#or just Morris and Oscar

[buttonsfleas]

Newsies cast are literally a mood *part 2*

[jackmkelly]

today im feeling the most insane about newsies ive felt in a while unfortunately

[i-didnt-do-1t]

@drinkin-cherryschnapps Ty for the request :)

Sarah Jacobs delivered lace almost every morning. or. the Sarah and Delancey’s run in goes a little differently

(I wrote something longish? shock horror. Enjoy!)

cw violence

__________

Sarah Jacobs delivered her lace every morning. There was always several piles of it to fix, things that got dirtied or caught in drawers or ripped. No matter how many hours she spent on it, how many times she accidentally stabbed her fingertip with the needle, there was always more.

She supposed she couldn’t complain; it was work and it was bringing money in, even if was very little, but anything helped at the moment with her father’s arm wrecked and David on strike. There was something almost satisfying about being the bread winner, her and her mother, even if neither of them could win an awful lot.

But that morning, basket full of mended lace and doilies, she knew she’d made a mistake by ignoring the looming figure she could feel following her.

The lace was knocked violently from her hands. the basket landing amongst the muck and dirt. It was at least a days pay.

Sarah didn’t feel angry often, it was an unfamiliar stirring in the base of her gut, but it was there.

And the boy that had knocked it from her smiled. Something that would’ve been handsome if it weren’t for how cruel it seemed, sharp at the edges, lazy. He stepped forward and her lace was under his shoes, ground further into the mud. Dirty and ruined and unusable. The backs of her eyes burned. She tipped her chin up. She should’ve know he was trouble when he’d mockingly tipped his cap at her, when he’d called her ma’am in way that felt like an insult.

“What do you want?” Her voice was surprisingly steady, even to herself.

“Just had to get your attention, doll.” He didn’t sound like he was from the city, accent placed somewhere distant and further south. “See I heard you know my pal Davey.”

Sarah could only assume this is one of the boys David had mentioned amongst his ramblings about the strike.

His grin was arrogant. She wanted to hit him.

But Sarah wasn’t stupid, she read the papers and talked to her father and other girls that did shifts in the factory like she picked up occasionally. She knew she wouldn’t be stronger than the boy, the man, in front of her, who didn’t look like he could be older than early twenties at best. He looked strong despite that, a scar cutting the corner of his lip, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

She knew her next best option was to try and run.

She didn’t get far before an arm, big and sturdy, caught around her waist, and Sarah felt her feet just about lifted from the ground and the anger slowly started morphing to fear.

It was enough to have her kick out, to drag her stubbed nails along his forearms and aim the heel of her boots at his shins and legs. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the bones of his wrists digging in just under her ribs as his grip on her loosened and he swore under his breath, words that had Sarah flinching slightly. Her mother would wash her mouth out with soap if she spoke like that.

But his grip was loose. Nearly nonexistent when she kicked again, a low muttered “fuckin’ bitch” when she struggled harder and the back of her head connected to his face. It was enough to shove away from him, now a second man, hair a little longer, face gaunter, stood just behind him. His jaw gritted and his eyes hard; a glint in them like this was fun.

Her breath was in her throat, she could hear it in her own ears as she shakily inhaled and exhaled, taking a step back, away from them, as the one that had grabbed her pressed a hand to his nose. It came away red.

They weren’t on the main street anymore, he’d had her long enough to roughly turn them to a side alley, dark and desolate and filled with old crates and boxes.

Her jaw was hard, mirroring the tension she could feel twisting through her body, making her feel sick with adrenaline, and she curled her hand into a fist at her side. She knew not to tuck her knuckle. It was stupid, she knew, but her back was to the dead end behind her. There was no one to run, and the two of them, both tall, and strong and terrifying, were filling the mouth of the alley. There was only one way out.

“You stupid ape.” it was low, made the one on the left quirk his lip up before she threw the punch.

It all happened in quick succession. The punch and the crack and the burning pain through her knuckles and up her arm as her fist connected with the rough brick. The way she cried out when there was a hand suddenly in her hair dragging her further into the alley while the other bled, eyes dark as he swiped at his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

Pain radiated across her skull as her hair was tugged again, holding her in place.

“You alright, Oscar?”

The man in front of her scoffed, his teeth were tainted red, a rivulet of blood running past his mouth, just down his chin. She watched the way it blossomed when it dripped onto his off white shirt.

“I’m fine.” It was bitten out. Oscar, apparently, rolled his neck, glanced again at the red on the back of his hand. “Who knew Davey fuckin’ Jacob’s sister could throw a punch. Like a feral fuckin’ alley cat, ain’t you.”

Behind her, the other man snorted. Sarah was sure she was going to throw up.

“What do you think Mo. I know we was fixin’ to find him. But this one is a little more fun ain’t she.”

“What’d Davey call himself. A pacif- a pacifist?” the one behind her said, Mo apparently, speaking over her head, he stumbled over the words slightly. “He ain’t gonna fight back. And Christ it gets borin’ when folk don’t fight back.”

Oscar grinned and his teeth were red. “And he ain’t the one that near broke my nose.”

Her breaths were shaky, like her hands, her knuckles on one hand were scraped and spotting blood, and the grip on her hair just enough to keep her attention sharp and neck forced up at an awkward angle, painful despite the adrenaline

“Y’know last person that broke my nose was my da. And I did his knees in with a bat last week.” It was conversational as he advanced forward and Sarah found herself backed into the chest of the man behind her. “But families complicated, ain’t it? You’re older, right? Oldest kid in your house.”

As he got closer she could see the raised red lines on his forearms, below his shirt sleeves, where she had scratched at him, not bad enough to draw blood, but visible.

She swallowed, tried to keep her voice steady.

“Yes. I’m the oldest.”

His smile was like a sharks, sharp and out for blood.

“Me too.”

His arm shot out fast, before she had the time to react or pull away, and he grabbed her wrist. The other, her free one, was all of a sudden yanked behind her, twisted uncomfortably up her back between her shoulder blades. Oscar grip was hard enough she could already feel the bruises forming, the mess of her knuckles presented in front of her as he held her hand up.

“Jesus. Girls are so fuckin’ dainty.”

His hand was huge on her wrist, his nails dirty and blackened, fingers ink stained.

“Like your lace. You made that, didn’t you. Darned it or some shit.”

“You ruined it.” She was surprised at how bitter her tone was, high pitched and furious and afraid, half hoping someone would hear, but the street itself was loud and bustling and they’d dragged her so far back now. “All of that- it was worth a days pay-“

He laughed, his grip tightened and she winced, her other arm twisted up further behind her when she jerked at the pain.

“If that was a days worth of pay maybe your brothers should think about goin’ back to work.”

“They aren’t strike breakers-“

“Nah, they’re communists.”

His hand move up to her first, thumb digging between her knuckles to wrench it open. She winced again, the rough calluses of his hands against the raw skin of her knuckles.

“Cept you ain’t gonna be makin’ no money if you can’t sew, right? Sounds real hard to do with broken fingers.”

Her blood went cold.

For a second it felt like time stopped as the implication fell over her.

She opened her mouth to yell, hoped that someone would hear her over the bustling of the street but a hand from behind her was slammed over her mouth before she could get the sound out. It was large and callused, and between the panic and the way it effortlessly covered half her face, breathing became near impossible, her lungs felt tight.

She could feel her eyes blown wide despite the way her vision darkened at the edges, a wave of nausea hit her and she jerked again, an attempt to buck off the hand that only cause him to twist her other arm further up her back.

She cried out, it was muffled. Her eyes burned.

“Two or three fingers Mo. How many you gotta use to hold a needle.”

The answer sounded bored, careless. “Save yourself the trouble and do the whole hand.”

She kicked again, and her heel connected with Morris’s shin. His grip did the opposite of loosen, tightening painfully around the lower half of her face with a mutter of “motherfucker,” before he raised his voice.

“Christ Os, just fuckin’ do it before she fuckin’ bites me or some shit.”

There was no warning. She felt the sharp hot pain before she heard the crack, hand numb aside from the throbbing heartbeat in her finger. Everything around her went quiet, a white noise muffling her ears as her visions blinked to black before coming back in a haze of pain. Her cheeks were wet, the hand against her mouth wet with tears.

“Fuckin’ tiny hands.”

She sobbed-

Then the white hot pain again. Like a shot of lightning through her hand.

She didn’t remember fainting but she must’ve, vision turning black and body slumping and arm twisting as Morris moved to try and catch her before she fell bad enough that her shoulder dislocated with the way it was pinned up her back. His hand had to move from her mouth but there was no chance she could make a noise loud enough to get attention if she tried.

“Ah shit. She out?”

Morris adjusted his grip to stop her from falling.

“Christ. Yeah.”

She was only vaguely aware as she was laid against one of the crates, back propped up against the brick. Between her blurring spotted vision, lightheaded and dizzy, she could make out two of her fingers, mottled black and blue. Her hand almost numb with how much it hurt.

Like white heat, so hot it burnt cold.

“What do we do now.”

“Tell Jacobs. Maybe he’ll go back to fuckin’ work. And Kelly’ll fuck off out west.”

Through her blurred vision, and the strands of loose hair in her face, Sarah watched as Oscar nudged at the lace on the ground with his foot till he found a clean one, less mud stained than the rest. He leant down and tucked it in his pocket.

Their voices got quieter as they reached the mouth of the alley.

“…is your nose still bleeding-“

“Shut the fuck up, Morris.”

[noxexistant]

working on the delancey scene pack (specifically livesies) and just noticed that on at least two separate occasions morris does a little jump at the end of staircases to get to the bottom so i’m choosing to believe that’s just a thing he does

[delanceyposting]

Girl delanceys part 2; refuge style

Requested by Nox 🫡

[baura-bear]

inspired after my brother showed me how to properly wear brass knuckles.

first time Oscar uses his brass knuckles he just absolutely destroys the bones in his hand because he didn't know how to wear them correctly. His dominant hand is out of commission for a few months, but he is sure never to make that same mistake again.

[jack-kellys]

SORRY FOR PUTTING ANOTHER ASK BUT ANOTHER NON SHIP PAIR FOR THE MUGSHOTS

THE DELANCEYS 💀💀

no but here’s the thing. yeah

u can still send barbie meme requests <3

never in the show was it said that the money they took to beat up trolley workers was legal work….

inspo vía @crystallizedtwilight’s color scheme work <3

[hellosammy19]

I’m working on so much random shit that none of it really connect back to newsies anymore lol

[thefactsofthematter]

this delancey brothers thing is so interesting to me because like,,, we get very little about their whole family life and backstory and the fandom has yet to come up with anything incredibly solid,,, anyways just thinking thoughts and i want to hear what you have to say

right?? i feel like for a while the fandom kinda shunned them bc of their role as villains… but a bad guy can be a compelling character too!!

i already gave a rundown of my backstory for them in the last ask i answered, so here’s my completely baseless thoughts regarding their personalities and relationship w each other!! @jack-kellys here’s the rest of my delancey nonsense 😙

- oscar is a deeply angry person. he doesn’t know how to feel anything else, when the world has been so cruel to him. he’s been trying to parent his little brother for years, in the shittiest of situations: from an abusive home, to jail, to their tiny bedroom at the newspaper office. wiesel is harsh with them, their job consists of long days of tedious work, and he often feels he has nothing to look forward to. he takes it out on everybody except morris, because he’s learned over the years that everyone is out to get him, so he may as well hurt them first. (hostile attribution bias anyone?? shoutout to all my fellow bitches who studied developmental psych 🤘)

- morris, on the other hand, strikes me as a little less angry and a little more scared. an odd hc of mine for him is that he’s on the fetal alcohol spectrum - he deals with numerous learning disabilities and developmental delays because of it, and it’s made all the trauma he’s experienced very hard to process. he finds his and oscar’s job frustratingly difficult: counting papes and keeping the numbers straight is hard for him, he hates how loud the newsies are (and how loud uncle wiesel is when he’s yelling), and he can’t focus for very long without getting the urge to jump and run and move around, which he knows he’s not allowed to do. he also knows he doesn’t speak very clearly— unless he’s very intentional with every syllable, which almost sounds worse because it’s so awkward, or using phrases he’s already practiced— so he’s given up on talking to anyone other than his big brother, for the most part. he lets oscar do most of the talking and is happy to back him up with his fists.

- oscar doesn’t really understand morris’s disability, but he tries not to think too hard about it. he doesn’t know why his brother needs help with certain things that seem easy— like knowing which shoe goes on which foot, or spelling the letters of his own name— but he’ll help him nonetheless, because that’s just what he needs to do. he thinks he might need to take care of morris forever, because it often seems like there’s some things the kid will just never get the hang of, but oscar doesn’t mind that, because at least it gives him some purpose. if he has to sit there every night and remind morris of the steps to getting cleaned up before bed (wash your face and hands, run a comb through your hair, fold up your clothes…) then at least he’s doing something helpful each day, and that makes him feel alright.

- a random anecdote that sorta sums them up (under the cut bc this is long already):

for morris’s 13th birthday, oscar steals a little stuffed dog from a shop, which morris names puppy and instantly clings to with all his might. at the time, oscar knows morris is too old for toys, but the way the kid lights up when the silly thing is handed to him makes everything worth it. he simply decides to accept that all the bullshit they’ve been through has made it hard for morris to grow up at the same rate as other people, so if babying him a little makes him this happy, that must be fine, right?

several years later, the first thing that ever compels oscar to lay a hand on wiesel is finding puppy in the trash on the front step on his way home from running errands, with its ears ripped off— he’s instantly sure that wiesel found it and took it from morris while he was gone. he charges inside and punches wiesel square across the jaw; he then spends the rest of the night barricaded in their bedroom, trying to messily sew puppy back together and simultaneously calm down his inconsolable little brother.

“you’re too big to cry, mo. you know that. you gotta cut it out before uncle hears you, alright?”

“but he took it. he took puppy away and wrecked it and said i can’t have it no more,” morris wails. “it ain’t fair, osc.”

“i know. i got it back and i’m trying to fix it, okay? i’ll get puppy good as new for you, i swear. you just gotta stop— you’re a big fella and you’re crying over a toy. you can’t be doing that.”

morris sniffles, obviously holding back a sob.

“you busted his head. why’d you do that?”

oscar shrugs. he finally manages to tie off a decent knot on one of the ears, which almost looks right again, despite his terrible stitches.

“i was mad. don’t no one mess with my brother without going through me, right?”

morris manages a smile, despite the way he’s still intently watching his beloved puppy be put back together, with tears in his eyes.

“right. and i’ll soak anyone who talks bad at you, i swear.”

wiesel beats oscar black and blue with his cane the next day, but oscar would take it a million times over for morris’s sake. when the newsies start wisecracking about oscar’s fresh cuts and bruises at distribution, morris starts beating on whichever of those loudmouths he can get his hands on until the whole lot of them have nothing more to laugh at.

the delancey brothers have each other’s backs at all fucking costs.

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

halloween, delancey edition

w @finchfvkingcortes as morris and @newsies-stan as race

[fireylesbianhell]

i really doubt my blog still gets much if any newsies fans discovering it but i am curious and was thinking about it, not only it being promoted from people in the fandom but a conversation with the guy who plays oscar with me today (i play morris in my local theatres newsies)

not to be someone drudging any Delancy Discourse, god knows i wanna stay far away from that as i can, so have fun but don’t get too heated please if any friendly debates break out

[emmedoesntdomath]

guess who found it in her to make a delanceys part three

HAHA

I WAS GOING THROUGH OLD NOTES I MADE ABOUT RESEARCHING OLD FAMILIES OF THE UNITED STATES AND WE’RE BACK ON OUR HISTORY RANTS BABEYYYYYYY

so! I’ve seen a couple posts giving ideas and headcanons about the delanceys’ backgrounds and ethnicities, and I myself have made TWO separate posts about their background, specifically relating to their father, familial income, and status in comparison to the newsies, but I’ve never explored their ethnicities/actual family history beyond immediate (partially because I had no historical basis, partially because I didn’t care). BUT. BUT. TODAY IS THE DAY THAT WE WADE INTO THESE WATERS, ARMED WITH NOTHING BUT OLD EMME NOTES, NEW INFORMATION FOUND ABOUT AN HOUR AGO, AND SHEER AUDACITY. YOU’RE WELCOME. 

to begin this expedition, we must start with a lil’ crash course of american history. or, pre-american history. 

fun fact- new york city actually predates the establishing of the united states! it was originally dubbed new amsterdam by the dutch, and was a city created purely for the flourishing economy and selling of goods. run by and for the dutch company, it slowly became a metropolitan hub of commerce with incredible diversity of languages and peoples. the british took control in 1664, renaming it new york, and turning it into an autocratic province. corrupt governors would routinely reward their favorites and give them land and influence. examples of these favorites include the jays (including the future founding father, john jay), the livingstons (who, for my hamilton fans, were related to the schuyler family, and who would one day host an alexander hamilton whilst he served as an aide de camp to washington), and, funnily enough, the de lanceys.   

right now you might be thinking, emme. what? their name isn’t even the same. and to that I respond, oh, yes, you’re correct- history has never changed a name through multiple generations EVER. don’t use any other major family as an example. clearly, they don’t count. or, or, emme, these are fictional characters, this was probably coincidental. mayhaps. but. isn’t it a little funny? isn’t it a little interesting that a show based so much in history chose that name? I think so. here’s a little more backstory. 

the de lancey family is/was originally from southeast england, and from the very beginning, they were well off. money, land, the works. then, when times got awkward in the good, ol’ land of the queen (ie. religious tensions), the de lanceys peaced out, and migrated to the new world. and, again, you’re probably doubting me, like, emme, you can’t just say they were there when you want them to be there. actually, I can.  

we know from censuses that there were de lanceys in the new york area beginning in 1740, with stephen delancey (HA. SEE? THE NAME CHANGED)(look em up, he’s important to this story)- whose descendants would retain his influence. 

the lovely little british colony becomes the united states of america in 1776, and the delanceys are proud patriots in the american revolutionary war, producing an american general by the name of oliver delancey, who was the great-nephew of our friend stephen delancey (and cousin to stephen’s kid, the 28th and 30th governor of virginia back when it was just a colony. still think this is a coincidence?). he had a kid also named oliver delancey, and from there, there was another couple generations of US soldiers. and then, after roughly 1800-1825, the delanceys just kind of…disappeared. poof. 

now, does this mean the family didn’t exist? no, absolutely not. they just disappeared from that higher class and state of influence. in fact, you can still find large amounts of delancey descendants in north america today. 

but to my point, we can say our delanceys disappeared around…1815. that gives us, what, roughly three, four generations before we hit 1899? and if our delanceys are maybe 17-20, then let’s go with three. that still leaves PLENTY of leg room for a father that works the trolleys and two kids who turn to their uncle for grunt work to make an extra buck or two. and- ta da! the history of the delanceys. surprisingly more complex and long that one might anticipate. 

(I donate this to @sparkedblaze and @noxexistant specifically xoxo)

[frogmanfae]

I like to think that the Delancey Brothers do the Delancey Dance in canon because they made it up when they were little just as silly brother times but now have sworn to only do it when they're alone and it's usually just one of them trying to cheer the other up after a rough day except one day one of them is sleepy but in a good mood and kinda singing it when the newsies are getting their papes and now the newsies sing it all the time to make fun of them

[i-didnt-do-1t]

The de-comicification of the delancey brothers with every iteration of newsies is so interesting, going from goons to genuinely intimidating antagonists

like they go from being (mostly) comic villains in 1992sies

-

to inherently more threatening in livesies but still with bits like running into eachother while chasing someone/getting their heads banged together by a nine year old

-

to uksies where they are just straight up really intimidating and genuine threats who can and will cause harm with like no ‘dumb bad guy’ moments at all

(Someone pls talk to me about this)

[noxexistant]

once again thinking about jack scott as morris when jack hits him and the newsies storm over him. curling up into a ball, desperately covering his head, and wailing.

[whistlingstarlight]

If Newsies didn't want me to find the Delanceys interesting they shouldn't have given them backstories and insights to their thought processes in their trading cards, let Mike say Morris has the potential to be good or let Anthony say Oscar grew up in the Refuge