Renaming Santa Fe To Something Along The Lines Of "if The Train Doesn't Drive Fast Enough I'll Throw

“Davey – Day, c'mon, y’ain’t makin’ any sense…” Jack says gently, rubbing his hand across Davey’s shoulders. “I mean, d’ya just not like her? ‘Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, sometimes a girl just ain’t the one-”

“But she was.” Davey insists, and he feels all the more like a child for it. “She – she was smart, a-and funny, and beautiful, and if there was ever a girl I could’ve liked, could’ve – could’ve been with, it’d be her, b-but I… I just…”

He takes a painful breath, his voice crushed - like shards of glass - into his throat.

“Jackie, I don’t…” He whispers as hot tears scald his cheeks. “I think there’s something wrong with me?”

His voice pitches up at the end like a question – but he knows the moment the words are said, the moment the thought is finally pitched into existence, that it’s not. There’s something wrong with him. He knows it. He knows it. And now Jack does, too.

big news ‼️ there's a production going on at my youth theatre !! guess what it is!!!! newsies!!!! guess who's going for jack kelly!!!??? MEEE

Headcanon that Albert just gets randomly emotional at night.

Race wakes up at like, 3am to the sounds of sniffling and turns over to see Albert crying his eyes out and Race, while extremely confused because why on earth is he crying at 3am, tries to comfort him and figure out what the fuck is happening.

Race: Al? What's going man, why're ya crying?

Albert, currently sobbing: The worker bees- They only live for th- for thirty days, which means that they- they spend their whole lives working for something they're probably never gonna even gonna see-

Race: Yup, and that's sad, but we're not worker bees buddy, and we have school in exactly four hours, so let's sleep this out, ey?

Jack writes in a diary, but instead of titling it like others would with "Dear Diary" He directs each entry to a different Newsie. He finds it easier to let it all out if his mind thinks he's writing all this to somebody. His diary entries are really more like letters he'll never send.

Dear Racetrack,

We got some new kids today, Davey and his brother Les. Les thought I was pretty cool, Davey might take a little more convincing. They seem pretty sound though, they got parents and a flat, the whole nine yards, y'know?

Dear Jojo,

We're officially on strike against Pulitzer! That bastard raised the prices without even a word of warning to us and expect us to just go along with it? Yeah, well, have we got news for them, am I right?

Dear Crutchie,

This wasn't how today was supposed to end. I know we were warned this could go wrong, but I didn't think we'd be beaten that badly.

I feel like real shit knowing I didn't go down there and help him after all those times he helped me. My brothers been sent to the one place I swore to protect everybody from, and I just stood there. I'm so sorry Crutch.

Dear I'm sorry I let you down Davey.

been getting oddly into poetry recently maybe I make a side account for that

does anyone see my vision?

psst

hey you

you’re awesome never forget that

bye bye for now 👋

STOPPPP THANK U!!! this was the best thing to wake up to :')

Davey keeps him close, flattening himself to Jack's back - he could blame the small bed if he wanted, blame the cold or whatever else, but there's no denying the thrumming in his chest, the determined want of 'keep here, stay here, right here with me'. Jack tenses for a moment, muscles seizing in reflexive panic, and Davey's worried he's wrecked it for a moment before Jack sighs, melts, presses the curve of his back against the sturdy bow of Davey's chest, like a fawn huddling into a shelter, away from the wind and wilderness.

"Spoons..." Jack murmurs, his tone more sleep-drunk than actually drunk now. "Just two li'l spoons..."

"That's right, Jackie," Davey curls his arms around Jack's soft stomach. It's possessive in a way that normally makes him sick, but he has to, has to know that Jack's there, has to let Jack know that he's not going anywhere, and neither is Davey. "You just sleep now, yeah? You go right to sleep, Jackie-love..."

He keeps doing that, murmuring sweet things into Jack's ear, petting along his stomach the way he does to Les when he's sick, the way Jack does to every stray kid who needs a warm touch. He's always doing that, Davey thinks, just on the edge of bitter - giving away all his warmth, letting people seep it out of him. It's kind, so achingly kind, but Davey can't help but wonder how long Jack's been doing that, shivering for the sake of someone else's warmth. Jack Kelly, protector of strays, patron saint of never knowing when to quit.

there isn't any public uksies boots yet! there'll probably be some eventually but since it's so close to the shows closing they're all private

THANK YOU!!!!! now I know not to work my ass off looking for one ...

Jack starts reading bc he knows davey loves to read btw. jack reads poetry so he can understand the way davey's mind works. he spends hours trying to make himself feel like he's worthy of davey's love. like he's enough for Davey to love, not just a husk of a man who lost his hope long ago. after the strike, and after jack finally settles down and starts living in a small flat in lower manhattan, he feels empty. without any reason to keep going except his job as a waiter, he spends a lot of time thinking. thinking about how he might never see Davey again, and that everything that happened between them was incidental to him, not like how it changed jack permanently.

what if he meant nothing to Davey? what if Davey truly forgot about jack? what if Davey never really cared???