Riff broke up with her months ago, too scared that he’d end up hurting her somehow. And yet when Tony hears about the rumble his friend has planned, it’s still Y/N who he turns to for help trying to convince Riff to call it off
Blurbs
Jets are upset about the amount of time he spends with the reader
You go to the dance together
Dodge Mason
We're a Team // Part 1 //
Y/N has been working with Dodge for a while now - she’s one of the few people who he considers his friend in Carp Texas. Though as a result of her shyness, it’s a surprise to Dodge that she’s interested in participating in Panic
Blurbs
He's been having nightmares because of Panic
He's jealous
He makes you flustered at work
He looks after you when you're drunk
Connor Murphy
You meet his parents
Jack Kelly
It's his birthday
Charlie "Crutchie" Morris
Blurbs
You comfort him after he gets back from the Refuge
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I'm so glad I found your blog! Mike Faist and Riff are my new hyperfixations 💖
I've been looking for some good fanfic involving Riff!
awww thanks so much!! You're in luck - I've been on a bit of a break lately but have been considering coming back 😂 if you have any requests or preferences for what you'd wanna see let me know
Do you make ride the cyclone or other musical Fanfics?
Before taking my (unplanned lmao my bad) break, I was looking to start writing RTC fics. I'm kinda coming back now and definitely would look into it again. I love my man, the real Ka-Ching
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: racetrack finds y/n on jack’s rooftop, silent, peaceful, looking at those big beautiful flicking lights in the night sky.
warnings: n/a
—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–
The faint chatter of the Manhattan Newsies faded away as Y/N climbs up the fire escape. Escaping life, noise, smiles, chatter, work, hunger, exhaustion—escaping it all for just a moment.
A cool breeze hits their face once they step foot on the metal stairs, climbing and climbing until they reach “Jack’s Penthouse”.
There is a couple of blankets, pillows and clothes sprawled out over the roof. Jack and Crutchie’s things. The two newsboys usually retire here during the summer and autumn seasons.
Stepping over the belongings, carefully, Y/N reaches the railing of “Jack’s Penthouse”. All is quiet, all is peaceful. It is as if the city that never sleeps was actually asleep, save for the murmurs of a passerby.
They lean against the railing, looking up at the millions and millions of glimmering stars in the evening sky. Beautiful flickering lights. Celestial balls of gas.
Their thoughts cease on when their next meal is or if they’ll sell all their papers tomorrow or when they’ll age out of being a newsie.
No.
Y/N focused on the stars and it brings them peace. A newfound solidarity blooming within. “The stars are so beautiful.” Y/N thought. A soft smile playing on their lips.
The constellations are mapped out amongst the millions of stars. Y/N wished they could remember what constellation is what, but they can see the pictures they make.
Y/N makes out one to be a ladle for soup or a pan with an odd handle. There is a small one just besides it. There also seemed to be one that looked likes a stick figure of a dog. Y/N liked to think that was an actually constellation.
Time passes by, Y/N underestimated how long they’ve been up there when Racetrack comes looking for them. His head popped up from the fire escape. His hat and cigar missing from his usual newsies getup. “Hey, Y/N!” Race called out.
Upon realizing the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the night, Race lowered his voice. “Hey.” Race almost whispered as he made his way to the newsie. He leaned against the railing just like Y/N, looking at them with a softened gaze.
“Hey, ‘was wondering where you went.” Race spoke and followed their gaze. The stars capturing his eyes. “S’pretty.”
“Mhm.” Y/N hummed.
It’s silent again, the occasionally cricket chirping (wherever it was on the roof). Now, Y/N had a star-gazing partner, for now. Y/N deducted that Race would get bored and go back inside the Lodging House.
But, Race stayed. He appreciated the peaceful beauty of the evening sky as much as they did.
Which compelled Y/N to say, “D’you know constellations?”
“Constell—what?”
“Constellations.”
Race thought for a moment, his attention on the newsie beside him. “I’ve heard of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper…” Race uttered softly. He didn’t want to disrupt the atmosphere and mood.
Y/N looked at him curiously. Race smiled and took their hand, fumbling with their fingers, so the pointer finger stuck out. He guided their hand to point at the Big Dipper. “There.”
It took a moment for Y/N’s eyes to figure out what they were looking at—oh…
The big ladle for soup.
Race guided their hand a little bit down. “The small ladle for soup.” Y/N mumbled the thought.
“Yeah, those two are the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.” Race grinned at the newfound information Y/N learned. He let go of their hand.
In return, Y/N mimicked Race’s actions with his own hand. “Right…there. Do you see the stick figure dog?” Y/N asked. They could see it loud and clear.
“No…” Race squinted his eyes as if he would be able to see the image better. He did. Somehow. “Oh! Yeah…I see the guy.”
“Named him Oliver.” Y/N grinned and let go of Race’s hand.
The two newsies take turns spotting our different images they can see amongst the stars. Sometimes the other lied about seeing a certain thing just to make the other happy. Laughs and comments traded amongst them.
By the end of the evening when Jack and Crutchie made their way up to the “penthouse”, they found Race and Y/N on the floor. Race’s arm was being used as a pillow for Y/N. Their eyes slowly shutting but re-opening quickly to find new constellations of their own.
“Alright, you two.” Jack clapped his hands to wake them from their droopy states. “Get back to the bunks, you’ll be stiff if you sleep up here.”
Crutchie shook his head with a playful grin. Race grumbled something incoherent as Y/N and him move their bodies down the fire escape.
When they reached the window to lead them back into the Lodging House, Y/N stopped Race. They found the courage to press a kiss to his cheek. “Star-watch with me tomorrow.” Y/N mumbled and headed inside.
Race stood on the fire escape and touched his cheek. Specifically, the spot where Y/N’s lips touched. His cheek and ears turned a rosy pink. “Yeah.” He whispered almost inaudibly.
summary: race has been flaking on dates more and more. you think he’s cheating until he shows up bloody, bruises and in a hero costume, one evening.
warnings: blood, cursing, description of stitching
a/n: ending is a little meh and i couldn’t think of a title. i’ll try to revise it later.
—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–
Race is rushing to your table from the restaurant, tugging on his jacket in a hurry. Your head titled in slight confusion.
“Race…?”
Race snapped his head towards you. The apology written all over his face masking the urgency. “My uh…mom called.” Race explained hurriedly. “She—fell down the stairs and I gotta go to—”
He’s been doing this often, but you shouldn’t throw out accusations. Just be a supportive girlfriend. “Hey, hey—I get it. Make sure she’s okay.” You spoke sympathetically. Your hand on his arm rubbing it comfortingly.
Race gave you a weary smile. He hates leaving you early on dates especially when you look so pretty in your outfit. He felt terribly guilty. You got dolled up for him and he had to go…
“I love you.” Race kissed you quickly and ran out of the restaurant.
Does he though?
You’re sitting at your desk, mindlessly moving the swivel chair side to side. Thoughts running through your head. The events of the day replaying itself out. You were supposed to be studying for your test, but…you can’t help but think about the date.
It’s not the first time Race ended a date early because something important came up. The first time it happened was because Albert was throwing up a lot. Then it was Jack needed him ASAP for a project and so on.
You’ve seen this happen to one of your friends; literally watched the events unfold before you. Your friend’s girlfriend kept canceling dates or leaving earlier because of something that came up. Turns out the girl was hooking up with some other guy behind your friend’s back.
Race wouldn’t do that, right? The sweet, charming guy that brings you little trinkets that remind him of you? No way in hell would Race cheat.
You scoffed just thinking about Race hooking up with another person. So, you rationalized these thoughts, it was late and you were thinking about this too much, overthinking it. Your mind is just making up stuff to keep you awake to study for your exam next week. That’s right.
Suddenly, a quiet creaking from your window grabbed your attention. Your curtains had been closed since you’ve got home from the spoiled date. You grab the nearest blunt object to throw. The dark figure on the other side of the window, slid it open.
A soft groan escaped the figure. It never occurred to you it could be your roommate. Your sleep-deprived, adrenaline filled brain screamed at you, “Robber, thief, murderer, stranger danger—!”
So, you threw your blunt object as soon as you caught sight of a head. A small yelp escaped your lips. You prayed to whoever you wouldn’t die tonight. You haven’t even finished re-watching Superstore yet.
The figure tumbled into your apartment, catching the object without even looking. “Get out, get out, get out!” You shouted and threw one of your textbooks at the person like they were a bug on the walls.
The figure caught it again and quickly put their free hand up. “Hey, hey! I’m not going to hurt ya’!” The figure stated quickly as they saw you holding a second book. “Please, stop throwing things.” You shrunk behind the book you held like a scared child.
“Who—?” You asked nervously. Intricate details of webs on the costume. Red and blue colors. A spider sewn onto the chest. It is a dead give-away. One of their hands was pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozing out, soiling their costume. Holy fuck. Why was Spiderman in your room? How did he even get here? Did he just stumble upon your apartment? Oh god, and he is hurt.
“What—?” Before you can even ask a question, Spiderman tugged off his mask. Soft blonde curls damp with sweat. Blue eyes filled with exhaustion and affliction. A sheepish smile on his lips.
“Suprise.” Race said dryly.
He thought it’d be better for you to know now instead of later and…he doesn’t think he can catch another book.
“Oh my god—Race!” You launch out of your desk chair to the blonde. Panic running through your veins, your hands cupping his face like he’s fragile. Then it clicks, you realize it isn’t anyone’s blood and wounds, it is Race’s. Race is hurt—how can he just…how?
Your boyfriend. The man who can’t stand spiders, especially daddy long legs, is Spiderman. Spiderman. The fucking vigilante swinging around New York. Is this why he ends dates early? Because he is Spiderman?
You don’t want to believe it, but Race is right here in front of you. Your blue-eyed lover subconsciously leaned into your warm touch. “M’okay.” Race mumbled and kissed the palm of your hand. The comfort of your touch distracting him from the pain. “Just…need your help patching up.”
You went into overdrive. The information you learned was overwhelming. How long has he been doing this? How bad are his injuries? Will he be okay? There are so many risks to this. Spiderman? How can he do what he does?
Your hands were too afraid to touch his upper body as you looked over him. “God…oh—how did..? You’re bleeding a lot…and you look so tired and….how bad is—? I don’t know what to do—! Fuck…you’re bleeding a lot. That wound is huge and—”
“Hey, sweetheart.” Race grabbed your attention from your stupor with the nickname. “Calm down. I’ll walk you through everything. Can you help me to the bathroom?”
Your eyes soften, but his words don’t reassure you. “Mhm.” You pressed your lips together, the worry evident in your eyes as you helped Race to the bathroom. He leaned against the counter.
The first aid kit is under the sink. Race is peeling off the top half of his suit. A wince escaped him as the spandex stuck to his large gash. He ripped it away like a bandaid causing you to cringe. There is dried blood, sweat and dust all over his toned body—which you will not admit you stared at a little too long.
“I would’ve done this myself, but—it hurt to swing any more. I mean, it felt like my body was being torn apart.” He softly said, trying to decrease the situation on why he was here in this getup. A soft blush on his face. It is clear he still felt bad about earlier that evening.
Only a man like Race would blush when he has a gaping wound in his side. “I don’t need your excuses—I just need to help patch you up.” Your eyes hardening after you take a shaky exhale.
Questions and thoughts racing (hah.) your mind. Was this convenient or was this pity for earlier? This is kind of ridiculous—you were dating Spiderman. Race is Spiderman. He could’ve told you—said something so you wouldn’t think the worst of the worst. So you could help him from hurting himself further.
“Okay.” Race nodded slowly. He noticed your snappy comments. He masked the worry and guilt. “Douse a rag in rubbing alcohol and—gently clean my wound, please.”
Race walked you through the steps of how to clean a wound. Your boyfriend had bit into a rolled up hand towel to muffle his agony. Tears brimming his eyes at the stinging. Luckily, the bleeding stopped. It looked slightly less gross than it did before, and it was done quickly.
Your annoyance, anger dissipates for a moment. You look at your boyfriend who removed the hand towel from his mouth. “I—I don’t know how to stitch.”
Race nodded, his head glistening with sweat from the enduring the pain. “You know how to sew though. Just—sew.” He mumbled.
“Race…that—that’s not the same, I can’t just—why don’t we go to an actual hospital? They know better than you or I.” You tried to rationalize.
“Can’t.” Race shook his head, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “I can’t—my blood work and genetics are fucked—please, sweetheart.”
Race begged softly. It seem the blood loss got to him. “I need you to do it. Please. I trust you. Please.”
You grabbed his hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Okay…” You say almost inaudibly. Race brings your hand to his lips, a silent thank you.
Just like before, Race has a rag in his mouth. Hand gripping your shoulder. His eyes closed shut as your dominant hand delicately holding a needle. The other was on his side. Race shivered at your touch. “Don’t move to much, okay?”
Race hummed in agreement. You pressed the needle to one end of the wound and punctuate the flesh. Race’s hand gripped your shoulder tightly, muffled sounds of pain escape him. You try to get this done quickly. In and out, through and through.
And pull.
You watch the wound close up together seamlessly. It sealed like a piece of cloth and look up at your tired boyfriend. His head immediately falls on your shoulder. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He whispered and kissed your neck once or twice.
Your eyes soften. You take Race’s face in your hands and bring his head in front of you. Lip quivering now that you finished stitching up your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I—”
“Race, you’re Spiderman—and I didn’t know! You made me think—think that…” Your voice is shaky, overwhelmed with a number of emotions. Race is Spiderman—he could die at any point.“you were cheating—what if you didn’t come back from fighting a villain? I don’t want to go to a funeral. I can’t—not when it’s the love of my life.”
“Oh, Y/N…” Race hugged you tightly despite the pain blooming in his side. “I’m not going anywhere, or dying—god, I wouldn’t even think of cheating on you, y’know that?”
A few moments of silence.
“Help me.” He mumbled and put his arm over your shoulder. The two of you exit the bathroom. Race was doing a little bit better than before, but you still had to support his weight. You both sit on the bed, Race taking your hands.
“I wanted to tell you, more than anything in the world, but—” He paused. “But…I couldn’t let you get hurt or worse for knowing about me.”
His voice cracked slightly. “If—if you got killed because of me…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I just—and what if you thought I was a freak. I—I can climb of walls for fucks sake and have a sixth sense—” All of the thoughts that kept him up at night spilling out.
“Race—you’re a superhero, shut up.” You stated bluntly. Sometimes Race just needed to hear things as is. You grabbed some joggers he left here and gave it to him. You were no longer anger or afraid, just tired. So tired.
A soft sight escaped you. “You’re tired, I’m tried—this conversation should be for tomorrow.”
Race’s lips parted slightly to retaliate, but a wave of exhaustion hits him. He changed into the grey joggers and got into your bed. You gravitate towards his body heat and bury your head into the crook of his neck. “My boyfriend is a goddamn superhero.” It sounded more in awe.
You leaned up to kiss his lips. Race kissed back with a little more passion than intended. Race and you fall asleep in each others arms, knowing—
—at least for tonight, that everything will be okay.
:D yay!!! I love your Newsies stuff sm (and yes you absolutely should rewatch its amazing). If you have time could you maybe write a Race x fem!reader where she's like Spot's second command and kinda like the "mum" of the Brooklyn kids - they go to her for like comfort and when they have injuries or have problems etc. And she's kinda reserved and such but became friends with Race from when he'd spend time in Brooklyn, and after the strike (during like KONY I guess) he goes to find her to ask for her help like getting everyone fixed up and the like, and at some point from there onwards it's like FEELINGS yknow? No worries if not! Only if you're inspired and have time and such :) I love your writing - you're so v talented xx
grateful for your support in my rewatching newsies agenda. anything for you anon xoxo
masterlist
There’s a newsie from Manhattan wandering your streets again. He’s not supposed to be crossing over into Brooklyn like this, none of them are, but for some reason that hasn’t stopped Race Higgins from showing up time and time again.
It’s not like this should really matter. Shouldn’t, anyway. Brooklyn is messy and getting messier. One particularly plucky Manhattan boy shouldn’t have an impact on what you’re doing on a day to day basis. Spot’ll do some nonsense involving a good threat or two to scare the guy off. This sort of thing happens once a month, but Brooklyn always ends up on top. Always.
That hasn’t seemed to sway Race, though. Last time he tried this, one of the other Brooklyn generals was in a fighting mood and nearly left the blond with a black eye had you not stepped in and put a stop to the scuffle before it started. No one needed any more trouble when you’ve already got so much as is, or so you claimed.
Truth be told, you’re not really sure why you helped Race out. It’s not like you’ve got any particular fondness for the guy, he keeps bothering you whenever he sneaks over the turf boundaries. It’s like he has a sixth sense for figuring out where you are whenever you’re selling papes. Even when you tell him to bug off and leave you alone, he’ll just start selling half a block down from you, or right across the street. Just close enough that you can see the trademark grin on his face when you roll your eyes and do your best to ignore him.
At the end of the day, it’s not something that should be the pull of too much of your attention. It’s Race, for goodness’ sake, not a rogue Delancey brother or someone who could actually cause you grief. Race just wants to make you laugh, which is weird of him to do but not actually dangerous.
Dangerous is the rest of Brooklyn. Dangerous is what waits for Race when he’s not halfway in your shadow. Dangerous is what made you Spot Conlon’s second in command when there were so many other newsies vying for the title. You know dangerous, and you know how to handle it, how to keep your boys safe. That’s what you should be focusing on the most, not errant Manhattan newsboys who keep getting alarmingly close to making you crack a smile.
But. Well. It is easier to think of boys than trouble. Boys try to make you laugh, for the most part. They don’t come back under the cover of the dead of night, bloody and trembling, talking to you about cops and thugs busting up strikes, about workers from the Refuge who want to brazenly take kids off the street just so they can keep up their numbers. They didn’t always.
Then they did, and suddenly you weren’t quite so easy with your temper and gait anymore. Race was usually quick to a smile, a laugh, a joke. He’d offer you a cigar free of charge, then swear like a sailor at any other boy who tried to even look at his prized possession. You were different, he didn’t want to trouble you.
So he said. Didn’t stop him from hanging outside your window until you climbed onto your fire escape just to get him to stop throwing pebbles at the dusty glass. You might have spent more than an hour outside that night, and the next one, and the next, but it was only so he’d let the others rest. You falling asleep on his shoulder at least once, then waking to find his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, was pure coincidence.
Race was always carefree. It was his job, you think, his role to play amongst the Manhattan newsies, just as yours was to keep track of your Brooklyn kids. Race used to tease you relentlessly about how the Brooklyn newspaper distribution system would completely grind to a standstill if you so much as got a cold.
It wasn’t entirely a joke, it was true. Race knew it. The two of you could hardly talk for longer than ten minutes before a boy or twelve would come up to you, asking for help on something else. He saw how long you faked your smiles just for the happy expression to start fading into an exhausted sigh whenever no one was around but him. You liked your position in the newsie ranks, truly you did, but it drained everything from you.
Sometimes it felt like it was just you and Spot fighting a losing war trying to keep all of your boys out of trouble. You teach them to be tough and loud and unapproachable, but it will never be enough? How could it be, in this city? Race tells his jokes and you laugh and you try not to pretend that everything is falling to ribbons. At least then you could marvel at the colors.
Still. Race stayed. Longer than you expected, in all honesty. You kept waiting for him to have his fun and leave you to your city that never sleeps, but he came around and it felt more natural by the day. Instead of being surprised that he showed up, you started feeling confused if a week went by without you seeing him.
And, when two newsies come to Brooklyn from Manhattan talking about a strike, and neither one of them is Race but both of them need your help anyway, you listen. More than Spot, at least. Spot gets wind of trouble and he shuts down their plea in an instant. Despite the fact that you think this is the best chance any of you will have to change something around here, Spot can’t risk his guys.
You never know when someone will back out without telling you, he tells you later, and then all of you would be stuck out there on the front lines without backup. The ace without the sleeve up which to hide. Brooklyn kids are tough, and they wouldn’t run, but who knows a damn thing about anyone else?
It made you want to scream and cry and run out there anyway, just to prove a point. You heard how the strike went later, how no one showed up except the Manhattan boys because no other borough would come without Brooklyn’s express approval. You catch whispers and threads of the story, but you don’t learn the whole thing until Race shows up.
He’s alone this time, beaten and bruised. You flinch when you see him, even though he’s not swinging. The look in his eyes, though– that’s enough to leave you bloody.
Race puts a hand on your shoulder. The knuckles are bruised, and you try not to notice the spatterings of skin already turning a mottled purple and green. “It’s not your fault. Jackie boy told me you tried to convince Spot to join us.”
You frown, look away. “You got hurt and we could have done something. That sounds an awful lot like I failed.”
Race shakes his head, puts a hand on your cheek so you have to look at him again. “I’m not here for that. This isn’t your fault, it’s his. Pulitzer’s. Him and those damn thugs. Not you.”
You nod slowly. It’ll take some time before you’re able to absolve yourself of the guilt, but you can try. “Let me get my first aid kit, I’ll come back with you, try to patch some of the kids up. Can I assume that a lot of them are worse than you?”
Race’s expression drops. “Yeah. The thugs came hitting pretty hard.”
“Well,” you say in an attempt to cheer him up, “I’d wager it’s because they knew your lot were the toughest around.”
Race cracks a smile, even though you’re sure it must be painful. “Oh, absolutely. I’d topple a building with a single punch.”
You can’t help but cast another worried look towards his hands. Damaged, bruised, and they had tipped his cap towards you just a morning or two ago. Race always liked to playact a gentleman when you were around. As if any of you have money or morals to spare. The only mansion you’ve got is the wide sky above you, the expensive habits of running too fast on green grass. Your gold is a rusty coin or two, your finery hand-me-down clothes. Your mockery of manners is the closest you’ll get to that sort of lifestyle, but it was always fun to fake it, anyway.
“No more punches,” you tell him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Race retorts, “we’ve got to be out there again tomorrow for the strike. We’se not giving up so easily.”
The thought makes your stomach twist. Race, back out there, ready to get dealt another blow. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up so easily. Maybe this time he won’t be able to pick himself up at all.
No. You won’t let it happen. This is still your city, damn it, and you have not spent all these years sweating out your sunrises and sunsets to keep it informed just for the last bits of your control to be ripped out from between your desperate fingers.
“You won’t be alone tomorrow,” you decide, “I’ll get Spot to join you.”
Race frowns. “Jack and Davey tried that already, I thought. He said no. Isn’t Spot a dead end at this point? Unless there’s something else you know to change his mind.”
You sigh. “You’re not wrong. I talked to him, though, after your boys left yesterday. I tried. As much as anyone can try to talk to Spot, y’know. I’ll try again, though. The choice he made was–” There are a lot of words you could attribute to Spot’s decision to stay out of the strike. Stupid. Pointless. Backstabbing. You end up saying something a little more polite. “Not what I agreed with, to say the least.”
Race’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “Glad to hear it. I always liked it best when you were on our side.”
You snort. “I’se a Brooklyn newsie, remember? I don’t think we was ever on the same side.”
Race shrugs. “Maybe not in a turf war, but other times we got along just fine.”
You feel your cheeks heat up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Race grins, leans a little closer to you. It feels like your whole world is tunneling– you can look at his eyes or his lips, but not both, and it’s enough to make you dizzy. “The last month or two, I swear you almost liked me. Sure, you’re a tough girl if anyone asks, but I know what I know.”
“And what do you know?” You ask carefully. It takes every fiber of focus in your being to keep breathing, chasing every word he says like a high price headline.
Race tilts his head to the side, considering this. Considering you. “I know that you’ve been hanging around me more and more. I know that you aren’t trying to run anymore. I know that no Brooklyn newsie sticks their neck out for someone from ‘Hattan unless they’ve got a pretty good reason. Most importantly, I know that I want to kiss you, but only if you want that too. Do you?”
He’s so close to you now, practically a breath away. Just enough room for you to run if you wanted to, but also for you to do something else, something you’ve been thinking about even when you swore you wouldn’t.
“I do,” you breathe, and that’s all Race needs to lean forward and kiss you at last. He tastes like blood and foolish hope and promises you know he’ll always keep. It’s a damn good mix, enough to make you kiss him again when he starts to break away.
This is how you keep him safe, then. You love him too much and you convince Spot to lend Brooklyn’s support by hook or by crook. You defend the strike and you defend your boy. There are a hundred reasons this could all go wrong, but thousands, thousands more, that all shout for you to keep going.
Well, you’ve always liked a little bit of danger. Race is good trouble, and you are well inclined to keep him.
newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @amortensie
okay so yeah I did end up making a review/analysis blog with my friend - if you guys are interested in checking it out, I posted my thoughts on the Harold Pinter Production of A Little Life (with James Norton and Luke Thompson) :)
For anyone who does wish to attend this production, please don’t take the content warnings lightly - the self-harm is graphic and two charac
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I've been watching so much theatre lately, and I really just want to talk about it and analyse the musicals and plays I've seen and my family and friends are fully done listening to me talk about it... if I set up like a completely separate blog to talk about the shows I see and kinda review them I guess? From like a theatre nerd POV, or do a podcast or something... would that be something anyone would be interested in?
Because I really want to talk about like major specifics of the shows I've seen lately - Six, Newsies, Bonnie and Clyde, Jersey Boys, Heathers... but I don't want to bore my family and friends but I figured there might be an audience for it somewhere on here?
... or maybe set up a discord server to talk about it or something?? I dunno, it was just a thought - let me know if anyone would be interested in that kinda thing from my hyper focused musical nerd brain 😂😅
apologies for not having gotten the blurbs out - I got hit by a burst of inspiration for a couple of full length fics (a Race one, based off of the quiet!Reader blurb. And also, yes, part 2 of Boys Who Rumble), so I've ben focusing on them alongside by midterms. I hope you guys understand!!
… I will now also be accepting requests for the Ride the Cyclone characters if anyone would like to send in requests for them - I’m gonna reblog a new prompt list shortly so send in your musical requests!!
(Will still get the previous requests out, life’s just a lil crazy atm)
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… I will now also be accepting requests for the Ride the Cyclone characters if anyone would like to send in requests for them - I’m gonna reblog a new prompt list shortly so send in your musical requests!!
(Will still get the previous requests out, life’s just a lil crazy atm)
