#crace

[just-pot-over-here]

THIS IS INSPIRED BY THIS POST, WHICH @pigeonwit REPOSTED WITH THE CRUTCHTRACK TAG LAST YEAR. THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR AT LEAST 9 MONTHS. AUGH.

———

“‘Ey, freeloader, git up.”

Crutchie groans and turns his head away from the fingers digging into his temple, mumbling out some vague curse words as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“C’mon, Crutch, wakey wakey. I’m starvin’ an yer’ payin’ fer breakfast.” The offending fingers move down to prod into his side, and Crutchie jerks and throws out an arm when they catch him in the soft spot beneath his ribs. Judging by the impact against the back of his hand and the yelp to his left, he’s hit his mark.

He slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting out the windshield. The glass is fogged up and flecked with snow, thanks to Race’s busted defroster, but Crutchie can make out the lurid yellow of the Denny’s sign, bright against the starry sky. Now that he thinks about it, the moon should not be out during breakfast.

“Wh’t time s’it?” He interrupts Race’s sputtering, turning to level him with a stare that makes his mouth shut with an audible click. The sheepish look on his face speaks volumes, and Crutchie barely controls the urge to throttle the asshole to his left as his eyes slide over to glare at the neon green 3:42 blinking up at him from the dashboard clock.

“S’never too early fer breakfast.” Race pipes up from the driver’s seat. Crutchie turns to scowl at him, fully contemplating the drawbacks of beating Race over the head with his crutch. He knows assault is generally frowned upon, but he thinks maybe the police would give him a pass for this one.

Except, Race’s hair is falling in a mussed up flop over his forehead, his eyes are wide, and his bottom lip is stuck out ever so slightly. He is performing a truly masterful puppy-eyed frown. Crutchie feels the threatening spark of rage in his stomach wink out, replaced by that familiar, fluttery Race feeling.

Goddamnit.

—

The old door hinges screech as they push their way through into the lobby, and Crutchie stomps snow off of his trainers while Race asks for a “table fer’ two” like they’re at a five star restaurant. He grins at Crutchie brightly as he flops into the booth across from him, hands splayed across the grimy table like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever touched. The fluttering in his chest makes itself known once again.

Crutchie never said he was a strong man.

Race asks the waitress for waters as she passes their table. Crutchie’s pretty sure she either didn’t hear or didn’t care, because she barely glances at them as she pushes through the swinging door into the kitchen. He snorts.

“Pretty sure she was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Yeah, well, we aint gonna keep her long.”

“We better not. I was havin’ a nice nap before we came in.”

“Aww, cheer up, ya grump. They have pancakes.”

That quiets Crutchie, and he only offers a few more token grumbles as he watches the waitress come back with two waters. She carries an aura of cigarette smoke and flowery perfume with her, and it seems to perk Race up like smelling salts. She sets the waters down on the table in front of them and takes out her notepad, clicking her pen expectantly without saying a word. Race isn’t deterred in the slightest.

“Hey ma’am, g’mornin to ya! S’nice ta’ see a friendly face all th’ way out here.” He smiles charmingly. The waitress is unimpressed, and she seems to get more and more exasperated as Race rattles off their orders. Her masterful deflection of Race’s energy vindicates him a little. The smile Race blasts him with as she leaves is blinding, and it scrubs away any remaining annoyance Crutchie feels. God forbid he stop complaining, though. It’s one of his great joys in life.

“Y’didn’t let me order for m’self. How’d ya know what I want?” He takes a long sip of his water, crinkling his nose at the faint metallic taste that lingers in his mouth afterwards. Race, on the other hand, swirls his around in the chipped plastic cup like it’s a fine wine. He scoffs at Crutchie from across the table, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at him.

“C’mon, Crutch. I know you, stop pretendin’ like I don’t.” He‘s struck dumb by the smile Race sends him over the rim of the cup, warm and familiar. The fluttering comes back, butterfly wings beating against the inside of his ribs and making him nauseous at the way Race’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Jesus.

He ducks his head as his face heats, grunting noncommittally and taking a few more gulps of water. The waitress comes back and leaves them two coffees as he’s collecting himself, and by the time he looks up Race is holding his cup about an inch away from his face, basking in the steam.

God, Crutchie just can’t stop himself from staring.

He can’t help it. Race is practically glowing. His hair shines in the fluorescent light of the cheap ceiling fixtures, unbrushed and wild after a night of driving. His jaw is lined with three days’ worth of rough stubble, and there are the beginnings of some serious bags beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a gray Jets sweater that definitely belonged to Albert at one point. It’s faded and stretched to all hell, the decal cracked, the string long gone, the hood half ripped off the collar. In short, he’s absolutely unkempt.

Crutchie loves him.

It hits him suddenly, and if he were standing it would’ve brought him to the ground. He loves Race. Loves him so much it makes his hands tremble and his chest ache. Loves him so much it lives like a physical thing behind his ribs, clawing and beating its way up his throat as he watches Race pour milk in his coffee. He can’t control it, can’t tame it, he can only open his mouth as it nestles itself behind his tongue, ready to jump out and-

Race opens his eyes and meets his gaze, and his momentary rush of confidence is washed away in an instant. Crutchie closes his jaw with an audible click and swallows thickly, fumbling for something, anything to say.

“You’ve got somethin’ on yer’ face.”

Race’s brow furrows, and he rubs a hand over his cheek. “What? Where?”

Crutchie reaches out one hand towards Race’s face, oh so slowly, fingertips outstretched. He takes a deep breath and…

“Ow, dammit, Crutch!”

Race recoils, rubbing his forehead where Crutchie had flicked it. “Now what the hell was that for?” He glares as Crutchie leans back in his seat, pressing his shaky hand flat to the table and shrugging.

“Damn, guess it was just yer’ face. My bad.” Something in him is soothed as Race laughs at him incredulously. He watches him start tearing his napkin into pieces to make spitballs, and the thing in his abdomen quietly curls into a purring ball behind his sternum.

It’s okay, he thinks as Race lines up his ammunition on the edge of the table, running his mouth about how Crutchie’s started “a war he won’t win”. It’s okay to not say it now. It’s okay. We have time.

As Race starts a spitball war with him at 4:30AM in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, Crutchie knows one thing better than he knows anything.

There’s no place in the world he’d rather be.

[i-got-poisenality]

btw every time crutchie isn’t paying attention, race sneaks up behind and taps him on the head so he looks up and then kisses him on the face

and crutchie is always surprised by it even tho it happens multiple times a day every day

and race thinks his goofy ahh surprised face is the cutest thing ever

btw

if you even care

[detournementsmineurs]

Arinzé Kene dans "Harvest" d'Athina Rachel Tsangari - adapté du roman éponyme de Jim Crace (2013) - avril 2025.

[ill-say-anything-i-hafta]

Hello, I received the best gift fic ever for @newsiesficchallenges and it's CRUTCHTRACK, because what else are Crutchie and Racetrack going to do while Jack is tied up with Katherine and David?? @a-natural-satellite-of-the-earth characterized both of these silly assholes perfectly, so do yourself a favor and go read it here!

Also omg if anyone knows how to post an ao3 preview here, please tell me!!!!

[problemduetest4life]

New year new chapter!!

[rafaelsilvasource]

RAFAEL SILVA and SIERRA MCCLAIN pose with fans at the First Responders Reunion Convention in Paris - June 4, 2023

[ripplequest]

CHEESETESTANT #07: Crace (Crab Wizard)

[just-pot-over-here]

dude i'm a crutchtrack (crutchie and race) truther for life. The ultimate rarepair

Newsies Ships !? :0

Very curious since while I’ve known newsies for a while now, the fandom itself is still relatively new to me. What are the most popular ships?

These will only include ships that I’ve seen out in the wild, but I’ve included an option for others. Now go forth choose your fav ship.

[coffeeandstrawberries]

Grace Bol by Jason Kim for Slimi magazine, 2020

[just-pot-over-here]

hi hello hi i was wondering if you had any crutchtrack hc’s you’d be willing to share with me 😔🥺😔

oh you already KNOW i think about them an unhealthy amount

These two fucks are BEST FRIENDS and they’d rather die than admit it. They talk to each other like they hate each other and sometimes the amount of profanities they can fit into one conversation scares people. They would also kill a man for each other

As well as being bee eff effs they are also. In love. Because i said so. However i am a huge fan of a slow burn so they are in a very repressed 1899 “i can’t let him find out” kind of love. The pining is off the charts people

When it’s too cold to sleep in the penthouse, crutchie shares a room with race. They often keep each other up very late into the night like kids at a sleepover. Albert (with whom they share a wall) hates them.

Crutchie has a very well hidden but insane sweet tooth. Race finds this out when he notices the way crutchie’s eyes (not so) subtly light up when jacobi offers him one of the mints he keeps behind the counter. From then on, race will sometimes steal legally acquire various sweet things and shove them under crutchie’s pillow à la tooth fairy

Crutchie’s birthday is on christmas also because I said so, and in addition to the real actual christmas celebration, race and jack always make sure that there’s something special for crutchie too. The newsies' attempt at a cake, a very out of tune song, the works. (race also makes sure that he gets his moment with the birthday boy out on the fire escape. It is just as gay and repressed as you are imagining.)

Charlie crutchie morris is a gay man and you can’t take this away from me. Race is bi. Thank you very much

They are POWERHOUSES when it comes to working together. They are jack's second in commands (both of them. why? because i said so. you get the point) and they kick ass at it. They have that lodging house run like the army. Race takes care of the littles, crutchie keeps everyone in line, and they function together like a well oiled machine to keep everything running smoothly.

I will definitely remember more and do another dump at some point but for now here is my rambling i hope it suffices

[detournementsmineurs]

Caleb Landry Jones, Arinzé Kene et Harry Melling dans “Harvest” d'Athina Rachel Tsangari - adapté du roman éponyme de Jim Crace (2013) - avril 2025.

[just-pot-over-here]

CRUTCHTRACK NATION IS FED

maybe crutchie and race hugging after crutchie is brought back from the refuge? i just think they are Silly :-)

The sillies ever 😌😌

[periodinteriors]

John Gregory Crace (British 1809-1889), Design for the Decoration of the Drawing Room at Eastnor Castle, Herefordshire, c. 1850, watercolor.

[withnailrules]

There is no remedy for death—or birth—except to hug the spaces in between. Live loud. Live wide. Live tall.

—Jim Crace

[problemduetest4life]

ANOTHER ONE THANK YOU!

it's almost 7k wtf is going on ahhh

[just-pot-over-here]

I LOVE CRUTCHTRACK PROPAGANDA

most of mine is just based on vibes but man. the vibes are immaculate

just consider, please for a second. imagine race, who is chronically unable to take anything seriously, is always trying to help everyone else out, is very secretly so, so stressed all of the time, and is really really neglecting himself

now picture crutchie. equally unable to take everything seriously, but in a very different way. he is often kind of snappy and quick witted and is ready to throw hands at a moment's notice.

now picture them balancing each other out in the best ways. crutchie keeps race from running himself into the ground. race keeps crutchie from literally constantly getting into trouble. together they keep everyone else's spirits up, and they're able to lean on each other when they're alone at the end of a long day and just want to rest. They're snarky and sassy with each other but never mean. they fight sometimes and butt heads but they are, at the end of the day, best friends. they orbit each other. two suns.

i hate them so so much absolutely that's why they're my entire blog

finn I would like you to give me crutchtrack propaganda. I'm intrigued, and although I don't ship it yet I am very easily persuaded

i love crutchtrack propaganda lemme give you some

two idiots who do not have high enough self esteem to ever realize their feelings are mutual until someone directly tells them (bonus: it’s slow burn, the slowest burn)

assholes in love who make fun of each other in a loving manner

assholes in love who make fun of other people together (other people meaning people like Pulitzer, Weasel, Snyder, yk people who deserve it)

when they have an actual tender moment it hits a million times harder because most of the time they’re making jokes and keeping their guard up

can be used for hurt/comfort really well (and prepare for it in my apocalypse au if i can make myself write)

they’re silly

also, gay people <3

lemme summon the other crutchtrack truthers for additional reasons they’re the best

@theoneandonlypatches @just-pot-over-here

do y’all have anything to add?