but he still suffered a few burns and scrapes. 

“You alright, mate?” Mark asked, helping the redhead get to his feet, “I think we’ve still got to get you to the infirmary for those burns.” 

“Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” He smiled, wincing slightly as his clothes rubbed against the new burns on his skin. 

-

As it was protocol for the reserve to inform next of kin of serious injuries, Molly Weasley received an owl detailing the accident and the procedures done to make sure that Charlie was well taken care of. 

When she received it, she just so happened to have Y/N over for some tea. As the matriarch of the Weasley family couldn’t help but be drawn to children who had lost their parents in unfortunate circumstances, she made it a point to have her over every once in a while. 

“Charlie’s hurt?” Y/N asked, concern leaking into her voice. She had peered over Molly’s shoulder to see what could be so urgently delivered from Romania. 

Molly tried to hide her smile as she noticed how much Y/N cared for her son. She wasn’t the only one who took note of how quickly they were drawn to each other over the holidays, and she was thrilled at the thought of Charlie finding someone to love. 

Of course, she knew it wasn’t love just yet.

“Got a few burns from one of their younger dragons, it says,” Molly clarified, “He’s confined in their infirmary until further notice. Usually we’re allowed to visit them when we get a notice like this, but I don’t think I’d have the time to go this week… And I don’t want to bother Arthur, he’s been so busy these days with the Ministry as well.” 

Having been around Molly for much of her Hogwarts years, Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. But she couldn’t deny the flutters in her stomach when she realized that the person she looked up to as basically her second mother was trying to push her into the arms of her second eldest son.

“Molly,” She began, already set to turn down the offer. 

Mrs. Weasley was quick to the chase, however, “Oh I hope he wouldn’t feel too bad, being injured and not having anyone come to visit him.”

A small chuckle escaped Y/N’s lips as she shook her head, “I’m sure he’s got friends over at the reserve.”

“Oh Y/N, but I know he’d love to have you over!” She protested, “And I know the twins would let you go and visit him as well. I would be truly grateful if someone from the family could visit him and come home with news.” 

Y/N’s resolve faltered as she noticed that Molly had said she was family. The Weasleys had been practically her second family the moment the twins took her under their wing, but hearing the family matriarch say it so casually moved something in her heart. 

“Oh alright.” Y/N smiled, “I’ve never been to Romania, might as well go and see what all the fuss is about.” 

-

The infirmary wasn’t new to Charlie. 

Working with dragons was a little more high risk than his mother would’ve liked, but his love for magical creatures overrode whatever concerns she might have had. It helped that everyone working in the place was a top notch healer and got him patched up in no time. 

Still, he found himself on bedrest for at least the next few days as he waited for the various balms and soothing creams applied to his skin to work. 

Just as he began to feel a little stifled and antsy, a knock on the door rang and the familiar head of one of his healers popped in, “Looks like you’ve got a visitor, mate.”

Charlie furrowed his brows, “But, my mum said she couldn’t come ‘round and visit–” 

“Sorry to disappoint, love.” 

The sound of her voice was enough to fill his heart with immeasurable joy. In that moment, he forgot all about the uncomfortable sting of his burns and the itch he had to get out of the ward and onto the field again.

“Y/N?” He asked, as she stepped into the room, looking as radiant as when he first met her, “What’re you doing here?” 

“Molly said that you were injured,” She shrugged, nonchalant, “Just thought I’d keep you company while you recovered.” 

“You came all the way to Romania just so that I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind?” 

“Well when you say it like that, it sounds like I went through loads of trouble! I just got the next portkey out of Britain.” 

Despite all appearances, the two of them bantered with each other with rapidly beating hearts. Charlie couldn’t believe that his own mum had sent the bird he was pining after to visit him in the infirmary. Y/N couldn’t believe that she had actually gone through with the plan and was going to be around the boy who caught her eye. 

As soon as she took a seat next to his bed, though, their conversation flowed from where it left off. No awkwardness or uncomfortable pauses, just the two of them chatting as if they were still back in the Burrow, nursing warm mugs of tea and watching snow fall outside the window. 

Y/N had to avert her eyes when the healer came back to redress his bandages, not because she was embarrassed to see him practically naked in front of her, but because seeing the burns nearly made her gasp out loud. She knew that he was a dragon tamer, but she hadn’t known the severity of what accidents on the job looked like. 

Of course, he noticed and once the healer had left them again he said, “I’m alright, love. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all patched up in no time!” 

“Yeah,” She nodded, “I just wasn’t expecting that.” 

Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand in hers. The both of them looked at their intertwined hands atop the stark white bed sheets. His skin was calloused and rough, she noted, but tender and gentle too. It was evident that he enjoyed what he did and he did it with a lot of care. 

“Tell you what,” He stage-whispered, finally meeting her eyes, “I know what’ll help me feel better.” 

“Oh yeah? What?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to him and playing along.

“For you to go on a date with me once I get out of here.” 

“You are something else, Weasley.” Her eyes glimmered as she shook her head, and Charlie felt his heart hammering in his chest, “If you weren’t injured, I would’ve shoved you off this bed.” 

“You didn’t give me an answer, Y/L/N.” He replied, hoping that he didn’t come off as too eager, but still squeezing her hand to show that he was serious.

“Of course I will, you silly man!” She rolled her eyes, but pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

She relished in the way that simple gesture brought a rosy pink tinge to his skin. 

[noxexistant]

more on the fight club au ? 👀👀

i would love nothing more <3

the first time jack goes down there, he swears to himself it’s with the sole intention of shutting the place down. he doesn’t know how long it’s been running, but he knows it’s been a while - a few weeks, at least - and the simple fact that nobody told him is proof that they were keeping it secret from him, which is never a good sign. but the murmurs inevitably reach him eventually, as all murmurs do. ain’t nothing that goes on in mahattan that he don’t know about, or find out about, and he listens for a while to the whispers between his boys before he moves.

he finds out quick that the delanceys are running it, and that’s right when he makes his decision to ax it. he tells himself that anything the delanceys are involved with is bad news, especially anything that has his boys bearing black eyes and sore ribs and split knuckles, so he goes down there - despite the fact that, when he’d been hearing his boys talking about it, it’s always with grins and sparks in their eyes, voices low and chests puffed. the same fire in them as when they talk about soaking some other newsie for territory, or squealing some lie to a bull for their own gain, or stringing some skirt along with a heart-wrenching tale that didn’t contain a single true word. picking a pocket, picking a fight, the sort of stuff newsies just do because they love it. because it scratches an itch they all got.

it’s an old warehouse building - the ring that the boys have been talking about. jack follows the flow there after selling all day, after dark, and keeps his head down to blend in as best he can. morris delancey’s on the door, attention split between the people coming in and the crowd of newsies inside, and it’s a deafening wall of sound as soon as jack gets through. a throng of older kids shouting and jeering and cursing, and at the centre of it all there’s a ring marked out like the boxing rings on the streets. but there’s no rope, no cage, just lines on the floor and a gap in the crowd that’s moving with the violence of the two figures inside it, dodging back and getting louder every time one fighter gets tossed too close. when they get especially close, those on the edge’ll shove the fighter right back.

jack can’t see who it is in the ring, but he raises his fist and hollers for it all to stop anyway, just in case it’s one - or two - of his own boys being beat into the concrete for the crowd right now. the crowd quiets and the fight stops, but not one person looks happy about it - least of all oscar, who steps out of the shadows where he was watching the throng and steps up to jack with a dark look in his eyes.

jack explains what he wants - to stop this, all this, before someone gets hurt bad, and half the crowd starts stepping down the way all jack’s boys do when their leader tells them to, while the other half starts booing, vicious. that side is more kids jack doesn’t recognise, boys and girls from other boroughs, further afield. jack sees spot conlon step out of the ring and shove roughly through the crowd, their nose and mouth a mess of blood, and they’re booing too.

“you wanna shut us down?” oscar says, shoving jack hard in the chest, squaring up to him so they’re almost nose-to-nose. “how ‘bouts you earn it, huh? you crawl in here and clim’ up those ranks, same as anyone, an’ when you’re at the top, you can call it. but you gotta earn it. ain’t no use walkin’ in here tryin’ to be the famous jack kelly. you ain’t nobody here.”

“who’s at the top?” jack demands. oscar points, and spot bares their teeth.

so, jack steps into the ring with them. spot’s got their hair tied back, knuckles wrapped, their girls jumping and hollering and telling them exactly what to do to jack. jack’s got oscar, watching with a grin on his face and morris leaned against his shoulder.

and jack gets his ass kicked.

spot stomps him, and the roar of the crowd is echoing in his ears for hours afterwards, his head spinning. morris has to haul him up off the floor, and hold him half steady so he can hear oscar speak.

“maybe next time we’ll sort you out wit’ a more even match, huh?”

jack tells him to fuck off - spits a mouthful of blood at him, which only makes oscar laugh harder - but he does come back, when murmurs reach him that oscar’s sorted him out another opponent to go up against, start working his way up the ranks. he tells himself, again, that it’s just to shut the place down, to make it to the top and cut the head off.

but, by his second or third fight - and second or third win - jack’s forgotten all about that.

(he tells himself it’s just so he doesn’t have to fight spot again. refuses to admit it’s just so he can keep fighting everybody else.)

[heliads]

Prince

Spot’s surprised to find that Brooklyn has a new newsie joining its ranks, a boy he calls Prince who came to his turf from Queens. The only problem is that there may be more to Prince than meets the eye, like the fact that he isn’t a boy but instead Jack Kelly’s sister who ran away from Manhattan.

masterlist

Spot stands at the outskirts of the main room of the lodging house, leaning idly against a wall. It’s been a long, hard day, and he wants nothing more than to go to bed and forget everything that happened. Despite his whole ‘King of Brooklyn’ reputation as a ruthless leader, people tend to forget that Spot’s still a teenager. His unfazed glare is just a facade; behind it, someone still struggles to grow up too fast in a world that needs him to do the work of five just to survive.

A voice shouts out from behind him. “Hey, Spot! Got someone new here. They think they want to sell papes with us.” Spot waves a hand at the approaching figure without looking. “We already got enough mouths to feed.” The voice shouts back. “This one can pay! They was a newsie from Queens, and they got the pennies to prove it.” This piques Spot’s interest, and he turns around to see Snaps, one of the many Brooklyn newsies, approaching. There’s another boy not far behind him.

Spot fixes the newcomer with a piercing gaze. To be honest, he’s not sure how he feels about this guy. He’s already got a newsie cap, but it’s pulled low over their forehead to hide their face. They don’t look Spot in the eyes, as if they’re afraid of something. Fear isn’t something Brooklyn newsies should even know about.

“Who are you, and why did you leave Queens to come to Brooklyn? Don’t you know we’re tougher than any of youse?” The boy just shrugs. “Queens got boring. Figured I wouldn’t have that problem here.” Spot stares for a moment longer, then breaks into a short laugh. “Okay, I like this kid. Welcome to Brooklyn.”

Spot gestures for the newcomer to follow him. “Come on. Bunks is in here. This one’s empty, that’ll work for you. You used to be a newsie in Queens, so I assume you know the rules. Get up and ready by the circulation bell. Sell your papes and don’t take no for an answer. You already eaten tonight?” The new boy nods, and Spot raps his knuckles distractedly against the bunk before starting to head out. “Stay up however late you want. The rest of us will head out in an hour or so.”

You’ve done it. You really just did it. You’re now a Brooklyn newsie. It had taken everything you had to go through with your plan, even though you’d been thinking it through for weeks. Get up with the other Manhattan newsies like usual, pretend you were just going through a normal day. When the other boys leave, you pack your bag, dress up like a boy, and head over to Brooklyn, making sure you’re not seen on the way there. You say you’re from Queens, they let you in. End of story.

Only, that’s not really the truth. Yes, you’d been a newsie before, but only barely. You were great at selling papes, that wasn’t the problem. No, the real obstacle standing between you and surviving on the streets of Manhattan was your brother. Jack Kelly. 

See, Jack seemed to have some sort of old-fashioned idea that girls couldn’t- or shouldn’t- sell papes. Every time you tried to head out with the other newsies, he’d stretch out an arm in front of you with that same skeptical look on his face. You can almost hear his voice now. “And where do you think you’re going?” You always said the same thing. “Out to sell papes like anyone else.” You had tried to argue that you had to support yourself in some way, that it wasn’t fair that the other Manhattan boys had to slave away on the streets while you just sat around all day, but Jack wouldn’t hear a word. He’d make you stay at the lodging house, off the streets and out of trouble, or at least according to him.

You knew that he didn’t mean anything by it, that he was just trying to protect you. Jack felt guilty that his own sister would have to be selling papes right beside him, and he figured that as long as you didn’t have to do the same exhausting work you would be fine. However, you were sick of it. You could sell papes just as well as him, and you were tired of being nothing more than an afterthought. That’s why you decided to run away to Brooklyn. It was the last place Jack would look for you, and it would finally give you a chance to sell papes and really earn your spot alongside the other newsies.

You think your disguise had worked, but you still stay up late until you’re sure all of the other Brooklyn newsies are asleep before slipping out of bed and out of the window to stand on one of the fire escapes. You pull off your newsboy cap, reaching up to remove every last pin tying your hair in place and carefully slipping them into your pocket. You run your hands through your hair, sighing in relief. There’s a bandage wrapping around your chest to make your figure seem like more of a boy’s, but you’re able to take that off from underneath your shirt, wrapping it idly around your hands.

You stare out at the Brooklyn skyline before you. It’s funny- it’s the same city as Manhattan, same area of land. Yet it looks so different. It seems to promise possibilities, a future where you’re finally able to step out of Jack’s ever looming shadow. It’s your turn now, your turn to live and dream just as fervently as you wish. You sigh quietly, peaceful at last, then tear your gaze away from the city and head back inside. You pull the threadbare blankets close around you, curling up for a night’s rest.

You get up early the next morning before everyone else, taking care to rewrap your chest and repin your hair before people can see you. You’re not sure how long your disguise will hold out, but hopefully long enough that people will trust you and look the other way if they see something odd about you.

Across the city, the circulation bell starts ringing. The other boys have woken up at this point, and you all confidently head towards the Brooklyn Newsies Square. You form a line with the rest of the newsies. As you reach the front of the line, though, your heart starts to pound with panic. Handing out the papes are none other than Oscar and Morris, the Delancey brothers! There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll recognize you. They knew the newsies, and they’ll know you. This is it- you haven’t even been here a day and your plan is already over.

You slap your quarter down in the box, asking for a set of 50 papers. Oscar starts to reach for the papes, then he turns and squints at you suspiciously. “Wait, you look familiar. You’re not from Brooklyn, but I’ve seen you before.” You find you can’t say anything, just look at him like a deer in headlights. What do you do now? 

You’re saved when the newsie who’d introduced you last night, Snaps, comes up behind you, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. “That’s ‘cause this newbie came from Queens. You probably saw them there.” You nod, grateful when Oscar shrugs and turns away, handing you your papes with an expression that makes it clear that he could not care less about you.

You wait for Snaps to get his papes, that flash him an appreciative smile. “Thanks for that. Gotta say, the one thing I was hoping to leave behind in Queens was the Delanceys. Looks like I’m not that lucky.” Snaps just grins. “No one’s lucky enough to avoid the Delanceys. They’re like the flu- show up everywhere.”

Snaps turns to you with a sudden frown. “You know, I just realized that you don’t have a nickname.” You look at him, confused. “Do I need one?” Snaps throws his hands in the air. “Of course you do! Every newsie needs a nickname, even if they’re the King of Queens.” There’s a voice from behind you, and Spot walks up casually next to you. 

“Trying to name another newbie? Was the last failure not enough for you?” Snaps groans. “Listen, I’m great at naming people. What about- Kingsy? You know, King of Queens. Like I said.” You can’t help but laugh. “That’s awful. I’d rather just go back to Queens.” Spot nods. “I like the idea, though. What about Prince? It’s still related to Queens, but it’s a level down because there’s only one King in Brooklyn, and that’s me.”

You shrug. “I don’t think I’m going to get anything better, so that sounds alright with me.” You’ve started heading away from Newsies Square, and you realize you don’t have a street assignment. You glance over at Spot. “I thought you said I was going to be following someone so I knew where to sell.” He nods, unconcerned. “Yeah. You’se following me.” You must seem surprised, because he looks over at you and laughs. “Don’t get overwhelmed. I want to see how they’re teaching newsies to sell over in Queens.” You shrug. “Alright, but don’t expect to do that well yourself. I might just steal all your customers.” Snaps laughs at Spot’s mock glare. “I like Prince. We need somebody new to make fun of Spot.”

The newbie actually isn't that bad at selling papes. Sure, Prince might have come from Queens, but to be honest, Spot wasn’t expecting a whole lot. Yet there they are, shouting out embellished headlines like they’ve done it their whole lives. He hates to say it, but Spot might actually be impressed. Before he knows it, it’s the end of the day, and they’ve both sold all of their papes. 

That day soon ends, and then the next day, and the next. Spot finds himself actually appreciating Prince. He’s a nice guy, someone who knows when to joke around and when to sell papes and be serious. Before long, Spot realizes he trusts the guy like a second in command, asking him questions about how to make sure Brooklyn sells the most papes and how to keep his boys out of trouble. Prince opens up too, but only gradually. There’s something about that boy that makes Spot think he’s hiding something, maybe the real reason about why he left Queens.

It’s odd- every night, Prince stays up late until he thinks everyone’s fallen asleep, and then he silently gets up and heads out to stand on the balcony. He stays there for a while, maybe ten minutes, and then goes back inside and falls asleep. He gets up early in the mornings, too, repeating the same routine before anyone’s awake enough to see him. Spot doesn’t pay attention to what he does, making sure his eyes are always shut when Prince passes. Spot knows enough about bad memories of the past to know that sometimes boys needing solitude should be left alone and not watched.

About two months after Prince comes to Brooklyn, Spot finds himself standing frustratedly in the little closet of a room he likes to call his office. Jack Kelly, of all people, has come over to pay him a visit. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to have to deal with Kelly. Not today. Yet there the guy is, pacing back and forth in front of him. Spot shakes his head slightly, trying to focus back on the conversation again.

“Look, all I’m asking is if you’ve seen her at all.” Spot holds up a hand, trying to figure out what Kelly’s talking about. “Sorry, who is this? Your sister? You lost your sister?” Jack sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Yeah, my sister. She’s a few months younger than you. I don’t know where she went or why she left, all I know is that she isn’t in ‘Hattan.” Spot raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I can’t blame her. If I had to deal with you as a brother I’d probably leave too.”

At Jack’s glare, Spot rolls his eyes. “No, I haven’t seen your sister.” Jack frowns, pursing his lips. “I’ve checked all the other turfs. You’re sure she isn’t here?” Spot fixes Jack with a glare. “Yes, I’m sure. No goils in Brooklyn, least of all Kelly goils.” Spot sees movement in the hall outside, and, desperate for an interruption from this boring conversation, starts to move towards the door. “Here, I’ll ask Prince, just in case. If I don’t know, Prince might.” Spot raises his voice. “Hey, Prince? Get in here.”

Prince, who had been just passing by the door, pops his head in. “Yeah? What’s up?” He casually strides in the room, talking with a relaxed attitude that, for some reason, disappears the second he sees Jack’s turned back. In fact, he seems to freeze in place, some strange fear suddenly appearing in his eyes. The panic’s only there for a moment, though, and it flickers and disappears from his face just as quickly as it came.

Spot gestures towards Jack. “Kelly lost his sister. Have you seen her anywhere?” Prince shakes his head. “No, haven’t seen any sisters. That all?” Spot waves him away, and Prince practically runs out of the room. Spot watches him go with a questioning look, but shakes it away and turns back to Jack. “Look, we don’t have your sister. Can you go back to ‘Hattan now?” Jack nods and leaves, but not before asking Spot to tell him if he sees his sister, Y/N, at all. 

Now that Kelly’s left, Spot turns to more pressing issues, mainly the sudden fear in Prince. When Spot leaves the room, he can’t see Prince anywhere, not in the main room or even in his bunk. There’s only one place he would be, the one place he seems to frequent when he’s worried- the roof.

You can’t believe it. Jack was here- really here. And he was looking for you! Of all the times to walk past Spot’s office, why’d you have to choose the one moment when your brother was there? Luckily enough, he seemed not to recognize you. Then, the ugly truth of that matter really hits you. He didn’t recognize you. The brother you’d spent your entire life with didn’t realize that you were standing before him if you were wearing a cap with your hair tucked up underneath it? Ridiculous.

You hear footsteps behind you and whirl around in a panic, your shoulders sinking with relief when you realize it’s only Spot. Spot, however, looks even more worried than he did back in that room with Jack. “You want to tell me what’s got you so nervous? I know it’s something with Jack, you might as well just say it.” Your head jerks up at that, but you try to play it off as if nothing happened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing with Jack.”

Spot folds his arms across his chest. “There is very much something with Jack. You practically passed out the second you saw him. What’s wrong?” You remain silent, and he takes a step towards you. “You can trust me, you know. You can tell me anything.” You look at him through nervous eyes. “Anything?” He nods. “Anything.”

Before you know it, your hands are fumbling for your cap at the top of your head, pulling it off and taking out the pins in one mad rush. You comb your fingers through your hair, then turn back to him, cap clutched in your hands. Spot looks stunned, but then he speaks. “He said he was looking for his-” You cut him off. “His sister. Yeah.” Spot seems shocked. “I thought you said you came from Queens?” You laugh awkwardly. “I, uh, lied about that. Figured it would be easier to pretend I was a nobody from some other turf than have to explain about everything.”

Spot furrows his brow, confused. “What is everything? I mean, Manhattan’s not an awful place. Why would you leave?” You sigh, raking a hand through your hair. “Manhattan was great. The problem was the people. Jack wouldn’t let me sell papes because he didn’t think a girl could do it as well, and he didn’t want me selling with the other boys. I left because I wanted a life of my own.” You let out a broken chuckle, one that seems to echo around the rooftop with the sadness of a thousand lifetimes. “He didn’t come here until two months later. He didn’t even recognize me. At the beginning, I wondered whether or not I was right in coming here, in leaving him, but I can see now that I was.” You look back up at Spot with eyes slightly darting towards frenzy. “He doesn’t care about me. I don’t think he does at all.”

Spot steps closer to you, taking your hands in his. “He’d be wrong to do that. You’re an amazing goil, and amazing at selling papes. If he doesn’t want you, then you’ve got a home with us.” You look back up at him, finally letting a soft smile spread across your face. “You mean it? You’re not going to make me go back?” Spot raises an eyebrow. “And let go of one of our best sellers? No way. I might tell him I saw you somewhere in a week or so, just to make him stop worrying, but I won’t say a word about where you are. You’re with us now.”

He glances at you, donning a slight smirk. “Does this mean we have to call you Princess instead of Prince?” You laugh at him, swatting him with your cap. “Absolutely not. I’ll go back to my disguise and everything. Life like normal, right?” He smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Life like normal. Only this time, you know I’ve got you.”