#c: racetrack higgins

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

Waking to find the spot in the bed beside him empty, Race had frowned a little, at least until the smell had hit his nostrils. For a moment he lies there, a sleepy smile on his face, before pushing himself to his feet and sloping into their little kitchen, arms wrapping around Spot from behind as he hooks his chin over her shoulder, one hand coming to rest on her bump. That's their baby. The thought still sends a thrill of excitement through him that he can't quite control, nor does he want to. They're having a baby!

"Morning," he murmurs, reciprocating her kiss to his cheek with one to hers, nuzzling affectionately. There's a little bit of scruff on his chin, he needs to shave, but he'll do that once he's a little more awake. For now instead, he turns her just a little bit in his arms so he can drop to his knees and press a kiss to the curve of her bump with a fond smile, "And good morning to you too."

[whatsbehindthefacade]

"Splasher used to be a nightmare, but he's got this spot just behind his ear that if you rub it, he drops right off." It had been quite the blessing when they'd figured that out and suddenly removed so many arguments from their night time routine. Unfortunately the other kids don't have quite the same off button as their youngest.

"Eh, I'll just sic Albert on them. He'll rough house with 'em enough to tire 'em out, an' they always like seein' how many of 'em he can carry." It's quite a funny trick to watch, in truth, and a common source of entertainment.

race·:

“Someone’s gotta tire ‘em out before bedtime. Tryin’ to get them all to sleep is a task an’ a half sometimes.” That’s one way of putting it anyway. As it currently stands, they’ve got six kids under the age of ten that sleep in the lodging house, and a handful more who are just over that age and slowly working their way into the slightly more grown groups. The middles aren’t too bad for getting themselves to bed, but the littles like to put up a struggle.

“Tire em out enough, then Finch’ll tell them some story and they drop right off. Works like a charm.” And if it doesn’t, then Albert will threaten to sit on them if they get up, which also usually works pretty well from experience, though thankfully it hasn’t been needed too much.

“Yeah, I get that. I mean…it’s hard enough getting Les to go to sleep,” Davey replies with a smile, thinking of all the long nights they’d spend doing exactly THAT. And multiply that by six? Oof. He finishes cleaning the wound before dressing it, pulling back with a smile. “All done, you should recover just fine.”

“Though I suggest you lay low with activities that tire the kids out for at least one or two days. Maybe you can make them play some games instead, and be the referee?”

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | plotted starter

Race has never made the journey from Manhattan to Brooklyn in quite so little time. It's impressive, even if for no other reason than that he's sporting quite a limp and half the visible skin he's got is painted a mottled black and blue with bruising. There's a copy of the New York Sun clutched tight in his fist, and his cap is shoved into his back pocket. There's a fierce expression on his face, and a fire in his step, enough that he doesn't even get questioned as he steps off the bridge and into Brooklyn proper, nor as he clears the ground to the lodging house. He's being followed, he's aware, though he's not sure which of Spot's kids it is, but he doesn't care.

He throws the door of the lodging house open, uncaring that it clatters off the wall and that several heads are turning to look at him. He can see Mac stand, but all he says is "I'se here to see Spot" and there must be something in his eyes that has her nodding and gesturing towards the private room at the other end that he knows Spot sometimes commandeers. Several strides has him across the bunk room and into the private room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He and Spot have a bit of a friendship going on, or so he's always thought, though they largely keep it to themselves. It's why he's allowed to sell at Sheepshead, when any other Manhattan would risk getting soaked just by crossing the bridge, and why he always keeps the red pocket square tucked in his waistcoat, a signifier that he's under Brooklyn's protection. Except he doesn't feel very protected right now. And sure, he hadn't volunteered to come ask Brooklyn in the first place, but he hadn't wanted to make it seem like he was trying to use their friendship as leverage for a favour.

"Never woulda taken you for a coward, Spottie." He's angry and he's upset, and he's got more kids than he can count laid up back in their own lodge house barely able to stand. Crutchie's in the refuge, Jack is still missing in action, and they're all looking to him to lead. Davey and Katherine have talked about a rally. So it's up to him now to make sure this doesn't go to shit as well. So maybe he's running his mouth. So be it.

[bigmack2go]

Projecting onto my second favourite characters bc i dont wanna hurt my favourites like my life depends on it.

[b-rainlet]

Fem!Racetrack. Is that anything

[theres-no-escaping-us-pal]

NEWSIES AND WHAT AFTER SCHOOL CLUBS THEY’RE IN + WHAT SPORTS THEY DO

JACK KELLY

he definitely does sets for the school productions

he also does lights

he did track in elementary-middle school school but quit freshman year to focus more on art

but he runs every morning

also he def started an art history club with davey and kathrine

DAVEY/DAVID JACOBS

he plays piano is jazz band

and he’s in debate

he plays tennis

he wins state championships for tennis

and he totally joined theatre tech cause all his friends were doing theatre in some capacity

helps kathrine with editing the school paper when she gets stressed

he’s in honors math and science

maybe english too

CRUTCHIE MORRIS

band

he’s a band kid

idk what instrument

don’t ask me

i’m not a band kid

but he is

and tenor in choir

he plays in the pit band for the school productions

helps jack with sets sometimes

honors english

b average

KATHRINE PLUMBER/PULITZER

she’s a total academic weapon

class president 5th grade-senior year

she’s in debate

chief editor of the school paper

runs the year book

stage manager

on the varsity volleyball team

was on jv her freshman year

when people ask her how she gets straight a’s she’s like “idk i’m just smart”

a+ average

RACETRACK HIGGINS

he’s on the competitive dance team

also ensamble or a minor role in every school production

he’s been the lead once

he didn’t like it

in honors math

he also does track (hehe race track)

he gets a’s in math and b’s and a-‘s in everything else

most flexible on the comp team

best turner on the comp team

was in debate for two years but quit because he started having stress related panic attacks and stress vomiting before debates

b+ average

ALBERT DASILVA

competitive dance too

he used to play soccer in middle school and part of freshman year

he’s in theatre normally ensemble but likes to be speaking roles

c+ average

pours his time into dance

like it’s his favorite thing

terrible at chaine and pique turns

he’s great at pirrouettes and a la seconds though

SPECS IDK HIS LAST NAME

competitive dance guy #3

he’s on debate too

2nd most flexible on the comp team

worst turner

amazing leaps

b average student

forgets his contacts for dance frequently so he just dances with no glasses on

in jack’s art history club

FINCH CORTEZ

also on competitive dance

least flexible

average turns

terrible leaps

good at tricks

he’s trick man

really likes doing theatre

school photographer

b- average

SPOT CONLON

def on the gymnastics team

don’t ask me why and don’t argue with my flawless logic

he keeps his grades just high enough to still be on the team

also on the wrestling team

people are always asking why he does those two cause there like polar opposites

he’s just like 🤷‍♀️

b average

definitely runs some kind of social justice or lgbtq+ club

(also applies to uksies spot)

MORRIS DELANCEY (specifically the mike faist version)

soccer and dance

specifically tap

he likes tap

and he’s been doing soccer since he was in middle school

he’s on debate team

he’s not very good but he makes it through

a- average

OSCAR DELANCEY

football

don’t ask me why i don’t plan to explain

c+ average

i have nothing else to say

SARAH JACOBS

varsity soccer

and debate team

and honors english, history, and science

and choir

she’s a mezzo

don’t tell me i’m wrong

i’m not

she’s a student tutor

like when a student needs tutoring she’s the persian they go to

for english, science, or history

a average

kinda academic rivals-lovers with kath

(sorry if these are shitty)

[kid-blinks-eyepatch]

Newsies Hc list:

Ace

Albert DaSilva

Barney Peanuts

Bart

Blink Balletti

Buttons Davenport

Bumlets

Crow (OC!!!)

Crutchie Morris

David (Davey) Jacobs

Dice

Dutchy

Elmer Kazprak

Finch Cortez

Graves

Henry Butler

Hotshot

Ike

Jack Kelly

Jojo de la Guerra 

Katherine Plumber-Pulitzer

Knobs

Les Jacobs

Lucky

Mike

Morris Delancey

Mush Meyers

Myron

Oscar Delancey

Pie eater

Racetrack Higgins

Sarah Jacobs

Skittery

Smalls

Smokes

Snoddy

Sniper

Spot

Swifty

Tommy boy

Tumbler

York

Other:

Brooklyn boys & baseball

Names will become links if my lazy butt ever gets around to making them!

I know a lot of them are background newsies/names i gave brooklyn newsies b/c i wanted to give Brooklyn more ✨fLeSh✨ i feel cheated that we hardly got to see any of them >:(

Let me know about any background newsies I should look into!

[youaintnothinbuta]

Fuck it out - racetrack higgins x reader

Summary: you and Race cannot get along. You fight and fight and fight— finally you get on Jacks last nerve and he shoves the pair of you into a room and won’t let you leave until your issues are solved. You and Race end up fucking the frustration out.

Pairing: fem!reader x Racetrack Higgins

Word count: 2000 (it’s worth the read though ladies, I promise)

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, coarse language, angst, arguing

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Race loathed you more than anyone in the world, and the feeling was entirely mutual. It was a deep-seated animosity that festered between you two.

He hated the way he could hear your laugh over anyone else’s. He hated the way you walk into a room and suddenly everyone’s eyes are glued to you. He hated how your arguments left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Most of all, he hated the way you teased him.

From the moment the pair of you laid eyes on each other, you just utterly despised each other. All the Newsies knew it. At first, they tried to mediate the situation, to convince you both that the other wasn't as unbearable as you thought. It didn’t help though. Now, plan A was keep you two separated, and if that plan failed, plan B was to not leave you alone together, and plans C through Z were to simply ignore your arguments and let you two yell at each other.

You did feel guilty, of course, for putting your friends through that. The arguments- that is. You just couldn’t help it— you couldn’t see how no one else was this bothered by him.

This day, you and the newsies -including Race- were hanging outside the lodge. It was a nice day, late afternoon, sunny but not too hot, everyone was laughing and messing around like they always did. Everyone was enjoying themselves, except you and Race, who were predictably at each other's throats, bickering, it was a constant competition to see who could say the most hurtful thing to the other. Jack, who was sitting next to you, sighed heavily.

“I’m getting desperate. Please, just stop fighting for once.” Jack’s hand reached for your wrist.

“Tell him that to him then, not me!” You pointed accusingly at Race, who found it quite amusing that Jack’s telling-off seemed directed more towards you.

“Hah! See! Told you you’re the problem!” Race snickered.

“Enough!” Jack shouted, standing up. His one hand gripped onto your wrist again, the other found a handle on the back of Race’s shirt collar. He pulled you both off of your asses and dragged you up the steps and into the housing lodge, yelling at everyone to get out of one of the rooms as he shoved the pair of you in there.

“I am sick and TIRED of this. I’m done! Grow up and figure your shit out, there is no reason why you need to be fightin’ all the time. I don’t care what you need to do, yell it out, fuck it out, fuckin’ beat it out of each other- Just make it stop!” He slammed the door behind him as he exited, leaving you and Race to stare at each other like embarrassed little kids that had just been told off in front of their classmates.

You immediately went for the door knob, but to no avail. Jack must have taken one of the door stops and kicked it underneath, locking you in. Didn’t matter. You knew Jack, if you got out he’d just drag you back in again until everything was resolved. And what was that he said?

You just stood, back leant against the door, watching Race peek out the window to see Jack back down with the Newsies. It did sort of hurt him to see how much happier everyone looked the second you two weren’t around. You stood for a while, without moving, so did he, neither of you knowing what to say or do.

“I ha— I hate that we bother them so much.” He muttered, breaking the silence, still looking out.

You paused, momentarily taken aback. Race had just said something you actually agreed with? Unheard of.

“Me too,” You spoke quietly, peeling your back off the door, making your way over to Race. As you joined him at the window, your intent was to see what the boys were doing outside. He occupied most of the space in front of the window, leaving you at his side, your shoulders lightly brushing against each other. Your focus shifted from the view through the glass to the view beside you. You found yourself watching Race’s face with a newfound intensity, your gaze tracing the lines of his features as if you were seeing them for the first time.

You took note of the subtle curve of his lips, the way they naturally sat in a slight smile. Your eyes moved lower, and you couldn't help but appreciate the defined edge of his jawline.

Race could feel your stare. His gaze shifted to meet yours. His eyes locked onto your face as he too began to study your features. It was a silent exchange, a dance of mutual observation that sent a shiver down your spine.

You watched his eyes move down your face, tracing the contours of your neck, before returning to meet your gaze. The intensity in his stare was palpable, yet still so gentle, and you couldn't deny the way it made your heart rate increase.

The two of you lingered in front of each other, locked in an unspoken exchange, carefully observing each other's features as the space between your bodies continued to dwindle.

His eyes drifted shut, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of anticipation. Was Racetrack Higgins about to kiss you? And more importantly, why weren't you doing anything to stop it? Your heart raced as your own eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer, until your lips met his, bridging the gap between you. His hand instinctively sought out the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him. Your fingers wove into his hair as the kiss deepened, and Race couldn't help but release a soft, involuntary moan. The sound made you laugh against his lips.

He gripped your hips in response, pressing them into his, letting you feel his growing bulge, dragging you over him. You let out a needy cry, it was his turn to laugh at your desperation.

With a sense of urgency, your fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Race responded to the rising passion between you by swiftly pushing you against the wall, his desire growing more intense. Sensing your hesitation with the buttons, he decided to take matters into his own hands, pulling his shirt over his head. His undershirt came along with it, dropping to the floor beside his feet.

Your gaze lingered on the enticing sight before you—the defined contours of his chest, the sculpted muscles inviting exploration. He watched you with a smile as you studied him, thinking it adorable the way you unconsciously bit your bottom lip. You couldn't resist the temptation to trace your fingers along the lines of his torso, feeling the warmth and strength that lay beneath his skin.

As his fingers traced a fiery trail up your legs, your hands reciprocated his movements, gliding over his back and savoring the warmth of his skin. The intimacy of the moment deepened as you kissed and gently sucked on the tender skin of his shoulders, his fingers tugged at the seam of your panties, wanting a feel of the fabric that had been rubbing against you.

“All because of me?” He looked up at you, grinning as the pad of his fingers glided across the slick that had coated your underwear.

“You’re not one to talk.” Your hand reached between his thighs, cupping the bulge in his pants, his mouth fell agape at the feeling of your hand against him.

He scoffed, laughing, before attacking your neck softly with his lips, his tongue dragging over the curve of your jaw. He nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, moving a little each time, searching for the spot that would—

“Oh.” You sighed.

Found it.

You dropped your face to reconnect your lips to his, the pad of his thumb pressed into where your clit was located below your underwear. He felt you nip at his lip at the action, tugging at it as another moan slipped from your mouth.

“You here to fuck me or tease me?” You mumbled between kissing him.

“I dunno, teasing you is kinda fun.” He smiled.

“Don’t think I’ll beg for you. I won’t.” You snarked as you nipped at his ear, kissing his jaw. He let you continue to place hot kisses all over his neck and jaw, taking the opportunity to get his pants off from around his waist, dropping his underwear with them. You felt the warm, soft skin of his cock against your thigh, a small gasp escaping your lips as you looked down at what your body was about to take in. He dipped a finger inside of you, then another, preparing you for him.

“Race.” You sighed his name, asking him to hurry up. Race’s fingers were soaked as he pulled them from your core. The tip of his cock slid between your folds, being coated by your juices as he pushed inside of you. Race didn’t care to hold back the volume of his groan as he felt your body stretch around him. Your eyes squeezed shut as you breathed out, god, any more of him and you’d be torn in half.

Race took a thumb to his mouth and collected a string of saliva on the tip of it before bringing it to your clit, drawing small circles, trying to replace your discomfort with pleasure.

He struggled to pull out of you, your walls so tight they practically sucked him back in, slowly he pushed back inside of you, picking up the pace slightly with every thrust. Both of your eyes were fixed on the sight of his body pushing into yours, until he looked up at your face, making your cheeks burn red as the realisation of what you were doing set in.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare, hm?” He cupped your face. Your mind was racing, never in a million years would you have considered Race to be gentle. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix, releasing a series of angelic moans from you. His fingertips curled around either side of your hips, gripping you as he continued thrusting into you to hit that exact spot again and again, and he felt your legs begin to shake against his own.

What the hell? How was someone like him bringing you to orgasm this quickly? It took you longer on your own.

Race had barely even begun to feel his orgasm build, and already he had you on the verge of release. He seemed just as perplexed as he felt your walls begin to contract and spasm around him. The cry of his name and the way your body became limp as he held you against the wall, he knew just as you did- it took only minutes to get you off. The way your pussy gripped his cock during your release made it almost impossible for him to move, not that he wanted to, it felt far too good. He watched your face as pleasure rolled through your body, jolting you forward periodically.

His lips brushed over your flushed chest, your pussy loosened its grip on him, and he left you no time to breathe before going back to thrusting himself in and out of you. You caught him off guard when grinding against him, pushing his cock deeper inside of you for him. You took in every detail of his face. The swear that started to bead around his hairline, the way his jaw hung slightly open with focus, the blush that was creeping up his ears, the way his eyes seemed an even brighter blue when they were so full of lust. Even through all your hatred for him, you couldn’t deny how he beautiful he looked while railing you.

He couldn’t hold on much longer but he’d be damned to give you the satisfaction of knowing how quick you could make him cum if he wasn’t trying to keep his composure. Your legs were threatening to give out on you. If it wasn’t for his grip on your waist holding you flush against the wall you might have collapsed into a heap of convulsing pleasure at his feet. Your now not-so-swallowed moans increased, there wasn’t any hope for trying to choke them back. Race had ruined every moral you had that day. His moans began to mix with yours.

“Look at me.” He mumbled, you didn’t even realise your eyes had closed. His hazed filled eyes bore into yours, the pleasured smirk that painted his face was only ruined by his own groans. It was too much. Too much pleasure. Too much hatred. Too much desire. Race shoved a few more erratic thrusts into you before pinning the skirt of your dress around your waist and spurting his cum out onto your thighs, a string of satisfied moans coming with it. He watched as his hot come dribbled down your thighs, taking a thumb to rub some of it against you, feeling his seed coat your soft skin.

The room that was just engrossed by moans and whines and sex was now left with the quiet sound of heavy breathing.

Your body trembled with residual pleasure as you tried to comprehend what the hell just happened. You hated Race; yet he was the one who left you so full of pleasure and indulgence you couldn’t even think straight. He took a step away from you, giving you some space as he caught his breath. You breathed out, your legs unsteady as tried to take a step forward.

Race chuckled, re-approaching you, wrapping an arm around your head, pulling you into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You, too, let out a shy laugh, he tried to hide a grin as he pulled his pants back up.

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You look like you live in a bawdy house.” He quipped, tossing a shirt off the floor to you to wipe yourself clean.

“Should I remind you who just came all over me?” You argued.

“Should I remind you how quickly you came?” He retorted, laying on his bed, an arm extended inviting you to lay with him. What the hell was happening? Race Higgins had just fucked the daylight out of you, went immediately back to arguing with you, and now was holding you as you laid on his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you laid together. You felt gross. Not internally. Physically. Like your underwear felt soaked against you- and not in a sexy way.

“You alright?” Race asked, feeling your sigh sink into his chest.

Why did he care?

“My own bodily fluids are squelching against me. What do you think?”

He chuckled, “Someone’s grumpy. Was one orgasm not enough?” He teased, reaching his hands down to push your underwear off of you. You sat up in shock, thinking for a moment he was going for round two.

“Relax, just getting these off so you’re a bit more comfortable.” He pulled them off your ankles and dropped them on the floor, his hands finding your back, guiding you back down to lay on him again.

He reached for his comforter, pulling it up to cover your back. “You just relax, sweetheart. I know you’re probably tired.”

Why was he caring for you? Why was he looking after you? God, you hated him. You hated how this was the safest you’d ever felt. Your expression on your face loosened as your mind drifted further and further from consciousness, your eyes slowly closing as the rhythm of his breathing underneath you lulled you into a nap. He too, with the comfort of your weight on his body, was able to drift off into a nap, forgetting entirely about the fact that Jack and the rest of the newsies were just downstairs.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

"I was little too, y'know. Jus' a little bit older than you." More or less anyway. He doesn't really remember Spot so much from back then, he'd been a little bit older when he'd first encountered her, maybe ten or eleven? Back when he'd dared for the first time to cross the bridge and try his luck at selling in Brooklyn. In truth, he's still not sure how he managed to get away with it. Luck and charm, he supposes.

"Wow, that sounds pretty special. Ain't everyone who gets to pet a flutterby, you musta been real gentle." What a sweet kid. He's not sure most of their littles would have the patience to catch a butterfly, much less to then stop and watch it and pet it. Most of them can't sit still for more than a few minutes at a time as it is. "Betcha she'll come back and visit ya!"

"Hard to think a' Spot and Mac as little," Ritz says honestly curling up into his arms. Though it is funny to think of what they might have looked like, curled up in someone's arms like she is now. Maybe one day she'll have a little who'll think the same thing of her.

A grin lights up her face as Race asks about her flutterby. "It was so pretty! It was orange and it had black and white dots on it. I never seent one so pretty." When she chased after it, she got it to land on her arm and watch it for a minute. " I caught her! And she even let me pet her wings. Was real gentle like Splint tells me ta be. And then she flew away." Ritz frowned a little at the memory of her now gone flutterby, but Scope always told her they had to fly away at some point.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

"No soaking, well, not 'less you count scuffling with Morris on Tuesday but that ain't anything special." Getting into a fight with one of the Delanceys was practically a tradition at this point and far from new. 'Sides, he'd walked away from it with just a bruise or two this time, so by all means he's pretty sure he can say that he won that one, if nothing else. He's actually been remarkably well-behaved, all things considered.

Except right now, he just feels downright lousy. He'd had to drag himself out of bed, but he'd just put it down to being tired and hadn't questioned it. Now though he feels vaguely like someone's run him over with a trolley. It's certainly not the most pleasant of feelings, he's gotta say. He's always hated getting sick. "Feelin' kinda woozy. Maybe...might sit down a bit..."

[emmedoesntdomath]

RACETRACK MOTHERFCKING HIGGINS YOU GOSH DARN HISTORY NERD

RACERACERACERACERACERACE

also, i feel so seen rn *wipes away emotional tear*

so, ed ‘racetrack’ higgins was a newsie who helped lead the 1899/1900 newsboys’ strike against william randolph hearst and joseph pulitzer with louis ballat (who was known as kid blink), dave simons (who we don’t know the newsie name of), and (reportedly, because there aren’t that many sources with him) spot conlon (and, honestly? they could have been the same kid. not likely, but possibly). he was a brooklyn newsboy (from brighton beach specifically), and was between the ages of 16-21. he spent a considerable amount of time between the two racetracks he was near (hence the nickname). he had talked about william c. whitney, who owned a private racetrack, trained horses, and spent a lot of time at sheepshead (he said he had run horses for him, but that could be false). in just about every article he was interviewed for, it was noted that he talked A LOT about the races, even when they weren’t mentioned. like, at all (I love that for him, actually). he was charismatic, bold, and a natural-born leader. unfortunately, after the strike, he essentially disappears. there were a lot of ed higgins in the new york/jersey area, and it’s hard to track an idividual person, especially after the war started.

for more historical racetrack stuff, go check out @musicalcuriosity ‘s blog, they’ve got some great stuff over there.

now, because this isn’t actually my historical area of expertise, AND because I have actual hcs, we’re going to move on to the fun stuff.

ANTONIO ‘racetrack’ higgins is a manhattan newsie. he’s the second in command to jack kelly and more or less the ambassador to brooklyn. he’s snarky, loves gambling and spot conlon, and is probably the reason adderall was invented. he’s brilliant with numbers, but couldn’t tell you how to spell algebra to save his life. he’s petty, smokes more than anyone should, and will risk life and limb for those that he loves. he doesn’t plan to make it to 25, but will lie to anyone who asks and says he wants to be doctor for kids.

he becomes a newsie at nine, right after his mom dies, and he looks (maybe) seven, so he’s immediately taken under the wing of an older newsie. he’s dragged to the races after they finish selling, and it’s like something just clicks inside of him. he notices the trends, gets good at counting the cards, finding the tells of a good bet.

when asked, he would just shrug, a jaunty grin on his face. “it’s jus’ numbers,” he would say.

he meets a young francis sullivan (newly jack kelly) and charlie (now crutchie) when he stumbles upon their hiding spot in an alley. he recognized jack, and laughed instead of cowering when he threatened to soak him. he cheerfully informs them of a better place to hide on top of the lodging house, and from then on, they’re brothers friends.

he travels to brooklyn by himself the first time on a dare from albert (who has since become his best friend), and gets caught by hotshot within thirty minutes. he gets told to never come back with a hearty punch to the ribs for good measure.

he returns the next day.

he’s not allowed coffee (per jack), because he’s apparently “too damn jittery” as it is.

he can speak a little bit of italian, and converses with itey when they’re both at the lodging house. if he’s in public, he pretends he doesn’t know any.

when finch and albert start dating, part of him is sad, no matter how happy the rest of him is. it’s not fair, and he doesn’t know why, but it feels like a door’s shutting. he laughs, and holds spot a little tighter afterwards.

skittery taught him how to throw his first real punch, and then immediately started a fight with him “to make sure he understood the lesson”.

he’s scared of loud thunderstorms.

he hates the sound of a creaky wheel on a carriage.

he doesn’t mind girls, but he would prefer short brunettes with a temper (he’s very much got a type, and he’s not ashamed of it).

he would love harry potter, but despise JKR.

he believes in god, but doesn’t go to church.

if he had a kid, he would name them either maria or sebastian, after his mother and uncle respectively.

[saveugoodmadam]

A Most Unfortunate Condition

Word count: c. 1,889

Awoosies masterpost

"RACETRACK HIGGINS!"

The boy in question stirred groggily in his sleep, then awoke with a start as he saw Jack's face at the window next to his bunk. Around him, other newsies told the pair to be quiet and put held their pillows over their ears. 

"What is it?" he hissed, indignant at being distributed.

"Penthouse, now." Jack whispered back.

Grumbling, Race allowed Jack to pull him through the window and they made their way up to the fire escape. He took one look at what appeared to be a wolf on a mattress, swore loudly, and turned around to go back down the fire escape. Jack's hand clamped down on his shoulder to stop him.

"Not so fast."

Race raised an eyebrow . "Why's there a wolf on the roof?"

Jack's face was set in steel. "That's Crutchie, and I want to know why."

Race followed Jack's finger to where it was pointing at the wolf. Now he thought about it, the canine did look an awful lot like the boy. He swore again in surprise, pulling his cigar out from his shirt pocket and chewing on it with wide eyes. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked at Jack.

"Why's you assuming I'm gonna know?"

"Well, if you knows how to hide a body I'm more likely to assume you knows how a newsie can be a wolf."

"Doesn't mean I knows everything, Kelly! Finch knows animals. Buttons knows medical stuff. Go ask them." he grumbled. "G'night, Jack. G'night, Crutchie."

"Tell Finch and Buttons to get themselves up here."

"Yes boss." he replied, leaving Jack up top, looking bewilderedly at an equally bewildered Crutchie.

"What'd he mean by 'and it's Crutchie, by the way'?" Finch mused to Buttons as they climbed the fire escape together, yawning slightly. Race had just shaken them both awake and told them to go up top without explaining anything. 

"I dunn- oh, Holy Mary!" Buttons exclaimed, clinging to him as they reached the top. "I think he meant that- uh- uh- uh- " Button's eyes went wide at the sight of a wolf laying casually on a mattress. "I think that uh, that's Crutchie..."

"Oh, hey, Crutchie." Finch said softly, gently prising Buttons off him and sitting cross-legged in front of the mattress. 

"I wanna know why he's like this." Jack demanded, standing behind Finch. "Cause he ain't never done something like this before."

"I think we'd have noticed if he'd done this before, Jack." Buttons said, raising an eyebrow. He came to join Finch in front of the mattress. "Crutchie, can I see your arm- or, uh, leg, I guess?"

Crutchie nodded and let Buttons gently examine the spot where he had been bitten earlier that day.

"No, nothing. Uh, I'm sorry Jack, that's all I could've gone on."

"He's, uh, a little bigger than a normal wolf, but that's all I can tell. Oh, and I guess normal wolves ain't blond. And don't have hazel eyes."

"So, a wolf that's kinda not normal..." Jack mused. 

"We got nuthin'. Sorry, Jack." Finch apologised.

"Any idea who'd know?"

They shook their heads. Jack looked defeated, and sat down next to Crutchie on the mattress, head in hands. "Someone's done something to somebody I care about. We's getting to the bottom of this. I'll ask Davey in the morning, or Katherine, or Medda. They might know." His voice sounded so horribly small and vulnerable. For a moment, Finch could see the boy behind the tough façade.

"What's going on?" drifted a voice from the fire escape. The group turned to see Romeo looking at the scene in confusion.

"Something's happened to Crutchie." Finch explained. "We can't figure out wh-"

"Werewolf." Romeo deadpanned.

"What?" Jack asked, incredulous.

"He's a werewolf." Romeo repeated. "Believe me, I've read enough trashy novels to know." He held up a hand and pointed to each finger, listing things off as he went. "Full moon. He got bitten. The bite healed quickly. His arm went itchy. Now he's a wolf. It's the plot of every dime horror story from here to the Sahara."

All that could be heard on the penthouse was stunned silence before Jack piped up. "Thanks, Romeo. That's... that's unexpectedly helpful."

"I's not just a pretty face, huh?" Romeo winked and then went back down the fire escape to bed.

Crutchie woke up feeling like his body was on fire. It wasn't just his bad leg- every muscle was sore. He opened his eyes and groaned, unable to do anything but look up at the sky for a good ten minutes before the pain started to ease. 

"You's awake, then. Finally." Jack chuckled, crouching down next to him. He had a smile on his face that straddled the border between brotherly and parental. Crutchie knew that smile. He knew it from when he was eleven and broke his arm climbing a tree in Central Park. He knew it from when he'd caught chickenpox at thirteen. He knew it from when he'd been brought back home from the Refuge, beaten black and blue, and Jack had to slowly nurse him back to health. That smile meant something had gone wrong.

"Yeah, I's awake. What gives?"

"You don't... um... remember? Last night? Y'know, uh..." Jack bared his teeth and raised his hands in a pantomime of a predator animal. Crutchie raised an eyebrow, then his eyes widened as everything came flooding back to him.

"That wasn't- no, that didn't- couldn't have..." he whispered, clutching desperately at his friend. "Jack, I..."

"Crutchie... I's known you since you was eight years old with gappy teeth. You're my best friend, okay? You ain't dangerous, or a threat, and don't you dare say you's a monster because you ain't, you don't deserve all this happenin' outta nowhere!"

Crutchie watched as Jack started to cry, then made a soft 'oof' noise as he was engulfed in a hug through his blanket. 

"Alright, ya goof." Crutchie said softly. He paused, letting Jack calm down a little. "But I was actually eight and a half when we met."

He smiled when Jack spluttered out a laugh.

"You got me there." Then the other boy's face became stern. "You's not sellin' today, though. Neither am I. We's going to the theatre. Medda'll give you a few bucks for doing some odd jobs backstage, more than you'd earn if you was selling papes."

"Why the theatre?"

"You'll see."

"And when I got back, he was a wolf."

Medda looked to where Crutchie was sat on a chair, sewing up holes in a few of the costumes. 

"A werewolf, huh?"

Jack nodded. "I was wondering if anyone here knows anything about it."

Medda smiled to herself. It certainly was helpful, running a theatre. One could learn a lot from the people at the stage door, from whispers overheard from the audience, from the workers themselves. She wracked her brains, remembering a whispered conversation in the wings from a while back, when spring had just started to thaw out winter's freeze. 

"Mireia!" she called in the direction of the dressing rooms. A dancer poked her head out of the door.

"Yes, Ms Medda?"

"Your beau, from mid-March. Are you still with him?"

Mireia walked out fully into the corridor.

"No, ma'am. He moved to Maine in June."

"He was a werewolf, wasn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am. Why, is someone asking after him?"

"I have a couple of newsies here to talk to you about lycanthropy. Do you have the time to spare?"

Mireia nodded. 

"Alright. I'll be in my office if any of you need me. I think I must have some books on the supernatural somewhere."

"Thank you, Medda." Jack said, bowing slightly. 

"It's no problem, Jack Kelly." she replied, patting his cheek.

She made her way to her office, knowing not for the first or last time that her trade and memory had once again saved the day.

"Basic stuff first, if you don't mind." Crutchie said, his gaze flickering between the dancer and the costume he was mending.

"Okay. Well, Peter said that his kind aren't naturally aggressive. Only violent people make for violent wolves."

"That explains Morris." Jack sneered.

"I dunno, Jack. He's a dick, sure, but he seemed more scared than anything."

Mireia nodded. "Trauma can lead to wolves lashing out, as with any animal under the sun."

"Well, it's at least good to know I ain't gonna go all murderous on you, Jack. Uh, any more specifics though?"

The dancer looked pensive. "Transformations aren't only on full moons, I remember that. The first transformation happens the night the werewolf is bitten, then it's voluntary on any night other than full moons. That's the night all lycanthropes are forced to change. And it gets less painful as time goes on."

Crutchie couldn't hide his smile at that. It was good to know that the agony of last night wasn't going to continue for the rest of his life.

"What about alphas and stuff?" Jack asked, looking concerned.

"I don't know how much trashy romance you've read, but most of it isn't true in the least. Alpha is just the role given to the leader and co-ordinator of the pack."

"Oh, yeah, packs. Uh, are there any I should join? Do they gotta be all wolves?" He held his breath as he asked, the needle paused mid-stitch.

"The newsies as a community function very well as a pack, and no they don't all have to be wolves."

"So I'm alpha?" Jack's brow was furrowed, as if this was something he really wanted to make sure.

"I think you are." Crutchie told him. "You're leader of us 'Hattan newsies, so why not?"

"Just one more thing, then, and we'll leave you be. Is there any other wolves in New York? Apart from Crutchie. And Morris, I guess." Jack twirled a paintbrush between his fingers to alleviate the stress.

There was silence for a minute or so. Crutchie and Jack held their breath as they leant in, enraptured, awaiting Mireia's answer.

"Not that I know of. Not since Peter left for Maine."

Hidden in an alleyway, a large grey shadow watched two newsies walk past on their way to sell their papers. The slightly taller one identified the birds they saw as they passed, the smaller one captivated by his friend's face. It had to suppress a growl. The plan had failed, ever so slightly. One had been turned before the plan called for it. It would make sure that mistake was paid for, when the time came. For now, both of its targets were in plain sight. It flew out of the alley, paws pounding against the ground, towards the unsuspecting victims.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

It's quite funny really, to think of how their boroughs have come together these past few years. There's the two of them of course, then Mac and Finch have become close friends, bonding over their medical roles and having to deal with so many unruly kids. And of course, Specs and Stray, though Specs like the two of them no longer sells, and he's gotten the two of them their own little apartment, so Stray doesn't stay in the lodging house anymore. "He's been doing pretty well last I heard. The old man's been lettin' him do more things by himself apparently."

Race can hear the soft rumble of her tummy, and he can't help but chuckle lightly. The kiss is soft and sweet, and the expression in his eyes is so incredibly fond. He reaches out, squeezing her hand gently before pushing to his feet, "Well, see, I got this stunnin' wife who's havin' our baby who deserves to be spoiled."

She smiles at the thought of Finch. He and Mac have practically been a duo these last few years. With Mac starting her training as a nurse and Finch working in a drugstore, both of their boroughs medics are getting to stay medicine adjacent. Not to mention the two of them regularly hang out together going to poker nights and causing a little bit of controlled chaos around them. "I bet he has. The pharmacist is trying to train him up still, yeah?"

Her tummy rumbles, and for once, it's not the movement of the baby. The eggs and coffee in the kitchen smell delicious still and she's finally starting to feel hungry. "Breakfast in bed? Now whatever did we do to deserve that?" she teases lightly, kissing him as he gets up.

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

Character(s) Ma and R Mac was inspired by? (Excluding. Y'know. Ma and Macaque lol)

oh gods lol, umm, quite a few so uh:

Mac was inspired by Fizzarolli from Helluva Boss, Luz and Hunter from The Owl House, Isabella from Encanto, and Douxie Casperan and Claire Nuñez from Tales of Arcadia.

Ma on the other hand is inspired by main character's BFF's in general (the ultimate best friend I'd like to claim) along with Toby Domzalski from Trollhunters, Timon from The Lion King, Racetrack Higgins from Newsies, Mei from Lego Monkie Kid, and Tubbo (probably mostly c!Tubbo but also just Tubbo's energy in general), oh and Katy from Shang Chi.

A lot of their inspiration does just come from their playlists.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

"Well, exactly! I'm betta now, so I's ain't gonna get sick again, duh!" Race's tone is bright, and certainly a hell of a lot better than it had been sounding over the past week. While he's still got the slightest hint of a sniffle, the cough and the fever and most of the sneezes have thankfully disappeared again, and he's been a lot more chipper to be able to get back out and sell, as well as bug his friends.

As such, he's already shrugged out of the jacket that Jack had wrestled him into this morning, slinging it around Spot's shoulders. She needs it more than he does right now, and he can tell she's feeling pretty lousy, especially given that was him just a few days ago. "I's'll be fine! I's got two shirts on anyhows."

[whatsbehindthefacade]

It's been a while since they've properly hugged like this, the excuse of not being babies anymore being regularly used. There's reassurance and warmth and comfort and familiarity in the way Jack's arms somewhat awkwardly wrap around him in response, the way he hides his face in Race's hair. The younger boy gives him a squeeze, tightening his grip imperceptibly. Jack needs this. Lord knows, he needs this too, more than he might ever let on. When Jack had been missing....he'd never felt so afraid. He wasn't ready for that. "I gotchu." His voice is little more than a whisper, tinged with his own tears. "I gotchu."

Jack sees Racer's flinch and has the decency to feel bad, but he didn't move except to let his arms drop defeatedly. But then it was his turn to flinch back as the other boy surged forward to wrap him in a tight hug and bury his face in his shoulder. It set him shaking, but he awkwardly wrapped an arm around the boy, too, and then another, and then going to hide his face in the boy's hair with a quiet sob. Maybe things would be ok. Maybe.