#he will burn in meddas theater. fuck

[sillypiddle-blog]

newsies fandom i am once again talking about jack kelly...... sighs. cop car by mitski is LITERALLY him.

[amoreva]

I JUST BINGE READ ALL OF YOUR RACE FICS AND YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD AAA💕💕 it feels like he’s real and the relationship is real and i’m actually in the world of the story holy shit,,, if you’re still taking requests can you write some race fluff, preferably in canon era, with like a cute lead up to him getting together with the reader (if you’re okay with it of course!) thanks!!

HOPELESSLY IN LOVE

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pairing: racetrack higgins x fem!reader

summary: the brooklyn newsies are strong and independent. they can hold their own and are respected; despite being a borough with a large amount of girls. so when one falls in love, her nature begins to crumble.

warnings: n/a

a/n: using the uksies as brooklyn, plus some from the broadway show. also, omfg i really appreciate it, thank you so much<3

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You never knew what romantic attraction felt like until you saw him at Medda’s Theater with his stupid blue eyes, his stupid blonde curls, his stupid cigar, his stupid cute smile—

Davey— that new Manhattan newsie was introducing your borough, respectfully, when you saw him. He was smiling at you, more so at your whole borough, ecstatic you showed up to the strike. That smile—that stupid cute smile made your heart flutter, your stomach churn with butterflies.

Of course, you knew what family love and platonic attraction felt like—you felt that for every newsie in Brooklyn. They were your brothers and sisters by heart. Yet, he stole your heart. Bastard. You ought to soak him.

Falling in love was a weird thing to do, especially since your priority was the sell papers to survive. You find yourself thinking about Manhattan’s second after the strike is won.

It didn’t help that he hugged you when Kelly announced the strike ended in their favor or when you guys talked during celebrations that night. The memories haunted your sleep.

A loud groan escaped your lips. That stupid smile of his. Your hands going over your warm, rose colored face as you sat on your bunk. Ritz and Hotshot peeked their heads into the girls bunk room, hearing you groan.

“What’re moping and griping about?” Hotshot asked, crossing his arms. His thick accent ringing in your ears.

You turn to look at you friends and remove the hands from your face. Before you could get a word in, Ritz is cupping your cheeks and feeling your forehead. “You’re burning up, Y/N!” Ritz exclaimed and shook your head side to side, lightly, to inspect your red cheeks.

“Ritz, please—” You begged the auburn haired girl to let your face go.

“Spot is going to be worried.”

“Ritz—”

“I think we have medicine somewhere.”

“Ritz, hang on—“

“Water and rest, that’s what my mama says.”

“I don’t have—”

“Spot ain’t letting you sell tomorrow.”

“Ritz!”

You shouted finally getting her attention. Ritz stopped her worrying. Hotshot stood up straight with raised eyebrows. You gently put your hands on Ritz’s wrists and removed them from your face. “I ain’t sick. I ain’t coughing or feelin’ bad.”

“Then what’s got your face so red, Y/N?” Ritz asked, she titled her head ever so slightly.

“A boy.” Hotshot spoke up.

You glared at Brooklyn’s second. Were you really that readable? Hotshot had to be a fucking psychic. A smirk danced on his lips. The silence said it all.

Ritz lit up like the Fourth of July. “You like a boy!” Ritz exclaimed with a wide grin. You slapped a hand across her mouth.

“Ritz, please don’t tell the others—” You begged to convey your seriousness. “You too, Hotshot.”

Ritz, still buzzing with excitement, nodded her head. You quickly shoved Hotshot into the girls’ bunk room and shut the door. “Who is it?” Ritz asked excitedly.

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. An internal dilemma with yourself. Would you rather suffer in silence, pin over a newsie in the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge or tell two people your crush which could potentially spread throughout the borough?

You decide to tell Hotshot and Ritz. Love is too confusing for you to suffer alone.

“It’s Manhattan’s second in command.” You mumbled, twisting your fingers as your face heats up. Just thinking about Race got your stomach all twisted up in a good way.

You didn’t think they heard you, but they did. Loud in clear.

“Race? Race!” Ritz confirmed.

Hotshot raised an eyebrow in amusement. “The one that “wanders” on our turf to bet at Sheepshead?”

“Yes.” You sighed exasperatedly and fell onto your bunk. “He’s just so—”

You couldn’t find the words to describe him, but then proceeded to go on a rant about Race for 10 minutes.

It wasn’t long before everyone in Brooklyn knew of your little crush on Manhattan’s second (and probably Manhattan). It was terrible with all the teasing and the questions on what you would do.

You didn’t know what to do! You would just lay in your bed and smile stupidly when you thought about him. “Pathetically in love” is what you thought.

Stray decided to do something.

With Spot’s permission (seeing you hopelessly in love was getting in the way of selling and Brooklyn’s reputation), Stray went to Manhattan. Stray had connections there. Her boyfriend and brother lived in Manhattan’s borough.

Stray told Specs, who told Elmer, who told Henry, who told Jojo, who told Mike, who told Finch, who told Race—that you liked him. When you got word that Race knew, you panicked.

Romance like that with him. You wouldn’t know how to act, what to do, or what to say. You’ve seen romance from afar; with rich couples, elderly couples, teenagers—all types of couples!

“Ya’ gotta relax, kid.” Spot patted your back after they found you contemplating your choices on your bunk. “If Racer is as half bright as you, he’ll see you’re a real gem.”

That gave you some confidence in yourself. You shouldn’t get worked up about some boy. Taking Mac’s advice seemed like the best option. “He’s just a guy!”

But, he seems real sweet and humorous and charming and ambitious. Keyword: seems. You might be setting yourself up for failure.

After days and days of dreading what you should do, Race came walking into Brooklyn, willy nilly, specifically to Graves’ and yours selling spot.

“Heya miss, can I get a pape?” Race asked.

You weren’t paying attention and grabbed a newspaper from your bag. Seeing him in front of you with his stupid blue eyes, his stupid blonde curls, his stupid cigar, his stupid cute smile—

You froze. A blush rising to your face. You spun on your heels and walked away. A fight or flight response.

Graves grabbed you with a smirk and turned you around. “Talk to him!” Graves whispered and pushed you towards Race.

He had that charming, amused smile on his face. “Hey.” He spoke, two hands on the strap of his paper bag.

“Hey.” You croaked.

“I—uh…got word, ya like me.”

“Mhm.”

Race looked at you awkwardly. If you looked hard enough, you saw a faint faint blush on cheeks. “You—uh…wanna go to the Sheepshead with me?”

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

“Now.” Graves spoke firmly. “You can sell at Sheepshead, don’t worry. I’ll be fine by myself.”

And so, you and Race went to Sheepshead Races. You held onto his arm like one of those rich ladies would do to a gentlemen. Conversation was made, no matter how awkward it was between you two.

The Sheepshead Races were loud and lively. You usually went here with Lucky and Scope when you had downtime.

“C’mon, they’ll start soon.” Race intertwined his hands with yours and pulled you through a crowd of people. “Gotta get the best seats.”

“Isn’t that the front row?” You asked, glancing back at where you and your friends would usually sit.

“Trust me, sweetheart. These seats are better than any front row.” Race grinned.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The name “sweetheart” sounded so right from his lips.

Race took you to a chainlink fence. You were close enough to see the jockeys’ faces and the horses shaking their head. The spot was at the bottom right of the original seating, in between the commentator’s box and the vendor.

He let go of your hand to lean against the fence. You frowned slightly, missing the feeling of his hand in yours. “Better than any front seat.” He repeated softly.

“Is this how you got your name?” You gestured to the races. Your nerves slowly disappearing. You were a Brooklyn newsie for Christ’s sake! Be confident!

“What?” Race shook his head as if you broke him out of his trance. “Oh—uh…kinda! That and I would be the first to the circulation gate. I’m pretty fast for a newsie.”

“You’re pretty for a newsie.” You responded without missing a beat.

“What’s that?” Race leaned in to hear you better. A smirk on his face.

Before you could respond, a gunshot sounded. Hooves slammed on the dirt track. The commentator spoke enthusiastically about the race. In no time, the horses and jockeys were passing you. The wind from them passing knocked off your newsie cape. You could practically see the sweat on the jockeies’ faces.

“Careful.” Race snaked an arm around your waist as soon as the horses passed. He pulled you towards him, concerned about your safety.

You yelped going face first into his chest. Race chuckled awkwardly. You pulled away slightly, but not out of his arms. You two met eyes, just staring. The sound of the hooves faded away.

His blue eyes, the same color as the East River, the same color as a beautiful day. No words were shared between you two. Race gulped. The tension palpable.

Cheering and groans were heard as the commentator announced the outcome. “If—you couldn’t tell…” Race spoke nervously, never tearing his eyes away from yours. “I think your cute—hell, I think your badass for being a Brooklyner.”

Usually when you saw a lady and gentleman like this, they share a kiss. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You never kissed anyone, but this seemed like the perfect moment.

“I don’t know how to kiss…” You admitted quietly.

“We don’t gotta kiss.” Race assured.

“But I want too.”

“…”

“…”

“Can I kiss ya then?”

“Please.”

The minute his lips met yours, the whole world froze. Your stomach twisted in a good warm feeling. Electricity and sparks flying with a single touch to the lips. Your brain was blanking. No words could describe a first kiss.

“Was that…okay?” Race pulled away.

“Better than okay.” You nodded firmly and pressed another kiss to his lips.

Both Race and you got a little more confident and kissed each other back. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was sweet. “There’s more to Brooklyn than the Sheepshead Races.” You pulled away this time.

“I figured.” Race laughed and ran a hand through his blonde curls. He picked up your newsie’s cap that flew off. Brushing off the dirt, he placed the cap back on your head.

“I wanna show you more places in Brooklyn.” You spoke without even realizing what you were saying.

“A date then.” Race smirked.

“A date.” You confirmed.

“Great.”

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[jewish-elphaba]

explain ~newsies~ pls

*kissing you on the mouth /p*

also I've listened to audios of newsies so much that I have most of the show memorized :p (thanks mike faist)

also im warning you this is super long so um yeah i’ll do a part two for the second act just send me another ask lmao

the show opens with a killer overture like I swear that shit fucks SO hard. and then crutchie gets up and tries to go downstairs (they're on top of the newsies lodging house) and jack is like bro. slow your roll. it is the buttcrack of dawn. and crutchie's like but jeck I wanna look strong so I don't get thrown in the refuge. and then he almost dies bc he falls down the ladder.

and then jack is like slow down and look around. guess what. I'm going to move to santa fe, and all my problems will be solved. if you come with me, all your problems will be solved.

ok so now it's ~actually~ time to wake up.

albert: I had the most amazing dream; my lips are still tingling!

race: a pretty girl??

al (gay gay gay): a leg of lamb *snatches cigar*

race: hEY thats My cigAr

and then all the newsies sing a nd dance about how they are newsies and they sell newspapers and sometimes it's hot and sometimes it's cold and sometimes it rains and sometimes it's very hard. and then they see the headline for the day and it's the trolley strike for the third week in a row. which is. boring. also jack tries to flirt with a girl on the street and fucking crahses and burns lmao

then all the newsies make fun of weisel and then a new kid rolls up wait sorry what did you say? oh, woops, sorry, he’s new too :)

lo and behold, its davey and les jacobs! davey asks for 20 newspapers, but oscar accidentally only gives him 19 on account of he can’t count to twenty with his shoes on. then jack offers to buy him more papes and davey goes I am NOT a fucking charity case. oh and also they become selling partners and then they do the spit handshake thing and davey’s gay ass is like “thats d i s g u s t i n g”

SCENE CHANGE!!!!!

pulitzer is losing money bc the headline fucking sucks and so he’s like, ok business assossiate, token female, and queer coded hairdresser, how can we sell more papers. and when none of them get the answer right, he reveals that the best way to do it is to ✨exploit the children✨ so they raise the newsies’ paper price by ten cents, which is a Lot. and he has the audacity to say that they’ll thank him.

ok we’re back to the newsies nwo and david is trying to sell a pape and he is Not Good At It. so jack grabs it and just fucking lies about the headline and sells the paper. and then les also sells a pape by pretending to be a poor orphan boy and being cute and shit (oh btw hes nine (almost ten) did i mention that?) and then they’re like jack do you wanna come eat with us and our parents? our dad got fired bc he got hit by a car, and this is exposition! adn jack is like oh um no thanks i got a date with a guy (in a totally straight not bisexual way ofc) adn les sees a spooky man and goes IS THAT HIM!? and the answer is nO

so they run away from spooky man and wind up at a theater, and then they exploit the new kid trope to give exposition to the viewers that that was sneider the spider, and he runs a jail for underage kids called the Refuge, and for every kid he nabs, he gets money straight to his pocket. woooo new kid trope

and then medda larkin arrives and is like i spy with my little eye a bunch of fucking children get the fuck out and then jack is like even me??? and she goes Oh. nvm. sorry love.take your time. also, thank you for painting very pretty picture i am saying this because the author needs a way to introduce you as an artist who paints backdrops for me <3 and then she sings a song about how shes so rich that whatever she touches rises (thats a dick joke by the way) and jack goes up to watch from a private box.

so he gets to the private box and there is someone in there and its the girl he failed at flirting with earlier and she’s like ...what the hot and crispy fried fuck are you doing in my private box you bitchboy i am a reporter who is doing reporting things and i am Not in the habit of speaking with strangers. and jack is like then why the fuck are you a reporter. and then he draws her on a newspaper while he sings a very bisexual song about love at first sight, and then he leaves the pape in the box and splits.

ok so it’s the very next day and oh good lord look at the new newsies price

so the newsies are like ya no that aint gonna fly and so jack is like lets do something! and davey goes oh shit you mean a strike? and jack is like fuck dude what an idea lets have a strike and davey’s like WOAH WOAH WOAH I SAID LIKE A STRIKE WE ARE NOT FUCKING GOING ON STRIKE. also you’re not a union :p

davey: you arent a union

jack: waht if i says we is

davey: you need to do things to be a union. you need a membership

the rest of the newsies: so are we fucking chopped liver?

davey: well you also need leaders n shit

crutchie: jack said gather round and everyone listened. do you know what it takes to get finch to listen to instructions?

davey: umm. how about a statement of purpose

jack: guess fucking what. if your dad had a union, he would still be employed

davey: oh shit your right. guess we’re a union now

okokok so now they’re a union and they sing a song about how they will make the world (hehe get it bc the planet and also the newspaper lmao) know that they are not taking any of this bullshit and there’s a whole thing about not having hats but they literally. all have hats. so umm. yeah.

ok so they’re now at jacobis for water and jewish representation and they’re like ok now we gotta spread the word. and it turns out that everyone is afraid of brooklyn bc spot conlon. so jack is like ok me and davey will do it and davey is like tf we are and then girl from before is back and is like why tf are yall afraid of brooklyn. and its because they are all homosexual for the brooklyn newsies. and because its the third largest city in the world. and she’s like okie dokie. so.

reporter girl: i’m a reporter. may i pplease... report you???

all of the newsies: no we want a man 

reporter girl: there is not a man on this earth who is going to give a fuck about this rn so take what you can get. 

newsies:

reporter girl: pwease :3

newsies: ok cool

and then the newsies leave and jack and the girl stick around for a sec and jeck is like what even is your name bro and she goes I'm katherine. plumber (?). and he's like you do not sound too sure of that miss girl and she's like its my pen name. you'll need that information later in the story *wink* and jack is like ok. write it good. :) and then kath has like a whole as breakdown where she's like this kid is a fucking tool but I gotta write it good.

ok so it's the next day and none of the other newsies are showing up to the strike bc brooklyn wants to wait until the manhattan newsies have proven they won't be scared cats. but they still do the strike, and they get the scabs to do it too. and then kathy gets a really nice picture, and then the police show up and fucking demolish them. and they get crutchie and drag him off to the refuge :((( and then jack makes it back to the lodging house and he's so fucking pissed and he sings about santa fe and how he deserves better (he does fyi)

okie dokie I think it's pretty clear I am incapable of being normal about newsies, so I'll do a part 2 if you like :) for now tho, this is really fucking long...

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

We Won’t Eat Our Words

For @newsies-strike-day I thought it only appropriate to do a Newsies centric fic in my crooked politician au since I did a les mis one for barricade day. You don’t have to read the rest of the series for this, it’s written as a standalone. Special thank you to @rum-on-fire  who is definitely NOT part of the newsies fandom (though they have their green card to stay in the rabbit hole lol) and very helpfully betaed and edited this. Title, inspiration, and recommended listening: Monster by dodie w/ assit from 100 Bad Days by AJR. Rating: PG Words: 4,959 AO3

Katherine collapsed onto her bed still fully clothed, needing to work up the energy to even put her pajamas on. She’d spent the day setting up her new apartment – since she’d be needing one after next year anyway her parents had kindly agreed to foot the bill for a small studio near school until she graduated and would start paying the rent herself – and was thoroughly exhausted as a result.

Her mom had insisted on hiring movers for hauling her possessions from their uptown brownstone to the downtown apartment and for bringing up all the furniture. Katherine had insisted on actually putting everything away herself and so the two had spent the Saturday doing just that before her mom called a cab and they drove home. She was so tired she almost regretted just not spending the night, but she was waiting to start living there until after the cable guys came and set her wifi up on Monday.

Kath held her phone aloft in front of her, thumb hovering over the call button for a friend from D.C. She had just enough mental capacity to talk over final details for his visit the next weekend. Before Katherine could hit the button her bedroom door flung open, causing her to let her hand drop as she turned to see who it was.

Her father stood there, back straight and chin out, still in his pressed business suit at the time SNL would be showing the second performance of their musical guest had it not been the middle of July.

Kath swung her legs off the bed and used the momentum to push herself up into a seated position. She let her face fall into the cool neutral expression she reserved for interactions with her father, tilting her head and lifting her eyebrow incrementally to show her question at his barging in.

Joseph Pulitzer stepped exactly two paces into the raspberry walled room. Transferring his polished loafers from the dark burgundy of the hall rug to her cream carpeting. He pulled his tablet out from under his arm and with an economical flick of his wrist held the screen out to her.

“What’s this?” He demanded.

Forced to get up, Katherine crossed the short distance to meet him and take the tablet from his hands. She was confused at first, not understanding what he was referring to. Then she recognized the website that had been pulled up.

Thanks to the Newsies’ recognition for election coverage – which Katherine’s blog posts from D.C. had no small part in – the writing blog that she’d set up her junior year of high school had seen a flood of traffic. She’d decided to capitalize on it and turn the site into a writing portfolio. With the help of Elmer the web design wizard she’d managed to embed articles and videos from three different news sites. Specs and Davey had helped her to curate a sense of professionalism; balancing her more personal, opinionated blog posts with her news writing from the school paper, the more frivolous reviews from her time interning in the Arts section at The Sun, and the work she did as an intern for CNN in the fall. The site looked good.

Katherine looked up from the tablet to her father, a frown tightening the corners of her mouth and dragging her brows together. “It’s my portfolio. My writing portfolio.”

Snatching the tablet from her hands Joe scoffed. He swiped at the screen, scrolling to something before tapping with a controlled sort of violence.

“What?” Katherine demanded. Her blood was starting to boil and her earlier exhaustion had burned off as a result.

“You actually believe that this shows your skills? And don’t get me started on the complete lack of journalistic integrity.”

His sneer actually knocked her back, causing her to stumble.

“Excuse me?”

Joe flipped the tablet around again, showing the research articles that she’d put together for the Newsies. He sent the page scrolling.

“You actually think that you can be unbiased and yet remain in bed with your little activist group?”

Katherine’s lip curled at her father’s choice of words. Her hands had closed into fists and she only realized they had when she felt her chipped manicure biting into her palms.

“If you had been paying attention at all you would know that we have been praised for being non-partisan and unbiased. But that would mean you actually cared enough to pay attention to me,” she spat.

Her father’s expression turned stony. Any emotion that she might have been able to detect was shuttered behind judgmental eyes and a cruel mouth and harsh brows.

“You might think that you can skate by on talent and charm alone Katherine, in fact this little display proves you think exactly that, but no one is trawling the internet for hires,” he sniffed. “I certainly don’t. I would never hire you.”

For a second Katherine’s heart stopped. Her father’s words ringing in her ears. When it started again she drew herself up to her full height and met his gaze.

“Well it’s a good thing I never expected you to. You see the name at the top of the page? Katherine Plumber. Not Pulitzer, Plumber. Everything there I did myself and I didn’t even need you. I don’t need you to give me a job either. What you hold in your hand does more to prove that than any point you think you’re trying to make. I don’t need your name or your judgement and I certainly don’t need to stand here and listen to you insult me.”

Joe seemed stunned. Katherine used this to her advantage, already moving towards her bathroom and pulling her toothbrush, toothpaste, and birth control pills from the cabinet. She tossed them into the travel case she kept under the sink and then followed with her hairbrush and some makeup and bobby pins, hair ties and travel sized body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.

When Kath walked back out Joe still hadn’t moved. She tossed the case into her backpack. She moved to grab up her pajamas and they and her laptop and charger followed suit. She wouldn’t need the clothes she’d laid out for the next day but she pulled them off her desk chair anyway when she swept up her keys, wallet, and subway card. The subway card went into her pocket, the rest dumped into the backpack too. She could fish her keys out on the train.

He was still standing there as she pulled her shoes back on. By now he had the decency to look dumbstruck.

Katherine closed the bag and swung it onto her shoulders. Fuck not having wifi, she didn’t need it for twenty-some odd hours if it meant not dealing with Joseph Pulitzer. With his condescension. His contempt. His utter disinterest.

She shouldered past him and finally he did more than stare at her. “Where are you going?”

Narrowing her eyes, Katherine jutted out her chin. “Home.” And then she marched down the hall. Down the grand staircase and through the foyer. Right out the big front doors to the muggy night beyond. Katherine didn’t stop marching until she reached the subway platform that would take her downtown.

Here she paused, waiting for the train. She dug her keys out as she waited. They rested on the end of a lanyard she’d gotten from her old dance studio ages ago. The pink one with a purple crown marked the front door. The Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland the back. The shiny silver the apartment. The dull brass the building.

There was a keychain on the end of the lanyard too that held a trio of keys each decorated in a primary color. The keychain was a metal art deco design with “Medda Larkin” and the theater’s name and her office phone number. The yellow was for Jack and Charlie’s building. Blue for their apartment. Red a townhouse in Georgetown.

She could hear the train rumbling towards the station and Katherine made a decision. She ruthlessly twisted the princess and Cheshire Cat keys from her lanyard, shoving them deep into a pocket of her backpack. When she held up her lanyard again she saw the places she knew she would be welcomed.

Katherine closed her hand around the keys and stepped on the train.

~

After about twenty minutes in her apartment Katherine began to regret her choice to storm out rather than simply kick her father out of her room. Not because she felt any guilt about what was said. Not because she didn’t have wifi. Entirely because she and her mom had decided to save electricity and turned off the air-conditioning. In the short time that she’d been gone the humid New York night had crept in and she was dying.

She’d had the ac running full blast, but it wasn’t quite enough yet. Her frizzing hair had been wrangled into a bun on the top of her head. She’d found a pair of old soffe shorts a size too small that she hadn’t known she’d owned nevertheless packed when she rifled through the drawers her mom had filled for her while she had been setting up the kitchen. She’d been searching for the tank top she was currently sporting and the shorts had been in with her athletic wear.

Sitting in the dark on her new couch Katherine could hear the city humming around her. Now that her quest to beat the heat was done, she had nothing else to focus on but the fight.

She wouldn’t take back what she’d said and done. Katherine had defended herself, her future, her blog, and by extension, her friends. What her father had said though? That was echoing around her head. His “I would never hire you” just getting louder and louder in her imagination.

Katherine grabbed her phone off the coffee table and swiped it open. She went to her contacts’ favorites and hit call. The muffled ringing bled into the ringing of her father’s voice and Kath was struck by the hour and a fear he might be sleeping. Just as she was bracing herself for the possibility he picked up. Katherine let out his name on a sigh of relief. “Jack.”

“Hey Kath,” he sounded muffled, like his face was mashed into his pillow. “Is everything ok?”

“Not really,” she found herself saying in a small voice, suddenly feeling the beginning of tears. They made the words want to stick in the back of her throat. “I- I had a fight- and- and- I ran away. I’m at my apartment. I need a hug.”

Dammit. She was crying. Katherine didn’t cry and yet here she was. Her father had actually made her cry.

“I’ll be right there,” and now Jack sounded like he was sitting up.

Kath let out a shaky breath and swiped at her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~

It wasn’t long until the buzz of the intercom made her jump, pulling her out of her mental echo chamber. The apartment was still warm but most of the humidity had started to dissipate and the temperature was well on the way to comfortable. She buzzed open the door into the building and stayed leaning by her door, knowing it wouldn’t be long until there’d be a knock.

When it came Katherine opened the door to Jack but not just Jack but Charlie, David, and Sarah too.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

Jack engulfed her in a hug, moving her out of the doorway and letting the others in.

“Housewarming party,” Charlie said as though it were obvious.

This made Katherine acutely aware of the fact that she had absolutely no food. Another thing that she was waiting to actually start living there to acquire. The hour made her doubtful if the local bodega would even be open.

“Umm…” she said, still being hugged tightly by Jack.

“We brought snacks,” he whispered in her ear. She squeezed him tighter, a silent thanks for reading her mind.

“Damn girl, you live like this?” Charlie joked, staring around the dark studio.

Giving Jack one last hug and a kiss on the cheek she moved to close the door and flip the lights on. “Sorry, it was hot and I was afraid to blow out the ac.”

David snorted, he’d moved to the kitchen and set his backpack down on the counter. He started pulling out sodas and juice boxes. “Kath, and I say this with love, this place is nicer than where I grew up. I doubt you’ll blow a fuse for having a lamp and the air-conditioning on at the same time.”

Katherine rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. Her friends chuckled and she noticed that David hadn’t been the only one to bring a backpack and they all had set about taking over her kitchen. The noise started to drown out her father’s voice in her head.

“Ok,” Sarah said, peering into her desolate fridge, “either you invited Les over before us or you haven’t gone shopping yet.”

Giggling Kath came to grab glasses and plates out of the cabinets. “I don’t think I invited any Jacobs over and yet, here you are. And at this hour.”

“Yeah, I was on Ellen and we were just about to start talking about what it was like to be Robin to Robert Pattinson’s Batman. Then Jack woke me up,” Charlie gave his brother a dry look and the other boy held up his hands in defense, a bag of Doritos in each.

“Sorry man but we all know the Kath Signal supersedes the Bat Signal,” Jack said.

She tried, she really did, pressing her lips together into a tight line but she couldn’t help but grin. Her earlier tears were long forgotten in the face of her friends. It was obvious what had happened, Jack had roused Charlie and called David who’d brought Sarah and they all came to check on her. To distract her or reassure her, whatever she might need.

Katherine paused, hands resting on the counter, as she watched her friends unpacking the supplies they had brought. That just made her smile grow as she realized that Jack and Charlie had merely grabbed whatever was in their cupboard before coming over while the Jacobs must have woken their mother – whether accidentally or intentionally she wasn’t sure – if the tupperwares filled with cut fruit, veggies, and Kath’s favorite homemade hummus were any indication.

Moving around her they began to dole out the snacks. Kath finally forced herself into action again, grabbing a capri sun from the fridge before making herself a plate.

They all made their way to the living room, arguing over who would be forced to sit in the overlarge beanbag chair that had been a staple of Katherine’s dorm since freshman year. It was the same beanbag that Sarah had to eventually decree was not a suitable bed and thus not allowed to be used as an excuse to spend the night after the boys had discovered it and tried to use their room as an escape from whatever mischief they might have gotten into. While comfortable it was extremely hard to pull oneself out of.

Kath found herself maneuvered into the middle of the couch, Jack on one side and David on the other. Charlie had gotten the armchair and Sarah sank into the beanbag with a resigned sigh.

The ac was finally doing its job and she leaned onto Jack, swinging her legs up so that they draped over David’s knees. Both of them just gave her incredulous looks before accepting their fates. Katherine poked at her hummus with a baby carrot, lost in thought as a silence settled around her.

She felt Jack press a soft kiss to the top of her head and sat up to blink at him in confusion.

“You ok?” he asked in a low voice. That’s when she realized they’d all sat there waiting for her to answer a question she’d been too wrapped up in her own head to realize was asked.

Katherine felt herself blush as she nodded. “Yeah. Um, what’d you say?”

“I wanted to know how the move in went,” David said fondly.

She’d just taken a bite of her carrot, so Kath waited until she’d swallowed to speak. “It went really well. I mean you can kinda see that,” she rolled her eyes in self-deprecation, “but yeah, the movers got all the furniture set up and then my mom and I did the rest. Took the whole day but it’s done.”

Kath shrugged and took another bite before adding, “The cable guy comes Monday so I’m shit outta luck on entertainment until then. No tv, no internet. But I’ve got some dvds if you guys want? I think I know where my Cards Against Humanity got to.”

David groaned as Charlie punched the air. This then resulted in Charlie nudging David sharply in the side with one of his elbow crutches for the groan. And saying, “You’re a sore loser Davey, it’s time ya get over it.”

David rolled his eyes and Kath giggled.

“Don’t deny it Dave,” Jack said, smug. The way she was leaning on him meant Katherine could feel him move as he spoke. It was weird. And funny. Kinda relaxing too.

“We both know that Les got the bad habit of flipping the Monopoly board from you,” Sarah chimed in, putting the lid on any of her brother’s world-famous rebuttals.

David flung his hands up in defeat. “Monopoly is a stupid game anyway! Do you know how bad they are for consumers? And us striving to create our own is just propaganda.”

“You know,” Kath chimed in thoughtfully, remembering a fun fact she’d picked up from a friend, “it was originally created to show how detrimental to society capitalism was. So, you’re right about the propaganda angle, wrong about the original intention.”

Her friends were all giving her variations of the same look. A mixture of mild confusion and dumbfounded. Katherine decided to just turn her attention back to her hummus.

“Well ok then,” Jack finally said. “I think that means you’re feeling better?”

It was a question, she could tell it was, but thanks to the distraction presented by teasing David and bitching about Monopoly she’d totally forgotten her own shitty captain of industry father. Katherine deflated slightly at the reminder.

She nodded meekly, though it was more of head wobble than a nod that eventually just turned into a shrug against Jack’s side. She huffed out a breath and her friends, no, her family – the wonderful marvelous people that they were, who came into her empty apartment in the middle of the night whilst she was wallowing and turned it into a true home in a matter of minutes – waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts and make up her mind.

“It’s a mixed bag?” she tried. Katherine could admit to herself she was stalling as English escaped her. She was left with the memory of her father storming into her room looping in her head, juxtaposed with opening her door to find Jack, David, Charlie, and Sarah waiting for her. Also, the word Gummiente for some reason, it was German for rubber duck. All in all, not a very banner moment for the wannabe writer. Maybe her father was right.

Katherine squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to think about that. The air caught slightly in her throat as she inhaled. Would not even give him the satisfaction in her own imagination.

Jack must have felt her still because the next thing Katherine knew he was draping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. Then she felt David shift, gently swinging her legs down so he could slide closer and hug her too. A weight rested on her knee, the unmistakable feel of the top of one of Charlie’s crutches and she knew that the only reason it wasn’t his hand was because the space between the couch and coffee table was too narrow for him to maneuver with the couch full. Distantly Katherine thought she’d have to remember to fix that as she felt Sarah squeezing her hand, having finally fought her way out of the beanbag.

Katherine took in another shuttering breath. Her shoulders shook slightly. No tears tried to slip out though as she found herself laughing in relief. Brought about by her friends around her. Happiness and love for these people.

In a rush Katherine’s words came back to her and soon were pouring out of her mouth. A habit of hers that her father hated and had on occasion gotten her into hot water but for the life of her Kath couldn’t see the point in silencing herself, even if sometimes her voice reacted before her brain.

“You guys are just the best,” Kath breathed out in a rush. “I mean really. I’m so so so glad to have you all in my life and so thankful that you just decided to show up here in the middle of the night. Like, I know you were all sleeping; and I know how much you need it, bunch of overworked and underpaid college kids who run a human rights campaign slash activist group on the side that you are. But you somehow decided that I was more important than some well deserved rest. For some fucking reason.

“Which I really appreciate,” Katherine paused slightly, catching her breath and steeling her nerves. “Like, really appreciate. So much. So so much. Because I- I ran away from home? No. That sounds dumb. Oh god, I feel like a fucking dork but like I don’t care, cause I need to tell you guys this: I have a home; you are my home. I ran away from my dad. He- he found my blog and I’d say he was just being a dick about it but really he was being himself cause he’s always a dick so like I shouldn’t be surprised but we wound up arguing – I know, I know, shocking – and well I don’t regret what I said, it may have been mean but it was true, and I don’t regret coming here but it still hurt. He…”

Katherine trailed off, opening her eyes to frown down at her lap with the plate of snacks still clutched in her one hand. Jack pressed a kiss to the side of her head in encouragement. She furrowed her brows, screwing her courage to the sticking place.

“He told me that he’d never hire me,” Katherine finally said.

It was met with a chorus of shock and outrage. Jack and Davey both squeezed her tighter while Sarah let go of her hand to throw her own up in the air in exasperation. Charlie was letting out a stream of expletives detailing exactly what he thought about Joseph Pulitzer as a father and businessman.

After a couple long seconds David started laughing. It snapped Katherine out of her sudden shame as she looked over to him, fearing hysterics. David just grinned widely back at her as she gave him a questioning look.

“Kath!” he exclaimed breathlessly between laughs. “You don’t need him to hire you! And probably never will!”

She blinked at him, not following. Jack apparently had though, and she figured it was thanks to the fact that their trains of thought tended to run on the same rail. “You’re right! And it’s his own fucking loss!”

The two boys laughed as Katherine tried to work out what they meant. She glanced to Sarah who looked just as lost as she was and then to Charlie. He was frowning slightly but nodding as though he was seeing the logic in his best friends’ nonsense.

David realized her confusion, grabbing the tops of her arms so that she would meet his eyes as he spoke. “Kath, you already have a job.”

She made a face. “I’ve got an internship,” Katherine corrected him.

“Yeah, with The New York Sun!” David shook her slightly in his growing excitement.

“Your second summer internship there,” Jack added with that same almost manic cheer. “And this time they don’t have you writing puff pieces on kids festivals.”

“No they don’t!” David tagged back in and great they were going to do the thing where they traded off sentences to create one long argument. It was an impressive and truly fantastic talent, but Katherine hated when they turned it on her. Especially when she had yet to see their point. “This time you’re working directly for Bryan Denton, the one and only!”

As if on cue Sarah cheered “Our man Denton!” Which, granted, was a pretty Pavlovian response from any newsie when Denton, News Editor at The New York Sun, was mentioned.

Kath just widened her eyes and raised her brows slightly, her expression clearly saying “And your point is…?”

Charlie huffed, leaning forward in the armchair. “Kath, do we have to spell it out for you? Denton loves you. He’s like the Batman to your Batgirl, more Cain than Gordon in this case though you’re more of a Babs than a Cass in general and that’s not just because of your hair…”

Kath raised an eyebrow.

“But I digress,” Charlie said sheepishly. “He’s taken you under his wing. He sent you the internship application in like, what, January? Like right after break? And hired you himself. He loved working with you on the big World protest freshman year and was the one who suggested you apply to The Sun for the summer after in the first place, and you did last summer once the Newsies accounts were solidly off the ground. This is your second summer there. In. A. Row. And you spent the fall in D.C. At frickin CNN. An internship that Denton also suggested you look into since he knew about it from contacts he had from his war correspondent days.”

Rolling her eyes, Katherine shook off David’s hands where they still gripped her arms. Judging by his expression he’d forgotten he’d still been holding on and she let a small smile slip out.

“Look,” Kath started, “I won’t deny that Denton has been helping me out and kinda mentoring me, but it doesn’t mean he’ll just magically give me a job after graduation. If they don’t need another reporter in his section he can’t hire me no matter how much he likes me or how good he might think I am.”

Jack and David exchanged a silent conversation in a single look over her head. Katherine sat back so she could glare at them both.

“Uh exactly?” Jack laughed. “You said it yourself, even if there’s not room in his section he’ll make sure you’re hired at The Sun somewhere until there is. Or he’ll help you get a job anywhere in New York.”

“Not that you need his help,” David added. He smirked at her, but it was quickly turning into that proud smile of his. The same one he gave Les any time his little brother showed up on campus to brag about an A on a test or someone else he’d talked into following the Newsies of New York accounts.

“Kath,” Sarah said, speaking for the first time in a while. She was shaking her head in fond exasperation. “Your resume could kick anyone’s resume’s ass: You’re the Editor-in-Chief for the school paper this year. You help run one of the most up-and-coming non-partisan political outreach groups in the Northeast. You’ve interned for two different sections at one of the city’s biggest papers. You helped cover the midterm elections for CNN. Your articles helped bring about a major change in policy for one of the biggest universities in New York, as a freshman. Like, these are the highlights and only cover the past three years.”

Katherine started laughing at that. A mildly deranged sound that started bubbling out of her throat before settling into something normal. All snorts and gasps as her friends joined her. It was ridiculous only because it was true. And she had flung it right back into her father’s face before making a grand exit.

“Well I’ve always been overdramatic in my rebellion,” she managed to gasp out between laughs.

That only made her friends laugh harder. Sarah snorted before saying “I know” and clearly flashing back to Katherine blasting alt-rock in their tiny dorm freshman year.

Katherine shook her head. “But the melodrama was definitely an inherited trait.”

“Well,” Jack said when the laughter started to quiet, “you definitely outdid him on this one. Points for that.”

“Honey,” Kath made her voice sickly sweet as she teased him, a sure sign that she was feeling more like herself. “Don’t you know this is like Whose Line Is It Anyway? The rules are made up and the points don’t matter.”

“But just like Whose Line there’s still a winner,” David added quickly. “It’s pretty clear tonight it’s you.”

Katherine beamed. With a living room – her living room – filled with the people she loved there was no doubt in Katherine’s mind that she had indeed won. Even though she wasn’t quite ready to verbalize it. Not tonight at least. After a night’s sleep she knew she’d be able to go back and face her father, head held high with the confidence that no matter what Joe said or did she was untouchable. That in a few years screaming matches and steel sharp words would dull into memories, all that would matter about tonight would be that she finally realized exactly how lucky she was.

[asortofsensation-a]

The union meeting New Years Eve, Spot knows, is just an excuse to get all the boroughs together for a big party under Medda’s watchful eye. Spot barely indulges himself in any of the booze the kids lifted, but he can see some of the others getting loose, laughing, pushing each other around. Kelly’s one of them. He’s surrounded by kids who love him, who are so grateful he’s there, and it gives Spot ideas.

He never said he had great ideas, but.

Either way, Spot wanders through the theater as the clock starts to tick down to the new year. Without much warning, he grabs a fistful of Kelly’s shirt, drags him along to a quiet nook backstage, and doesn’t hesitate to shove him into the wall and kiss the shit out of him.

And, after, when he’s pulled back, he smirks and snaps Kelly’s suspender so it strikes his chest painfully. “Happy New Year, Kelly. Don’t be such a fuckin’ blowhard this year.” Just pats him on the cheek and takes a few steps backward before he prepares to saunter away.

jack had a love-hate relationship with parties. he loved the jovial nature of parties, how everyone was celebrating something be it a collective or individual achievement. but he hated the come down that came with it, the end of a moment of eternal optimism, returning to reality at an alarmingly fast pace. 

it’s why he enjoys the responsibility of being a leader at these kinds of things, keeping an eye on the newsies so the smiles keep growing and the drinks keep flowing (at a steady pace, hell knows jack didn’t want to deal with a hungover newsie in the morning). nursing his own drink - apple juice, handed to him by the great medda herself - he doesn’t take much notice of anything other than the crowd, heart thumping with excitement as everyone waits for the new year to arrive.

spot conlon, just as easily, is something jack doesn’t expect. ‘specially not like this.

cup narrowly lands on a box, spillage avoided, when jack is dragged away, pressed into a wall. he expects a punch - not unwarranted, considering his recent track record - rather than a kiss. and then he gets kissed and jack swears there’s fireworks going off behind his eyes, a pleasant burn in his throat. eyes barely flutter close when he feels suspender smack against thin shirt.

“hey - “ sputters, staring after spot as they walk away. lips still linger with the taste and jack slumps back against the wall, blush climbing it’s way down to his torso. 

 “ah, fuck.”

[jack-kellys]

“You were my hero.” with jack and crutchie please?

this is literally such a great prompt like I wanted to write it for so long but then like I kinda died in general BUT IM BACK

shout out to @cream--rises for quickly blurting that I should write from crutch’s perspective

————

capeless superman

words: 1340?

warnings: cursing, race instead of crutch is in the refuge au, yeet

————

The street was finally empty; all the newsies practically vanished out of Medda’s theater. No one had looked happy, of course. The whole rally had been a sham. Jack had caved, Jack had sold them out, Jack was a sellout, he was..

Crutchie’s own brother was a sellout.

He tried to block out his anger and replace it with confusion, limping alone down the street he saw Jack turn onto. The burning question of ‘why’ felt branded on his heart, its imprint scalding. Even if Jack told him why he had caved for the money, there was no way Crutchie could ever bring himself to understand it. It just didn’t make sense. That wasn’t Jack.

And he knew Jack.

Jack was the one who gave every hand-me-down he could find to any kid with a hole in their shirt or pants. Jack passed around food from the nuns to the rest of the kids, a big grin on his face in the morning even though Crutch knew he hadn’t slept for a minute the night before. Jack would fight anyone who roughed up one of his kids—he had, Crutchie reminded himself, only the day before; it was only a day before—even if he was one of the worst fighters Crutchie had ever seen.

Jack wasn’t any of the words Spot Conlon had called Jack as he had run the theater, screaming after him those terrible things. That Jack was a coward, and weak and useless, and a traitor—how could Jack Kelly be a traitor? How could Jack Kelly be a traitor?

…Was he?

Crutchie gripped his crutch harder as the thought entered his head. That couldn’t be it. Yes, Crutchie knew, the Santa Fe prospect was often mentioned between the two of them…and maybe the money would cover it…but that had to be just a dream. Every newsie had their own Santa Fe in a way. Finch wanted to be a pitcher one day. Mush wanted to be a real doctor. Henry wanted to make his father’s restaurant into a chain all across the country. It wasn’t any different. Couldn’t be.

Crutch saw the flash of a shadow ahead of him, and without thinking, called out to it.

“You gotta tell me, Jack, right fuckin’ now,” Crutchie cried up the block, watching Jack freeze. After a few moments, Jack retraced his steps, facing Crutchie with tired eyes.

“Tell you what?” Jack said, but it sounded rehearsed.

Crutchie stared harder. “That it didn’t mean nothin’. That you ain’t cavin’, not for just some money—“

“It’s not just some money, Crutch,” Jack interjected. “It’s…enough.”

Crutchie took an involuntary step back. What was he saying? “You’re not leavin’. You’re just not, Jack, that money’s too dirty. It,” Crutchie bit his lip, but continued his words stronger, “that money pays to keep places like the Refuge in business. It pays to keep where Race is hurtin’ in business,” Crutchie choked out.

Crutchie’s other brother, Racetrack, had been dragged to the Refuge just the other day. Actually dragged, too, Crutchie had glimpsed it briefly; Race was out cold thanks to Oscar and lugged into the wagon like he weighed nothing. Like he was nothing.

Jack couldn’t think Race was nothing all of a sudden.

“Crutchie,” Jack whispered, his eyes never leaving the ground. “You knows better than anyone that I gotta get outta here.”

“No,” Crutchie croaked. “This ain’t you, not really. You always think about us first—we always think of each other first.”

“Crutch, I can’t, I—“

“Yes you can!” Crutchie blurted, unintentional emotion trembling in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you. We’re all here, Jack. We ain’t out there. This’s your family, why, why…”

Crutchie scrubbed his eye, looking up at Jack with a small glimmer of hope. There had to be a why, even if he couldn’t figure it himself. Jack always had a reason, if not always a plan. He was an artist; he was full of passion. And though that passion branched into many different areas, Crutchie knew that his newsies were at the heart of it. They had to be. They were all Jack had. They were all any one of them had. At least a third of them would probably be dead without the lodge—Crutchie knew he probably would; he accepted that a long time ago. He was a fighter, sure, but some things were just out of his control.

But Jack was in control. At least, he could have been in control, easily. And yet decided not to, instead turning on his brothers.

“Why?” Jack scoffed. “Why? ‘Cause I don’t wanna any of yous ending up like Racer! I don’t want any more asses beaten so hard into the ground that we’s gotta peel ourselves off’a it! Crutchie, I can’t watch that. I can’t let any ‘a you get...I can’t let you die over this.”

Confusion burned in the back of Crutchie’s throat. “Like we wouldn’t die of starvin’ on the streets with these prices so high or somethin’,” he found himself blurting. “We already got all five boroughs on our side, Jack, a city-side strike could end it, and…”

“No it wouldn’t,” Jack said with force. “Pulitzer don’t give a shit about us, Crutch, he’d keep those prices until we can’t take beatings no more. He thinks this is a war, and he ain’t plannin’ on losin’.”

Something about that struck Crutchie as a little more than strange. A bit personal for just some money. “How...how long didja talk to him?” he asked slowly.

Jack hung his head. “Ain’t gonna lie; it was a while.”

Crutchie stumbled back, incredulous.

“Jack, w-what’d he do to you?”

Jack took a step towards Crutchie, who chose to move back yet again. This wasn’t his Jack. “We just talked, Crutchie,” Jack muttered. “‘S all.”

“It ain’t,” Crutchie could’ve laughed in disbelief. After all this time, Jack still thought Crutchie couldn’t see through him. “You’re lyin’, to me, oh my god. I can’t believe this, I…” Crutchie shook his head, mouth slightly agape.

Jack Kelly was a traitor.

The boy who had never once lied to his face was standing a foot away from him on a street corner in the dark with the guiltiest expression Crutchie had ever seen.

“Crutchie,” Jack was pleading now. What kind of topsy-turvy nightmare was Crutchie living in? “Please. I’m sorry, you gotta know that, but I had to. I had to. I had to do it.”

“No you didn’t,” Crutchie scoffed, a faint ironic smile on his face. This was unbelievable. “No you fucking didn’t. Coulda rejected the money right in front ‘a Spot, shown ‘em all you were on the right side—“

“I’m on your side, Crutch, c’mon—“

“—and instead you cave, man. Caved for those fuckin’ monsters at the top.” Crutchie scrunched his nose slightly. “Jack, I wanna trust ya, but that’s dirty, you know that.”

The look on Jack’s face made Crutchie’s heart sink, but he willed his expression to stay strong; stay strong like he didn’t care that he was losing his brother.

“I’m so sorry, Crutchie,” Jack choked.

“But you ain’t, I mean,” Crutchie let out a bitter laugh, “that wad ‘a cash must feel pretty great in you pocket.” Crutchie’s skin was beginning to crawl just talking to Jack and hearing him flat out lie to him. He had to get out. He couldn’t hide his breakdown for long, and he couldn’t let Jack see that. Especially after the night’s events. “You were my hero, Jacko.” His own voice was too devoid of emotion; it scared him.

“If you’d just let me explain, Crutch, I swear you’d understand,” Jack sounded too desperate, it couldn’t be real, “please, man.”

“Go get your Santa Fe, Jack,” Crutchie muttered, acquiescing to the new reality of Jack’s new backward personality. “We’ll still all be waitin’ here with ours.”

With that, Crutchie adjusted his crutch and turned around, heading back to the lodge, trying to block at Jack’s desperate calls after him, pleading with him to stay, to believe him, to trust him. But Crutchie had to start forcing himself to face the truth.

How could you trust a traitor like Jack Kelly after what he’d done to them?

————

YOWCH get em crutch

TAG LIST

@suddenly-im-respecsable @cream--rises @bencookisagod @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @tommy-boyyy @papesdontsellthemselves @fameworks-quicker @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @thomasbeingthomas @the-king-of-brooklyn @sunshine-e-cigarettes @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @fellthroughableedingtrapdoor @relmer @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @bouncyscreamingnewsboys @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @newsies-and-peggy @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you

[heartsunholy-a]

a kiss with tears. (Davey @ Hotshot)

a fucked up kissing meme // @voiceofmany // accepting

19. a kiss with tears

She knows there’s something...off about the kid who works in the library. He’s smart, she knows that much. She really only has him in her history and calculus classes, and he must be on track to graduate early, if he’s got a free period to work. But there’s just...something about him Graziella can’t put her finger on. She feels his eyes on her sometimes, when she walks into the library with her brother or with the Conlon twins. And when she glances at him, he glances away with cheeks so red Graziella can see them from across the room.

Danny and Frankie have said it’s kind of creepy and maybe, if it were anyone else, Graziella might have agreed. But she doesn’t hate the way his eyes track her. It’s...nice, almost? He doesn’t leer, he...admires. Like she’s a priceless piece of art and he’s unsure she’s within his sight. So he’s shy, she figures. It’s still kinda sweet. Also kind of weird but not weird enough to put her off.

So when she walks into the library one day when she’s got a sub in her English class, Graziella hesitates for only a moment before approaching the tall, lanky boy organizing the new returns behind the counter. She smiles, warm and sweet. “Hey! David, right? Uh, I’m looking for Beloved, the uh, the Toni Morrison book? I couldn’t find it in the M’s so...?” she lets her request trail off and - after some stuttering and bumbling - he seems to get it and leads Graziella towards a shelf in the back. Duh. A shelf of Pulitzer Prize winners. Makes sense, given the assignment. She wonders if this is something her teacher assigns a lot, book reports about Pulitzer prize-winning books.

The book’s a little too high up for Graziella, even standing on her toes, and David takes the hint, plunking the little red paperback with ease and handing it over to her. Their fingers brush and Graziella recoils as static shock stings her but she recovers a second later, grasping the novel and grinning up at him. Her lips part, to thank him, but the expression on David’s face causes Graziella to scrunch her face in confusion.

That is, until he speaks. A hushed whisper, as if waking up from a dream. “Hotshot,” he murmurs, and Graziella’s head aches with the immediate reaction of thoughts and feelings and...and MEMORIES that flood her system. There’s longing in his gaze. She’s seen it before. Cramped together in an old closet of a theater in the Bowery - Medda’s theater. In the old Jacobs tenement, by candlelight and by moonlight. She’s seen this face thousands of times, burned it into her memory. And now Grazi - HOTSHOT - is sure she’s staring at him with the same disbelieving awe he used to look at her with.

The book slips from her grasp, tumbles to the floor with a quiet thud, as Hotshot’s hands lift to caress his cheeks, convinced he’ll disappear or the world will melt away and she’ll be back in an alley near Coney Island, being tugged ever closer to this boy by her suspenders. “Davey...” she murmurs in return, like a long lost dream.

And that’s when he kisses her, with a century’s worth of pent up confusion and desire. It’s somehow both more and less clumsy than their previous experimentations. There’s more experience, more confidence, but there’s still this almost sloppy need to just feel each other that makes their movements erratic. Hotshot’s arms lock around Davey’s neck, back pressed against the bookshelf and eyes squeezed shut with a desire to feel everything in this moment. To stay here, with Davey’s mouth hot against hers, for the rest of time.

It’s not until Davey pulls back for air that Hotshot’s aware of the wetness staining her cheeks - and a similar glistening in Davey’s eyes. “Is...is this real?” she breathes, voice small but still wrecked with too many emotions to name. “Are you...are you real? Is this...are we...?”