#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)

[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.

[youaintnothinbuta]

I’m so glad I found a person who writes for newsies! Can you write something about Jack being super protective and caring about the reader? They aren’t dating yet but whenever the Delancy bros bother her or another newsie he’s like 🏃 “gotta go protect my girl”

Thank you!!!

“You don’t need to put up with their nonsense.” - jack kelly x reader 

Summary: ^^^

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 413

Warnings: none, fluff, probably typosss you know how I am

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You navigated the crowded sidewalk, your focus set on the task that was getting your stack of papes for the day. You dreaded this point in the morning, as the Delancey Brothers were never particularly kind.

As you approached the gates, Oscar and Morris intercepted your path. A pair of mischievous grins painted their faces as they watched you, you knew their snide remarks were about to begin.

“Look who we got here, you lost little girl?” Oscar quipped, a sly grin playing on his face. You startled slightly as he jumped in your face out of nowhere.

Morris joined in, “What's the matter, sweetheart? You’re not scared of me, are ya?”

“Please, just gimme my papes.” You sighed, trying to brush off their comments, determined to maintain your composure. However, the relentless jabs persisted, wearing down your resolve with each passing word. Amidst the taunts, Jack, who had been preoccupied with sorting through a fresh batch of papes, caught wind of the commotion. His eyes narrowed as he observed the Delancey Brothers harassing you, a protective instinct flickering within him.

Without hesitation, Jack swiftly approached, his stride purposeful and his gaze piercing. “What's going on here?” he demanded, a subtle growl underlying his words.

Oscar, ever the provocateur, responded with a dismissive laugh. “Just having a little fun with the girl, Kelly. Nothing to get your feathers all ruffled about.”

Jack's eyes flashed with a mixture of concern and a simmering anger. He positioned himself between you and the Delancey Brothers. “What a poor excuse of a man you are to be picking on a girl like this.”

Morris scoffed, locking eyes with Jack. “Save the hero act. She ain’t bothered, are ya honey?”

You looked at Jack, your eyes asking him not to leave. Jack reached to your hand and took the pennies from you, he smacked them down in front of the Delancey brothers and snatched a stack of papers from Oscar, handing them to you. Jack's hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you away from the Delancey Brothers with a protective gesture. “You don't need to put up with their nonsense. Stick with me, I won’t let them harass you like that again.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Your cheeks were tinted slightly pink by his words.

As you continued on your way, Jack maintained a protective hold on you, casting a lingering, meaningful glance over his shoulder to ensure the Delancey Brothers got the message.

[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!

[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."

[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

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Albert running into his art studio wasn't something Jack expected on a random Wednesday evening, but there he was.

He had a tattered notebook in his hands, and his fingers were stained splatters of different colours with what looked to be water colour paints. His face was red and puffy, showing that he must've been crying before he'd came over.

"Al? What's wrong with ya?"

"I need you to teach me how to draw and paint... right now."

Jack snickered, only to be met with Albert's face. "Oh, you're serious?"

Albert raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm serious as a heart attack."

"Albert, you can't just learn how to paint overnight." He explained. "It takes years to learn- I've been doing it for ages, and I'm still learning."

"Well then, teach me the basics! Please!" Albert exclaimed. "Show me how to draw a person- it doesn't even have to be everything! Show me the easiest of the easiest skills you know!"

Jack stared at him for a moment before speaking again. "Right, Albert, where is this coming from?"

Albert huffed and slid the notebook towards Jack. "I saw you drawin' Davey, and I wanted to try it out myself and draw Race, but I couldn't- I didn't understand how to do it. Every time i did it, it just didn't look like Race."

Jack flipped through the pages and saw the countless drawings of Racetrack on each page. Some were just plain pencil doodles, while others were coloured or painted in.

They actually weren't half bad. Some were definitely a little rushed, while others looked to have genuine time put into them. But on every page, you could read Albert's aggravated annotations in the corner.

"doesn’t look like race."

"too shape-y."

"wtf am i even doing here"

"sketch looked so much better"

"too stiff"

"who even is that"

"why can't i draw my boyfriend???"

"Okay, are you stressed out over this?" Jack asked, holding the notebook up.

Albert nodded slowly, scratching at the skin around his fingernails. At this, Jack threw the book into a drawer and shut it. He got up and walked over to a shelf, pulling a plain sketchbook off of it.

"Right, c'mere." Jack said, signalling to Albert to sit on the seat at his desk. He then grabbed a stool from the corner and sat it next to him. "We're gonna forget about your other sketchbook, and we're gonna start a different one, 'kay? I got this one off of Denton a while ago, but I'monly halfway through my current one, so this can be yours."

Albert nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. Jack reached over into a small basket on the corner of the desk and pulled out a sticker. It was of Simba from the Lion King. He peeled off the back and quickly stuck it onto the front cover.

"There. Now it's really all yours. Got your favourite character and all."

This got a laugh out of Albert, which told Jack that they were free to carry on.

"So something you should know about drawing is that sometimes you just can't draw the people you love. It's odd- some sorta science behind it, I think, but I don't know the real cause." Jack explained. "For me? I think it's because you love that person so much that you don't know how to draw them in a way that does that admiration for them justice."

"But you drew Davey for his birthday?" Albert questioned.

"Albo, when's David's birthday?"

"May 18th?"

"I began plannin' that painting in December. It took me half a year to plan that and practice that and draft that properly."

"Oh."

Jack patted his shoulder and smiled a little. "You don't have to do all that, though, but I can teach you bit by bit how to get to a point where you'd maybe like to try that out?"

"Okay then." Albert smiled back. He wasn't picking at his skin now, and he looked excited to begin.

"So, first step: pick up a pencil. Seems pretty simple, but you wouldn't believe how many times I've accidentally picked up a paintbrush instead."

-

That night, Albert fell asleep the second his head reached the pillow. He'd left the sketchbook out on his bedside table, alongside his bracelet and his black stud earrings.

Race leaned over to give him a kiss before he fell asleep himself, only to notice the book, which he didn't recognise.

He picked it up and went to open it. If it's a diary or something, he'll put it right down, but he did wanna see what it might be.

On the first page, he saw a sketch of himself. There were a few notes in Jack's handwriting littering the page, but that's not what he was focused on.

He didn't care if it wasn't perfect or anything.

Albert had drawn him. And he loved it.

[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

[jason-falsettos]

little javid thing i wrote after watching this (↓) edit

(https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8FYo9HR/)

The day started off very normal, just a bit colder than usual as the first days of fall set in, which came as a relief to David, though Les just whined about having to wear a coat.

"You just have to wear it for the morning, achi, till it gets warmer," David compromised as he zipped the jacket up.

Les still made a pouty face, but did no more complaining as he pulled his cap on.

"Let's go then."

David bought his papers as usual, then handed a few to his brother.

"Oh, c'mon, Dave!" Jack exclaimed, "Kid can take a few more! Can't ya, Les?"

Les nodded eagerly, and David rolled his eyes, handing Les more papers.

"Go gett'em, tiger!" Jack encouraged, sending Les off into the crowd.

David sighed, letting his shoulders fall.

"Jeez, Dave, you've got a cloud over your head," Jack teased.

"Just tired."

Jack shrugged. He didn't believe David's excuse, but there was no use in fighting it.

Jack threw his arm around David and smiled, looking up at the sky.

"Look at that sunrise, Dave," Jack said.

David, feeling awfully warm despite the weather, responded, "it's the same as every other sunrise."

Jack sighed dramatically. "You've gotta *look*."

And although he looked, David didn't see anything different, though he couldn't think right on account of the warmth invading his thoughts. He blamed it on Jack, who never seemed to be cold, no matter the weather, but the thoughts still didn't leave.

"Do ya see it, Dave?" Jack asked.

David shook his head, "it's the same."

Jack groaned, taking his arm off of David. "You's just crazy."

David laughed, soon accompanied by Jack.

And David couldn't help but think about how pretty Jack looked, even with his messy hair and soot covered face. He had such passion in his eyes, and the life coursing through him demaned an audience.

David soon enough shut his own thoughts down. No boy should be having those thoughts about another boy, David knew that very well.

"What would I do without you, Davey?" Jack questioned with a smile.

David smiled back.

Eventually, Les came back, showing off the shiny coins he'd made to Jack. Jack, as he always did, showered Les in praise, which lit Les's little brown eyes up.

Les grabbed Jack and hugged him, full of too much joy for his tiny body. Jack blinked, frozen for a moment, before hugging Les back.

"You're the best, cowboy."

"You too, kid."

Les was set up with more papers, this time accompanied by Jack and David, and the papers were sold before late.

Les was taken home without much fuss, but Jack insisted on taking David out with him. To where? David had no clue, and he wasn't sure Jack had any idea either.

So Jack and David began their walk, Jack leading the way. Jack also lead the conversation, jumping from topic to topic before landing on the sunset.

"Look at that moon! The moon sure is pretty tonight, ain't it, Dave?"

David shrugged. "Sure?"

"One day, I'm gonna take you to Santa Fe, and you'll see how different the moon is there than here," Jack said.

David sighed, but couldn't help the small smile on his face. "Sure you will."

Jack gave David a playful punch in the shoulder. "I will! Just you wait, Dave."

David rolled his eyes. "Santa Fe, Dave!" He echoed mockingly.

Jack laughed, and so did David.

After their laughter was over, a silence filled the space between them.

A few moments later, David found himself asking, "What's so different about Santa Fe?"

Jack paused a moment before answering, "I dunno. Just is."

David nodded, though that didn't make much sense to him.

There was silence again, save for the wind brushing through nearby trees.

David found his eyes drawn to Jack's bandana. He wore the thing every day, no matter what. It was worn, sort of tattered.

It reminded David of his Magen David that lay tucked under his shirt. He'd never taken it off, not once, since he'd gotten it the day before his Bar Mitzvah. Sarah had gave it to him, and Dave still had no idea where she got the money.

"Why do you wanna go to Santa Fe so bad?" David inquired as the question popped into his head.

Jack shrugged. "I..." He paused before shaking his head. "I mean, I've just gotta. That's all I've got, Dave."

"You've got me," David countered, "and Les. And the rest of the newsboys."

Jack bristled. "I don't know, mouth. It's just... I know I've got all these people, but..."

"They need you too, you know," David interjected. "You're Jack Kelly. They need you."

"I know. Maybe that's why I wanna go. They're ain't no one... depending on me there."

David sighed. Jack looked away, at the sky.

"I," Jack began, "wanna be something other than Jack Kelly." His voice was firm, some sort of deep buried resentment hidden in his voice.

"Why? You've got... everything."

"I don't want everything. I just want... enough."

"I mean, Les looks up to you like you're the Messiah or something. All he talks about is Cowboy."

Jack stiffened up. "David—"

"How could you want more?—"

"Maybe I don't wanna be no 'cowboy', David! Ever thought of that?" Jack snapped, shoving David.

The shove wasn't hard by any measure, but David still flinched.

"Maybe seeing Les's eyes looks so much like M—" Jack stopped his sentence, swallowing his words back.

Jack looked on the verge of tears. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. It was the first time David had seen Jack look so *sad*.

David softened. "Jack—"

"No."

Jack wiped his eyes and turned away from David.

"I'm sorry, David, I'd better—" He took a shaky breath, wiping his eyes again, "—I'd better go."

With that Jack left before David could even think. The wind began to blow, and David felt so very lonley all of a sudden, like Jack had taken part of his heart.

[theres-no-escaping-us-pal]

i have the urge to write javey fanfic

opinions?

[amoreva]

omg I saw your post referencing newsies... and (1992sies or broadway idc, whatever u want) with (whoever you choose bc I only saw u talking about Jack and I'm not really sure [I don't care I'm just starved of newsies content]) and they're helping reader become a newsie, showing them spots to sell at, helping them use their voice and be louder etc etc

ignore if you don't wanna do this, no pressure! and thank you if you do!!

RUBS RIGHT OFF

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: newsies x platonic!reader

summary: in which, you are introduced to the ropes and strings of being a newsie (it’s a little harder than you expect)

warnings: swearing, fluff, self-doubt

a/n: missed writing for newsies, sorry if it is a little short.

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“Now listen, with that cute mug of yours, you’ll be selling papes like a pro.” Jack Kelly, the infamous leader of the Manhattan Newsies, promised you. Your new (old) shoes slapping the New York concrete as you walked side by side by the leader, gripping your newspaper bag.

“Cute mug?” You questioned.

“It’s an expression!” Race ran by. A shit-eating grin on his face. A hand on his newsie cap, the other gripping a cap that wasn’t his.

Albert ran by you. His auburn hair unkept. He didn’t have time to brush it because he woke up late, “Racer! You get back here. When I catch your ass—”

A small laugh escaped you as Albert chased Race in front of the circulation gate. It was amusing how close everyone seemed to be, yet a small feeling told you you won’t every be able to achieve that closeness.

You washed up in the Manhattan Newsies Lodging House by chance. “Selective amnesia.” Race commented when you only told a few things about yourself. It was by choice.

Jack shook his head with a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “He’s not wrong.” He referred to Race’s words. “But it’ll be tough even with a cute mug.”

“Bad business?” You asked and looked up at Jack. Your gray newsie cap covering your full view of the so-called leader.

“Nah, today is great business. We get real good cash when everyone is out on lunch and stuff.” Jack reassured and pat your shoulder. “It’s the boredom you gotta’ get used too.”

“And them.” Davey gestured to two boys. They looked a little older than the newsies, but not too old.

The Delancey Brothers. Barely making enough money to get nicer clothes than the newsies. Even if they made money through not so morally good ways. It was evident with the shiny brass knuckles in Oscar’s pocket.

“They won’t bother you.” Jack reassured with a steady smile.

You watched as Jack gave the brothers a run for their money. A couple of this and that’s and the brothers were hot on Jack’s tail, until Mr. Wiesel said something. It was effective with taking the attention off of you, the fresh meat.

Morris only shoved the stack of papers into yours chest, grumbling nonsense.

Sweat trickled down your back, New York’s beamed sun cooked you alive. You felt like you were rolled your sleeves up for the umpteenth time. Jack had to be as warm, if not warmer, but the boy didn’t show it. The two of you had been out here for god knows how long. Your voice hoarse from shouting fake headlines.

Or “shouting” as Jack put it. He thought you could be louder. With your cute mug and the creative headlines you’ve been “shouting”—he thought you could sell fifty papers a day.

“C’mon.” He encouraged. “Miss Medda would say you gotta project. Shout it so the whole city could here the news of…hundreds swimming in an enclosure to live!”

A new aquarium opened up.

You were exhausted, fanning yourself with a folded up newspaper. The heat was unbearable. “Jackie boy!” Race slung and arm around your shoulders. Crutchie in tow. A grin on his face. “Journalist, 10 o’clock, around the corner.”

Race and Crutchie quickly steered you away as Jack when to see his girlfriend. Race may have lied, but it was all in good cause.

To save you from the brutality of work.

It wasn’t that Jack wasn’t a good mentor. Quite the opposite, but some of his selling spots were less than ideal—paired with his natural talent to sell papers quickly, he really could sell anywhere.

Race and Crutchie show you the best selling spots that some of the other boys have already snagged up. They didn’t mind sharing for a day though.

“No wonder why you have most of your papers left.” Race snorted and perched himself on a stone ledge. You looked at your worn out boots, feeling slightly embarrassed for not being able to sell fast.

“Be nice, it’s their first day.” Crutchie replied and leaned against the fence to put some weight off of his foot.

Race looked up at the sky. His hand covering the blinding sun. “Listen.” He trailed off and glanced at Crutchie, Finch and Jojo. “We already have most of our papers gone.”

He gathered the leftover papers and handed them to you. “You stand there with your cute mug and we’ll yell out headlines!”

You paled. “What?”

“I’m sure Jackie boy tired you out with all the notes he was given.” Race grinned and gestured you to hold out a newspaper up.

“The embarrassment will rub right off.” Finch reassured as his eyes followed a passerby. Crutchie, Race and Jojo follow his line of sight.

“Baby born with three heads!”

“Terrified flight form burning inferno!”

“Man discovers an unidentified object in his backyard!”

“Witch reported in Salem!”

By the time the New York’s skies were a burst of warm, radiant colors, you were walking back to the Lodging only ten papers. Race suggested you burn them in the fireplace later.

“So how was it today? Fun?” You chose to walk with Crutchie at a slower pace due to his leg.

“Yeah.” You shrugged, adjusted your newspaper bag.

“Listen, you’ll get used to it. Then you’ll be selling papes in no time.” Crutches reassured.

Light streamed out from inside. The newsies were already settling in for the night. Games of poker and wrestling matches were going on. Race ducked behind Jojo to avoid Jack’s wrath. They greeted the five of you and you sunk into a ratty sofa. Too soft from overuse, but it felt wonderful on your aching legs.

You observed the lively atmosphere, a small smile on your face. You could get used to living here, working everyday—coming back to shenanigans.

Fatigue and exhaustion have you in their clutches and you’re soon dozing off on the sofa. If there was shushing and harsh whispers to be quiet because of that—you didn’t hear a thing.

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