#fizz writes

[jack-kellys]

me, you, & the elephant | darry/paul, exes to… ?

A year after their folks' passing, things have settled into contentment. A little tight on funds prepping for the winter, Darry starts up a handyman business.

Forgetting, of course, that just about anybody can be his client. This town's always smaller than he thinks.

forgot to promo this… # hotparrysummer!

[fizzseed]

it does tickle me to think about will in college, telling all his friends about his childhood best friend who he was so in love with and how he treated him, and all of them going ”oh noo baby”. after which, of course, mike returns and everyone immediately goes WILL NO to absolutely no fucking avail. mike walks into the gay bar and will’s friends have to physically restrain him from going to kiss him senseless

[fizzingwizard]

Hi hi, I arrive with a little ficlet for prompt blueberry. Pretty PG stuff with a sweet indulgent dose of Snufmin :)

--- Blueberry Summer

"I want to go blueberry-picking," Snorkmaiden announced, sitting up.

"So go," Moomintroll replied lazily from where he lounged beside her.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"No." He had no plans of moving. The summer breeze was warm on his back, and he'd molded the soft, pliant grass into a perfect Moomin-shaped nest. He didn't feel like stooping among the bushes in the heat, getting his paws stained purple with blueberry juice. He closed his eyes, fully intending to doze off until the dinner bell.

For a few minutes there was no noise but the bird song. Still, he sensed Snorkmaiden waffling. She wanted the berries, but she didn't want to go alone. Typical Snorkmaiden.

Most days he would give in and join her. But… not today. Just now, he really wanted to prolong the peace and quiet. She could do this one thing without him, just this once.

"I heard Snufkin was thinking of picking blueberries this afternoon," she said after a while, sotto voce.

In spite of himself, his ear flicked.

"So you are awake." She sounded smug. Cheeks burning, Moomintroll slowly, slowly uncurled from his oh-so-comfortable position. He stretched his arms with a huge yawn.

"Well," he sighed, "if you insist on it. I guess I'll come with you."

—

They did find Snufkin in the blueberry patch. And not just him - Sniff, Little My, Snork, and Moominpappa and Mamma were there as well. There was no need to pick the blueberries either, as they had already filled several baskets to the brim.

Clearly this was some pre-arranged gathering of sorts, but the truth didn't hit Moomintroll until Moominmamma lifted the cloche off a frosted three-layer cake.

"Oh, it is my birthday," he exclaimed.

"Did you forget?" Snufkin asked in amusement.

"No!  But since no one said anything, I figured there was a surprise waiting at home. I never expected the surprise would be in the blueberries."

"There was a reason behind it," Snorkmaiden explained, scooping up a handful of berries and placing them artistically on the top tier of the cake. "Your birthday cake is lemon-blueberry, so we thought why not some fresh blueberries to go with it?"

"Also Moominmamma is going to make jam later," Sniff added.

Moomintroll accepted a glass of raspberry juice from his mother as the others fussed over the cake. The picnic blanket was strewn with daisies. The wireless played cheerful music at a low volume. There were plates of sandwiches and salad, and his friends had set lanterns all around, predicting that the party would extend, as Moomin family parties were wont to do, long into the night.

"Snufkin, don't you have a blueberry-picking tune?" asked Little My.

"Hmm? No…"

"Why not? You have a tune for everything else."

"You should ask him to make a tune for Moomintroll," said Snorkmaiden. "After all, it's his birthday."

Looking for an excuse to hide the mounting color in his cheeks, Moomintroll dipped his head to take a big bite of sandwich. To his surprise, Snufkin seemed equally off-balance, stammering through a weak reply about not being good at composing on the spot. (Which was rubbish - Snufkin could compose melodies in his sleep to make Apollo jealous. Not that Moomintroll was any expert in judging music… or could sing or play himself… anyway, everything Snufkin played sounded wonderful, at least to him, and that must mean something.)

"I do have an idea for a blueberry-picking song," Snufkin went on in a hurry, shaking loose pebbles and leaves from his pocket as he drew out his mouth-organ. He played a quick scale to warm up before launching into a merry, staccato tune, which reminded Moomintroll of grasshoppers jumping in tall grass.

Although they'd picked enough blueberries to last all winter, Moomintroll, Sniff, Snorkmaiden, and Little My ran laughing into the bushes, impelled by the song. Snufkin trailed after them languidly.

There were no more empty baskets, so they competed to see who could carry the most in their paws (or, in the case of Little My, who refused to be left at a disadvantage due to her smaller-than-average paws, in their frock). The bushes still teemed with berries even after the earlier harvest. He picked and picked, cradling the berries in the crook of his arm when he could no longer hold them in a single paw.

Sure he was bound to win, he glanced up, only to spot Sniff tossing blueberries into his mouth.

"Sniff! You won't have a chance to win if you do that."

"What do I care about winning when there isn't even a trophy or a bag of gold? This is tastier."

"I concur," Little My said, and bit into a ripe blueberry still on the bush.

Moomintroll turned to Snorkmaiden in appeal. But he stopped short on seeing the tell-tale spots of purple dotting the edge of her mouth. She blushed and covered her face. "Well, they just taste so good!" she giggled.

"Sniff's right." Snufkin sauntered over. He nudged Moomintroll with his elbow. "Besides, instead of picking berries, you can have a blueberry-eating contest."

Little My's lip curled in a smirk. "In that case, you lot might as well forfeit here and now. No matter how much you eat, none of you will ever outdo me when I swallow this."

And she produced the biggest blueberry any of them had ever seen. It was easily twice the size of the largest they had gathered, and bluer than a cornflower.

"A mutant blueberry!" Sniff let out an awed gasp.

"Gosh, can you even eat that? It'll get stuck," added Snorkmaiden.

"Cut it in half like a cherry tomato," Sniff suggested.

"No way." Little My's bun jiggled furiously as she shook her head. "I'm eating this baby whole in one gulp."

"That's not a good idea, Little My…" Moomintroll said, but he knew trying to warn her off the idea was useless. Little My always did exactly what she wanted.

Sure enough - "Watch me," Little My said flippantly, and popped the blueberry into her mouth.

She didn't chew. They all waited with bated breath, but Little My had gone still as a statue, unmoving except for a twitch in her brow.

"She's choking!" wailed Sniff.

"How can you tell? She looks the same as always," Moomintroll said. But as he looked closer at her face, he thought her skin did have a strange blue tinge. Her eyes rolled back and her paws rose to her throat.

Sniff squeaked, jumping up and sending blueberries flying. "Now she's drooling! She's going to die! Who knows the Heimlich?"

"What's the Heimlich?" Snufkin asked. "Just give her a good smack, here -"

He pulled Little My in front of him, drew back his arm, and gave her a few sharp slaps between her shoulder blades. She made a gurgling noise, but nothing more happened.

"Let me try," Moomintroll said, switching places with Snufkin. As the heel of his paw came down on her back, she jerked forward and the blueberry shot out of her mouth like a marble.

Snufkin gave an approving nod. "Good work."

"You enjoyed that," Little My glared at him, her voice hoarse but strong as ever.

"Hitting you? Of course not," Moomintroll protested.

"I was hoping I'd get a turn…" Snorkmaiden looked away wistfully.

"Me too," said Sniff.

"You're a bunch of violent louts. But I don't care. I won at least."

There was a sudden uproar.

"You didn't win!" Moomintroll cried. "You didn't swallow one blueberry! We had to Heimlich it out of you!"

"Well, are you going to try to swallow it?" she demanded.

They looked down at the mammoth blueberry lying on the grass, soggy and deflated.

They looked at each other.

"... Like I said, there isn't even a bag of gold to win," Sniff replied with a shrug. "I'm going to see if Moominmamma's cut the cake yet."

"I'll pass too." Gathering as many unbruised berries off the ground as she could, Snorkmaiden followed Sniff to the picnic blanket. "We've already picked more than enough blueberries. Some bird or squirrel will be very grateful we left the biggest one for them."

Everyone knew what Snufkin's answer would be. That left Moomintroll to bear the brunt of Little My's dagger eyes all alone.

"Alright, alright!" he groaned. "You win, by virtue of being the stupidest of us all! Even though it's my birthday and if anyone should win for no good reason, it should be me."

She grinned, satisfied. As she strode away, Moomintroll took some small comfort in the conspicuous dark stain down the front of her dress. That would take some work to wash out, and Mamma would make her do it herself too.

He must have seemed rather forlorn, because after a minute Snufkin wandered over and slipped an arm around him.

"Purple's not really her color, is it," he offered.

Moomintroll shook his head. "No, it isn't."

"I prefer normal, non-mutant blueberries anyhow. But not the teeny tiny ones. They tend to be extra sour."

"Exta extra sour."

Snufkin gave Moomintroll's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Race you up the hill?"

It bothered him a little, to be coddled by Snufkin. He expected it from Snorkmaiden. But he wished Snufkin would see him brave and decisive and grown up - someone to respect, not pet. His tail stiffened. "I don't know…"

"Oh, I guess your legs are rather short for sprinting."

"What!" Moomintroll cried, but Snufkin had already taken off. He was laughing so hard it was a wonder he could still manage to run. The wind blew his hat off his head and right into Moomintroll's snout.

"I'm winning, Moomintroll!"

Moomintroll absolutely did not yell out what the others later claimed they heard him yell at that moment. Snatching up the hat, he dashed after the old green trickster, who was only less of an annoyance than Little My because he was worlds lazier, and one day Moomintroll was going to smack him for it.

Yes, smack him. And afterward maybe Snufkin would let him kiss it better.

… It was his birthday, after all. "One day" might as well be "today."

Later, Little My would swear she had never seen a Moomin move so fast, or a Snufkin go from unflappable calm to abject terror with such alacrity. It was a good thing there were so many blueberry bushes around to conceal them once Moomintroll got a fistful of Snufkin's smock. It was less of a good thing that they'd eventually have to return, exhibiting the proof of their little misadventure in the stylish form of numerous purple polka dots.

But after that neither of them could ever manage to eat blueberries without breaking out in laughter. Little My drew a picture to commemorate her enormous blueberry find that Sniff claimed was greatly exaggerated. And "the blueberry summer" became a point of reference for the Moomins whenever they wanted to think on a time when they had been particularly happy and particularly content.

[coastalfizz]

As soon as the two of you walked in the front door, you were immediately dragging him towards the sofa and pushing him down onto it. He said something softly but you didn’t hear exactly what, you needed to ravage him so bad you couldn’t think. You dropped yourself into his lap and grabbed a fistfull of his hair before fervently pressing your lips against his.

Tengen broke the kiss and let out a breathy chuckle. "You're eager, what's up with you?"

You hummed against Tengen's neck before peppering chaste kisses into his skin. "What, I can't appreciate a pretty man?" You bit down gently. "My pretty man, to be exact?" 

"By all means, go ahead," Tengen exhaled shakily. "'S just different. Usually I'm in charge."

"Mm, not today," You murmured into Tengen’s jaw and shifted in his lap, smirking to yourself as you felt his grip on your hips tighten. “You’re not allowed to cover these up."

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Tengen breathed out as he leant his head to give you more room to work.

“You’re mine,” You bit down again, this time hard enough to elicit a hiss from Tengen, before running your tongue over the skin. “You’re all for me and I want everyone else to know it. I hate how other corps members look at you like they're undressing you with their eyes.”

“Quite the double standard, don’t you think?” Tengen said.

“Not really, no,” You grinded down on his lap and reveled in the low groan that rumbled through his chest. “After all, you’re my husband, not theirs.”

[bouncy-doelet]

Let's go for a walk in the park under a summer sunset, and then write in journals in my bedroom and get tipsy on champagne stolen from my parents' alcohol cupboard

[jack-kellys]

so we all know life is a circle. thus fandom is a circle. we see things come back around like the de/twinkification of racetrack higgins. or cowboy versus artist jack kelly. or "mom" friend david jacobs and the perpetual need to make the newsies some kind of heteronormative family. and yet again we've found our way back to the anti katherine pulitzer arc of her "getting in the way" of jack and davey's popular subtextual/fanon relationship. (yes im late nevermind that.)

now, not being a katherine fan is different than being anti-katherine. not being a katherine fan means you might have criticisms like "i'm not sure how she serves the newsies narrative better than, say, sarah jacobs, as sarah is more aligned with the newsies contextually/societally and katherine is very distant and rich lol", or even "i'm not a big fan of how katherine seems to be tired of jack's shit for most of the play and then 'suddenly' finds romantic interest in him within one song".

but being anti-singular-young-woman-character because of a ship between the main two boys is. a tired take is it not? again with the circle, we've had this discourse already and its been cut out. since 2012 and 2017 we been talking about this girl and her value, but not in the context we should be.

(because the context we should be talking about it in is a newsies 1992 versus newsies broadway context, not an anti-katherine context, but i digress.)

katherine's value. what is there to mine from? she is an extremely young woman reporter, 17-18 years old, whose article makes the front page of the new york sun. since she writes under a pseudonym, i'm presuming she writes with skill well above her age to be published at all (yes, even writing vaudeville reviews). in past productions she either finds the newsies at jacobi's because she saw the walk-out (TWWK) from inside The World (UK), or jack kelly simply interests her enough for her to seek him out again (Broadway/Tour/Live). she is unsure about herself as a writer despite her skill which is made clear in her song. she is rich. she did not need to have a career and was encouraged not to. pulitzer is her father and she does not get along with him. she matches jack word for word, often with davey at her side. she mills comfortably about the newsies through the second act and has a friendship of some kind with specs specifically. she also literally says "that's a face [jack's] that could save us all from sinking in the ocean/like someone said 'power tends to corrupt'" essentially prophesying the act 2 betrayal. which is crazy.

you can draw your own conclusions from the above, but all of it is essentially canon? right? so maybe you don't have to be a fan of all of it, but you're really going to tell me absolutely none of this is compelling. that none of this is something you can interpret for yourself as complex. that albert is more complex.

this is not me saying you have to include katherine in everything, because that isn't what this post is about. this is about individuals choosing to dislike or devalue katherine by only viewing her in relation to her as a romantic interest, instead of a complex character in a period piece with a full arc. yes a full arc. it's the musical that's rushed not katherine.

@we-are-inevitable speaks on this extremely well in the comments of this post as well, more in connection to katherine as being a compelling romantic interest in the context of newsies speaking in the defense of love interests/often women characters. in this post i speak on how i would navigate jack/katherine as a director, and in this post i speak on how to direct something to believe in to make it, well, believable, aside from its awful writing for both kath and jack. because again, fandom is a circle, and i literally talked about how to "fix" jatherine in august 2024. at length

[jack-kellys]

hey yall i wrote another darry fic, this time with a major tim shepard angle. it’s here on ao3, but the first 500 words are right here :)

--

1961.

Darry can admit it would've been smarter to ask for help. Though the asking would've been yelling, hollering for someone down the block to run outside and save him like he was some baby, so he'd refrained.

The shuddering noise of an expensive engine cuts off behind him, and holding his breath, Darry turns around toward it. A boy he doesn't recognize is in the front seat—likely someone's older brother, due to the fact no one in Darry's year is old enough to drive yet—with three other boys from his history class stuffed into the remainder of the Porsche. Darry sighs, squaring his shoulders as they tumble out of the car and hoot a couple of sneered greetings at him.

Darry's only been at Will Rogers for two weeks, and it's glaringly different than his middle school. Almost feels like a dang church, old and traditional and draped in high-ceiling'd ceremony. Students pray at their different altars, rich or popular or cheerleader or honors society. Maybe Darry's mistake was even just glancing at the sect he isn't in. Today he'd stayed late, hiding out on the bleachers and watching the older kids on the varsity team practice football. How their helmets shone in the floodlights above, how cohesively they ran through drills. At 14, it's easy for him to marvel at it in comparison to the teams he'd grown up on.

Perhaps the older brother was on the team and spotted him sneaking around?

"We just started classes and you're already such a know-it-all, Curtis," one of the boys scoffs. "You're supposed to either keep your trap shut, be kicked out of class, or not come at all. You're a greaser, right, or aren't you?"

Darry can't help raising his brows. They want to beat on him for being some kind of geek? Him? He's not grown completely into himself quite yet, but Darry ain't some small kid, that's for damn sure, it's pretty obvious he plays sports. He can be smart enough and still be a jock.

In the end, neither of those are his altar. Not the one he pays respects to.

"Sure I'm a greaser," he shrugs, raising his fists. He breathes out a sigh, heart pounding. "You wanna test that?"

Darry ain't been jumped before. He's always been tall enough, straight-faced enough, never allowing himself to look like an option to start brawlin' with. Guess his armor doesn't matter anymore.

His classmates run at him restlessly, arms circling around his waist before he has a second to think of a real move. The short, dry grass meets his back and pokes into his arms, Darry scrambling onto his side so they can't splay him out. He shoves himself to his hands and knees, finding a leg to grab and pulling the kid straight to the ground with a thud. The other two boys blink at him for a second in shock, before Darry plants his fist harshly into one of their guts once he stands up.

Whoever these soc boys are, they've pinned him wrong. He's no pencil-pusher; he just listens. And he supposes he's no jock if he has no team. So he's a greaser.

Darry rears his fist back again, but the boy he'd initially flipped onto the ground grabs around his forearm. He glances back for a moment, a moment too long, and a punch to his cheek knocks him backward. The boy gripping his arm rips Darry back hard enough to topple him, and he's back on the ground with his limbs being pulled and stretched and bent as the socs fight against Darry's wiggling and strength.

Just a greaser.

[jack-kellys]

He’s pretty when he lies.

More than pretty, perhaps. There’s a stunning quality to it that takes Daveys breath away- and it’s more than Jack simply having the goddamn audacity. It’s this glimmer the boy gets in his eye, no matter his expression, as if he’s casting a spell merely with his voice. It’s a far too compelling sound to Davey’s ears that slowly eases his thoughts to quiet and his gaze to fall deep into Jack’s, encourages him to simply nod and agree.

And the worst part of it is that Davey doesn’t think Jack has any idea. Jack knows he’s a liar, and he knows he’s pretty in a sense, but Jack can’t seem to understand how damn persuasive he really is in a way Davey can never be. Davey will always need his words, need something he invents to be his backup, but Jack- can get away with things, with a glance and a smile and a glint that only Davey seems to know is one of a false diamond.

And Davey decides right then, at least for now, that he hates it.