Albert Newsies - Blog Posts

i think it's high time I show you guys my newsies 2d designs bc I draw them ALL the time ... especially in my chemistry book LMAO. coming soon ...... in the meantime have ralbert :)

so albert has like long-ish hair, right? he puts his hair up in double braids more for practicality's sake than anything. he has two younger sisters, that's how he knows how to braid.

now consider race who sees albert doing his hair up and watches so intently that he learns. sometimes the girlsies in brooklyn let him practice on their hair, just so he can offer to do it for albert. albert doesn't say yes very often.

but, one day he does. his wrists hurt and his arms are tired. he sits down at the bottom of the staircase of the lodging house, race sits a step higher. albert lays his head on race's thigh, just a little bit, and race nearly explodes. he tries not to pull on the braid too hard (spot's main complaint) and albert sighs happily as he feels race's fingers card through his hair. it's music to races ears. he lets himself smile, softly, smittenly, as he 'accidentally' strokes albert's cheek on his way to get a new strand of hair.

race wants this all the time.

writing drabbles isn't enough I need to SEE the characters do the things

Albert lies on Race's bed. It's 8:34am (or so Race's clock tells him), he's groggy, and he can hear Race's microwave and coffee machine.

He blinks a few times. He remembers what had happened last night; he wasn't THAT drunk, and he remembers it was fucking embarrassing. He dreads facing Race as he will inevitably have to.

Race, the cute guy in apartment 309 that now knows it was Albert leaving him meals after he overheard on the phone Race hated cooking, Race who smells faintly of smoke and has a crooked smile, Race who he shared a bed with last night, Race who gave Albert his hoodie. Race who, Albert is certain of it, he is completely and totally crushing on.

He drags one foot to the floor, then another, pushing himself upright. His sweatpants are creased, the neckline of his- Race's- hoodie is askew, his hair is knotted and all over the place; he can tell just by running a hand through it. He follows the noise of the coffee machine to Race's kitchen.

There he is.

God, Albert nearly faints. His hair is adorably tousled, his shirt is loose and hanging barely onto his shoulders, he has his back to Albert, letting him drink in all of his sharp lines, curved musculature- or at least what he can see under the shirt.

Albert clears his throat.

Race turns, brandishing a mug. "Morning! How'd you sleep?"

Albert tears his eyes from Race's figure to look at Race's coffee machine.

"Uh.. alright. I'm a little hungover, though. I might get a glass of water?" He clears his throat again, looking down to his feet. "Sorry about last night."

Race is all smiles and bounces as he fills a glass with water and brings it to Albert, smiling softly and, dare Albert say, sweetly and lovingly, as he hands Albert the water and pats his shoulder.

"That's totally okay, man. I get it, I get you. I'm sorry about how fucked up and awful your emotions must be. But now we get to eat yummy breakfast together!" Race points at the microwave. "The food you made last night! I have no idea what it is, but it looks and smells delicious!!"

"We?"

Race looks away, takes his hand off Albert's shoulder- Albert's shoulder is cold.

"Well.. I mean, unless you don't want to..."

"No! No, I want to." Albert steps closer to Race, putting his own hand on Race's shoulder. "I just.... I was scared you didn't like me."

Race looks shocked.

The coffee machine stops brewing.

"No, Al, I..." Race sighs, looking away. "I don't know. I'm confused."

Albert sags, a little defeated. "That's okay. Take your time figuring it out. I'll be here for you, if you want me to be."

The microwave beeps.

"That would be lovely."

albert doesn't really KNOW how to express affection. he steals race's cigar every once in a while, but he doesn't think race really appreciates that. what he knows (or thinks) race likes is when albert hugs him, when albert compresses race as tightly as possible for as long as possible. usually albert isn't a hugger, but something about the way race melts in his arms is addicting. the faint smell of smoke on his vest, the soot on his cheeks wiping onto albert's neck, where albert wouldn't want to clean, to keep that faint reminder of race on him for a little longer.

some mornings albert 'accidentally' puts on race's vest instead of his own, to smell his scent of smoke and sweat and warmth in winter. sometimes he climbs into race's bed with him just to Be with him. to feel race's warmth and smell his smoke.

being with race is the only thing he really wants, he thinks.

shitty lil ralbert drawing i did in chemistry today instead of learning about spdf orbitals ‼️

The walls of Race’s apartment were far from blank. They were adorned with almost anything he ever found or bought. Posters, shitty drawings, better drawings, sticky-notes, old sheet music, newspaper. Anything Race could find. He was like a crow in that sense.

He couldn’t bear living in between two blank walls. It would feel too much like a psych ward or a hospital- Race was never too fond of hospitals.

The last time he was in a hospital, it was for one of his friends having a baby. He was happy for her, but the blank walls tightened around his chest and held him firmly still, too still. Standing too still between the blank walls, Race couldn’t help but think of the fact that a hospital was the first place he had ever been. It would probably be the last, like it had been for so many members of his family.

Such a sterile place to be filled with so much death. So much pain. So much happiness.

All of it contained in this vessel so devoid of emotion that Race can’t breathe.

It’s not the blankness of the space that constricts his chest, it’s the amount of emotion it contains. He wants to explain it but nobody would really understand the extent of it.

But even before he steps into Race’s living room, Albert understands.

He knows- to a certain extent- what has happened in Race’s life, what has shaped him, what draws him to make forts out of blankets, decorate his walls, write on his arms; and he understands.

Albert has patches sewn onto almost every piece of furniture and upholstery he owns. Albert has posters on his walls and Albert writes on his hands.

Race is just a reflection of him, really.

That’s why he loves him. That’s why Race loves Albert.

Their experiences shape them into the same person. Is that such a bad thing?

it's slowly coming together, everyone ...... I haven't forgotten y'all I promise .... it's just taking a while to actually write and set up and logisticize and everything .... plus i SHOULD be getting an ao3 account on feb 21st so im hoping to post there :)

Romeo is nearly asleep when he feels Albert rapidly gain weight on the other side of his bed.

He hears a whisper; 'Al, you awake?'

A returning whisper; 'Yeah.'

A quiet chu.

'Race, we can't do this here,' this whisper was barely louder than a breath. 'Romeo's right there.'

'He's asleep, we'll be fine.' Chu.

The bed sags even more.

'What if Romeo gets up early and finds you sleeping next to me?'

'That's a problem for the morning. Stow the seriousity.'

Can u write anything ralbert. is rhat real. pls. Angsty,.,,,cute,, whatever au u want that u haven’t picked cheavhers for please race and albert

YAS!!!!

this is a snippet from my au that im writing ! hope u like :3

----

It was a cold winter night when Race realised he was in love.

Knock knock.

Race checked the time. What would anybody want with his sorry ass at 11:34pm?

He padded over to the door, rubbing his bleary tv eyes.

As he got closer to the door, he heard a sniffle.

Race's mind raced. Who would be crying outside his door late at night?

Did he fuck up?

God, did he ruin his chances with Al?

He opened the door, warily, prepared for the worst.

Albert's teary blue eyes and trembling hands greeted him.

Albert stood a little taller than Race, so he had to stand on tiptoe to see him eye to eye. His red hair was displaced from his usual slick back, strands falling down into his eyes, wet at the ends. He wore a grey shirt, with the sleeves cut off (as usual), with no jacket, despite the freezing temperature and the snow outside. Whether he was trembling because of the cold or the emotions he was clearly feeling was unclear.

In his hands, white knuckled and shaking, he held a Tupperware container full of food. It looked delicious.

And his face. God, his face. He looked at Race almost pleadingly with reddened eyes, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and swollen-looking, freckles strewn across his teary cheeks like shooting stars.

'Race?' He asked timidly, bottom lip quivering. Race, in a state of shock, only stepped to the side and waved Albert into his apartment. He closed the door behind him, and motioned Albert to his couch before almost sprinting to his bedroom and grabbing his duvet off his bed. He carried it into the living room, where Albert was now sitting, trembling, staring blankly at the floor, the meal deposited on Race's coffee table.

'Albert,' Race draped his duvet over Albert's shoulders, and climbed over the couch to sit next to him. 'I mean.. Is everything okay? What happened?'

Albert melted. He collapsed against Race, his tears sinking into Race's hoodie, chest heaving with sobs.

'I-' he choked out. 'I made you food. I've been leaving it.. outside your door for... for.. for weeks now, and I just..' he took in a shaky breath. 'I wanted you to.. to know it was me and also I need my containers again.'

'Oh, Albert.' Race hugged Al into his chest, holding him securely and rubbing his back as he cried. 'You're alright, it's okay.'

'I'm... I'm really drunk.' Albert murmured into Race's shoulder. 'M sorry.'

'Hey,' Race threaded his fingers into Albert's hair. 'You're alright. You want a glass of water? Let's get up, I'll give you a hoodie and some water, hey? Then we'll eat the food you brought, alright?'

Albert sniffled. 'Oh.. okay. Yeah.' He took a deep breath and removed himself from the soft curve of Race's body, and stood up, shaking a little.

'I'll get you a hoodie, okay? Head to the kitchen.'

'Okay.'

Race ran to his room, pulled out his biggest hoodie and made his way back to the kitchen, where he found Albert nearly passed out on his counter, eyes drooping, hands clasped together, his hair falling onto his face.

'Here, bud. Put this on.' Race handed Albert the hoodie and retrieved a glass, filling it with tap water. Aware of how tired Albert clearly was, he slipped his meal into the fridge- he'd eat it for breakfast tomorrow.

'Thanks.' Albert whispered, pulling the hoodie over his head- it fit him perfectly, and suited him really well- and downed the water Race gave him next.

'You wanna get some sleep, dude?' Race asked gently, rubbing Albert's back as he leant on the counter again. Albert nodded drowsily.

'Here, follow me.' Race took Albert's hand, leading him to his bedroom. 'Sleep here, yeah?' He deposited Albert so he was sitting on the single bed. 'I'll sleep on the coach tonight.'

'No...' Albert said quietly. 'Sleep here too. 'S comfy.' He dropped down to lay on his side, patting the spot next to him.

How could Race deny this beautiful, beautiful man?

after the strike, the older manhattan newsies are *ruined*. like, comatose, barely awake, exhausted to the CORE. and the younger newsies are SO full of energy like 'YAYY WE DID IT' and the older newsies can only respond with 'ough' before they collapse onto a table at jacobi's. some of the older newsies have taken to sleeping in the same beds at the lodge because it helps them sleep easier. after jack moves to be with davey working in pulitzer's office, race and albert take over the manhattan newsies, trying to keep the morale up while barely keeping it together themselves. when albert suddenly breaks down in tears trying to get the younger newsies to just please listen to him, the only thing race really knows to do is hug him as tight as he can and try to kiss his cheek as inconspicuously as possible.

of course, it doesn't go unnoticed. it creates tradition and openness within the younger newsies; they feel comfortable crying in front of each other for the first time, and often kiss each other on the cheek or forehead to cheer each other up. when jack comes to visit and he finds such a supportive environment, led by race and albert holding hands and wearing steel promise rings, he's spellbound.

he can't believe that race and albert brought this about.

he's so proud of them because now they can finally be themselves.

and what if I make all the newsies in my au classically trained musicians... what then.

anyway Albert - trumpet

race - clarinet

Davey - alto sax

jack - piano/pitched percussion

crutchie - actually he's the only one who doesn't play anything .. he came along to all the band rehearsals and sat w them

my 2 gay sons

LAST POLL FOR AU PLS DO IT :3

redhead Albert is my favourite thing ever.... idk why smth about him is so precious.... RAHHH

if I wrote a modern au in an apartment complex centred around javey and ralbert (but obv featuring most of the named newsies + Kath and maybe Sarah if I ever watch 92sies) would anyone read it...... I'm not talkin oneshots im talkin sink my whole life into this fic .... any takers? (im doing it anyway)

you'd think Albert would listen to grunge but you would be so wrong .... he's such a sucker for classical music, esp contemporary piano :) his mum played piano before she got sick so it really has a big place in his heart. he always wishes he could play piano for race or the newsies, and that he could externalise his emotions through playing music, but he never got the chance to learn. he likes to sing but never would in front of anybody because he's not trained and doesn't think he sounds that good.. (see: most angelic voice ever)

hi !

this is so random but can you write abt ralbert?? like literally anything ralbert, i need more fuel for headcannons :3

RALBERT!!!!!! I LOVE RALBERT!!!!!!!

teehee I wrote this in a moment of yearning, sorry it's so short :(

'Albert, seriously.' Race sounds exasperated, holding Albert's left hand gingerly with his own, holding a torn up shirt in the other.

'I'm sorry, okay?' Albert mumbles over his shoulder, away from Race. 'You don't have to wrap my hands.' He sucks in a breath as coarse fabric tightens against his bloodied knuckles.

'You don't have to get in fights protecting people who don't need protecting.' Race glances up at Albert under his cap, eyes hard and cold.

Albert stares back, trying to give his coldest look. But he winces when Race turns his hand over, so his knuckles are resting on Race's warm palm. The sensation hurts, but it's welcome. Race ties the fabric around Albert's wrist, and gently puts his hand down, picking up the other one, dripping blood on Albert's shorts.

'But he called you bad things.' Albert says quietly, scrunching his left hand up. 'He called Jack bad things. He called the newsies bad things.'

'That doesn't mean you should beat him up.' Race says sharply, pulling the fabric a little too taut around Albert's knuckles. 'We can protect ourselves.'

Albert looks away. 'But I care. About you and Jack and the newsies. How else am I meant to show that I care?'

Race ties the fabric around Albert's hand, finishing the wrap. He puts his other hand on top of Albert's, like a sandwich. 'You feel this, Albert? You feel my hands, and how warm they are? That means I care. Soft touches mean you care, not hurting ones.'

Albert bites his lip. Soft touches. When was the last time Albert felt a soft touch?

Race puts his hand up to Albert's cheek, rubs his thumb over the bump of an old scar. 'Soft touches mean I love you, Albert. Soft touches mean I love you no matter what you do or what happens.' He chuckles a little. 'That doesn't mean I condone you beating up Oscar Delancey for almost no reason.'

Albert smiles softly, before wrapping Race in a tight hug.

It feels nice.

Albert hasn't hugged or been hugged in probably years. He feels his insides melt with comfort as Race reciprocated the hug, rubbing Albert's back and tightening his grip around Albert's middle.

Soft touches mean I love you.

headcanon that albert stomps. he gotta get his emotions out somehow. either that or punching up his friends. he's so me btw

it's time for me to come clean guys ............ im a ralbert truther ... I don't get the sprace hype ......... why spot .... ralbert is just so much better ..... dumb x dumber ......... but also chaotic x has the chaotic one on a leash ....... but ALSO smart and strategic race and 'ill fight my way through them' Albert ......

so many possibilities .......... fluffy kony moments or angsty Albert gets into another fight or race spends too much time at the races or they fight because race is trying too hard to micromanage Albert and help him out .... ralbert > sprace

ohhhhgggKAY y'all

I have some personal albert hc's based on a character workshop today (very based off of other peoples Albert hc's)

- he has a mother and two younger sisters, his dad either walked out or died

- his mother is either sick or drunk so it's mostly up to him to provide for his family.

- his closest/only friends are the New York newsies. he's very apprehensive of katherine at first.

- he wears his newsie hat backwards (though we knew this)

- he's super hyper masc and stoic and cold to hide his insecurities about his feminine traits- he wants to go to culinary school and become a chef, and is also grappling with his sexuality and a crush on jack/race

- the abscencr of his father also played a hand in his demeanour and insecurities, he never really had a male role model to show him how to act.

- he has anger/emotional processing issues becuase if his mental health, sexuality and absent father. it's very rare to see him smile, and the only times he really does in the show is during numbers like kony.

- during his rare downtime while he's not selling papes or caring for his mum and sisters he likes to visit this one diner downtown. sometimes they give him food for free or just let him watch the process in the kitchen. they don't let him help because they'd have to pay him and also hes too dirty but it's his comfort place. he would never tell the other newsies. the line cook there is a gay guy and he and Albert talk a lot about everything that albert would never open up to anyone else about.

anyway yah! that's my albert! my silly guy!

ps im starting on the writing reqs :3c

Albert can do a full split btw ..... just thought u guys would want to know ..... he also regularly does backflips because they're fun and he likes showing off

any Albert Dasilva lovers in chat?? any big Albert fans??? any advice or headcanons or whatever would b major appreciated bc im playing him in my theatre comps newsies prod! rehearsals start in January and I will def keep you all posted!

dude what are the newsies birthdays .... like are there canon days or is it just headcanons ......

guys how extensive is newsiesblr??? can everyone active on newsiesblr who sees this interact ... I wanna follow everybody :3

You could barely see a thing. Newsies boys throwing punches and scabs swepping legs. Right now, it was war. Race was entagled in another big looking scab who definitely had too much of an ego, if anything by the way his smirk grew with every punch he landed. He pushed Race backward, scraping his back on the top of the building. He recovered by kicking him in the balls, obviously. As the scab fell down with a grunt, making no move to hop back up, Race frantically looked around for other newsies to help.

Mush and Blink were killing everyone in sight (mostly Blink), Davey was holding his own with some assistance from Jack, and Finch and Albert were gathering all the young Brooklyn Newsies and driving them away, but it looked like Romeo was in trouble. He was backed into a wall and Race's heart dropped when he caught sight of a flash of metal coming from the scabs hand. Immediately pushing of the ground, Race ran over and stepped in from of Albert, before kicking him the chest, sending him flying a few feet away. A second later, a Brooklyn newsies he didnt recognize came swinging in with a baseball bat, connecting with the scabs head. All three of them connected eyes as the Brooklyn newsies let out a breath of air, and Albert gave a twisted grin. Race himself copying Albert, he lifts his head high looking for another fight.

He partly wished they hadn't come, but there was no chance they wouldn't have. After all, if you get word that all the scabs in and near Brooklyn were going to jump the Brooklyn boys, even with Brooklyn's reputation, they needed all the help they could get. Thankfully they arrived early, and by now, it looked like they were going to win by the second. Now all Race needs to do is-

BANG.

Everything went silent. Everyone stopped moving. Soft breaths of air was the only thing Race heard, besides the ringing in his ears. It can't be. Almost everyone had a weapon, but- that sounded way too similar to a gun.

Race whipped his head around and saw one of the scabs. The boy was facing outwards with his arm stretched out, his knuckles white, holding- a gun. He was smaller, and had less muscle than the other scabs did, but his teeth were clenched in a scowl, and you could see the anger and fear in his eyes, if you couldn't tell by the shaking of his body.

Race slowly followed the trail where the bullet wouldv'e traveled and his eyes landed on a boy standing near the ledge.

A short boy. A boy with a big temper and ego. A boy with calm, dirty blonde hair, who like to grease it in the mornings, and often yelled whenever anyone were to touch it. A boy with a pimp cane that he wore at his side, that was now broken and scattered across the roof. A boy that had a stern look but a soft smile. A boy that was clutching his shoulder with blood spilling through his fingers. A boy that had the temper of a mad man, but would never get mad at Race, no matter how much Race tried to annoy or irritate him. A boy that Race loved. A boy who closed his eyes for the last time and fell off the roof.