Don't Come A-knocking But It's Javey ... PLEASE ... Ill Write It Ill Do It Guys ...

anyway! shoutout to all real artists in and around the newsies fandom. whatever your level of “skill” is, however you feel about your own art, however frequently you draw, whether you even share it at all - if you have ever picked up a pencil or a crayon or a stylus or a paintbrush or your finger on a touch screen, and created a doodle or a drawing or a painting of a character or a setting or a scene that you love, i love you. you are so important. you are everything. and ai will never, ever be able to create anything that matters even a sliver of how much your art matters. please keep going.

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

Ok screw it. I'm just gonna say it.... This song is literally David singing about going to Santa Fe after Jack died and how he's going because it was Jack's dying wish, and he loved Jack. (Might try and draw the scene) Also I think if Jack died this is how they would have ended Newsies. Also David has a Photo of him and Jack and he's looking at it through the song.

@artemis-lynn

davey calling his parents mama and papa is so sweet to me .... my son .... my baby boy ....

does anyone see my vision?

gay people for todayyyyyyyyyyyy

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.

ok so. jack was denied physical touch for all of his life, and the newsies aren't really big on it. jack sought out physical touch through playful slaps and shadow boxing, and flopping his arm over someone's shoulder as inconspicuously as possible.

Davey sees straight through it ... and he lets jack do his thing. lets jack shadow box him and rub his shoulders and offer to give him back massages and beat him up out of love ... because he knows jack needs that kind of validation ... (meanwhile jacks thinking he's the most inconspicuous guy ever)

so when jack starts gravitating towards davey, davey takes that as a success . jack feels safe around him ... and davey knows, especially regarding jacks past, that this is a feat. to be this close with jack, who only ever let his walls all the way down around crutchie ...

and when jack confesses thag he has feelings for davey, Davey can't help but celebrate on the inside. sure, he's had feelings for jack for ages too, but davey takes the greatest joy in the fact that he is one of jacks few safe people ....

“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.

the promised davey drawing .... i should draw more ..