#newsies fanfic

[geonij31]

Hey Newsies Fandom, LETS TALK LODGING HOUSES (by someone who wrote a 13 page essay on them for a university class)

I’ve recently delved into the world of Newsies Fanfiction and I’ve been going a little crazy over some of the representation of the Lodging House so I thought I’d offer up some FACTS regarding some things I’ve seen. For this I’m going to focus on the N°9 Duane Street Lodging-House.

(If you want a basic idea without doing too much research or reading this post, just go watch the 1992 Newsies, it’s not perfectly accurate but it’s close enough.)

THE LAYOUT: the lodging house itself was 6-7 floors. The first floor was rented out to shops like some apartment buildings.

Floor 2: The second floor consisted of a large dining-room “where nearly two hundred boys can sit down at table” (Campbell et al, 1897, 122), as well as a kitchen, laundry room, store-room, servant’s room and living quarters for the lodging’s superintendent and their family.

Floor 3: The third floor contained the school-room as well as washrooms, leaving the two top floors for the dormitories.

Floor 4-5: Each dormitory was “furnished with from fifty to one hundred beds” (Campbell et al, 1897) with spring mattresses and plenty of comforters. There were also “private rooms” which were squared spaces quartered off by curtains for privacy. These beds, though more expensive, were almost ALWAYS filled.

A couple different sources mention the lodging house having a gymnasium (with a trapeze) but they can’t seem to agree exactly where the gymnasium was. My guess is it was on the 6th floor as mentioned in an article by The Journal. The attic was used as extra space for the winters when the dormitories were full.

COSTS: lodging was 6 CENTS (or 10 for a “private room”) and meals (breakfast and dinner) were the same price. Boys could have as many helpings of a mean as they wanted! Without paying extra! From what I could tell they didn’t serve lunch because the afternoon paper came out around noon and most boys just picked up something while they were out so they wouldn’t miss a prime selling time.

(Don’t forget that most papers cost 1¢ for customers so a newsie would only have to sell 6 papers to stay the night or get a meal)

AMENITIES: THEY. HAD. SHOWERS. They had access to both hot and cold water and free towels. Boys were expected to wash up after entering the lodging house. Also, as mentioned, there was a laundry room. From my understanding it was most often used to clean the sheets of the beds which were used every day, but there were also boys said to be around helping with chores, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they were also able to wash their clothes there when they wanted.

There was also a free clothes ‘closet’ with donated clothing for boys to access. It seemed most boys chose not to make use of it out of pride, but it didn’t go UNUSED. When a kid really needed stuff they would give it to them.

SCHOOLING: boys staying at the lodging house who did not receive a pass to stay out late were expected to attend the night school held there from 7:30-9. During the day the lodging house also held trades classes and other such courses for those who couldn’t attend a full day of school for whatever reason.

There’s so much more but that’s the basics of it and some of the stuff I’ve seen people get wrong (both in fanfics AND here on Tumblr) I’ve added photos from the Lodging house as well as some links of interest for those who want to go do their own research.

Campbell, H., Knox, T. W., & Byrnes, T. (1897). NEW YORK NEWSBOYS-- WHO THEY ARE, WHERE THEY COME FROM, AND HOW THEY LIVE-- THE WAIFS AND STRAYS OF A GREAT CITY. In Darkness and Daylight; or Lights and Shadows of New York Life; A Pictoral Record of Personal Experiences by Day and Night in the Great Metropolis (pp. 111–138). essay, Hartford, Conn. The Hartford Publishing Company. Retrieved November 23, 2024, from https://archive.org/details/darknessdaylight00campuoft/page/137/mode/1up.

^ Chapter IV: NEW YORK NEWSBOYS— WHO THEY ARE, WHERE THEY COME FROM, AND HOW THEY LIVE— THEY WAIFS AND STRAYS OF A GREAT CITY.

Riis, J. A. (1890). How The Other Half Lives. Charles Scribner’s Sons. November 23, 2024, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/45502/45502-h/45502-h.htm#Page_82

^Chapter XVII: The Street Arab

Riis, J. A. (1908). The Children of the Poor. Charles Scribner’s Sons. November 23, 2024, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32609/32609-h/32609-h.htm#Page_122

^Chapter XIV: The Outcast and the Homeless

Smallest saving bank in the world. (1896, February 16). The Journal, pp. 19–19. Retrieved November 23, 2024, from https://www.loc.gov/resource/sn84031792/1896-02-16/ed-1/?q=Great+Depression&sp=19&st=image&r=-0.421,0.085,1.842,1.398,0.

[livingathousandlifetimes]

For a piece of media that hasn't come out with new content in a long ass time, I'm constantly flabbergasted by the things I learn being in the newsies fandom

[hazeystar]

is the newsies fandom alive over here? because I might be working on a little gay fic...

[theres-no-escaping-us-pal]

hear me out:

a newsies fix where after the strike, Crutchie gets worse and ends up dying. the fic switches perspectives as they all deal with the loss. (including the Delancey brothers and medda)

[youaintnothinbuta]

“I saw you up there, Romeo.” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: Drabble where Jack finally makes his (subtle) move on you after he’s been pining for ages in secret. He does it at Medda’s performance at the theatre, leaving you to go home smiling to yourself with excitement.

Pairing: jack kelly x reader

Word count: 614

Warnings: none!! Fluffy jack <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and some of the newsies had gathered to head to theatre, Medda being kind enough to offer you any seats that weren’t sold scattered throughout the place. In the midst of Medda's performance, you caught Jack's eye. He winked at you, his mischievous grin suggesting that he had something up his sleeve. Just as you were about to mouth a questioning “What?” he subtly motioned for you to follow him.

Curiosity piqued, you exchanged a glance with Spot, who raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. With a nod, he silently encouraged you to see what Jack was up to.

Jack led you to a small side door that opened to a hidden balcony overlooking the theatre. The view was breathtaking—Medda's performance was visible from a unique vantage point, and the music filled the air in a way that felt more intimate.

"Thought you might like this," Jack said with a grin, leaning against the balcony railing. You gazed out at the stage, the beauty of the moment leaving you speechless.

"Thanks, Jack," you finally whispered, your voice tinged with genuine appreciation.

"Anytime, Y/N," he replied with a shrug, a soft smile playing on his lips.

As you watched Medda’s performance, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jack sitting beside you. It wasn’t often, in fact, it was never, that you got any alone time with him, despite having a small under-the-radar crush on him.

The way his eyes twinkled with mischief, the warmth of his presence beside you—it all filled you with a sense of comfort and thrill. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, your knee brushed against his, a gentle gesture that seemed to convey more than words ever could. You felt your heart flutter as Jack’s knee responded in kind, pressing it purposely next to yours.

Encouraged by the subtle connection, your hands began to inch closer together. With each minute that passed, Jack’s pinky finally found its way over yours, intertwining in a silent promise of solidarity and support.

As the show progressed, you found yourselves sitting closer and closer together, the space between you shrinking until it was almost nonexistent. Jack’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, pulling you close as if to shield you from the outside world.

After the final curtain call, you and Jack exchanged a knowing glance before slipping away from the balcony and back to the others. Making up an excuse, you gave him a hug goodbye, neither of you acknowledging the recent developments that had occurred.

After you left, Jack quickly snuck backstage, Medda arching an eyebrow at Jack’s return. “I saw you up there, Romeo,” she said with a knowing smirk. “Congratulations, you finally made you move.”

Jack chuckled, his grin widening as he met her gaze. “We were just enjoying the show,” he replied nonchalantly, though the glimmer in his eyes betrayed him.

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Medda’s lips as she studied him. “You’re a good kid, Jack,” she remarked, her tone softened by genuine fondness. “But I’ve got my eye on you. Don’t go causing a trouble, okay?”

Jack chuckled, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Who, me? Trouble? Never,” he replied with mock innocence, earning a playful swat from Medda.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she teased, though there was warmth in her laughter. “Now, run along before someone catches you sneaking around backstage. “And hey,” she said, making Jack pause his steps, “You be good to her.”

With a nod and a grin, Jack tipped an imaginary hat in Medda’s direction before disappearing into the bustling corridors of the theater. As he made his way back out into the night, a sense of contentment washed over him. Back at the lodging house, you were helping the younger girls get to bed, brushing hair, fixing sheets, the usual. Jack, on the way to his room, quickly poked his head around the corner. You looked up, your cheeks turning pink.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He spoke, his cheeky grin making an appearance.

“Goodnight, Jack.” You replied, your fingers busy braiding the youngest girl Lacey’s hair.

“Night girls,” he added, tapping the doorframe and walking away, earning a chorus of mini voices saying “night Jack” in response. He couldn’t stop smiling until well into his sleep that night, much the same as you.

Guys ending fanfics is so hard for me it’s like do I write 2000 more words or cut it off here :/

[kitswritingantics]

Jack teaching Davey to do rope tricks, but the rope ends up around Jack, and Davey pulls him in and just kisses him

"Jack, I genuinely don't understand how this is s'posed to—" "C'mooooon, Dave, you got it!" Jack said encouragingly, untangling the rope from around the lamppost near him. The two were in Newsies Square just before sundown, Jack determined to teach Davey how to work his rope. Davey grumbled to himself, fiddling with the rope and finally gripping it correctly. Jack nodded proudly, smiling at him. "Good, that's good, Dave. Yer doin' fine." A light blush colored Davey's cheeks as he avoided Jack's eyes, examining the rope. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it tightly, looking back up. "Are you sure I'm doing it right?" "Yer doin' perfect so far, Dave. C'mon, jus' give it a try!" Jack said, stepping back to give Davey room.

Davey hesitated, then nodded, winding up the rope and tossing it, actually managing to get it around Jack, which was the goal the whole time. Jack shot his arms up in triumph, whooping loudly as Davey grinned in surprised pride.

"I knew y'could do it!" Jack said, unraveling himself and tossing the rope back to Davey. "C'mon, one more go, Davey, y've got the hang of it now."

"Jack, I'm not sure, it's getting kinda late—"

"Relax. Sundown ain't fer another fifteen minutes er so. Jus' a couple more gos, c'mon!"

Davey's face cracked into a grin, and he nodded, trying a few more times and slowly getting the hang of it.

His last attempt, just as the sun was going down, Davey tugged Jack close by the middle using the rope. Jack spluttered a little in surprise, prepared to make a snarky comment when Davey reached down to cup his cheek in his hand. Davey's lips met Jack's just as the sun was going down, and the two boys smiled to themselves. Jack's arms came up to wrap around Davey's shoulders, his fingers tangling in his hair.

This moment was perfect.

[skylathescholarly]

Okay so like, this might be slightly controversial. But I have a couple fic ideas that I'm not sure I wanna write right now, and I want to take some surveys to see what'll happen with them if I do.

Now, I definitely do write for me, don't get me wrong. Either way, both these ideas are getting written. However, right now I have a ton going on, and I know if I start something that doesn't pick up at least a couple of readers, I'll get discouraged and never finish it due to everything else I have going on. So this is just kind of a poll on what's gonna happen if I write these.

So the first thing: A Newsies/Batfam no capes AU. There's a lot of detail, but basically Jack is Jason, Tim is Crutchie, Dick is Davey, and Damian is Les. It's based on both the 92 movie and the live production. I love this project but it is hard and I know the audience would be small. Please hear me, I am going to write this at some point!! I just don't know if now is the time.

The second thing is based off this fic but with Steph and Bruce. Writing Steph is wayyyyy out of my comfort zone, so this would also be slightly a challenge. Essentially, a metahuman villain kidnaps Bruce and Steph and forces them to sort of play house with her until they're rescued. Very angsty, very hurt/comfort, very "figuring out our relationship because you're not my dad but you're not my boss but you're something I just don't know what". Very nice.

Anyway! Vote pleaseeeeeee

[puppywentzer]

I Never Planned On You / Don't Come A-Knocking - A Phan AU

Dan Howell has been on the streets of Lower Manhattan since he was twelve, and he believes that will never change. Wake up, wait at the gate, see the headline, sell papers, take care of his community, repeat. Until one day a northern boy appears in Newsies Square and sends his once stable and safe life into something unfamiliar to him.

I got no use for moonlight, or sappy poetry.

Love at first sights for suckers, at least it used to be.

No, I never planned on someone like you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64079329/chapters/164406055

[puppethistoryhive]

can't help falling in love

relationship: jack kelly/david jacobs

rating: teen

word count: 1,168

summary: David catches Jack crying at their spot, which leads to some rooftop confessions.

read on ao3 or below the cut

On this particular night, when David had arrived at their spot, Jack had been facing away from him. That didnt mean he didn't catch the slight shaking of his body, or the muffled sniffles. This struck David as odd, because it was a warm summer night, the sun having only set less than an hour ago despite how late it was. He was quiet as he approached Jack, like he was trying to not scare away a small, frightened animal. It was only once he was a few feet from the other man that he realized Jack must have been crying. This was also odd, because while Jack was an expressive man who wasn't afraid to show emotion, he had only cried in front of David twice before. Jack Kelly didn't cry.

“Jack?” David's voice was barely above a whisper, but it pierced through the air and startled both boys. Jack immediately froze where he was, and David could see him quickly reach to do what he assumed was wipe his face dry. He turned to David a moment later and had a grin plastered on his face. It didn't reach his eyes.

“Davey! Funny seeing youse here,” He tried to keep his voice strong and steady, but it still broke in the middle. Jack just barely winced at it.

“Drop the act, Jackie. What's wrong?” His tone was soft, so soft. It was a voice he reserved only for Jack, and both boys knew it. They both avoided thinking about the implications of such facts though. He settled on the ground next to Jack. Up close he could see the dried tears and the way his eyes were bloodshot. It broke Davey's heart to see his best friend like this, and he really wanted to know what had caused it so he could make sure it wouldn't happen again.

“Ah, nothing to worry your pretty little head over, Davey. Don't stress it,”

“Jack, we both know that's a lie. You can be honest with me, you know that right? I'm here for you, man.”

“Yea, I knows Davey. I appreciates it, I really do- but I really don't want you to have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

That broke David's heart even more. Jack said it with such conviction, but also like it broke him. He didn't want to burden David, he would never. He shared most things, but this just felt different. He genuinely didn't want David to worry about this, he worried about everything else too much anyways. What was another one of Jack's problems? He knew he could deal with it on his own, he always did. The feelings would pass, and he would act like it never happened, until the feelings and worries resurfaced. He didn't want to have to always take care of himself though.

“I know you can Jackie, but that doesn't mean you have to.”

And God did that break Jack. Before he knew what was happening, tears blurred his vision once again.

“Hey, Jackie, it's okay. Can I touch you?” All it took was one small nod from Jack before David was wrapping the taller man in his arms.

“I'm so scared Davey,”

“Can you tell me about it, Jack?”

“I keep having these- these feelings. Ones I'm not s'posed to have,”

David had no idea what Jack could be talking about, and it made him nervous. There is no way Jack could be talking about- no, David needed to get that out of his head and focus on his friend. He removed his arms from around Jack and settled down sitting beside him.

"Jack, you can trust me. You're my best friend. There's nothing you could say that would make me hate you, or whatever worst case scenario you have running through that noggin of yours," He bumped Jack's shoulder in a playful manner, earning a halfhearted chuckle from the other boy.

"Davey, this- this is different. I couldn't stand to lose you." David took his hand.

"Jack, you won't."

"David," he took a long pause, and struggled to get out the next words, "I think I like boys?" David's breath caught in his throat. Jack was like him. That doesn't mean Jack has the same feelings though. He felt Jack tense next to him, and David realized he hadn't said anything back yet. He seemed ready to bolt. David squeezed his hand gently.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Thank you for telling me, Jackie. I appreciate it. I don't want to steal your spotlight, but uh.. me too?"

"Really? But you're so.. normal? I didn't think you liked boys,"

"Jack, it's not 'unnormal' to like boys. Sure, in America it's frowned upon, but we both know that doesn't mean anything. It isn't something anyone can control more than their class or gender or skin color. Actually, in Ancient Greece-" he was cut off by the sweet sound of Jack's laughter, "what?"

"Nothing, it's just.."

"Just what?"

"It's cute when you're all passionate and youse talk a lot," David was taken aback, barely able to process what Jack had just said, "I hope that's not weird to say now that you know about the whole boy thing."

"No!" David replied embarrassingly quickly, "it's, uh- it's nice, actually," he was increasingly glad for the night sky, his skin becoming incredibly flushed as the conversation progressed.

"Really?"

"Of course, Jack,"

"Hey Davey?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Can I kiss you?" David didn't bother answering as he leaned forward. Before Jack, he was never spontaneous or confident. The boy changed him. He was the best guy Davey's ever known. Turns out he's also the best kisser too. He approaches kissing like he does the rest of his life. Passionate and without holding back. David may have started it, but Jack led it. Eventually though, they had to pull away to breathe.

"That was... wow." David murmured, pulling away from Jack.

"Wow, huh?" Jack had a cocky look on his face, but his eyes betrayed him. They were as soft as Davey imagined his own were.

"Shut up and kiss me, Cowboy."

[we-are-inevitable]

and the sun still sets the same // ch. 5 - javid

It feels wrong. It feels wrong that David is here, but he’s not David, and that feels… different. Jack feels something crack deep in his chest. Does David even want to be here? Does David feel like he has to change for Jack? Why does David feel like he has to do anything for Jack? Does Jack want David to want to change for him? The moment the thought crosses Jack’s mind, he feels a twinge in his gut. Jack doesn’t want David to change. Jack wants David just the way he is. Jack wants… Davey.

Read on AO3!

[just-pot-over-here]

THIS IS INSPIRED BY THIS POST, WHICH @pigeonwit REPOSTED WITH THE CRUTCHTRACK TAG LAST YEAR. THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR AT LEAST 9 MONTHS. AUGH.

———

“‘Ey, freeloader, git up.”

Crutchie groans and turns his head away from the fingers digging into his temple, mumbling out some vague curse words as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“C’mon, Crutch, wakey wakey. I’m starvin’ an yer’ payin’ fer breakfast.” The offending fingers move down to prod into his side, and Crutchie jerks and throws out an arm when they catch him in the soft spot beneath his ribs. Judging by the impact against the back of his hand and the yelp to his left, he’s hit his mark.

He slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting out the windshield. The glass is fogged up and flecked with snow, thanks to Race’s busted defroster, but Crutchie can make out the lurid yellow of the Denny’s sign, bright against the starry sky. Now that he thinks about it, the moon should not be out during breakfast.

“Wh’t time s’it?” He interrupts Race’s sputtering, turning to level him with a stare that makes his mouth shut with an audible click. The sheepish look on his face speaks volumes, and Crutchie barely controls the urge to throttle the asshole to his left as his eyes slide over to glare at the neon green 3:42 blinking up at him from the dashboard clock.

“S’never too early fer breakfast.” Race pipes up from the driver’s seat. Crutchie turns to scowl at him, fully contemplating the drawbacks of beating Race over the head with his crutch. He knows assault is generally frowned upon, but he thinks maybe the police would give him a pass for this one.

Except, Race’s hair is falling in a mussed up flop over his forehead, his eyes are wide, and his bottom lip is stuck out ever so slightly. He is performing a truly masterful puppy-eyed frown. Crutchie feels the threatening spark of rage in his stomach wink out, replaced by that familiar, fluttery Race feeling.

Goddamnit.

—

The old door hinges screech as they push their way through into the lobby, and Crutchie stomps snow off of his trainers while Race asks for a “table fer’ two” like they’re at a five star restaurant. He grins at Crutchie brightly as he flops into the booth across from him, hands splayed across the grimy table like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever touched. The fluttering in his chest makes itself known once again.

Crutchie never said he was a strong man.

Race asks the waitress for waters as she passes their table. Crutchie’s pretty sure she either didn’t hear or didn’t care, because she barely glances at them as she pushes through the swinging door into the kitchen. He snorts.

“Pretty sure she was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Yeah, well, we aint gonna keep her long.”

“We better not. I was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Aww, cheer up, ya grump. They have pancakes.”

That quiets Crutchie, and he only offers a few more token grumbles as he watches the waitress come back with two waters. She carries an aura of cigarette smoke and flowery perfume with her, and it seems to perk Race up like smelling salts. She sets the waters down on the table in front of them and takes out her notepad, clicking her pen expectantly without saying a word. Race isn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Hey ma’am, g’mornin to ya! S’nice ta’ see a friendly face all th’ way out here.” He smiles charmingly. The waitress is unimpressed, and she seems to get more and more exasperated as Race rattles off their orders. Her masterful deflection of Race’s energy vindicates him a little. The smile Race blasts him with as she leaves is blinding, and it scrubs away any remaining annoyance Crutchie feels. God forbid he stop complaining, though. It’s one of his great joys in life.

“Y’didn’t let me order for m’self. How’d ya know what I want?” He takes a long sip of his water, crinkling his nose at the faint metallic taste that lingers in his mouth afterwards. Race, on the other hand, swirls his around in the chipped plastic cup like it’s a fine wine. He scoffs at Crutchie from across the table, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at him.

“C’mon, Crutch. I know you, stop pretendin’ like I don’t.” He‘s struck dumb by the smile Race sends him over the rim of the cup, warm and familiar. The fluttering comes back, butterfly wings beating against the inside of his ribs and making him nauseous at the way Race’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Jesus.

He ducks his head as his face heats, grunting noncommittally and taking a few more gulps of water. The waitress comes back and leaves them two coffees as he’s collecting himself, and by the time he looks up Race is holding his cup about an inch away from his face, basking in the steam.

God, Crutchie just can’t stop himself from staring.

He can’t help it. Race is practically glowing. His hair shines in the fluorescent light of the cheap ceiling fixtures, unbrushed and wild after a night of driving. His jaw is lined with three days’ worth of rough stubble, and there are the beginnings of some serious bags beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a gray Jets sweater that definitely belonged to Albert at one point. It’s faded and stretched to all hell, the decal cracked, the string long gone, the hood half ripped off the collar. In short, he’s absolutely unkempt.

Crutchie loves him.

It hits him suddenly, and if he were standing it would’ve brought him to the ground. He loves Race. Loves him so much it makes his hands tremble and his chest ache. Loves him so much it lives like a physical thing behind his ribs, clawing and beating its way up his throat as he watches Race pour milk in his coffee. He can’t control it, can’t tame it, he can only open his mouth as it nestles itself behind his tongue, ready to jump out and-

Race opens his eyes and meets his gaze, and his momentary rush of confidence is washed away in an instant. Crutchie closes his jaw with an audible click and swallows thickly, fumbling for something, anything to say.

“You’ve got somethin’ on yer’ face.”

Race’s brow furrows, and he rubs a hand over his cheek. “What? Where?”

Crutchie reaches out one hand towards Race’s face, oh so slowly, fingertips outstretched. He takes a deep breath and…

“Ow, dammit, Crutch!”

Race recoils, rubbing his forehead where Crutchie had flicked it. “Now what the hell was that for?” He glares as Crutchie leans back in his seat, pressing his shaky hand flat to the table and shrugging.

“Damn, guess it was just yer’ face. My bad.” Something in him is soothed as Race laughs at him incredulously. He watches him start tearing his napkin into pieces to make spitballs, and the thing in his abdomen quietly curls into a purring ball behind his sternum.

It’s okay, he thinks as Race lines up his ammunition on the edge of the table, running his mouth about how Crutchie’s started “a war he won’t win”. It’s okay to not say it now. It’s okay. We have time.

As Race starts a spitball war with him at 4:30AM in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, Crutchie knows one thing better than he knows anything.

There’s no place in the world he’d rather be.

[livingathousandlifetimes]

Welcome back my Newsies brainrot mental illness! Today I thought of something that has emotionally devastated me but will have absolutely no bearing on literally anyone in my life so you all get it here:

Jack Kelly was 17 during the strikes in 1899. WWI started in 1914 when Jack would've been 32. I'm SPRINTING to AO3 to see if anyone's started mining this hurt/comfort GOLD yet and I'm 100% gonna cry tonight

[jack-kellys]

OOUGHGHHHH CAN U MAYBE DO ,, WHO DID THIS TO YOU ,,,, W JAVEY ,,, PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC WHATEVER FITS THE VIBE IDK ,,,,

also unrelated sidenote i accidentally misread "soup for the sick" and thought it said "soup for the dick" and i was like yknow what? yeah sure. before i reread it and realized what it actually said LMFAO

soup for the dick as a bad things happen event.. hmm

ao3 series is here, and u can request a trope from these. let's get into it.

David isn’t one to stay over at the lodge. It’s not a simple thing to head all the way to his family’s small apartment, give them the news, and head all the way back afterward. Usually it’s rather late when he gets the chance to, and consequently hard to prove to his parents why he should stay out instead.

So this time, he doesn’t tell his parents.

Today marks the last day of Jack’s first week as an artist at the World. Sometimes he gets out early enough to sell the evening, or sometimes he goes in late enough to sell the morning. Today was a morning sell day, so David hasn’t seen the boy all day, and he should be seeing him… about thirty minutes ago, approximately. 

David sits on the lodge’s steps inside, feeling like an overgrown weed as other kids tumble up and down past him as they come down for or finish up their suppers. Maybe it’s childish to wait up for the other, and Jack could have easily gotten caught up with something at a place like that with all these fancy people. Maybe Katherine is simply introducing him to some people, or something. 

“I ain’t like it either,” snaps David from his thoughts, and he glances up and behind him at the stairs’ landing. Crutchie’s pulling himself out of the window there, so he must have been up on the roof. He gives David a small smile. “You’re waiting for him, right?”

“Yeah,” David half-grumbles. At this point he and Jack’s…tendencies toward each other were quite apparent with the Lower Manhattan newsies, so he supposes he shouldn’t be too embarrassed about being obvious. “He’s not usually this late, not after office stuff.”

Crutchie bends down with a balance and strength David can only wish he had, pushing his crutch toward David. David crawls up a stair or to and takes it leaving Crutchie free to hop down with the railing. 

“I know,” Crutchie agrees. “And, I mean. He knows this’s the one time to see you today?”

David bites lip, giving a slight nod.

“Then I really ain’t like it,” Crutchie chuckles, though his eyebrows furrow. David smiles his nervous appreciation at the other. “Look, Dave, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s probably thinkin’ all about how you’re sitting here sighin’ to yourself as you stare out the front window.”

“Crutchie,” David mumbles, feeling his face heat up. He’s not as much sighing and batting his eyes as he is gripping the fabric of his slacks and trying to slow his mind down from the top speed it wants to run at. “I’m worried.” 

“Me too,” C assures, tossing an arm over David’s shoulders once he sits himself down. David leans into the other, frowning to himself but glad to no longer wait alone.  

‘Alone’ quickly becomes a luxury as another twenty minutes slips by. The volume in the building has reached its exponential climax upstairs- most of the kids have washed up after dinner and plenty of them will be heading downstairs to the supper tables again to play cards and other games before lights out. 

“Move, Davey!” is demanded of him by 14-year-old JoJo, and David looks up to see her hands on her hips, expectant. Crutchie remains seated, also giving David an expectant look. David does as told. 

Children bounce down the stairs, followed up by Racer, Specs, and Albert, who pause when they see David and Crutchie. 

“Jack ain’t show?” Albert sighs, shaking his head. “Jeez.” 

“I haven’t heard anything from anybody, either,” Specs supplies. “No one’s seen him since the morning edition- not enough to know where he’s at now.” 

So a longer length of time than David had thought. His mind starts running at the speed it wanted to, gaze sliding to Racer’s. They had to start searching.

Racer nods, thankfully reading David’s mind as he heads down the rest of the stairs. “Let’s go, come on.” 

David jumps up instantly, feet wanting to move by now after far too much waiting, but movement outside of the front door stops both of them. 

“Great timing as always, Jackie,” Racer mutters to himself, but the door opens, and it’s Katherine, eyes shockingly wide, door still concealing most of her body.

“Kath?” David says, coming up to the door to open it for her. “You okay? Where’s-”

And then he opens it all the way. 

Jack Kelly is pressed desperately into her side, his arm slung over Katherine’s shoulder as she clearly holds most of his weight. Both his eyes are half closed, one clearly by someone’s hard fist as the bruise around it purples part of his wide nose, smearing half the boy’s face in the color. His lip’s busted, blood only starting to congeal as past drippings of it still line his chin. His cheek’s split, the knuckles David can see are bruised and open, who knows what’s under his shirt, someone's touched his hair. 

David’s stiffened, he realizes, as he knows everyone’s gaze on him. His eyes are only on Jack, blindingly on Jack, edges turning red, especially when Jack grins. 

“Davey…” he says, smiley, too smiley for David’s liking, “you’re still here, ‘s good, good. Wanted to see you, so Kath- Kath go’me here.” 

“Kath,” David says, steely, softly.

“Yep,” she replies, and David takes Jack’s other side, the both of them carrying Jack through the door together in silence, save for Jack’s sharp intakes of air every few steps. 

The thing about the main floor is that it is small and filled with tables. The thing about nearly every bed in the building is that they’re up a flight of stairs. Long ago, David figures, this problem was recognized and a couple mattresses were tossed down the stairs to live in the back of the main floor. This also means David and Katherine are forced to drag Jack’s corpse-looking figure to said mattress, and the last person to occupy it had been Splasher after the strikebreaking.

Every single kid in the building watches as David and Katherine move Jack to the back, eyes huge. Race, Specs, and Albert speed ahead to start pulling tables back and out of the way, and Crutchie follows, speaking softly to a few more vocal newsies to calm them down. It’s more quiet than David’s ever experienced in the usual madhouse of noise the lodge is. 

Slowly, he and Katherine lay Jack down on his back, and Kath immediately turns to him. 

“I just found him like this, right outside the main building,” she says, words hurried and brows crumpled into a deep crease. “I don’t know if someone tossed him there or- or if it happened right out in the open and I had no idea- I- I was working late and I’m- his ribs are busted up too, I checked. I didn’t know how else to- where else to go.”

“Right place,” Race says with a curt nod. “I’m gonna grab Mush, this’s… a whole operation.” 

He zips off, leaving still too many bodies around David and Jack when Jack is hurt and David’s chest is about to fucking burst with the fact. 

“Uh,” he lets out quickly, suddenly, his mouth motoring without his permission. Crutchie, Kath, Albert, Specs, everyone in the room looks at him. “Can you-” David stops himself. He won’t get anywhere if he asks. “Move, guys. Move, for a minute.”

It’s callous, he knows, and demanding, and maybe even unfair. They’re all worried, just like David.

They move. Katherine squeezes his shoulder, and Crutchie gives himself one last look at Jack, but they all move. It’s just Davey and Jack. 

David looks down at the other again, gaze withering. Carefully, his fingers touch the safest parts of Jack’s face, and Jack just barely turns toward him. 

“Who did this to you,” David demands, clear, enunciated, burning.

Jack watches him as much as he’s able, but he deliberately looks away after a few moments, delirious smile dimmed.

“Y’know those’m, those… friends I said I made? At the World?” he mumbles out. His lip quirks, since he’s about to admit something, and David finds a kerchief in his pocket to wipe the boy’s lip quickly. “They.. ain’t my friends, ‘s f’sure, Davey.”

“No they would not be,” David tries to agree softly, but it comes out of his mouth argumentative, maybe. Jack gives him a smile, covering a wince- David catches his hand trying to find his ribs. 

“You look like you’re gonna do something stupid,” Jack hums. 

“I don’t- have.. a look that indicates that,” David spits out. 

“If you’re gonna do it,” Jack continues, and there’s this look in his eye that tells David that Jack is just as angry as he is, “bring someone.”

David brings Race. 

He gets a general description from Jack as the night goes on, Mush having peeled back Jack’s shirt to ice his ribs and stitch up the cut in Jack’s cheek, and Kath points the two boys out to Race and David the next day. It’s kind of a team effort, sure, but to David the effort isn’t done until his fist is in someone’s gut. 

Things have made him feel ugly inside before, it isn’t that unusual for him, but this ugliness is hot and flaming and demanding action. And in the name of the boy David thinks he loves, he’ll let it the hell out. Race’s dark smirk only encourages it. 

He and Race surprise the boys, catching them on their way home. David hasn’t been in many fights since the strike, in all honesty, but he’s had to fend for himself at school as the new resident working boy in his classes. 

David doesn’t let himself think. If he thinks, he’ll stop, and that’s probably the better option, so David has to ignore it. He’s doing the stupid thing, he brought someone, and they screwed up one of Jack’s braids and beat his face in and–

He forgot how much it hurt to hit someone…

David shoves one of the guys into the alley as Race does, and his knuckles find his guy’s nose- once, twice. He earns one to his jaw, and he tries not to reel in surprise, because Race isn’t- Race takes his punch to the ribs he receives and hits back two times quicker as if to erase the action as a whole. 

David isn’t fast in that way, but he’s damn tall, and he takes his target’s shoulders and drives him against the wall, nailing him in the gut while he holds him there. The boy tries to rip David’s grip away, but David practically slams him back as a knee-jerk reaction. His eyes widen at himself, but it’s fine, it’s an opening. He runs his fist into the boy’s cheek. 

“David,” Race hisses after what must be a while, and David’s attention snaps up and over at the other. He nods, and they both drop what they’re doing and scram.

They slow to a quick walk after a few blocks, and Race grins, slapping David’s chest. The boy’s sporting a bruise by his temple, and David thinks he remembers Racer’s head hitting the brick wall.

“You gotta tell Jack! Davey, I never seen you fight like that,” Racer says, beaming at David- proud of him. David can’t help sending a tiny smile back.

“I know that was- uh- well, very reckless, and unbelievably stupid, so,” David sighs out, “thank you.” 

“Yeah, man, I got you,” Race nods. “For Jack, yeah?”

David finds himself nodding, vigorously, not thinking. Not needing to think.

“For Jack,” he echoes. 

The lodge welcomes them back heartily, and David can see Jack sitting up on the mattress in the back, which he should not be fucking doing. He ignores the cheers and rushes over to him.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Didn’t Mush say you shouldn’t sit up on your-”

Dark, cherry-colored lips press to his, sudden and silencing. David can feel the cut on Jack’s bottom one with his tongue when he pulls away. 

“You’re nose’s bleedin’” Jack whispers, smirking. David wipes it quickly.

“Uh, sorry,” he lets out, blinking at the other. 

“Did you get ‘em good?” Jack asks, looking up at him, a little differently. Jack’s gaze keeps slipping downward just a tick. David nods slowly.

“I think we did, yeah,” he confirms. “Race was a great help.”

He sits himself next to Jack, even though the boy should really lay down. Instead, Jack shifts himself against David, making himself comfortable. David’s arm slips around his waist.

“You really…care, about me,” Jack says softly. 

“Of course I do,” David nearly scoffs. “Jack. I-”

“This’s something else, Davey, yeah? Somethin’ new?”

David thinks about the burning, and the ugliness- how Jack’s pain had made him feel ugly inside, not just Jack. How he didn’t even think.

“Yeah,” David says. “You okay with it?”

Jack gazes at him again. One of his eyes is officially swollen shut, but the other is wide open, burning with something beautiful.

“Yeah,” Jack smiles. David returns it, without a thought. 

[sinkjustlikeastone]

if y’all have any alleyway scene javey fics I will take them gladly

[youaintnothinbuta]

hiii! could u pretty pls do a jack kelly x reader with the reader secretly being pulitzers daughter? (kinda like katherine’s storyline lol) :))

"So we wasn’t too good to be true?" — jack kelly x reader

Summary: Jack finds out the hard way that you’re Pulitzer’s daughter and he’s not happy about it. But, after forcing him to listen to you, you show him that he can trust you.

Pairing: jack Kelly x pulitzersdaughter!reader

Word count: 1,000

Warnings: Fluff with a bita arguing! Sry if there’s typos <3

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It was late and cold, Jack was hurting and angry. He’d gone back to the newsies from Pulitzer’s office, trying to disband the strike. The boys didn’t take this well, yelling and shouting at him like they hadn’t been friends for most of their lives. He stormed around on his rooftop, kicking and punching the railings, his breathing ragged as his body tried to keep warm in the cold air, and his brain tried to fight off the emotions that were becoming all too much for him to contain. The newsies, however, weren’t even the half of what was working him up so much. No, it was you. He was furious and sad.

While in Pulitzer’s office, he noticed the stamp patterned over all the documents spread all over his desk. Jack could barely remember what Pulitzer said to him. His head hurt, his brain felt like lead. That stamp had the same emblem as the one in your necklace, the one you’d told him was a family crest.

He wasn’t exactly being quiet up there, the echo of metal ringing and his angry cries made it pretty easy for you to find him.

“Jack,” you spoke his name as you climbed up the ladder to meet him.

Jack took a sharp breath in, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“What? Jack, we’re worried ab—“

“You’re worried, huh? Yeah, right.” Jack’s voice was raw with emotion, his words tinged with bitterness as he cut you off.

You frowned, confusion knitting your brows together as you approached him cautiously. “What are you talking about, Jack? What’s going on?”

He turned away from you, unable to meet your gaze as he wrestled with the truth threatening to spill from his lips. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw your matching family crest with Pulitzer. Nice surprise, really. I mean, how long did you think you could lie for?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as his words sunk in. “Jack, I…”

He spun around to face you, his eyes filled with a tumult of emotions – anger, sadness, confusion. “You lied to me, a-and every other newsie” he accused, his voice cracking.

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out to him, but he recoiled, pulling away from you. “Jack, please, let me explain—”

But he shook his head, his jaw clenched with determination. “I don’t want to hear it,” he spat, his words laced with hurt.

“Jack, I’m not my father.”

“No.”

“Jack-“

“I—I’m not an idiot. I shoulda known,” he groaned, “girls like you don’t wind up with guys like me. Just piss off.”

With that, he turned away from you, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind as he retreated into the darkness of the rooftop.

You weren’t about to let him do that.

“No Jack,” you gripped the back of his shirt, pulling it to turn him to face you. Before he had the opportunity to turn back around, you gripped the collar of his shirt in both hands, forcing him to look at you.

“I am not my father. I am on your side, Jack. YOUR SIDE. I didn’t tell you he was my father because I knew you’d immediately disregard me.” You stated, not once letting your eye contact be broken.

Jack's gaze softened as he looked into your eyes, the intensity of your close proximity playing with his head. He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion as he struggled to find the right words to say.

You could see the conflict playing out in his eyes, the battle between his wounded pride and the sliver of hope he still had left. And then, without a word, you released your grip on his shirt and took a step back, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You gripped at your necklace. With one hard yank, you pulled it off your neck, snapping the clasp. He watched as you leant over the railing, tossing it as far into the night as you could. Turning away from him, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you knew would come next – rejection, dismissal, the final nail in the coffin of what could have been.

But then, just as you began to descend the ladder, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Y/N."

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to look at him from the ladder.

"So we wasn’t too good to be true?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with uncertainty.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts of what to say. And then, summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you climbed back up the ladder and leaned against the railing, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Why don't you kiss me and find out," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jack scoffed and shook his head. But as he looked into your eyes, he realized there was no jest in your expression, only a fierce determination and a vulnerability that mirrored his own.

“Wait, you’re serious?” he asked, his voice tinged with astonishment, his accent thick with disbelief.

You didn’t say anything, your gaze never leaving his as you held his stare, your heart pounding in anticipation.

And then, without another word, Jack closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

In that moment, everything else faded away – the cold, his anger, his hurt, your fears, the weight of the world on your shoulders. There was only Jack, only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the overwhelming rush of emotions that came with him. Good ones.

There was a hunger in the way he kissed you, as if he was trying to convey all the emotions he couldn’t put into words. You pulled away, the soft smacking sound of your lips parting from his broke the silence.

“I am Y/N Pulitzer, Jack Kelly. Or should I say, Francis Sullivan.” You teased.

“You know?” His eyes widened, wondering how on earth you found out his birth name.

You shrugged, “We’re even now,” and extended your hand for him to shake.

“Nah,” he pushed your hand away, back down by your side, “I’d rather kiss.”

He smiled, pulling your body into his until your lips met again.

[geonij31]

It’s crazy how writing fanfiction has led me to comb through (at least) 3 months worth of newspapers to learn about the NYC Newsboy strike of 1918