I NEEEEEEEED Modern Javey Nyc Christmas ......... Assistant Davey X Busker Jack .... Christmas Day ....

It's 3:30 on the 18th and I haven't heard anything ........ im going to explode WHERE NEWSIES EMAIL......

MY NEWSIES AUDITION IS DONE! i went for jack and I really hope I get it but either way ill be absolutely stoked to be in the production ........ cast list comes out on Dec 18th .... pray for my nerves

@coircus-aceman @pigeonc0up teehee!!!

Three??? Days???

There are only three days left to sign up for the Newsies Gift Exchange?!?!?!? 😱😱😱

Whatever shall we do???

…Tag, anyone?

Rules for Newsies Tag:

You pick two people- mutuals, friends, total strangers- and you tag (@) them.

If you are “tagged”, you keep the chain going! Tag two more people!

If they have not already signed up for the Newsies Gift Exchange- surprise! Now they are legally obligated to sign up. 🥰 And they pass it on to two more people!

If they have already signed up- double surprise! They still have to keep the game going, AND you have to tag two more people!!!

If you’re tagged more than once- don’t be lame. Find more people!

Ideas for people you can tag: Mutuals, friends, other people in the fandom you’ve seen around. If that’s too intimidating, just tag your friend. Make them double-tag people for you. If you can’t think of anyone to tag, go through your followers or mutuals or people YOU follow to find the Newsies stans. Or, look up accounts that have tagged Newsies. Spread your wings and fly, people! We’ve got less than 72 hours!

SIGN UP LINK HERE!!!

TW: Death

---

There had only ever been two deaths in the Manhattan Lodge House.

13 years ago, a 12 year old boy named Rocky. A kid who'd been in the refuge for 8 years of his life and seemed to have contracted every virus he could've caught.

He went out quietly, passing away in his sleep and never waking up. An older girl, Nifty, was the one who found him and quickly informed Kloppman, who had him buried later that week in the patch of grass outside.

The second time was after the fight.

Everybody was sleeping soundly, aside from Race and Albert. Jack was nowhere to be found, so until further notice, they were now the ones in command throughout the house. They couldn't bring themselves to fall asleep in case something were to happen, so they were trying to keep themselves awake as long as possible.

They were simply lying there, Race tracing random patterns onto Albert's thighs with his thumb, while Albert smoked his cigar, trying to relax after such a rough day.

At around 01.36, Tommy Boy rushed over to their bunk, tears spilling down his face and panic in his eyes.

"Jesus Tommy, what's happening?" Albert asked, quickly showing himself to a sitting position. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"I think I did-" He stuttered out. "Splasher ain't waking up. We shook him, said his name, slapped him a few times but he still ain't wakin' up-"

Race swung himself off the bunk, Albert following suit and running to Splashers bunk, praying to whoever was up there that the situation wasn't as bad as they were thinking.

At the bunk, Buttons could be seen holding Splashers limp body in his arms, sobbing to himself.

"Buttons...is he-" Race began, before being cut off by Buttons slowly nodding his head.

"He's gone." Buttons whispered, wiping his cheeks as dry as he could get them. "My baby brother is gone."

A few more people were starting to wake up at the noise they were all making. JoJo had caught onto what had happened, and while his shake had come back, he was ushering some of the younger kids out of the room, making the situation easier for the ones in charge.

"C'mon Ike, outta bed." He whispered, Mike asleep on his back and Mush at his side. "Yeah, we's gonna go on a little midnight walk, aye?"

"Jo, yous are shakin'." Specs uttered, putting a hand on the other boys arm. "That ain't happened in a while, you sure you's are good?"

"I'm fine." JoJo replied, walking the kids out of the room. "Call for me when we can come back in."

Specs nodded, walking over to the group at the bed.

Albert had run downstairs to go and grab Kloppman, let him know about the situation on their hands, leaving Racer, Buttons, Tommy Boy, Specs, and poor Splish-Splash.

Tommy Boy was holding onto Buttons, who was now sobbing into his shoulder. Racer had Splashers body covered with a bedsheet, a few specs of blood from his injuries seeping through.

"Christ." Race sighed, unable to break his watch on the body. "Kids only what, eight? Still had everythin' ahead of him."

Soon enough, word had spread to everybody in the room about the death, Kloppman running in with Albert beside him, confirming the fact for everyone.

That night, Splasher stayed lying on that bed with the sheet remaining atop of him.

The next morning, Finch and Henry were sent outside to dig another spot in the ground where they'd lay Splasher just a few hours later.

Much like with Rocky, it was only some of the older Newsies who went out to witness the burial.

Tommy Boy and Buttons were crying again. They'd just lost their little brother, the kid they'd practically raised throughout their childhoods. Now he was gone, just like that, all because of that stupid rally. Kind words had been said, but that doesn't bring back the most important person in their lives.

Race and Albert were dead silent, practically unable to speak from shock and fear. How had Jack done this for so long without cracking? It was their first day, and a kid had just died. They'd been told that it wasn't their fault by Kloppman numerous times, but it just couldn't sit right with them that a child died under their supervision.

JoJo was leading a small prayer service. He hadn't stopped shaking, making a short note to himself to tell the nuns how long this one seemed to be going on for. He'd been in charge of keeping the little kids occupied and distracted, but he knew deep down that there was only so long he could hide the death of one of the loudest kids in the house. He was just praying the day wouldn't be sooner but much later.

For multiple years after, they would look out the window and see the graves of Splasher and Rocky, remembering two kids who ended up dying to fend for themselves and their families.

It wasn't about pennies from that moment onwards. It was about remembering the newsies lost selling to help their family and striking to help future generations.

“Okay, Quintin,” Davey sighs, arms folded at the little tuxy squatting precariously on the ajar door. “I don’t think you’re meant to be up there-“

The kitten’s paw whips forward, batting Davey across the face, and perhaps Jack has been watching too many soaps, because he can’t help his dramatic gasp. Davey only blinks, his glasses now dangling askew from his nose.

“You’ve assaulted me, Quintin.” Davey says flatly. “I will never forget this disrespect.”

Quintin hunkers down in shame, mewing piteously from his perch.

“No, there’s no room for excuses now,” Davey scolds in that same flat tone as he reaches on his tiptoes, his shoulders pulling at the flimsy hem of his work polo. “You are being unreasonable, Quintin. You are making a scene.”

It’s truly, honest to God unfair how well Davey pulls off a shitty work polo.

Quintin squirms on the thin line of the door, still not wanting to come down but growing more and more aware that he is a very wobbly kitten on a very small surface. He mews irritably, if only to prove he can, and Davey tuts his tongue against his teeth. He slides a hand under Quintin’s soft white belly and pulls him down in one slow and fluid motion, cradling the little thing to his chest as Quintin meows furiously.

“Right, then,” he mutters in a faraway monotone, as if his consciousness has left the human world in order to communicate with this very bad-tempered kitten. “To jail with you, young man – no, no, I shan’t hear it-"

Jack can only watch as he drags Quintin’s yowling little self back to the cattery, rambling nonsense while a kitten squirms and whines in his arms. Jack swallows, bracing one arm against the desk.

Davey may be the first man in all of history to make the word “shan’t” sound sexy.

does anybody want to learn about my newsies oc .... might post tmr

nUWUsies

He’s Gone- Specs

Summary- Specs goes to deliver some bad news to Crutchie.

Specs shielded his face against the rain as he stumbled along the narrow road, nearly blinded by the drops of water but still able to see a single speck of light from a street lamp, guiding him through the alleyways. His arms and legs hurt- everything hurt- but he merely gritted his teeth and walked on, not stopping until he saw the place of his nightmares in the distance.

The Refuge. Specs was one of few newsies who’d never been caught within its walls; he was one of the lucky ones. He’d always considered it some sort of mythical creature, looking to ensnare anyone who got too close to its gaping jaws, searching for the weakest of a bunch and trapping them. Jack had been there, Race had been there- god, nearly everyone he knew except himself had served a month or two- and they only had one word to describe it.

Hell.

Swallowing the nervousness that piled up in his throat, choking his voice, Specs began to climb the rickety fire escape on the side of the building. The window was locked, of course it was, and as he reached into his pocket to pull out a makeshift lock pick, he heard a sound coming from inside.

Sucking in a quick breath, ducking down, Specs prayed he wasn’t visible to anyone passing by. He stayed there, not daring to move or breathe, until he heard a voice whisper above him.

“Psst! Specs!”

Glancing up, he met the bruised and broken face of Crutchie, whose eyes had lit up as soon as their gazes made contact. Forcing a smile that felt like more of a grimace, Specs stood and gathered the boy in a hug.

“Crutchie,” he said, taking in Crutchie’s battered form. “It’s nice to see you, bud.”

“You too.” Crutchie picked at a loose splinter on the windowsill. “So, any news of the strike?”

Specs’s heart went cold as he remembered why he was there. “Since I was last here, there’s been… changes.” He watched Crutchie’s face fall as he relayed the news of Jack’s scabbing, of the rally that had failed so badly and dashed any hope of winning for the newsies.

“So, Davey’s taken over?” Crutchie asked, his voice low and wobbling. Specs nodded, unable to meet his eye.

“I’m sorry, Crutch,” he muttered. “Jack’s run off with the money now- he’s gone.”

Crutchie just stood for a second, breathing shallow, the look of disbelief almost too much to bear. “Leave,” he commanded, almost too softly to hear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, leave.” Crutchie’s voice was low, full of tears yet boiling over with anger. “Ain’t no use for you bein’ here if the strike’s finished.”

“I can’t leave you,” Specs argued. “What if… what if he hurts you worse now that there ain’t no one to save you?”

Crutchie laughed, cruel and sharp. “Ha! If he wants to hurt me, let ‘im. What’s one kid in the grand scheme of things? We lost, Specs. We’re done.”

Fighting back the urge to yell at him, to beg him to stay, Specs lifted his head, tears stinging the back of his eyes. “Don’t lose hope, Crutchie,” he said, trying to imitate the confidence Jack had always shown. “We’ll get ya out of here.”

“Sure you will.” Crutchie glared down at him. “But don’t be surprised if you can’t.” He slammed down the window, barely missing Specs’ fingers, and the bespectacled newsie barely heard the cry of fear and anger that followed.

Turning on his heels, Specs walked quickly away, his hopes dashed and his mind running wild.

Maybe Crutchie’s right, he thought to himself, staring out at the barely-visible moon, rain soaking him to his skin. Maybe we can’t do this.

Not without Jack, anyway.

gay gay homosexual gay

bonus:

Have you gotten sooo attached to a mutual or are you normal

love when a moot likes my post after being away for a day or so ... like welcome back babe!!!