#it's easy with jack the way it's not easy with anyone else. davey has been missing him this whole time and now he's back

[loving-jack-kelly]

jack in third grade with a crush on davey teasing him on the playground bc he doesn't know what else to do with the weird emotion.

jack in middle school realizing that it's a crush and not knowing what to do with the weird and now terrifying emotions so he stops talking to davey altogether.

jack in high school feeling like shit for ghosting somebody he used to be close with but not knowing what to do about it now that it's been four years and they're about to graduate and also he still gets weirdly sentimental and also butterflies when he hears davey laugh from across the room.

jack in college texting davey happy birthday because he can't think of a better way to restart a relationship that pretty much ended eight years ago and he misses home and misses familiarity and has never forgotten davey's birthday since the first time he learned it in elementary school.

[noxexistant]

CAN YOU DO LIKE A CUTE SWEET MOMENT BETWEEN RACE AND CRUTCHIE. LIKE MAYBE AFTER THE COPS BEAT EM UP THEY HAVE A REALLY LIKE AWWW INTERACTION ABOUT BEING BROTHERS LIKE HE AND JACK DO IN THE BEGINNING

i don’t know if this is as wholesome as you wanted oops but yes!! here!! some race and crutchie getting a brotherly moment to themselves after crutchie gets out of the refuge <3

—

send me newsies headcanon/writing prompts!!

—

Crutchie grits his teeth hard as he sits down. And, sure, he usually grits his teeth when he has to use his leg like that - bend it, put any amount of weight on it like he has to to get up or sit down - but he just grit his teeth hard enough to make that muscle in his jaw tic, and Race knows he never does that unless it’s bad.

None of the others seem to have noticed. There’s enough chaos going on, far too much for anyone to take stock of Crutchie hobbling unsteadily to a set of nearby steps and dropping down a little too hard to sit on one near the middle. Biting back his pain like it’s choking him, but still not expressing it outwardly in any way beyond that little involuntary movement, even though no one’s looking. Even with bruises all over him and blood staining his shirt, Crutchie sits quiet and breathes careful and won’t let go of his crutch.

He could easily balance it against the banister beside him up the steps - Race knows he usually would, taking any opportunity to have both his hands free and just not have to hold the weight for a little while. But he’s holding it, clutching it like he does when he’s about to use it to stand up, hand wrapped tight just beneath the handle. Like he might lose it. Like he thinks there’s a chance someone might try and take it from him. Again.

Race swallows. He tries for casual as he floats over - walking with an easy swagger in his step, pretending to examine his cigar and every dent it’d sustained tucked in his pocket during all the fighting - but maybe he misses the mark, because Crutchie already looks sort of grim when Race sits down beside him. Or maybe that’s just how Crutchie’s feeling right now.

It ain’t far from how Race is feeling too.

He thinks maybe they should feel better - or he should, at least. Crutchie’s got more reason to be sour. But they won. Front page of the pape, demands met - or…almost, or something, Race hadn’t really been able to follow Jack’s half-frantic rambling about it before he got pulled back in with Kath and Davey, but the strike’s over and everyone’s accounted for and they got bruises, sure, but they’re all alive to tell the tale. And what a tale it is.

Sales are gonna be up like crazy for a while. Hell, maybe they’ll be something like celebrities, now that they been in the pape and beat Pulitzer and even had Governor Roosevelt on their side. The famous striking newsboys.

Race ends up saying all of that out loud to Crutchie, who tries for a laugh and kind of misses the mark too. Crutchie can’t even quite smile right - looks like he took a hit to the jaw or something, his mouth’s moving kinda crooked - but he won’t stop smiling, even when his try at a laugh peters off quick into a strangled sort of sound. It’s like he don’t know what else to do, other than try and smile.

Seeing it, Race lets his own facade slip. He hadn’t even realised how big a farce it was until his shoulders sink and his eyelids droop and an ache settles deep into his bones like water soaking into wool. His eye’s throbbing, creating a pounding in his head, and one of his shins hurts something awful where he must’ve took a kick or something. Or maybe he tripped over a barrel. He can’t remember.

“God,” he groans, reaching down and rubbing it carefully through his trousers. “This how you feel all the time?”

And this time Crutchie does manage a laugh. It’s bitter and a little breathless, but it’s a laugh all the same.

“Bet it ain’t far off.” He looks down at Race’s leg, brow creasing a little. “‘S’it bad? Can you move it?”

Race bends his leg a couple times to prove that he can, even though Crutchie just watched him walk over, and that seems to soothe Crutchie a bit. He settles back against the steps, and Race watches him, his own gaze darting down to Crutchie’s bad leg where it’s lay motionless, hidden beneath the newly filthy and torn up fabric of his overalls. He jerks his head at it.

“What about yours?” he asks, quiet. “They got you bad, right? Jack said.”

Crutchie shrugs weakly.

“Least they couldn’t’a made it worse,” he jokes, not much stronger. “Can’t break what already don’t work.”

Race supposes that’s true in most cases, but it don’t feel right right now. Crutchie’s bad leg don’t work, sure, but they still could’ve broken it. And that’s the one thing it does work for - hurting. Crutchie can’t sell if it’s too bad, and then what was even the point of all this?

Maybe he was quiet too long, because Race is brought out of his thoughts by Crutchie knocking their shoulders together, and he ain’t smiling anymore but he don’t look quite so grim or distant either.

“Stop worryin’,” he says, like it’s an order. “Ain’t your job anymore, so quit it. Jack an’ I are back now. ‘S’all over.”

“It ain’t,” Race can’t help but argue, turning his cigar over and over between his hands, which still haven’t quite stopped shaking. “You’re hurtin’ still. And you got…”

He trails off, already half regretting what he was about to say, but Crutchie fixes him with a look and he knows he can’t drop it.

“You got this look in your eyes,” he clarifies reluctantly, hardly above a whisper. “Like you ain’t really back.”

He really does regret it then, because Crutchie goes quiet and sinks more against the step and suddenly he just looks so damn tired, gaze fixed on the ground at the bottom of the steps but clearly not really seeing it. Race feels his eyes start burning, because maybe he’s pretty tired too, and he really didn’t mean to make Crutchie upset when he’s clearly trying so hard to not be, Race just missed him so damn much and he’s been more a leader these last few days than he’s sure he’s ever been in every damn year he’s spent with the newsies and he’d been so sure, for a while there, that Crutchie wouldn’t be coming back. He hadn’t even been sure that Jack would. He’d thought maybe he’d be left alone to keep making calls by himself like he’s the one in charge, and without Crutchie and Jack he would be, and he don’t want that. Even taking charge and making everyone laugh in Jacobi’s, climbing up on tables to dance and sing and crack jokes like he weren’t half dizzy, Race had wanted his brothers more than anything. Had wanted to be able to climb down from those tables and sit quiet next to Crutchie like this, cracking jokes between themselves.

“You’re right,” Crutchie says, real quiet, and Race is startled out of his head again.

“What?”

“Said you’re right, Race. It ain’t really all over wit’.”

Race nods slowly, feeling sort of nauseous. He’s right. He’s right. Crutchie’s still hurting - but then he also leans against Race’s side and rests his cheek against his shoulder, slumping all his weight against him, relaxing, and Race can just barely see him smile, real soft. “But the worst is over wit’. The fightin’ an’ all that. An’ I’m back home. We made it through all that, an’ we’re all alive, an’ we’re all together.”

Home, Race thinks. Crutchie’s home. His brother’s home, home, home.

“I missed you so much,” he chokes out suddenly, like it just spilled out of him. “‘S’been so quiet, and I been tryin’ - everyone got real low after you got got, and I…I had to try and make ‘em laugh like you do, but I ain’t loud like you are. I don’t even got a whistle.”

Crutchie laughs again, and it’s a real laugh this time. Loud. He goes fishing in one of his pockets and comes out with his whistle - which Race supposes he must’ve stashed for safekeeping like Race did with his cigar, otherwise the Refuge guards surely would’ve taken it - and pulls the tangled leather strap of the necklace loose, hooking it back around his neck, back in its rightful place where it always hangs.

Then he puts the whistle in his mouth and blows, loud enough to make Race flinch back and cover his ears and laugh. He watches as everyone turns around, responding in a wave with their own whistles and whoops when they just see Crutchie grinning back at them, whistle dangling between his teeth. Finch whistles back as loud as he can, fingers at the corners of his mouth, so Crutchie whistles again and they go back and forth like that until someone hollers at them to shut up. Race’s head is throbbing worse than he thought was possible, but he’s still laughing, more grateful for his head throbbing from Crutchie’s noise than he thought was possible. He’d give anything to never have to hear quiet like the last few days again, and while Crutchie’s still giggling Race curls himself against his side, just like Crutchie’d done to him.

He picks his cigar up from his lap and puts it between his teeth, patting at his pockets. Crutchie must notice, because he goes through one of his own.

“You wan’ a match?”

“Yeah,” Race says, watching Crutchie dig out a matchbook and strike one lit, holding the flame to the end of Race’s cigar until it takes and he inhales his first lungful of smoke. “Where’d you get those?” he asks, as he blows the smoke back out in a neat stream.

Crutchie grins. “Swiped ‘em from Snyder,” he says, pocketing them again. “Now gimme that.”

“My cigar?” Race asks, affronted.

“Payment.”

Crutchie plucks it out of Race’s mouth and puts it into his own like he’d held his whistle, inhaling. Not quite as deep as Race had, and he coughs as he exhales the smoke in short little uneven breaths, but he finally relaxes that last little bit. He hands the cigar back.

“Thought you was havin’ it,” Race teases, taking another inhale. Crutchie bumps his shoulder again, almost hard enough to make him drop the thing.

“We can share.”

Race don’t like Crutchie smoking any more than he likes any of their boys smoking, maybe likes it less ‘cause Crutchie only smokes when he’s wanting it and can sound so damn fragile when he coughs. But, right now, Race has never been so happy to share a cigar in his life. He watches the smoke pour from his brother’s lips and thanks God he’s breathing.

Still swipes it back every time Crutchie’s taking too long on his drag, though.

[joeythefrog]

Ok I saw a post from @ethereal-bumble-bee about a newsies zombie apocalypse au and it unlocked the part of my brain that has unfortunately spent many hours thinking about this so here’s my take.

Jack would not survive without help. Yes he has the natural leadership skills and was able to presumably keep the newsies alive for years. But this is an entirely new situation and he had it pretty easy as a leader with his reputation doing most of the work to keep him and his newsies safe. And if we are talking modern au then he wasn’t forced into that situation and has no real natural leadership skills other than public speaking. He’s disorganised, doesn’t keep track of everyone, tries to focus on the human side of it. He could live, but only with someone else helping. 40% chance of survival alone, 80% with someone

Davey is actually better than Jack. He would focus on claiming one safe house and slowly expanding past that. Big on sustainability, literally never leaves base unless it’s necessary. Keeps meticulous lists of everything and has it all organised. Collects survivors because he feels like he has to but if they get on his nerves or they don’t get along he won’t be able to put up with them and boots them as soon and safely as possible. 70% chance he lives, 30% chance there’s some form of accident he couldn’t see coming. Or really a survivor he took in who he thought he got along with gets sick of him and throws him in.

Spot would prioritise land similar to David. Main base, probably upgrades to interconnected ones when he collects survivors. But he also wants to make a large strip of land a safe zone. Definitely collects survivors but ditches them if they become a risk, will not stand to not be leader because he’s convinced that unless they prove their competence that they won’t be useful. (He’s not wrong) Also probably owns a map of the town with thumb tacks colour coded to indicate looted areas, safe and unsafe areas, high loot areas ect. And definitely has a high school yearbook and crosses off each person as soon as he sees evidence that they died. Profiled the ones who he thought would live and tried to track them down. He has probably been preparing for this his whole life in the back of his mind. Isn’t a big fan of anyone older joining him. Definitely lives

Race would find some nearby abandoned treehouse and claim it as his because of the high ground. Treats it like a video game but shockingly manages to survive the whole time. Gets tracked down by Spot, absolutely decks the guy with a baseball bat to the face because he thought a zombie got in somehow. Probably convinces Spot to move into the treehouse. Is actually pretty tactical and will live through the whole thing, even if alone.

Katherine stays alone until whoever wants to take her proves themselves. Documents everything. Really just stays in her house and focuses on sustainability so she never has to leave. It probably gets raided at some point by survivors bc it’s a rich area. If she chooses to go with them there’s a 85% chance of survival (It’s Race and Spot) but if she chooses not to go with them because their men (fair) then she dies due to zombies entering in the way Race and Spot blew their way in. But her records are used to show the past civilisations and are considered monumental historical documents.

Crutchie would live for a while despite the disadvantage of his leg. But he needs to live with someone and isn’t useful on raids. (Unstable land, can’t move fast enough) probably tries to go anyway because he refuses to be limited. Since the ground is unstable under him he ends up falling a heap and getting injured. Probably dies due to infections gained from it or gets eaten after falling and he can’t run away quick enough. 60% chance of survival

[whoops-im-obsessed]

On: Crutchie, the World Will Know, and What it Says About His Role.

So uksies, west endsies, whatever you wanna call it has got me fully entrapped and I wanna talk about some of the staging that I noticed that makes me Feral.

Uksies has such and interesting set, its performed almost in the round with the scaffolding only opening up, not actually moving, to create set pieces. As such, the choreography has changed. The choreo is honestly on another level, it has to be seen to be believed and I'm still not sure how these boys are alive.

I could go on about the choreo for years but that's not what we're here to talk about.

Jack and Crutchie have a slightly different dynamic in uksies. They're still very much brothers but they have a much more equal relationship. This is a great post about them.

Crutchie isn't as,, looked after in this production, he is an equal, and in many ways a co-leader both of the strike and of the manhattan newsies in general and 'the world will know' (twwk) shows this so well.

In previous versions, Crutchie has solo lines in twwk but becomes a member of the ensemble when Jack Davey and Les see Pulitzer. In uksies, however, Crutchie debates their strategy with them and they walk together up to the world building through the avenue of newsies. Crutchie then stops as the others go in and turns his back to the door and stands guard, looking over the other newsies as they wait, seeming to reassure them. When the trio are kicked out, he falls to the side and is pushed back up by another newsie, he then resumes his place with Jack and the others.

Ok lets unpack that.

In my mind, this establishes Crutchie not only as a leader but as a supportive figure for the rest of the newsies. Where Jack is the figurehead, speech-maker, the face of the strike and the union, Crutchie is the worker, the eyes on the ground, the deputy who is leader in all but name.

He stands guard protecting not only those inside, but keeping careful watch over the other newsies. During seize the day, he whistles loudly to signal the arrival of the delanceys and the police, he watches, takes part in the fight and protects. I don't know about anyone else but it is extremely easy for me to believe that out of him, Jack, and Davey, Crutchie is physically the strongest.

It's so interesting to me that the character who has previously been depicted as someone who needed looking after, the helpless figure that gets dragged away, is now such a strong character while the essence of who he is is not lost. Crutchie is pushed up when he falls by another newsie to rejoin the others. How perfectly that moment recognises that yes Crutchie needs support sometimes, he is still disabled, but he isn't carried, he isn't pushed aside or coddled, he is helped up and goes on his way to lead the strike with Jack.

So yeah. Don't know if these ramblings make any sense to anyone else but thats how I read into it.

Tl;dr: i love matthew duckett

[blurglesmurfklaine]

top five newsies characters to write about and be insane about--GO

OKAY SO THIS IS ACTUALLY KIND OF HARD??? Because I feel like I’m still relatively new to the newsies fandom but everyone seems to have an Emotional Support Background Newsie and I don’t think I have one yet??? I still love all of them though SO HERE WE GO!

5) Les

Tbh I think it’s bc I work with kids, I actually find Les quite easy and fun to write? Plus I think of kids as unfinished humans, like. They’re brains aren’t even finished developing yet??? So it’s fun to explore the relationships he has with older kids/adults

4) Race

Honestly I think my perception of Race has forever been shaped by the Near Miss timeline but I just feel it so hard!!! He’s so fun to write! He’s my little energized bunny that I like to add in whenever I think things are getting too grim lmao

3) Katherine

HONESTLY??? I don’t write her as much as I want to because I can NOT get her right, and I know I can’t really do her Justice. She’s simply so much smarter than I am and that’s HARD to write okay??? But god I love her so fucking much.

2) Jack Kelly

I know there are a million versions of him out there in fic, and I’m not saying anyone else’s versions are invalid, but I’ve got a soft spot for Mexican!Jack (no I’m not projecting) and also. Characters who have abandonment issues? Fuck me right up fam. I also love writing/exploring men who’s love language is Acts of Service—I feel like the way Jack shows he cares is by taking care, if that makes sense?? Tbh I just watched pride and prejudice for the first time today and that is very Mr. Darcy of him so slay

1) Davey Jacobs

Good god I’m obsessed with him. Had a ft conversation with my bestie and she was like “I’m just a Jack girlie” and I was like “respect but I am SUCH a Davey girlie” he’s socially anxious, he’s charming, he’s intelligent, he’s a dumbass, he’s burdened with his family, if anyone tries to even LOOK at his family he will annihilate them, he can’t stand Jack Kelly, he can’t stand how much he loves Jack Kelly, he looks out for himself, he’s undyingly loyal…. HIM 💞

THANKS FOR THIS ASK!!

[retvenkos]

of delis and music | f.c.

Newsies - Patrick “Finch” Cortez x Reader, fluff requested by @catsbooksandmusic​

tw: none

word count: 1.1k

prompt: “Dance with me?”

Summary: Finch has a crush, and when the newsies find out, they almost meddle enough to drive them apart. But at the end of the day, the two can’t stay away for long.

If there was one thing that all newsies knew, it was that Jacobi’s was like home - at least, as close as a newsie got to finding someplace that fit the description.

At Jacobi’s, there was always a place to rest. Sure, a seat in the corner with a glass of water was by no means lavish, but it was consistent, and nowhere else offered the same to a bunch of rowdy kids without so much a dime their name. No matter what the time of day, a newsie could slip in the door and be welcome by the man who ran the deli, given a cool glass of water and a lame joke that never failed to siphon laughter. There was little else that compared to the comfort that the shop contained; rarely did a newsie go anywhere else and feel the same sense of belonging. There wasn't a Manhattan newsie that disliked Jacobi's deli, and it was a title that Jacobi, the man, wore with a humored sense of pride.

There was a lot to like about Jacobi's, but what Finch liked best was different from everyone else.

Jacobi had more than just a deli - he had a family, and among its members was (Y/n). With their corny jokes, bright smiles, and quick hands (fast enough to slip a newsie a seltzer water, free of charge, without their father knowing), (Y/n) snuck their way into Finch's heart, easy as breathing. From the moment that he felt himself falling in love, Finch had become a frequent patron of the deli on the corner, stopping by more often than before and lingering at the end of the night, unwilling to leave. He had come to know (Y/n) well, and yet he still selfishly wished for more.

When Jojo had found out about his crush, Finch was sure it would be the death of him. For weeks the entire lodging house had been on his back, teasing him about his feelings. Finch had avoided Jacobi's deli for a whole month, knowing that the moment he stepped across the threshold, there would be a throng of newsies waiting for him, taking off their hats and slapping him jokingly as he just tried to enjoy a simple glass of water.

Finch knew his crush was just that - a silly little feeling in his chest that was trivial and annoying - like a hot wind on a summer day. He had tried to find another place to patron - somewhere else to pick up a drink of water and spend his time - but nowhere he went felt right.

It took Finch an entire month of drifting to go back to the familiar deli on the corner, and by then, the joke was up. The newsies didn't bother him when he walked him, taking up his seat by the corner, and when the owner of the establishment came by, he was given a glass of water without incident. 

He hadn't been there long before he spotted (Y/n) across the room, talking with Romeo, and when they smiled with the light of a thousand suns, Finch felt his heart tug again, something that made his shoulders slump. As though they could feel Finch's eyes on them (Y/n) turned around and met his gaze. Their eyes widened in shock, and Finch offered them a wobbly smile, something that made them chuckle more to themself than anyone else. In a haze, (Y/n) walked over to him and sat down, in their hands a nicked seltzer water.

"I haven't seen you in a while," they said, and in their voice was all the fondness that Finch had missed, "Which of my jokes sent you running? I'm trying to keep a running tally - see if they'll work on Race."

Finch laughed with a happiness that made his cheeks warm and left him smiling long after. "I doubt they'll work, but I'm sure you'll work something out."

(Y/n) gave a gentle smile. "So, did you have any adventures in your month away?"

Adventures, Finch smiled at the word. There was something romantic in the idea, as though the world were made of wonderful stories and daring escapes - something fit for those dime novels that Crutchie loved to read. He thought of the pranks that Albert had gotten up to and the jokes that Davey had told, but none of them seemed quite what he was looking for. Nothing seemed to have that spark of adventure that (Y/n) sought, except for the moment he was in. 

"I don't think I had any adventures without you."

"Then tell me something good."

And Finch thought for a moment, but it wasn't long before he was off, telling a story about what happened at the lodging house - the antics that Kenny and Elmer got up to when Jack's back was turned, the epic fight between Mush and Smalls when the former lost his hat and shirt, and the different headlines that he made up when selling with Specs (it started because Specs' glasses were dirty and he misread the paper). As they spoke, enraptured in a time already past, the night wore on and customers steadily left until there was no one but the two of them, enjoying each other's company far too much to say goodnight. 

Eventually, Jacobi came out and told them it was time to close up. Finch grabbed his hat and was walking toward the door when music started, gentle and smooth. He turned around and (Y/n) was sweeping to the beat, their father wiping down the tables and chairs.

"Where's the music coming from?"

"Oh." (Y/n) leaned against their broom and Jacobi disappeared into the kitchen area. "We bought a phonograph - my dad likes to listen while we clean. You can stay if you'd like to listen. We'll pretend like you're cleaning or something."

(Y/n) went back to sweeping, the sound of the broom brushing the floor covered by the sound of music - steady and comfortable - and Finch watched admiring them from afar. The deli was full of warm light and soft sound, full and wonderful, and Finch had that feeling again, like he was home.

(Y/n) caught his eye, their gaze filled with happiness and mirth - like at any moment, they could break out in infectious laughter. They walked over to Finch, set their broom aside, and held out a hand.

"Dance with me?"

Finch scoffed, shocked and surprised but pleasantly so. It was usually like that, with (Y/n), blissfully unprompted and wonderfully spontaneous.

"One dance won't kill you, will it?"

And Finch said no, as he put his hand in theirs, but he had the distinct feeling that (Y/n) was going to be the death of him. 

-- taglist: @lotsoffandomrecs, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena // message me if you want to be added!

[deliciouspeachpirate]

Affectionate Newsies Headcanons

A/N Sorry I haven’t posted anything in a bit! Life is kinda crazy right now, but here’s some random headcanons inspired partially by recent conversations with @sugarbutterbroadway and by the fact that I want to. These boys are incredible and deserve everything, just saying. Let me know if you have anything you want to see! (((These got way longer than I thought they would, and kept getting longer, so the rest will be coming over the weekend/early next week. I’ll also probably edit this a bit later. Enjoy!)))

Jack: He is one of the most affectionate newsies. He pretty much always has an arm thrown around someone’s shoulder, is ruffling someone’s hair, playfully shoving, knocking people’s hats off, playfighting, wrestling, tickling, throwing things, you name it! He normally plays pretty rough, but as soon as someone is upset/hurt he’s really sweet and soft. Running his fingers through their hair, sitting quietly with them, wiping their tears away, reminding them how important and loved they are, etc. Gives the best hugs that are always super warm and make the boys feel safe. Always kisses the littles goodnight, and sometimes the older boys if they have a nightmare or something. He just wants his boys to feel seen and know they are loved and special.

Davey: Affection was never a super big thing in the Jacobs household (at least not for Davey) or at his school, so ya boy is hella touch starved. He normally holds Les during the night, because they share a bed and poor Les gets nightmares if he isn’t with his big brother, and also holds his hand wherever they go so they don’t get separated or Les doesn’t run off. Davey absolutely forgets himself sometimes and grabs one on the newsies hands while they cross the street, which they never let him forget! Davey is working on getting used to the boys touching him all the time and not shying away form affection. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, he just wasn’t sure how to respond at first. As he gets more comfortable with them, he often will causally rest a hand or elbow on someone's shoulder during a conversation or lean up against someone’s back while they all hang out at Jacobi’s. He is most comfortable with Jack touching him, and has spent multiple evenings in Jack’s arms in the penthouse crying out all his pent up stress and hurt (but that’s a story for another time). He normally gives side hugs when he sees the boys, but if someone is upset he is quick to pull them aside and give them a big hug, a little advice, or lend an ear to whatever is going on. 

Crutchie: Crutchie is actually not super physically affectionate. He has no problem with it, but hanging off of people all the time and constant hugs has never been his thing. He likes it, just in more moderation than most of the other boys. He is almost always fine with Jack touching him, not only because he trusts Jack more than anyone else, but he also knows that touching him grounds Jack and helps him calm down. Crutchie’s love language is words (and a little bit of gifts too). He always makes sure his friends know that he loves them by letting them know he noticed something they did, telling them something he appreciates about them, checking in to see how they are doing, making sure people aren’t left out of the conversation/talked over, ect. He is the friend who stops to walk with the person who fell behind. With the giving gifts part, he obviously can’t afford much, so he will often do things like give someone extra bread if he thinks they’ve been a bit hungry, give them his coffee from the nuns in the morning, or giving them a random flower, leaf, or rock that reminded him of them. If his leg is bothering him, the only one who is allowed to help is Jack, who will rub it to ease the pain. If someone else is sore though, Crutchie gives the best massages in all five boroughs and everyone knows it! He can tell really easily if someone is upset. Next to Jack, Crutchie knows the most about all the boys. He just sits and listens to anything they have to say, normally holding their hand while they talk. Most of the boys have spilled almost everything to him at some point, he is just really easy to talk to and always makes sure his friends know its okay to cry. Afterwards he always gives them the best hug ever. Hugs from Crutchie aren’t super common, but they could literally cause world peace. 

[livesincerely]

it’s beginning to look a lot like... ch. 2

Also on Ao3. Chapter one here.

00000

The Third Christmas

“You’re making the left side all crooked!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are, it’s all ugly and lopsided!”

“Well, maybe if you’d stop hogging all the blankets⁠!”

“Well, maybe if you’d shut your face⁠!”

Jack’s got one eye on the chaos currently taking place in the living-room-turned-construction-site, the other on the pot of Easy Mac he’s got working up on the stove. The boys are in the middle of building the Christmas Pillow Fort, though it’s been stop and start all morning, with the two of them pausing every few minutes to argue about how the other is doing it wrong. 

Jack only tried to intervene the once⁠—Tony and Charlie had called a temporary truce to team up against him instead, shooing him away with the explanation that he’s too lame and too tall to help and that ‘we’re not babies, Jack, we got it!’ Though, given that their efforts have since devolved into an impromptu pillow fight, with shouts of ‘you suck,’ ‘your face is stupid,’ and ‘because Jack said so!’ punctuated by the soft thuwmp of cushions hitting bodies, Jack thinks he can be forgiven for assuming they might’ve needed his help.

But all in all, this Christmas is looking to be one of the best ones yet, and certainly the best one that the boys can remember. Jack had finally turned sixteen at the beginning of the month, and though it was late in the season, he’d managed to pick up some temp work covering holiday rush shifts at the grocery store, so there’d been extra money for better presents and better food this year. And, judging by the wide smiles and overjoyed thanks he’d received when handing over the presents this morning—Two presents each for both of them! Jack had actually managed it!—the boys were more than pleased with their haul.

Though, really, if Jack’d had it his way, he’d of already been working somewhere—an actual part-time job, not just scrounging for seasonal work—but Snyder wouldn’t let him start working until his last birthday, afraid that if Jack had a job too young it would ‘make him look bad,’ the bastard. 

Because the underfed children in his care were nothing to worry about, obviously. 

Jack’s distracted from his lunch efforts by a sharp rap! rap! rap! of knuckles knocking against the front door, followed by a pause where he thinks whoever it is must’ve tried the doorbell, only to realize that it doesn’t work. He wipes his hands on a dish cloth and turns the burner down, figuring that Tony and Charlie won’t be able to kill each other in the time it takes for him to answer the door, probably, and wanders over to check it out. 

He can’t imagine who’d be knocking on Christmas of all days, and especially in this weather, but when he opens the front door he finds Davey standing on the doorstep, bundled up in several layers with a large canvas bag thrown over one of his shoulders.

“Dave!” Jack says, startled but pleased. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“Hi, Jackie,” Davey says, voice muffled by the scarf covering the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes peeking out from underneath a woolen hat. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jack greets back automatically, then flushes, shaking his head. “Or, no, sorry, Happy Hanukkah.”

It’s hard for Jack to read his expression but he thinks he sees Davey’s eyes crinkle up at the corners⁠—an indication of a smile. Jack’s heart does a funny little hop-skip in his chest. 

“Thanks,” Davey says. 

“Here, come on in,” Jack says, opening the door a little wider.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude⁠—”

“You ain’t intrudin’,” Jack insists. “And besides, we’re lettin’ all the warm air out.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Davey says, stepping into the entrance hall. 

“Can you stay a while?” Jack asks, eager to keep Davey in his space for as long as he can, a soft feeling fluttering in his stomach. “I can take your coat, fix you somethin’ to drink, or get you a snack if you’re hungry?”

“That sounds nice,” Davey says, and he sounds like he really means it. “But I can’t stay for long. I had a hard enough time convincing my Ma to let me come out in the first place, what with the snow and all. If I’m not home soon she’ll be worried.”

“Oh, okay,” Jack says, disappointed, and then feeling stupid that he’s disappointed in the first place. What, was he gonna serve Davey up a bowl of Easy Mac? Show him the wonders of the pillow fort?

Davey, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the dip in Jack’s mood. “I just wanted to make sure I got these to you,” he says, letting the canvas bag he’s carrying slip off his shoulder and into his hand, holding it out to Jack in offering. “I didn’t want to bother you over break, but you weren’t at school on Friday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says lamely, not wanting to get into how Charlie and Tony’s school had a half day on Friday because of the holiday, forcing Jack to cut class so he’d be able to pick them up on time. “What is it, my makeup work? Thanks for pickin’ that up for me, I really can’t afford to miss any more English assignments.”

“No, it’s not that,” Davey says. “Or, well, actually it is, but it’s not just your homework…”

Davey keeps talking but Jack doesn’t hear the rest of the explanation, though he doesn’t need to once he peers into the bag. Because it’s stacked full of presents, each wrapped in shiny blue paper dotted with silver snowflakes, tied neatly with white ribbon.

“Merry Christmas?” Davey offers, and he looks a little uncertain, fidgeting nervously with the fringe on his scarf. 

“You got me a Christmas present?” Jack asks, numbly.

“You and the boys,” Davey confirms with a nod. “Just a little something for the holiday.”

“You didn’t hafta do that, Dave,” Jack says, still not quite processing. “I don’t wantcha to waste your money on me.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” Davey says. “I wanted to.” Then he reaches out and swats Jack across the shoulder with his gloved hand. “And it’s not a waste of money, it’s a gift.”

“But…” Jack’s face feels hot, some mix of surprise, embarrassment, and joy. “But I don’t got nothin’ for you.”

“Jackie, just take the presents,” Davey says, in that fondly exasperated tone that Jack has quickly gotten accustomed to over the last few months, “and don’t worry about it. I wanted to. And it’s not like I need a Christmas present.” 

“But Hanukkah—“

“—Isn’t the same thing,” Davey interrupts, kindly but firmly. “We exchange presents, sure, but Hanukkah isn’t, like, the Jewish version of Christmas. Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Jack says, and his voice a little raspy as he chokes back a sudden wave of emotion, but if Davey notices he’s nice enough not to mention it. “Hey, are you sure ya can’t stay for a sec? Race and Charlie would love to see ya.”

But Davey shakes his head. “I really do need to get home,” he says, apologetic, turning back towards the door. “But tell them Merry Christmas from me, okay?”

“Will do,” Jack says. “And tell your folks Happy Hanukkah from us.”

“I will,” Davey says with a soft smile. “Have a good break, Jackie.”

Jack really wants to hug him, but he can’t with the stack of presents in his arms. He settles for a nod and a sort-of wave. “You too, Dave.”

Jack stands there for a short while, watching Davey’s trek down the sidewalk through the window until he disappears from view. Then he makes his way into the living room.

“Hey, Racer, Charlie,” Jack says. “Time out for a second.”

Tony’s head pops up from where he’s lying half on top of Charlie, pushing his brother’s face against the floor. “I didn’t do it,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t do it,” Charlie retorts, his indignant pout muffled somewhat by the carpet.

“Did I say anyone did anything?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Keep this up and you're gonna make me think I shouldn’t give ya these nice presents...”

“There’s more presents?” Tony exclaims, jumping to his feet. “Where?!”

“Slow your roll there, conejito,” Jack laughs. “They ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He gestures to the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Davey stopped by,” he explains. “He couldn’t stay but he brought us some Christmas presents.”

He waits for the boys to gather around, then hands out the presents: one for each of them, and a final one for Jack. Tony and Charlie tear right into theirs, gleeful, but Jack takes a moment to just look at his own gift⁠—inspecting the shiny foiled paper and the neatly folded corners, the curly white ribbon and the cheery holiday tag that reads ‘Jack’ in precise, rounded letters.

It’s been years since he’s gotten a Christmas present. It’s almost like his body doesn’t remember what to do with one.

The boys have no such qualms. 

“Ooh!” Tony exclaims, pulling a mass of cherry-red yarn out of his package. “Jack, look!” It’s a hat, scarf, and mitten set, perfectly sized for a eight year old, soft and warm and perfect for New York winter.

“I got one too!” Charlie says, uncovering a matching set, this one done up in pine green. He tugs the hat onto his head, then wraps himself up in his scarf, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. 

“Oh, and look what else!” Tony says. There’s a pair of DVDs tucked in between the knitwear: a copy of ‘The Lion King’ and ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.’ A second glance into Charlie’s present reveals copies of ‘The Princess Bride’ and ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’

Jack takes a shaky breath, a lump settling somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Jack, aren't cha gonna open yours?” Charlie asks, innocently clueless.

“Yeah, of course I am Choo-Choo,” Jack says, and he’s glad the boys are distracted by their gifts, because while he’s managing to keep his voice steady, he’s not sure he can hide the wetness pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Cautiously, he rips the paper off his own gift. The first thing he finds is another hat, scarf, and mitten set, this one done in a rich, charcoal gray. It’s soft as anything, thick and plush, and Jack can already imagine how useful it’ll be in the coming months. 

He feels something hard nestled underneath, and at first he thinks it must be another pair of DVDs⁠—he’s sensing something of a theme with all of this. But when Jack investigates further, he instead finds a sketchbook. It’s a simple, solid thing, with a sturdy black cover and creamy white pages. The label on the back tells him that the paper is weighted for pencils, charcoal, inks, and water colors⁠—all of Jack’s preferred mediums, except that he’s sure he’s never told Davey any of that.

“Jack, can we watch this?” Tony asks, holding up the copy of ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’ “It’s s’pposed to be really good!”

“Sure we can, baby,” Jack says, running a trembling finger along the first page of the sketchbook, basking in the texture and scent of the fresh, crisp paper. “Go set up the DVD player and get the fort finished up. I’ll dish up our lunch and be right there.”

Slotted inside the book’s front cover is one last surprise⁠—a $25 dollar prepaid phone card for Jack’s cell phone. There a sticky note stuck to it that simply reads:

So you can actually call me back :)

Jack huffs out a laugh, then slips the note safely into his pocket, packing his gifts carefully back into their box. “Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, smiling to himself. “I think I can make that happen.”

00000

Chapter three here

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

[sugarbutterbroadway]

Davey-Doll Chapter 5

The air in the theatre felt different, Davey noted. It felt a little thicker than usual, like when the beauties dusted up the room with their powders and perfumes. He coughed a bit and adjusted the school bag under his arm. Once his gaze landed on Medda his already tired legs seemed to pump a bit faster.

“Medda, you’ll never believe who I ran into yesterday”he said. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Over the thrumming of his heartbeat he could only see her lips moving. 

“Pardon?”he panted, walking the extra few steps to place the texts on her desk.

“I asked who did you see?”she said. His heart pounded just that little bit faster as he thought of the lazy smirk that had graced his presence. It made his blood boil all the same. He walked over to his perching crate and found it had already been turned over. Huh. Peculiar. He allowed himself the luxury of a seat, lowering his long legs down and tucking his chin beneath his knees.

“Jack Kelly,”he finally said. Medda clicked her tongue and offered up a patient smile.

“Jack Kelly”she repeated, “The man of mystery. Now what is he doin’ back in town?”

“Your bet is as good as mine”he sighed, “I was just walking through the square and he caught me by surprise”

“Snuck up on ya?”she asked.

“Almost gave me a heart attack”he confirmed, running his hands over his face. “The way he was dressed...that stupid blue waistcoat I...it was like time had just stopped for a second. Felt like 1899.”

He heard the creek of her chair and heeled footsteps walking towards him. A warm hand on his shoulder had him melting into her side just like the first time. Just like the summer of 1899. He wrapped his arms around her waist and in a moment of blind judgment he buried his face into her satin dress.

Medda sighed and placed a hand on his cap. This is exactly what she was afraid of.

“I’m so sorry, sugar”she said, “it’s not always easy seeing people from our past”

“I thought I was fine”he mumbled, and finally pulled away from her with misty eyes. “I thought I had gotten over him years ago-“

“Let me stop you right there,”she said. “There is no right amount of time it takes for a heart to heal. Feelings aren’t like arithmetic or science, they’re not predictable. You can’t plug them into a neat little formula and get a conclusive answer. They’re messy and volatile and explosive and can make you feel like your whole world is on fire and there ain’t a drop of water in sight-“

“Then why do we feel them?”he choked out. “I-if it hurts so bad then...then why?”

“Because on the opposite side they’re beautiful and delicate and euphoric and...and so human. Loving is one of the only things that comes as naturally as eating and sleeping”she said.

“If it’s so natural then why...why didn’t he?”he asked. His arms wrapped around himself like a motherless child.

“Now I’m not here to make excuses for the boy”she said carefully, “but Jack...he..he wasn’t really used to love, ya know? Didn’t have folks to show him”

Davey nodded slowly. He supposed that makes sense. He sniffled and rubbed his arms to soothe himself. Too tired and now too cold to even feel the waves of hot embarrassment trying to embrace him.

“You don’t have to forgive him,”Medda said softly. “What Jack did was rotten, no matter what his reasoning was. You’re allowed to not forgive him”

Davey chuckled and felt another wave of watery laughter bubbling in his throat.

“How could I not forgive him, Medda?”he asked. “I love him”

“Do you love him, or do you love who you thought he was?”she asked. He frowned and dropped his hands to his thighs.

“I...I don’t know”

-

For the rest of day Davey found his mind wandering back to that exact question. The wise phrase has snowballed into something short and sweet. Did he love Jack?

Well he knows that he did. But did he still now? He groaned and struck a line through his second grammatical error. Why were feelings so complicated? It felt like rocket science—he scoffed and rolled his eyes. At least rocket science had definite answers. This was something he had to decide. Such a serious answer from the depths of his own mind. No years of research to back him up, no proven hypothesis, no textbooks to refer back to Incase he got lost. 

It was simply up to him.

How could he do that all those years ago. How could he declare something so strong,so dangerous, and do it without a second thought? He knew it was natural—Medda was a trusted source on these matters—but now did he know? What was the defining moment? What ticked just the right way in his adolescent brain that proved what he felt was love? How does he know now? He slammed his pencil on his desk and a second later his forehead. 

This was going to drive him insane. Do you love him, or do you love who you thought he was? He doesn’t know. One minute there’s memories of sitting on the rooftop,sharing a cola and kissing under the stars. The next all he can remember is feeling like his body was on fire and screaming with every ounce of his being. The memories switch between the two extremes until all he can do is screw his eyes shut and let out a muffled scream. He wanted to rip his brain out and pick at every individual memory until he had numerical data to come to his conclusion. He wanted to hold a survey for every newsie young and old that had seen their interactions. He wanted something tangible so these thoughts could finally go dormant and maybe just maybe die for good.

He just wanted to know.

Maybe if he knew where he stood this could finally rest. It felt so easy saying he loved him. It was second nature in thought and in practice, but why? Was it only easy because he’s been saying it for so long? What even was love at fifteen? Did he really love Jack or was he holding onto some weird amalgamation of admiration and pure horniness? 

What did he even like about Jack-

“Davey!”Medda said, snapping her fingers. He jolted up in his chair and whirled around to see her standing in the doorway of his office. 

“Huh?”he said intelligently. She clicked her teeth and pushed herself off the doorframe.

“That was the fifth time I’ve called you,”she said. “You’re thinking mighty hard about something”

“Im sorry”he winced, “I don’t think I’m all the way there right now”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,”she sighed.

“Huh?”

“Go on and get out of here”she said waving a hand. “We’ll chalk up this lack of focus to the heat”

“Medda I couldn’t-”

“But you’re going to,”she said. “Go out there and have some fun. Sit under a tree and read one of them textbooks for school or somethin. You just gotta promise me one thing”

“Uh huh?”he hummed, he was already packing his things into his school bag.

“Don’t you go lookin for that boy.”she said. “If he finds you then so be it, but I swear if hear from anyone that you were lookin for him-”

“Uh huh”he nodded, pulling the bag over his shoulder. His fingers had been itching to sit down and tuck into one of his Descarte books for his philosophy class.

“David,”she said sharply. 

“Yeah?”he said, with wide eyes.

“I need you to actually be listening”she said.

“Of course”

“Stay away from that boy,”she said slowly. “I know your brain is racing right now but don’t do anything rash lookin’ for answers. Alright?”

He hated being told what to do. Part of him wanted to do it just out of spite but from the look on Medda’s face one of them would be folding, and it wasn’t her. He sighed and nodded, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder.

“Alright, Medda. I promise.”

“Good”she smiled, “now come over here and give me a hug”

He laughed and walked over to him wrapping his arms around her shoulders and letting his chin rest on her head. She held him in a tight squeeze and rocked the two back and forth, similar to how he watched his own mother rock Les when they were kids.

“You’ve had a rough day,”she concluded. He barked a laugh and squeezed her a bit tighter.

“I’ve had a rough life”he said, “One bad day won’t kill me now”

She pulled away and gave his shoulders one last squeeze. “You’re too strong sometimes, sugar. Just because one bad day won’t kill you doesn’t mean the wound won’t run as deep.”

“Huh?”he said tilting his head.

“It’s okay to ask for help”she said. “Whether it’s me, or that sister of yours or even racecar-”

“Racetrack-”

“-that’s what I said.”she said. “It’s okay to let others take care of you”

He snorted to himself. The last time I let someone take care of me they got bored and left he thought. Instead he just nodded and grabbed his cap to place on his head.

“I will”

[flattired]

(     JACOB ELORDI,   CIS  MAN,   HE / HIM     —     oh  gosh,  sorry  THOMAS  “TOMMY”  BARNETT !  i  didn't  see  you  there !  y'know,  i  can't  believe  you're  already  TWENTY FIVE  years  old;  seems  like  just  yesterday  you  were  tripping  over  yourself,  or  was  that  yesterday ?  just  kidding,  just  kidding  !  anyway,  i  hear  that  you've  been  here  since  1978,  or  so  you  think;  congratulations  !  at  least  that  shining  OBLIGING  personality  of  yours  hasn't  changed  a  bit,  especially  that  LOYAL  +  AMICABLE,  but  FOOLISH  +  RESTLESS  way  about  you.  look,  i  gotta  get  back  to  the  group,  but  i'll  see  you  around  !

        hello,  hello!  my  name  is  rion,  though  at  this  point  you  might  know  be  better  as  admin  jay  on  the  main!  i...  i  just  need  you  guys  to  know  how  absolutely  excited  i  am  that  you’re  all  here.  lilah  will  tell  you  that  basically  every  time  we  got  an  app  she  had  to  listen  to  me  say  holy  shit  again.  we  also  sent  each  other  the  paul  rudd  ‘  hey,  look  at  us  ’  video  a  lot.  it  just  really  means  the  world  to  us  that  you  guys  took  the  time  to  join  this  and  we  hope  you  enjoy  what  we  have  planned.  so  yeah!  mush  out  of  the  way,  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  sweet  but  easily  lead  astray,  tommy  barnett.

full  name :   thomas  barnett

age  upon  check  in :   twenty  five

gender  &  pronouns :   cis  man  &  he / him

trait :   obliging 

personality :   loyal,  amicable,  foolish,  restless

aesthetic :   survival  came  thanks  to  quick  hands,  the  ability  to  stay  upright  despite  the  strikes,  and  an  uncanny  ability  to  find  friends  in  high  places   (   just  like  you  were  taught   )   —   let  them  pull  you  up,  believe  that’s  what  they’re  doing,  and  repay  that  kindness  with  service.  a  well  worn  deck  of  cards  dictates  the  shape  of  your  back  pocket,  the  faces  of  queens  and  jacks  rubbed  soft  to  the  touch  by  your  left  thumb.  brother  was  a  soldier,  you  were  conscripted  to  a  different  brotherhood,  orange  prescription  bottles  standing  at  attention,  waiting  to  be  carried  off  by  you.  marked  body,  both  for  lust  and  anger.  low  expectations  allow  one  to  slip  through  life  unnoticed ;  that’s  an  asset,  not  a  concern.  just  keep  your  mouth  shut,  kid,  your  comforts  come  at  a  certain  price.

WHO  ARE  YOU ?

         tw.  parental  neglect,  toxic  relationships,  verbal  abuse,  drugs  /  drug  dealing

thomas  barnett  was  the  younger  of  two  sons  born  to  eliza  and  charles  barnett,  a  dysfunctional  couple  living  just  above  the  poverty  line.  tommy  grew  up  learning  how  to  avoid  their  often  explosive  arguments,  which  often  spilled  onto  those  around  them   (   skills  include:  knowing  which  way  you  could  walk  pass  the  kitchen  without  being  noticed,  which  window  opened  without  squeaking,  which  headphones  were  worth  saving  up  for  because  they  actually  blocked  sound  like  they  claimed   ).  thankfully,  tommy  was  not  alone  in  this,  he  had  james:  an  older  brother  who  faithfully  looked  after  him  in  ways  their  parents  never  did.  without  james,  it’s  unclear  where  tommy  would  be  now.

he  was  never  seen  as  the  smartest  child.  liked  by  teachers  when  he  was  young  for  being  kind  at  heart,  but  it  took  him  more  time  than  others  to  grasp  concepts  they  were  teaching.  he  struggled  to  pay  attention,  and  as  he  grew  older   kind   didn’t  seem  to  be  enough  anymore  when  compared  against  his  struggles  to  focus  or  retain.  he  skidded  by  in  school,  passing  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth,  his  parents  far  too  preoccupied  with  the  bills  they  couldn’t  pay  and  their  anger  with  each  other  to  notice  how  their  younger  son  was  struggling.  tommy  didn’t  care  enough  to  seek  out  help  on  his  own,  frustrated  with  the  way  academic  pursuits  made  him  feel,  and  while  james  was  doing  his  best,  there  was  only  so  much  he  could  do.

tommy  was  fifteen  when  james  was  conscripted,  and  suddenly  he  was  on  his  own.  that  buffer  between  him  and  his  parents  was  in  one  of  the  carolinas,  attending  basic,  and  tommy  was  forced  to  bare  the  brunt  of  their  anger  that  spilled  over.  they  used  him  as  a  tool  to  wound  each  other,   no  wonder  he’s  failing,  he’s  your  son,   but  tommy  was  the  one  who  ended  up  wearing  most  of  the  injuries.  yet,  it  would  not  be  the  last  time  would  become  a  weapon  for  someone  else.

he  would  find  new  excuses  to  spend  time  away  from  the  small  house  that  had  no  place  to  hide,  mostly  spending  time  at  various  friends’  houses,  but  when  a  teenage  boy  is  seeking  to  find  things  to  do  it  is  often  that  he’ll  find  himself  with  new  and  exciting  bad  habits.  he  started  smoking,  getting  into  fights  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  eventually  helping  a  boy  named  davey  deal  drugs.

david,  davey  to  tommy    —    though  he  accepted  the  nickname  from  no  one  else,  was  the  other  constant  in  tommy’s  life  besides  james.  they  met  in  the  third  grade  and  davey  was  seemingly  everything  tommy  wasn’t.  people  thought  he  was  clever,  he  didn’t  worry  about  school,  and  as  far  as  tommy  could  tell,  davey  was  absolutely  loaded.  despite  the  differences,  they  were  fast  friends,  and  tommy  became  extremely  loyal  to  the  other  boy  over  the  years.  that’s  why,  when  davey  got  involved  in  some  things  that  were  less  than  legal,  tommy  found  himself  involved  as  well.

for  all  the  cleverness  davey  was  touted  to  have,  the  scheme  was  rather  simplistic.  maybe  that  was  the  genius  of  it  though.  davey’s  father  was  a  doctor,  a  psychiatrist  specifically,  and  apparently  it  was  easy  enough  to  pull  rx  pads  from  the  desk  within  their  home.  then  davey  would  fill  them  out  in  the  way  he  wanted  to,  forge  his  father’s  signature,  and  take  the  scripts  to  various  out  of  town  pharmacies  to  get  them  filled.  then  he,  with  the  help  of  tommy,  could  sell  them  at  a  premium.  

tommy  was  never  certain  why  davey  did  it,  but  for  tommy  it  was  about  achieving  a  bit  of  freedom,  independence.  the  deal  was  never  something  that  fits  who  he  was  at  heart,  especially  with  some  of  the  more  questionable  things  davey  did,  but  he  tried  not  to  think  about  that.  his  bartending  job  was  something  that  left  him  living  paycheck  to  paycheck,  but   this   ...   well,  it  let  him  move  out  of  his  parent’s  place,  and  it’s  the  first  time  he’s  just  had  cash  on  hand  without  having  to  think  about  it.  he  wouldn’t  like  to  admit  it,  but  there’s  also  something  about  the  excitement,  the  way  it  scratches  that  restless  itch  of  his,  that   (   in  addition  to  his  loyalty  to  davey   )   kept  him  in  the  game.

WHERE  &  WHEN  DID  YOU  CHECK  IN  ?

when  tommy  opened  the  door  to  his  room  the  next  morning  to  find  the  raven  house,  he  knew  instantly  something  had  changed.  it  wasn’t  hard  to  figure  out  considering  he  had  checked  into  a  motel  6  off  of  i - 95  the  night  before.  sure,  it  had  been  a  late  night  and  he  hadn’t  gotten  much  sleep,  but  when  you’re  expecting  to  step  out  onto  a  concrete  walkway   (   red  metal  railing  in  front  of  you,  a  half  empty  parking  lot  that  hosts  an  above  ground  pool  that  is  closed  for  the  season   )   and  are  instead  greeted  by  a  dark  hallway  and  someone  wearing  what   must   be  a  halloween  costume,  it  doesn’t  take  a  genius  to  tell  that  something  has  changed.  which  is  good,  considering  no  one  has  ever  accused  thomas  barnett  of  being  a  genius.  there  were  plenty  of  other  things  people  called  him,  and  he  tried  to  not  let  those  things  bother  him.

but  it  was  1978,  and  no  one  dressed  like  that  anymore.  at  least   ...   he  didn’t  think  anyone  did.

this  wasn’t  even  supposed  to  be  a  trip.  just  a  night  drive;  windows  down  in  his  car  and  recorded  cassettes  with  his  favorite  songs  playing  at  top  volume.  it  wasn’t  his  fault  he’d  lost  track  of  time  and  ended  up  further  from  home  than  he’d  planned.  now  he  was   ...   here,  wherever  here  was.  the  raven  house  didn’t  look  like  anything  he’d  ever  seen  before.  the  luxury  is  almost  off  putting  to  he  who  is  far  more  comfortable  in  dive  bars  and  parties  in  unfinished  basements.  it  reminded  him  of  davey’s  house,  almost,  a  place  that   (   despite  the  years  that  they  had  been  friends   )   tommy  never  felt  like  he  belonged  inside  of.

except,  this  was  even  nicer  than  that.

WHAT  WENT  WRONG  ?

        tw.  drugs  /  drug  dealing

a  flat  tire.

which  would  have  been   fine.   he  knew  how  to  change  a  flat  tire.  so  technically,  what  had  gone  wrong  was  that  he  also  got  a  flat  tire  three  months  before,  and  he’d  never  replaced  the  spare.

tommy  managed  to  pull  the  car  over,  and  upon  discovering  this  and  checking  the  time  on  the  car  radio,  he  decided  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  tonight.  a  neon  vacancy  sign  was  visible  from  where  he  was  standing,  and  he  was  sure  they  had  a  payphone  he  could  use  in  the  morning,  call  a friend  or  call  a  tow  truck.  it  would  be  fine  to  leave  the  car  here  until  then,  right?  of  course  it  would  be.

as  it  turned  out,  it  wouldn’t  really  matter.

there  was  a  bag  in  the  trunk,  something  inspired  both  by  his  occupation   (   occupation?  side  gig,  to  supplement  bartending,  to  help  out  his  friend...  it  was  just  pills   )   and  advice  from  his  older  brother.  james  had  seen  some  shit    —    or,  that’s  how  tommy  would  explain  it.  james  had  never  given  him  any  of  the  specifics,  so  he  had  none  to  pass  on.  inside  the  bag  were  the  essentials,  certainly  everything  he’d  need  for  a  one  night  stay  at  a  motel.  could  you  even  call  it  one  night  if  it  was  already  past  midnight?

WHY  WERE  YOU  BROUGHT  HERE  ?

it  might  be  easy  to  pin  tommy  as  the  extraverted  type,  but  the  truth  is  under  a  somewhat  loud  exterior,  there’s  a  kind  heart:  someone  who’s  loyal  and  easy  going  and  could  certainly  be  considered  obliging.  that’s  the  trait  that  brought  him  to  the  raven  house,  and  if  you  think  about  it  for  even  just  a  moment,  it’s  not  hard  to  see  why.  an  individual  who’s  never  a  leader,  always  the  support,  and  doesn’t  mind  it.  a  good  listener,  someone  who  will  do  anything  for  those  he  cares  for,  or  who’s  happy  just  to  play  the  music  a  little  louder  and  sing  along  with  you  if  that’s  what  you  need.  the  fights  he  used  to  get  into  were  just  something  to  do,  to  assuage  the  restles  spirit  that  needs  to  stay  occupied,  of  something  for  a  friend  wronged   (   though  this  definition  has  become  somewhat  muddled   ),  but  truthfully  he’s  good  natured  at  his  core.  he  knows  what  it  is  like  to  receive  help  when  you  need  it,  and  he’ll  return  that  favor  to  the  world  any  day.

WHICH  ITEM  IN  YOUR  POSSESSION  IS  THE  MOST  IMPORTANT  ?

it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards.  it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards  except  it  was  a  birthday  present  from  james.  it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards  but  they’ve  been  worn  soft  to  the  touch  by  the  repeated  pressure  of  being  rubbed  between  his  thumb  and  fingers.  he  used  to  do  card  tricks  with  them,  but  now  he’s  worried  they’ll tear.  a  new  deck  was  picked  up  in  the  lobby  convenience  store,  but  the  old  deck  is  important,  even  if  it  is  no  longer  useful.

   ...   WAS  THERE  ANYTHING  ELSE  ?

can  be  goaded  into  almost  anything  with  the  phrase   ‘   i  dare  you.   ’

is  the  guy  who  suggests  that  everyone  play  the  black  betty  game  at  parties,  and  feels  clever  when  he  explains  it.

will  kick  your  ass  at  a  game  of  quarters

was  an  obnoxious  car  signer.  his  ability  is  average,  the  issue  lies  in  his  inability  to  truly  focus  on  driving  at  the  same  time.

now  an  obnoxious  hotel  shower  singer.  my  apologies  to  whoever  has  the  room  next  to  him.

to  compound  that,  he  tends  to  keep  strange  hours.  time  isn’t  real  here,  but  his  body  is  still  on  the  schedule  of  his  bartending  job  and  mostly  nocturnal,  if  such  a  thing  is  possible  here.

has  argued  with  the  empty  other  side  of  the  bar  over  how  a  drink  is  made.

hates  the  feeling  of  being  cooped  up  here,  more  than  he  dislikes  the  issue  of  time.  he  used  to  drive  a  lot  and  has  replaced  that  by  wandering  the  floors  of  the  hotel.

[penzyroamin]

not to be a basic sad bitch but can we get back to december + javid 🥺

oh i CELEBRATE what a basic sad bitch u are kath 🥺🥺🥺

ok so this got…. long as FUCK. this is 5.4k words. that is the longest prompt response i’ve ever written. however in my humble opinion. so yknow, sit back and enjoy the Canon Era Gay Guilt, Reconciliation, Vulnerability, And Time Jumps. this is also gonna get posted on ao3, because its… 5.4k words.

ain’t nothing but missing you

April 1906

Jack hasn’t seen Sarah Jacobs in a couple years, but when the word around the street is that she’s got a kid now, he decides he might as well drop by. As he walks over, he practices nonchalance, trying to remember what he acted like five years ago, when he felt comfortable at the Jacobs’ home. 

He thinks he’s about prepared when he’s finally at their door, muscle memory carrying him across the city and to their tenement and up a couple levels.

(Sarah supposedly has her own place with her husband and daughter by now, but Jack was told she was stopping by, so he’s trying to cover all his catching-up bases.)

One, two, three quick knocks on the door, and then it opens.

Jack’s breath freezes in his lungs, and the smile he’s put on falters.

Davey blinks at him. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Jack manages, and then Sarah arrives at Davey’s side.

“Jack Kelly, what’re you doing here?” Her little girl’s resting at her hip, and Jack regains his smile, more genuine this time.

“Here to say hello, especially to this little one.”

Davey clears his throat. “Well, I’d better be getting home, Sarah.”

“Back to Boston?” Jack asks, and Davey’s gaze returns to him, intense and curious. 

“No, I just got back to town a week ago.” Davey smiles at him tightly, his lips pressed together, and moves past him to leave. Their shoulders brush together as he says, “Have a good night, Jack.”

Jack watches him leave, and when he turns back to Sarah, she’s giving him a certain kind of look. It tells him, in an instant, that even if Davey hasn’t told her, she knows. “Would you like to come in?” she asks.

She knows, and Jack remembers.

April 1901

Davey’s tiptoeing on the edge of being too old to sell papers, and Jack has his job doing cartoons, but the newsies still see them as ringleaders as much as ever. And so, they’re watching in the lodging house while everybody plays poker. Someone’s clearly robbing someone else blind, but Jack’s distracted by Davey’s chin on his shoulder, knuckles brushing against his thigh.

They’ve always sat close. He doesn’t know why it feels different recently.

He hears Davey laugh softly, and even though it’s because of something outside of their little world, Jack can’t help but think it feels distinctly private. Davey moves his hand to rest halfway over Jack’s, their fingers partially intertwined, and Jack swallows hard, trying not to look at him.

May 1901

“What’re you gonna do?” Jack asks, distracting himself by fiddling with Davey’s fingers. They’re stretched out on the roof of Davey’s family’s tenement, and Davey’s hand was resting on Jack’s knee until Jack took it. Davey has his head resting on the wall, his eyes half-closed, and he sighs.

“Not sure. Maybe look for something nicer for a bit, but I’ll probably wind up in a factory.” His nose wrinkles a little. “Hope I don’t have to make bullets.”

The idea of that twists up Jack’s throat for a moment; Davey, who has always been so sweet and good and peaceful and smart, stuck on an assembly line to make items of war. There’s no war going on right now, not with a military. But when Jack sees the troubled furrow of Davey’s brow, he can’t help but feel that there’s one at home.

“I’ll see if the World’s got anything for ya,” Jack says. “You’s real smart, smarter than me. If they got something for me…” He trails off, the implication obvious, and Davey rolls his eyes.

“I can’t do art like you, and I can’t write like Kath. What’d they want me for?”

“You could interview for things. Hey, maybe even go undercover, you talk to people so good!”

Davey sighs, the beginnings of a smile gracing his lips as he turns his head to look at Jack. “I didn’t used to be. S’all recent.”

“Recent or not, you got a knack for it. Getting people’s trust, and all that. I think you’d be good.” The words are starting to get a little heavy in Jack’s throat– he’s never felt the need to heap so much praise on someone before, and it’s only a little uncomfortable. But it’s what Davey deserves, and for some reason, Jack is desperate to give Davey everything he deserves and more.

(Except he can’t, because he can never give Davey children, and a family, and the sort of normal, happy life that he truly deserves. And Davey’s parents will never approve of them, and they can never get married, and all of those are things that Davey deserves.)

Nonetheless, he continues: “Anybody who can’t see it’s just an idiot.”

He’s looked away from Davey, not quite comfortable with seeing his face right now, but still holding his hand. And then he looks back at him, gets only half a second to take in Davey’s eyes, dark brown in the dying sunlight, and the way Davey’s breath hitches.

Only half a second, and then Jack’s being kissed.

Davey’s free hand rests on the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack clutches his other hand tighter as he moves closer to him.

Jack knows, logically, that it’s a bad idea. Because, again, he cannot give Davey a real life, not the kind that he should have. And if he can’t give him a real life, then this will end, someday, and the thought of never being able to kiss Davey like this again makes Jack want to hold him so tightly that he’s never able to leave.

But he’s spent so long wanting him, longer than he probably realizes, and he tries to be invincible, but Davey Jacobs is his Achilles’ heel.

June 1901

It’s not unbearably hot, but the sun is too bright for anyone’s comfort. Jack’s accompanying Davey along across the city, helping him carry baskets of his mother’s washing to her clients.

When they finally drop off the last basket, Jack bumps their shoulders together, and Davey looks at him with a delighted grin. It makes Jack dizzy, and he nods towards the shaded alley.

They nearly collapse, sliding down the wall together, and Jack carefully puts an inch between them. It’s still light out, and there are people walking by just a few feet away, and they really aren’t concealed by anything, and Jack knows that they need to be cautious. He has to stop from looking for too long, because Davey’s hair is curlier than usual in the humidity, and he’s got his head tilted so his jawline is sharp and gorgeous, and if Jack keeps watching him sit there and breathe, he’s going to do something ridiculous.

Finally, Davey says, “Thanks for helping. Lord knows I needed it.”

Jack knocks their elbows together. “It would’ve just taken ya twice as long.”

“And I wouldn’t see you.”

Jack’s gaze flitters towards the pedestrians not too far away from them, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Romantic.”

“Possibly,” Davey says, his voice no more than a murmur, and when Jack looks at him again, he finds Davey’s eyes on him.

He doesn’t understand why it’s easy, so so easy, for Davey to do this. He kisses Jack like he’s never thought about the repercussions, even though he thinks about everything. He can look at Jack and never once lose his restraint. 

Jack looks at Davey for a few seconds, and he wants to fall apart.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his own mouth to hold himself back, and when he gets back to the tiny shitty apartment he can barely afford, he goes to sleep fighting tears.

July 1901

Jack knows Irving Hall like the back of his own hand, so he knows every place you can hide in the back corridors. There’s one place in particular where you can faintly here the music and the applause, but no one will find you for decades, besides maybe Miss Medda.

So he and Davey are hidden there, fading into the sound of soft brassy music and the feeling of being the only two people in the world.

Most of the time, when they kiss and they’re all alone like this, it’s a little rushed, hasty, and hot. But something about the whole situation has made this moment softer. It’s time truly to themselves, without anyone else or even the thought of them. Jack smiles against Davey’s lips as they kiss, slow and sweet.

He knows they’re going to have to go back outside, to the real world, soon. That Davey should get home and go to bed. That Jack should walk back to his place and fall asleep alone and still craving Davey’s hands on his hips.

But he tries to forget it, he really tries.

August 1901

It’s a vaguely normal day in terms of the two of them– Davey talks, Jack talks, Davey seems effortlessly restrained, Jack is willing to kill for the ability to hold Davey’s hand for just a few minutes.

Davey comes over for dinner, which is the nicest thing Jack could scrape up, and that already gets Jack a little antsy because he’s realizing this is the first time Davey’s been in his apartment when it’s just the two of them. The sun is down, and it’s almost dark outside, and Jack is keeping his eyes fixed on his plate because really, this is supposed to be a sweet, civilized dinner.

And then Davey says, “My mama’s trying to get me keen on this girl from synagogue.”

Jack bites the inside of his cheek. “What’s her name?”

“Liza, I think,” Davey sighs. “She’s sweet, but also… you know.”

“I know.” The words scratch out of Jack’s throat, and suddenly everything in front of him feels a little stupid– because someday, some girl is gonna get Davey’s life, and she’ll get to be with him and wake up next to him and raise his family, and she’ll never know Davey quite like Jack does. But why does Jack even try to know him so bad, why does Jack need Davey near him, when that phantom girl’s always ready and waiting to scoop up her chance as soon as Jack messes up? And when he knows that that’ll be better for Davey, because Davey needs a nice girl to fulfill every domestic fantasy he deserves, so why is Jack being selfish?

“Are you…” Davey pauses, blinking in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

Yes. Yes, he most definitely is.

They finish their food, and Jack stands after a moment. Davey gets up from the little table and walks around it, placing his hand on Jack’s waist and leaning forward to kiss him. It’s achingly gentle, and Jack’s fingers start to cramp with the effort not to touch him.

Jack pulls away. “Should you get home?”

Davey looks hurt for a moment, and then he asks, hesitantly, “Do you want me to go home?”

His eyes are so, so gorgeous, and so kind.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Davey says, sure and steady. Jack’s about to ask what exactly that means– for just a little while longer, for the night, but Davey’s already dragging Jack back, and their lips are together again.

Jack clutches at the back of Davey’s shirt as Davey kisses along his jaw, and they stumble across the room so Jack is pressed against the wall. 

Jack Kelly has broken a multitude of laws before, and so has David Jacobs, so Jack doesn’t really know why this law, the one they’re definitely about to break, feels so much more insurmountable. 

September 1901

They’re eating dinner with Davey’s family, some soup that’s much more broth than substance but is the best they could scrounge up. Les, nearly a teenager now, has long since devoured his serving, and is watching with keen interest as his parents discuss the romantic prospects of his siblings. Jack sits awkwardly, trying to pretend like the thought of Davey being engaged, married, to any odd girl doesn’t make his throat sore with envy.

“David, you’ve talked to Liza?” Esther asks, kind and hopeful but also annoyingly persistent. She sounds tired, and Jack pities her for a moment, trying to carve out a future for her children.

Davey’s eyes are fixed on his soup. “No, Mama, I ain’t.” He winces, then, and glances up, correcting himself. “Haven’t.”

The proper accent school had forced on him faded away two years ago, but Davey still has moments of caring about maintaining it, especially around his family.

“Well, it’d be nice if you could call on her family.”

“Yes,” Davey says, his voice spilling with false promises. “I’ll try and set up a dinner when I see her Saturday.”

Esther beams. “That’ll be lovely.”

Jack’s hand is clenched in a fist under the table, and Davey’s hand imperceptibly moves over to rest on Jack’s. It’s a moment of calm, a reassurance that they won’t vanish forever come Saturday.

Jack hasn’t ever met Liza, but he kind of hates her. Which isn’t fair, but he does, nonetheless.

That Friday night, they manage to steal maybe a half hour away, and Jack practically begs for Davey’s affection. They can’t do the real thing, not here on Davey’s goddamn rooftop, but he still presses chaste kisses to the back of Davey’s neck. He does so again, and again, temptingly brief, until Davey sighs slowly. It rumbles a little in the back of his throat, which is just a little too intoxicating, and in a few seconds, he’s pulling aside the loose, open collar of Jack’s shirt and the extra layer of his undershirt and leaving bruises along Jack’s collarbone.

Nobody will be able to see the marks, since Jack doesn’t let anyone but Davey ever see this much of his skin. But it’s material, far more material, than anything Liza has of Davey.

“I didn’t peg you as the jealous kind, baby,” Davey mutters against Jack’s shoulder, just a few minutes before they have to head inside. They were in that phase of trying to calm themselves down and make themselves presentable, but the name hits Jack’s system like a fever, and his ears go hot.

“Didn’t think I’d need to be,” Jack says, the words coming out a little strangled.

Davey huffs a soft, quiet laugh at that. “You don’t. She’s nothing like you. Nobody’s like you.” His thumb grazes over Jack’s cheekbone. “There’s only you.”

And that– the confirmation of everything Jack knows, everything he feels, pushes him dangerously close to tears. But he can’t cry, not now, not in front of Davey, so instead he drags him close, his arms around Davey’s waist to get him as near as possible. They kiss, bruising and sweet at the same time, until Davey has to pull back and get them calm all over again.

October 1901

As a general rule, Jack doesn’t cry in front of anyone.

He’ll cry alone, when there’s no one there to see him, no one to lose respect in him. But he refuses to be weak in the eyes of others, refuses to let other people see that he’s barely nineteen, and he’s not ready, not strong enough to do what life is going to force him to do.

But it’s been a horrible, fucked-up week. Pulitzer rejected idea after idea for his cartoons because they “catered to the lower class”, rent on his shitty place got hiked up, and then, of course, there’s Davey.

Nothing’s wrong with Davey, of course. But the circumstances of this thing that they have are getting worse and worse.

It starts with their friends starting to get confused as to why Jack, who was seized by infatuation every other second a year ago, suddenly talks of no one.

Davey has a few dinners with Liza’s family, and always assures Jack afterwards that they are incredibly boring. Jack worries less about them being boring, and more about them being safe.

And there is pressure on both of them– to start looking for a nice girl, to start figuring out what they want from their lives. 

Jack is slowly realizing that he wants to spend his life with Davey, and that’s truly horrifying, because he can’t. 

There is no future here, he tries to remind himself. This is temporary, and then it will go.

But his week has been utterly awful, and then when he meets Davey on the rooftop one night, and Davey presses soft kisses to the line of Jack’s jaw, it all comes crashing in on him. Davey is so gentle and fiery at the same time, so good and kind, and Jack cannot possibly keep him.

He almost goes numb, and barely registers his own tears until Davey is gasping and wiping them away for him.

Jack brings himself back to reality to the sound of Davey murmuring soft, reassuring words and kissing his forehead. “It’s okay, Jackie, we’re alright. Whatever it is, I can help. I’m right here, darling.”

That breaks right through all Jack’s shields, all his insistence that he doesn’t cry. Slow, quiet tears turn into wracking sobs, and he buries his face in Davey’s shoulder as his body shook.

Davey keeps whispering to him, rocking them back and forth. He starts singing some old Yiddish song, his voice a little raspy with the cold, and Jack clutches onto him. He wants Davey near him every second of every day, and he cannot have any of that, and that just makes him cry harder.

He tries not to think about the way Davey keeps him warm and safe from the wind, tries not to think at all– somewhere along the line, his tears slow, and he is calmed by Davey’s hand rubbing circles against his back. Davey pulls back, only far enough so he can look Jack in the eye.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his hands cupping Jack’s face. “Did I do something?”

“You do nothing wrong. Not to me,” Jack says, and Davey’s eyes are soft and disbelieving. “It’s just… been bad. A bad week.”

Davey hums at that. “You wanna tell me about it?”

He can’t tell the full thing, he can’t tell Davey just how much the temporary state of them makes him want to rip his own heart out. Because then Davey will blame himself, and none of this, not one bit, is Davey’s fault.

But he tells him the abridged version, the part full of anger at the world for fucking him up so badly, frustration at Pulitzer and his landlord, fury at the world.

And when he finishes, he’s not crying, but he feels close to it again, and Davey wraps him up in another hug. 

It’s that moment that makes him realize. The way Davey holds him impossibly close, the way that he does it without a second thought, the way that Jack can picture them staying right here forever. 

He loves David Jacobs. He is in love with him. Irreversible, sticks-with-you-for-eternity kind of love, the kind of love that people get married over the dream of.

He loves him, and he doesn’t know how long he has, and he doesn’t know how long he will. But he knows it isn’t safe.

November 1901

There are a few moments after that in which he almost thinks he can make this whole thing work.

Davey stays the night over at Jack’s apartment– they have a while worth of burning kisses and grasping hands, trying to keep away the cold. After that, though, they lay as close as they can, Davey’s arms wrapped around Jack’s waist, and Jack’s just on the brink of falling asleep.

He opens his eyes just a bit to see Davey asleep, his lips just slightly parted, and that’s the last thing before he falls asleep.

The few times he’s gotten to wake up next to Davey, he’s always been up first, taken the time to sketch out the slope of his cheekbones. This time, though, when he wakes up, Davey’s sitting up next to him. He’s reading some massive book, and he’s smiling just a little.

He looks like a prince in some storybook. He looks enchanting.

Davey notices him, and his smile widens, reaching down to brush Jack’s curls out of his face. “Morning, neshomeleh.”

(That’s the thing with nicknames– Jack has always given them so frequently that whenever he calls him David, it feels like walking on holy ground. But Davey distributes them so sparingly, and usually just little quirks on people’s names, so every “lover” or word Jack doesn’t understand is a treasure. The first time they really discussed what they were, Davey asked Jack to call him David– he needed to be sure that Jack was serious.)

“Morning,” Jack says, and he wants so many more moments like this.

But then Davey has to go home, because they have lives, and those lives cannot be abandoned.

December 1901

It begins like this: Davey comes running up to Jack in the street.

Before Jack can blink, he’s enveloped in a hug, and Davey is laughing joyfully. The laughter fades for a moment, and Davey whispers, “Rooftop tonight,” with his lips close to Jack’s ear.

Then, he starts laughing again, and claps Jack on the back before he runs away.

That night, Jack climbs up the ladder on the side of Davey’s tenement to find Davey already sitting there, silhouetted by moonlight with his old coat pulled around him.

Jack steps towards him hesitantly, and as soon as Davey sees him, he rushes forward. Jack is taken aback when Davey kisses him, an ecstatic and almost aggressive press of lips before Davey backs up, holding Jack’s shoulders.

“You wait ‘till you hear my news,” Davey says giddily, and Jack blinks.

“I don’t wanna wait, mind telling me now?”

Davey laughs, that perfect firecracker laugh, and he drags Jack to sit down with him. They sit so they can face each other, Davey’s eyes bright and Jack’s eyes most likely confused.

“You know I got a cousin in Boston?” Jack nods. “And you know I’ve been looking for a job.” Another nod. “He talked to some folks up there and found someone willing to hire me.” Davey pauses, for dramatic effect. “As a teacher! A teacher, Jack, for littles, I can–”

Davey keeps speaking, but one word rings in Jack’s ears: Boston.

“You’re leaving?” he finally asks, interrupting Davey, his voice hoarse.

It doesn’t break Davey’s smile. “No, yes, but– Jack, this is the best part, he doesn’t know anything about me besides me having schooling and being good at running a crowd. And he’s found a place I can move into, and Jack, I already asked, and he said you could stay there, too.”

That’s too many words for Jack’s brain, too quick a series of additions, and he tries to focus on the last piece. “I can… move to Boston.”

“With me, Jack, you can move to Boston with me, and we’ll have a place, and nobody knows us! Jackie, lover, this is perfect, we can–”

Davey’s words fade into the background once more, and Jack starts feeling sick to his stomach, because he’s always thought that Davey knows that they’re impermanent.

He’s hated their impermanence, but he’s always thought Davey’s realized it.

And now, he thinks that maybe, Davey’s still clinging to childlike hope.

Of some accord that’s not his own, Jack starts speaking again. And then Davey speaks, and then Jack, and then both of them, and Davey, who was previously so thrilled, gets angry.

“I don’t get what you see wrong with–”

“This is never going to be perfect, Davey! We will never be safe, we will never be able to just exist– David, look at me!”

Davey’s eyes snap up to Jack’s face, and they’re filled with such hurt that Jack wavers. But he swallows down all the “I love you”s that he’s never said before, and he just says, “This can’t be forever.”

“We could try, though,” Davey says, sounding more desperate than angry now. “C’mon, Jack, listen to me. Believe in me, this is our chance. I’ll have a job, a real job, and we can wake up and fall asleep with each other and say whatever we want in private and not have to worry about my parents–”

The picture he’s painting is so goddamn pretty, and Jack needs to tear it apart, for both of their goods. Because Davey can be incredible, if he just lets go of Jack, and maybe Jack will learn how to live without him, someday.

“No,” Jack says simply.

Davey presses his lips together, looking at the ground. “I need to go. I need a job, a stable one. I need to go, and I need you to go with me.”

“You want me to. That ain’t good for either of us,” Jack says, praying that Davey will blink and then understand, but he doesn’t.

“So you just intend to quit this the second it’s real?”

“You want us to live together, David, to have a life. We can’t do that, we’ll never have that! No matter how much anybody wants it!”

There are a few more words. Tears start welling up in Davey’s eyes, and if Jack looks at that any longer, he’ll feel like the worst scum on Earth.

So he says goodbye, and he climbs back to the ground, leaving Davey on the roof.

And that’s how it ends.

April 1906

For five years, Davey has been in Boston, living a life that Jack could separate from his own.

And now he’s in New York again. He has a place, according to Crutchie, and a job teaching littles in the Lower East Side, the same neighborhood Davey grew up in.

Jack smiles to himself thinking about how Davey must feel– coming home, teaching in his own neighborhood, and finding it now quickly filling with Jewish families like his own. It must feel more like home than before, surrounded by the buildings of his childhood and by his people.

Jack never thinks so often about home, except when he’s thinking about Davey.

It takes him a few years of dawdling and wringing his hands and asking for second opinions before he finally gets up enough courage to find Davey’s little apartment. It doesn’t look too different from the Jacobs family’s apartment, but it’s all Davey’s.

He knocks on the door, thinking that he’s ready to see his face this time.

But Davey opens the door, and Jack’s never been ready.

Davey looks noticeably taken aback, and he steps away, a sliver more distance between them. “Jack. Hi.”

Jack swallows, taking off his hat. “Mind if I come in?” Davey doesn’t say anything, just moves to give Jack space to walk into his apartment.

Davey busies himself around the apartment for a while, cleaning up cups and scattered newspapers. Jack takes the time to observe him.

He’s still ridiculously gorgeous.

He outgrew his last bit of lanky awkwardness in Boston, making every step he takes now a little more confident. There’s a dark splattering of early-spring freckles across his face, and his hair is a little longer and curlier. There’s a short scar along his jaw that wasn’t there before, and Jack worries for a moment.

Davey turns, and his eyes fix on Jack, intense and suspicious. “What are you here for?”

“I wanted to check in,” Jack says, and the words seem hollow, even to himself. Davey huffs out an empty laugh.

“Well, you have. I’m fine.”

This is going downhill quickly, so Jack squeezes his eyes shut and manages, “Dave, I wanna apologize.”

Davey blinks, and then crosses his arms and tilts his head, telling him to begin.

“I never shoulda told you all that, before. I shoulda believed you, shoulda tried. I was a coward.” He looks down at his hands. “I thought… if I could make you leave me, maybe you could be normal.”

He looks up when Davey gives a frustrated sigh. “Jack, did you think you’d be the only man I’d ever think about?” Jack falters, his mouth falling open, and Davey rolls his eyes. “Only way that’d happen is if you’d left with me, if I had you. And you stayed, don’t see how you could fix that now.”

“I know. I know, Davey, really. I just…”

“You know I told Sarah I was gonna ask you to go with me?”

That explains some things.

Jack shakes his head, and Davey drops his hands to his sides. “I was so sure you were gonna say yes, Jack. We felt… I dunno, it felt like we were really something.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Davey laughs hoarsely. “We all believe in magical true love when we’re eighteen. I was dumb, it’s… it is.”

Denial is on the tip of his tongue, he’s about to say that he didn’t believe in all that. And then he thinks about May, a few months before he was nineteen, and kissing Davey on the roof. Maybe he did.

He’s shaken out of the thought when Davey reaches a hand up to rub at his own temple, clearly tired. “Whatever. I left, you didn’t.”

Jack bites down on his tongue to avoid saying something stupid. “I wish I had. I shoulda, Davey, I’s regretted it every day.”

Davey’s eyebrows furrow. “You never wrote. You never tried to contact me. Never visited, never gave my mama a message to send to me. That ain’t regret.”

“It was different when you was away… abstract, sorta.”

“So, what, you like it better when you don’t have to feel guilty about me?”

“No!” Jack says, the word tripping out of his mouth. “Not that, swear, no, it’s just…” He can feel Davey’s willingness to let him stay draining quickly, and all he can think about how terribly, horribly wrong his life will be if he never sees this man again. “It’s just that I love you.”

Davey swallows, hard, and Jack realizes all over again that neither of them ever said it.

“I love you. And I did then, and I’s still doing it now, and Christ, every time I see you I never wanna look away. And I made myself think we couldn’t have nothing so I’d stop hoping for it.”

He tries to look Davey in the eyes. “I love you,” he repeats, for posterity.

Davey exhales slowly, his breaths shaky. “Lord. Jack, I…”

“You ain’t gotta say anything. I’m just sorry, is all. Nothing you gotta do about it.”

“What if I want to?” Davey asks, sounding a little faint, and Jack’s heart jumps to his throat. “If I forgive you right here, are you gonna leave again?”

“Never. You want me here, you want me anywhere, I’m there. I’s never gonna leave, promise.”

Davey tilts his head up, looking at his ceiling. There’s a long moment of silence, and Jack wrings his hands, praying silently. When Davey speaks, they’ve been quiet for so long that it surprises them both.

“I love you, too.”

Jack opens his eyes, realizing only now that they’re closed, and finds Davey’s gaze meeting his own. His breath catches in his throat, and he isn’t sure what to do.

“It’s gonna take some time,” Davey says, his voice soft and raw like Jack remembers it being in the mornings. “I… I’m gonna forgive you, but it’s gonna be a second.”

“I can wait,” Jack says, barely registering the words. “I can wait, Dave.”

Davey smiles delicately, and then, “Say my name. My real name. Tell me you love me, I need to know it’s real.” The half a room between them is stifling and impossible. Jack tries to breathe, tries to give Davey the sort of moment that Jack’s never been good at.

“I love you, David Jacobs,” he says, and before the last syllable has even left his lips, Davey is hugging him as tight as possible. Jack buries his face in Davey’s shirt, letting tears leak out as they breathe together. “I’m gonna love you right this time.”

Jack doesn’t know if they’re allowed to have a future together. But he knows they will, regardless of who refuses it to them.

The city of New York buzzes outside as they cling to each other, cherishing their reprieve and knowing that the April air next morning will be so different from December’s night winds.

quick note for those who dont know: nesholemeh is “sweetheart” in yiddish. the single take-away for this fic is that i’m soft for davey calling jack pet names

[vanderlindemangofarm]

I’ve Got You

This is for the wonderful ray of sunshine that is @scribblepigeon​ as she won 1st Prize in the competition I ran a while back! I’m so sorry this has taken so long, but I really hope you enjoy it! 

Summary: after the mess of the Blackwater ferry job, you and the gang have taken refuge in Colter, and you’re feeling useless. Determined to prove your worth to the gang, you decide to scout a nearby O’Driscoll camp. When your mission doesn’t go to plan, it’s down to Charles to bring you home. 

Warnings: one use of a racial slur, angst, mentions of gore. 

Pairing: Charles Smith x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 3,191 (yeahhhh I went way over the word count, sorry)

If you had hated stitching before, it was nothing compared to now. The cold had rendered your unskilled fingers practically useless. You couldn’t feel a thing as your fingertips gripped the needle, poking it idly through bits of old fabric in a crude attempt to make a blanket. Your breath misted in front of you as you sighed loudly. Tilly looked up.

“Having fun?” she smiled sympathetically. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. She nodded grimly. “You and me both.”

It was only until the storm cleared, you thought to yourself over and over. Just a few days. Maybe even less than that. Perhaps even tomorrow, you’d all be on your way to pastures new – to warm air, to blue sky, to grass! If there was one thing you missed as much as going to sleep without shivering, it was greenery. Charles had promised to take you out walking as soon as you got out of the mountains. You knew he was probably just being polite but you still smiled whenever you thought about it. You always smiled when you thought of Charles. He’d been so gentle with you right from the start, always greeting you with a kind word. On the long wagon journeys you’d sit beside him and watch the rolling landscape change, in comfortable silence. Sometimes you’d let your head slump against his shoulder, but he never seemed to mind. He’d always tuck a blanket around you.

“That blanket won’t make itself, Miss L/N.” Susan called from across the room, dragging you out of your daydream. There was frustration in her voice but it was strained, like she couldn’t quite find the energy to be truly angry with you. The past few days had taken its toll on you all.

All that money, lost, sitting somewhere in a town where you’d be shot on sight. You’d experienced disappointing jobs before but this felt cruel. Just as you’d let yourself start to dream, the world had closed in on you once again. Dutch had placed his hand on your shoulder before you rode to Blackwater, saying something about being rewarded for your trials, like that ferry held the rightful prize for all the gang had endured. It must have been even worse for the others, the ones who had been with Dutch for years, even decades. You had only been around for a month or so. Jenny had found you cowering behind a saloon, drunk and alone and afraid. She had been so kind to you, a true friend, and now she was gone. So was Davey, so were Mac and Sean for all you knew. Even John was missing. It was cruelty, plain and simple. Your chest tightened as you felt the threat of tears in your eyes.

You felt useless. It didn’t help that barely anyone was speaking to you properly. You knew it was because there was so much to do, but the sting of people walking past you without even looking you in the eye was hard to ignore. You hadn’t even seen Dutch and Hosea today; they were always holed up pouring over maps or out scouting the surroundings. Arthur and Javier had ventured into the mountains to look for John. And here you were, sewing, if you could even call it that. You held up the blanket, which looked more like a long scarf. Jack looked up from the fire and frowned puzzledly at your creation. You smiled, wrapping it around your neck.

“Very modern, don’t you think?” you asked, striking a pose. Jack giggled.

“Miss L/N, the sooner you fashion something useable, the sooner we can all get warmer.”

“Yes, Ms. Grimshaw.” you mumbled. This wretched needle was starting to aggravate you. It seemed to transcend its form to become a vicious little insect intent on ramming itself into your exposed flesh. You winced, sucking on your index finger.

“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to.” Micah purred from his corner. You pulled your finger out of your mouth, glaring. He smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Mr Bell, if you’ve nothing meaningful to say may I suggest taking yourself somewhere else?” said Susan, her brow furrowing. Micah placed his hand on his heart in mock-offence.

“Is that any way to speak to one of your own? Besides, I’ve been breaking my back lately. As I see it, I’m owed a pretty view or two.”

Susan opened her mouth to retaliate but you stood up, throwing down your sewing.

“The prettiest thing in this room will be your blood on my fist if you don’t shut up, Micah.” you hissed, your blood boiling. Micah leant back in his chair, taking another drag.

“Vicious little thing, aintcha? Don’t let me distract you from your housework now, Miss. Gotta earn your keep somehow.”

“I’ve earnt my keep, Bell. You know that.”

“Oh, sure. We’re all so grateful for having to save your ass back in Blackwater. Hell, if it wasn’t for you losing your nerve maybe we’d still have that money.”

You were breathing heavily now, your fists bunched by your sides. You knew it wasn’t true, not really. He was just choosing the exact words to get under your skin. But God, it was working.

“Leave her alone, Micah.” Karen snapped from her corner. Micah turned to look at her, sneering.

“I wish we had! I know that redskin bastard’s gettin’ sweet on her, but even he can see she’s a waste of air.”

That was enough for you. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cabin before anyone could see your tears. You crunched through the snow, your head fuzzy, barely hearing Lenny when he asked if you were alright. Leaning against the cold wood of the stables you shut your eyes, willing the sobs away.

It was true about Blackwater. Only minutes after the job went sour you’d misfired and almost gotten yourself killed, only to take a nasty fall and hurt your ankle so badly you could barely limp out of the room. Charles had gone back for you. You could remember how easily he lifted you up and carried you to safety, running as you shot your pistol over his shoulder at the advancing lawmen. I’ve got you, he kept whispering, long after the gunfire had ceased and your heart had settled. Even when he looked down and saw his wounded hand, bloodied and charred. Still he held onto you, kneeling on the yellowed grass with you in his lap. If you focused on how warm his chest felt, you could get the image out of your head of Heidi McCourt’s brains spilling over the ferry deck.  

“Y/N?”

Charles voice, soft and concerned, pulled you out of your memories and back into the snow. Your eyes snapped open and you saw him in front of you, his hat pulled low over his face, his arm cradling his wounded hand. Your stomach twisted with guilt.

“Are you alright?” he asked suspiciously. You nodded too quickly, your cheeks flushing. He kept looking at you, regarding you, and for once you wished he wouldn’t.

“Get yourself back inside, you’ll catch your death out here,” he continued, gesturing to the darkening sky. You shrugged, your eyes falling to the ground.

“I’m fine, Charles. I just wanted to be alone for a minute.”

Charles paused for a few moments, as if contemplating saying something more, but he turned away.

“Charles?”

You spoke before you could stop yourself. He looked back at you, his eyes soft.

“I…I’m sorry.” you stammered.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Your hand. If I hadn’t…if you hadn’t…I’m sorry.”

Charles stared at you, letting out a long sigh.

“I would never have left you there,” he said softly. “never.”

You took a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t have had to go back for me if I wasn’t a…a waste of air.”

“A waste of air? Who’s been saying that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, shaking your head. “it’s the truth. All I want to do is show you people that I’m worth having around. But no, the good Lord has decided I’m to be cursed with a life on the run with none of the skills to make it work. And…and I can’t sew!”

“Can’t sew? What are you talking about?”

“Can’t sew, can’t shoot straight, can’t even die when I’m supposed to.”

“Stop.” Charles growled, his eyes narrowing. Your tears slipped from your cheeks and dropped to the ground, melting the snow in tiny circles by your feet.

“Y/N, for better or worse, we’re all still here.” Charles continued, his voice strained.

“I…”

“You’re feeling the weight of all this hell, same as the rest of. But I want to keep everyone around for as long as possible, you included. So just…just look after yourself. Please, Y/N.”

You gripped your elbows, chewing your lower lip. Charles nodded slowly as he turned to walk back to his cabin.

“And don’t venture out, at least not far,” he said grimly, over his shoulder. “I’ve heard there might be O’Driscolls out around these parts. Out near some lake, I heard.”

O’Driscolls. You hadn’t experienced a run-in with them yet, but from the way Dutch talked about them it wouldn’t be long before you did. After all the everyone had been through recently, a night raid by a rival gang might have tipped things over the edge. Your palms felt sweaty despite the icy air as you contemplated the idea that had settled in your mind. Scouting from afar wouldn’t be difficult, you knew that. You were quiet, and the increasing gloom of the evening would aid your mission.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Charles had looked at you, like you were a frightened little animal on the side of the road. You were sick to your core of pity. Of being told to be safe, to take it easy, to look after yourself. Of watching the boys ride out together every day whilst you huddled by the fire and stitched blankets of no use to man nor beast. You had so much energy to use up and no way to utilise it that didn’t result in strange looks or Dutch barking at you to get back into the warm. You didn’t sleep well, waking up multiple times a night only to shiver and stare at the ceiling. As darkness fell gradually around you now, leaning against the stables as you listened to Pearson grumbling at his workstation and watched the shadows in the windows, you figured you were better off going in search of a fabled O’Driscoll camp than laying still until morning.

And then you were silently un-hitching your horse, stroking his nose and cooing gently as he whinnied against the cold evening air, mounting up and trotting out of Colter before anyone could see you.

The silence of the mountains was deafening. You strained against the biting wind and tried to ignore the primal fear that simmered inside you when you thought of the wolves out there, waiting for an easy supper. Instead you focused on the camp you were searching for. You had seen maps of this area before and knew there was a lake nearby, one with some abandoned structures that could serve as easy shelter for a band of outlaws. A short wave of pride washed over you as you realised that you could do this. You could do this. You could be an asset. A quick scout of the camp, and returning home with vital information that could even save the day. With some soothing words to your horse, you pressed quietly on into the gloom. You were riding for over an hour before you saw lights in the distance. Finding yourself atop a ridge looking down at the camp below, you squatted in the snow and narrowed your eyes, picking out the dark shapes of who you assumed were O’Driscolls, clutching rifles as they stood guard, laughing, squabbling, drinking. Their voices cut through the night like daggers.

You slowly crept along the ridge, making mental notes of the various buildings you saw, the numbers of men. There were a lot of them, more than you anticipated, and your mouth felt dry. When you felt the presence of someone behind you it took every fibre of effort not to scream.

“Stop…stop right there!”

His voice was as shaky as the wind as you turned slowly to face him, your hands raising above your head.

“D-don’t…don’t try anything! I know how to shoot!”

The man who pointed a pistol at you didn’t look much older than you, his eyes wide with concern under his hat.

“I…” your words failed you as panic rose in your gut. This nervous creature didn’t seem much of a threat, but his camp was right beneath you. You cursed yourself for your carelessness.

“You…you shouldn’t be here! Who are you?” he demanded, his voice slightly stronger now. You shook your head, breathing rapidly. In a moment of blind adrenaline, you reached down to your pistol. And that’s when he shot you.

The bullet hit you in the shin, nestling itself in your flesh with a sickening bang. You screamed, dropping to the ground and howling in pain as you grabbed at your leg. The man hurried to your side, gabbling with panic.

“Oh god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, miss!”

You couldn’t do anything except continue to wail and sob, oblivious to the noise you were making. The man shook his head, his hand on your shoulder. You pulled away, suddenly furious.

“You’re…you’re…sorry?!”

“Miss, I truly am. I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just…I just panicked!”

“Damn you…”

“Miss? Miss!”

You stopped cursing and looked at him, seeing the real fear in his eyes.

“Miss, they’ll kill you if they find you. Maybe worse. You have to get out of here, and fast. They’re not stupid enough to ignore a gunshot this close to camp.”

“And why…why wouldn’t you hand me over? You’re one of them, right?”

The man stopped and looked you dead in the eye.

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll, Miss.”

There were a few seconds of silence before you let yourself believe him. He helped you to your feet.

“You got a horse, Miss?”

“Sure. He’s close.”

You whistled a few times, and before long your horse cantered into view. The man guided you to his side and steadied your feet into the stirrups.

“Ride hard,” he said sternly. “don’t look back once, you understand? Get out of here.”

You barely had time to gasp your thanks before he struck the rear of your horse and watched you gallop off into the night.

Blood flowed steadily from your wound and into your boot, its sticky warmth combining with the pain and making you feel increasingly nauseous. You felt waves of dizziness as you thought of how foolish you had been, how selfish. You thought of Charles, only this time you didn’t smile. All you could picture was his face when he saw you wounded, again. Beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead and mixed with the tears on your cheeks.

In all the confusion, all the pain, you didn’t have time to register which way you were going. The night swirled around you as you rode aimlessly, the pain in your leg throbbing with every bend in the landscape. Eventually you slowed your hose to a halt, breaking down completely and sobbing into his mane. You didn’t know how long you lay there, half passed out, half asleep, half dead. When you heard Charles’ voice you were certain you were dreaming.

“Y/N?”

His voice echoed through the trees. You were dead, you thought, you must be dead. But then you heard him again.

“Y/N!”

His arms, his strong shoulders, the warmth of his chest as he lifted you down from your horse and cradled you against him.

“Oh, Y/N, what have you done?”

His hand rested on your bloodied shin and you sobbed into him, exhaustion mixing with relief and shame. He pressed his lips to your forehead as he lifted you up and carried you to Taima, who was waiting patiently as she always did. When he had you settled on her saddle he went back for your horse, attaching the reins firmly to Taima so they could ride back together. He sat behind you, letting you loll back against him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Lights, voices, hurried words and scrabbling hands lifting you down and wrapping you in what felt like a thousand blankets. Water, hot whiskey, bandages and searing pain and more tears, and Charles holding your hand long after the bullet fragments had been removed from your leg. Falling in and out of sleep, waking briefly to be scolded by Dutch and Susan. It all felt like a painting, like a song, something to be observed, not lived. And yet here you were, saved both by a stranger and the man who held your heart.

You walked again when the snow finally began to ease. Pale sunlight trickled through the window of your cabin, teasing you with it’s meagre warmth. You shakily stumbled to the door, peering out at the tiny town as the gang went about their business.

“Ah, ah! Absolutely not. Sit down before you fall down.” Charles smiled, wandering over to where you stood in the doorway. You rolled your eyes, giving him a little push.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist watching everyone else break their backs.” you grinned, watching Bill topple over some stacked crates with an almighty clatter. Charles looked at you, his eyes warm, his face softer than you’d seen for a long time.

“I still owe you that walk when we get to pastures new.” he said. “Can’t let all that greenery go unexplored, especially now you’re a regular little adventurer.”

“Very funny!”

“I mean it.” he said solemnly. You peered at him.

“What you did…it was stupid. Reckless. Foolish. And if you ever try anything like that again I don’t know what I’ll do. But…you did good.”

“…really?”

“Really. Even Dutch was impressed. We’d never have known how many of those bastards were camped out there if it wasn’t for you. Now we can ride out knowing what’s coming.”

“Charles?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you come looking for me?”

Charles sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I saw how upset you were back at the stables, but I didn’t help. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said – that you couldn’t even die when you were supposed to. The way I see it, there isn’t any way we’re supposed to die. We have a right to decide when and where, in a way. It’s all in the choices we make, in the choices others make. And my choice was to find you.”

He placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. When he kissed you it felt like coming home.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”  

[louisapennyfeather2021]

So I went back and did more research and I decided to make a new placement of Newsies in Camp Half-blood. I'm not changing what anyone else has said, this is just how I imagine the crossover. (Part 1/5):

@a-fight-we-have-to-win and @morris-delancey-street for the headcanons that inspired most of the reasoning behind characters.

Jack Kelly- Son of Hecate. Jack is a somewhat quiet person unless he's around the people he's closest to. He loves creating. Anything. Drawings, illusions, pictures with the Mist. He loves it. He struggles with feeling inferior because he doesn't feel like he can protect those closest to him, but he's determined and that's what matters in the end.

Sarah Jacobs- Daughter of Hebe. Sarah is very smiley, and despite being twins with Davey, she has a different parent. This is mostly due to how Athena has her children. Sarah is very talkative as long as you respect her and her opinions. She can be very cold if you disrespect anyone or anything, really. She's very attentive to younger campers which gives her a "mom" vibe, but she doesn't mind. Sarah prefers helping younger kids over being with the older kids, unless it's her friends and family. Sarah struggles with feeling out of place because of this, but her friends try their hardest to make her feel as wanted as possible. Sarah is such a musical/play/Broadway need. She could name every Musical in chronological order since Broadway opened if she asked. She's dedicated, to say the least. Sarah is big on family, whether her godly siblings or Davey and Les, she never lets a day go by without letting anyone in her family know she loves them. Sarah can be very prideful sometimes and it shows, which she knows is something she can work on. Through her pride, Sarah knows when a wrong has been done and she won't let it slide.

David "Davey" Jacobs- Son of Athena. Davey is smart and he doesn't like jumping right into something without thinking through all of the pros and cons. He's extremely smart, there's no doubt, but he lacks the self esteem to prove it unless he's with the people he really cares about or he's really passionate about something. Davey is terrified of failing because he's worried the few people he has will leave him. 

Les Jacobs- Son of Dionysus. He doesn't like his dad, especially since he's camp director, but also because he feels useless. Les feels like he doesn't always belong with the older kids because he gets along with them a bit better than kids his age. He also feels this way since him and Davey aren't from the same godly parent. He's courageous and you listen to him when he talks because he just demands attention, but not in a spoiled way. He just has such a high presence for a kid his age. Les is usually calm in large groups and he actually prefers them over being alone so he doesn't feel left out. Les is very competitive when he gets his head into it. Watching him practice for capture the flag is adorable. Les is like Jack and he's scared of feeling inferior. He's worried that the older kids he recognizes as family won't include him because he's a kid. Les is a very persuasive kid, mostly because he can pull off some good puppy dog eyes, but also because he's very demanding of the room. Les' biggest fear is the unknown. He doesn't want to worry about losing people to something he doesn't understand, so he's very determined to figure out the unknown.

Katherine Plumber- Daughter of Bellona. Although Katherine is a Roman Demigod, she spends a lot of her time at Camp Half-blood. It messes with the Gods, but she could care less. Katherine is a very out there personality. She loves being with the people who listen to her and respect her opinion. She tries desperately to be the best she can, and it comes off as her trying to be better than everyone else unless you know her. Katherine is most comfortable in places where she feels in control. Anywhere else and she starts panicking because she doesn't want to feel out of control. Katherine is naturally brave, so she's able to keep her composure often. There have been a few, rare incidents. Katherine is absolutely terrified of feeling useless.

Crutchie Morris- Son of Tyche. Crutchie has been through a lot in his life, but he's managed to still have a great friend group at camp, a great personality, and he's still able to walk despite his leg. Crutchie is very worried about not belonging. He was crippled from a quest when he was younger, so he can't always keep up with the others or join them. Jack reassures him and finds ways to include Crutchie using magic, but Crutchie always has an underlying feeling telling him he doesn't fit. He doesn't sleep much because these thoughts keep him up, but he's adjusted to short sleep schedules. Crutchie is most comfortable with his friends because the jokes and pranks keep his thoughts from wandering. He always has his close friends there to comfort him though. Crutchie is very loyal because he realizes if he can't be the best at play fighting or competing with friends, he can make up for it by always being there for them. Despite this, Crutchie can also be troublesome by pulling the pranks. He's able to play innocent because he's such a smiley, happy person, but he doesn't occasionally join the pranking. 

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins- Son of Hermes. Race is a prankster, it doesn't matter who his parent is. He's sneaky and witty. He's very laid back when he wants to be, but he can also be extremely chaotic. He's always charged with being the distraction during Capture the Flag. He's very fast and it's easy for him to suddenly disappear and then reappear because of this. Race is very athletic, although he's better at running than lifting weights or anything. Race does struggle sometimes because he relies too much on taking chances and it hasn't always ended well. Race is most comfortable in crowds because he can just zip through and be energetic and jumpy. Race is extremely arrogant. The amount of fights he's sparked with different cabins is unbelievable. He's caused multiple almost civil wars between the Area Cabin and other cabins. Race is very passionate and determined though. He hasn't had the best past with his human family, so he learns that he has to be determined to survive.

Sean "Spot" Conlon- Son of Ares. Spot isn't the best at socializing, but he does have a few friends. He's naturally intimidating and he demands attention in a room, but mostly due to how he holds himself. He's very confident, but he's also very protective and loyal. You can't do anything to the people he cares about without dealing with him. Although Spot is intimidating and can be very angry and physical, he's also smart. He does what he thinks is necessary to protect those who need it. He won't put people in danger without considering any other option. That doesn't mean he won't fight for what's right. Spot is naturally athletic, but he's not the best runner. He's quick with hand to hand combat, but he mostly relies on strength and training to survive. Unlike most of his siblings, Spot is very thoughtful. This is due to PTSD from family history and a quest that took someone very important to him away.  Spot is most comfortable where he can be outside and where he can breathe. If you take Spot's friendship and loyalty for granted, he will never forget about it. You might be able to mend your relationship, but he'll always have a voice telling him not to completely trust you.

Albert Dasilva- Son of Poseidon. Albert is a very free spirit, in a sense. He doesn't like feeling confined, so he's hardly ever in his cabin since it's just him and Percy whenever Percy's around. He's energetic and he wants to just be a kid with his friends. It's very common that Albert will join Race with pranks, and sometimes Crutchie, but he doesn't do it just for the sake of it. He does so he can live "dangerously" without actually putting himself in danger, unless he pranks the wrong kid. Albert doesn't always know how to communicate. He can be intimidating, but he's a smart kid and he has goals. He's never been great at explaining his goals, so he sometimes feels lost when no one understands. There are a few people who understand him because they go through the same issues. Albert easily feels at peace outside. Anywhere at camp that allows him to just be himself, he loves it. He will swim a lot because he feels safe in the water. There's just so much room for him to roam. The shore, the Lake, sometimes even the edge of the Woods. He loves it. Due to Albert's longing for freedom, he can be very careless. It only ever happens when he's too focused on his goals, but it happens. 

Romeo- Son of Aphrodite. Romeo is a very peaceful kid. He's a flirt, he's smiley, and he's very good at persuasion. Romeo is practically friends with everyone at Camp, with a few exceptions because, like all his friends, he tends to be a bit of a prankster. He can usually talk his way out of punishment, so he's fine. Romeo is just the definition of social butterfly. Romeo often struggles to keep relationships, friends or more, because he's so social. Depending on who the person is, he might seem disloyal. This makes Romeo feel unwanted and lonely, so he just becomes more social. The right people know it's just his personality and they respect that. Romeo might be social, but he hardly trusts someone unless he knows them extremely well. With being social, Romeo is very helpful. He'll help people who seem confused and he's often asked to show new campers around.

Oscar Delancey- Son of Dionysus. It's odd, since Oscar displays traits similar to Ares, but Oscar is much like his dad. Though he's the complete opposite of Les, apart from not really liking his dad, he's somewhere similar. He reflects Dionysus' darker side, in a sense. Oscar is very guarded. He's built up a wall that keeps him cut off from everyone, even Morris. He's very protective of his younger brother, although he shows it through toughening Morris up. It doesn't seem brotherly, but it's all Oscar knows since his father only ever treated them in such ways. Oscar is athletic in all areas. He arrives to be great with endurance, strength, stamina. Simply put, you want him on your team for Capture the Flag. Being this way, Oscar tends to try and be better than others to prove he's strong and tough. He doesn't want to seem weak in any sense. Training is Oscar's go to to relax and feel comfortable because he feels in control of himself and his surroundings. Even if he's training with someone else, he can put up with them long enough to put in some practice. Oscar does tend to have a short temper that makes him intimidating and unapproachable, but it only ever flares up whenever someone challenges him. He doesn't let this deter him though. He's very strong and powerful, even when faced with his fears and struggles.

[1899-newsboy-strike]

Crushes - Jack Kelly Imagine

Request: Are you in for kinda angst(?) but fluff stuff ? Like. Male reader has a crush on Jack but he's not blind, he sees him flirting and running after Katherine, and I don't know what's next but, fluff ending are always welcome (right?) so good ending, please? -frog

Warnings: pining reader, upset reader, sort of rude Jack, the refuge, implied homophobia, mentions of bruises

Summary: Watching your long time crush go for a girl he’s hardly known for two days isn’t easy. It’s even harder when you know you’re not his type. 

———————————–

Even before the strike started you felt torn. You’d known Jack ever since you became a newsie, you’d figured out you’d liked him shortly after. For years you kept it a secret, only Crutchie knew about it, but now there was no point in him knowing because he’d been chasing after Katherine ever since the moment he saw her. 

You used to talk to Jack everyday, but now it seemed like you were complete strangers. Anytime you tried to talk to him, he was too busy with Katherine and Davey listening to their ideas and not even taking into consideration anything you thought would be good for the strike. Crutchie noticed the change and saw how much it was making you upset, trying to help you feel better anytime you came to him.

“Jack?” You asked walking over to him and Katherine. At first he didn’t look at you and you sighed, repeating yourself a little louder and he finally looked at you.

“Give me a sec, okay Y/N?” He asked making you frown.

“But Jack-” You tried, only to be cut off.

“Y/N please, I haven’t been able to talk to Katherine all day, we’s can talk later when I got time.” He explained making you fill with frustration.

“Yeah, sure.” You muttered to yourself when you turned around. You heard them laughing with each other while you walked away, only making you feel even more frustrated. 

“Hey, Y/N wait up.” You heard Crutchie behind you making you stop until his crutch came into view. He followed you outside, sitting down next to you with your help. “You just gotta wait it out. You know how havin’ a new crush is like.” He explained making you shake your head.

“I would never treat any of you like that Crutchie. He’s talkin’ to you, why not me? Did I do somethin’ wrong that I’s not seein’?” You asked looking over at him. “It’s like I don’t exist anymore. He’s got Davey and Katherine, why does he need me?” You continued, putting your face in your hands.

“He ain’t talkin’ to me much either Y-” Crutchie tried to argue but you cut him off with a laugh.

“He ain’t said a word to me that ain’t ‘I’s busy’ or ‘We’s can talk later’ at least he’s speakin’ to you.” You explained before standing up. “Come on, Katherine’s takin’ our picture today.” You smiled softly, helping him stand up before you all left. 

Everything went downhill when you all went to Newsies Square. The second the bulls came and that whistle went off Jack seemed to be the last of your worries. While everyone else around you was leaving you heard Crutchie’s cries for anyone and everyone. No one but you went and helped him out of the situation. You got pulled to the refuge instead of him, and no matter how much the refuge scared you, you couldn’t help but feel happy that it was you and not Crutchie.

The fear hit you the first night you were there, finding anything you could write on to send to Jack. Your crush of so many years was being poured out into the letter, but little did you know Crutchie had spilled everything out the second you were taken away. You were left not knowing how his reaction was to your letter. For all you knew he didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Not knowing didn’t kill you half as much as being in the refuge did. You’d quickly gotten sick, having to sleep on the floor near all the others who were sick.

When the refuge closed down you couldn’t have been more relieved, and you were shocked when THE governor personally picked you up. You avoided Jack like the plague you got to Newsies Square where everyone was celebrating, receiving hugs from everyone from the Manhattan borough and the rest that had been there. You were lost in the crowd by the time Jack had come to give you a welcome home hug, but you didn’t have a clue.

It wasn’t until you were back at the lodging house that you caught sight of Jack. You were frozen in place,your feet seemed to be stuck to the ground while Jack started making his way over to you. Your entire body stiffened when Jack pulled you in for a tight hug.

When he pulled away he grabbed your face making your breath catch in your throat. He took in your appearance, and his eyes softened when he saw just how many bruises  littered your face and arms. You stood there in shock, staring back up at him, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” He apologized, the remorse showing through each word. You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out, you still didn’t know how Jack felt about your letter, and the fear of a negative reaction was holding you back. “I’s never  should’ve been an idiot and ignored you. When Crutchie told me how you felt and when I got your letter I didn’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you or never saw you again. I’s like you too you know. Always have, think I always will too.” Jack smiled while you stared in awe. “Now you’s hurt, and it’s all my fault.” He continued making you shake your head.

“Jack, I’s fine.” You tried to convince him, but the second he heard your voice he could tell you’d been sick.

“You’s not, and I’s should’ve been there to help.” He shook his head.

“I’s fine Jack, really.” You tried to explain. “I promise.” You continued, feeling your heart stop when you noticed him looking from your eyes to your lips. Your eyes instinctively closed when he leaned in, a small gasp leaving you when Jack pulled you flush against him, holding you like he’d never see you again. You couldn’t believe your first kiss was with Jack, your hand came up to hold his face wanting to feel him to know it was real. He deepened the kiss making you melt into his grip, all your worries melting away from the kiss.

———————————– 

Tag List: 

@hats-or-badges

@theatrequeer

@snakeyboimusical

@mariah-vg

@wiffle-snuffles

[somedayonbroadway]

*spits out coffee* first of all, wow the avengers thing and the car chase thing were a m a z i n g, second, i’m intrigued by tony stark jack and spider-man race uwu

Thank you so much! I am really excited about this one! I hope you all like it!

TW Suicidal thoughts, violence, murder, child abuse, and much angst!

Read more below!

OKAY SO

In this AU, Tyler James Higgins, or Race, as he’s more affectionately known by some of his social workers, is Spiderman. When he was born, his parents gave him up for adoption. He grew up in the system, running away from several homes, eventually being taken in by a Mr. Kloppman when he was about thirteen. Kloppman introduces Race to pop culture, old movies and shows that Race loves so much. Kloppman takes a liking to him and tells Race he is going to adopt him. A couple weeks before the paperwork can be finalized, Kloppman is shot and killed in a home invasion. Race is in the house when it happens. He gets locked in a closet by the man who saved his life, only to break out and hold his foster father in his arms as he dies.

Race is placed in another home. A home with a man named Wiesel. Obadiah Wiesel.

Suffice to say that Race spends as little time in the house as he can when he’s fourteen. Weasel was never kind to him. Not from day one when he didn’t so much as give Race dinner.

There are two other boys who live there. Oscar and Morris. Brothers who take what they can get and tear down whoever gets in their way. Race included. They are both older than him and bigger than him.

Race sleeps in the streets sometimes. He often finds odd ways to roam around the city with his only friend, Albert DaSilva who he meets at school the first day he goes after moving in with Weasel.

One night he’s out alone. And he’s just done. Weasel had done it all again. He’d made Race feel inferior, like he was nothing.

Like Kloppman’s death was his fault.

The kid has nothing but a can of spray paint on him as he’s walking through alleys towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

The boy is smart. Very smart. Kloppman had called him a genius when he’d been alive. Race loves science, math and history. He loves to learn new things and he has an unhealthy obsession with science fiction and anything related to it.

He loves the superheroes he grew up hearing stories about. Especially the famous Iron Man. A hero that surfaced when Race was only twelve. Jack Kelly. A prodigy, genius, billionaire kid who was named Iron Man when he was only twenty two.

On this particular night, Race is just walking, intending on spraying some kind of note on the side of a building. A note of what, he isn’t sure. Maybe someone will find it someday. Someone will care.

He goes stops at an alleyway. It looks like it’s near a lab of some kind. And he freezes. He has nothing to say.

Maybe it’ll be better if he just disappears. He goes to walk away, never to be heard from again when he feels a pinch on his back.

He reaches back to figure out what it was, coming back with a spider crawling on his finger. He gasps and throws it to the ground, stepping on it and killing it immediately.

But he feels a little different.

He thinks maybe the spider is poisonous. Then, as he continues walking, he finds he’s not dying. His senses are heightened, his reflexes are ridiculously fast and he sticks to surfaces without trying to.

He initially tries to figure out what happened to him but then comes to embrace it, thinking about helping people like Mr. Kloppman who didn’t deserve what happened to him.

The man who killed Kloppman was never caught. Race wants to make it ultimate goal to kill the man, at first. But as he embraces his new self, he tries to change his mind, determined to help people rather than focus his energy on hurting the bad guys.

Anyways, he makes his own suit, his own web shooters.

Oscar and Morris know something’s up. Race always manages to get out of beatings, to get food, to not drop things like he used to all the time. But they can never prove anything.

CIVIL WAR

One day, when Race has to actually go home after school, per Weasel’s orders, he finds a really fancy looking car outside the apartment building. He never expected to find the one and only Jack Kelly sitting on Weasel’s couch with a cup of crappy coffee in his hands that he was absolutely not enjoying. Weasel was trying to be friendly to him, making small talk and even trying to discreetly clean up around the filthy apartment.

Race freezes. He has no idea what to do. But Jack’s fake smile turns into a grin when he sees the kid there. And Race almost runs away before Weasel asks him very pointedly why Race didn’t tell him he applied to be an intern at Kelly Industries. And Race doesn’t have an answer. So, Jack asks if he can talk to Race in private. Race takes Jack back into one of the only two bedrooms in the apartment. Oscar and Morris pretend to be friendly to Race on their way out.

Jack can see him flinching the whole time.

Race tries to explain to Jack that there must be some kind of mistake, but Jack brings his arm up. He’s wearing a piece of his suit. He shows Race a video. A video Race is in.

Spiderman.

Jack asks him if it’s him. Race tries to deny it. He says no. Spiderman has to be at least twenty five. Jack says he’s probably right and then reaches up towards the vent in the ceiling, pulling it down and revealing Race’s homemade suit that Race immediately grabs and tries to hide.

Jack laughs and asks him again. And Race says yes. He sees Race’s small collection of computers and asks where he got them. Race admits he and his best friend found them in the garbage and were fixing them up. Jack approves. He asks who else knows that he’s the Spiderman and Race says no one. Jack asks him if he has a passport and Race gets a little nervous.

He insists that he can’t just leave. He has school and tests and--

Jack stops him right there.

“Ya got a foster dad who puts on a show for rich visitors, two foster brothers who don’t give a damn whether ya come or go, teachers who don’t notice the bruises or the way you’re practically begging for a real meal everyday when you go to school. But now? Now ya got a gift. Ya got a big brain in that head a’ yours n’ ya got an opportunity ta help out someone who happens ta have a lot of money n’ a lot of computers to play with.”

Race can’t argue with that. And Jack takes Race to Berlin.

Jack takes a liking to Race. The kid is nervous around him. Jack gets him on a private jet and Race is almost terrified to move around him, however with his right hand man, Specs, Race seems to be completely comfortable. He’s still an energetic kid, which Jack learns he hides from Weasel because if he talks too much, Weasel hits him. But with Jack and Specs, Race opens up quick.

In Berlin, Race learns he is needed to help Jack talk some sense into Captain America, a man Jack calls “Davey.” Jack makes Race a new suit. Race almost cries when he sees it. He doesn’t get many gifts.

Jack walks him through what will happen, tells him to keep his distance and lay low.

Race goes into battle against Davey. He steals the famous shield and Davey goes easy on him, his intentions good. He stops Race as gently as he could, for a kid with super strength.

Jack sees Race continuing to put up a fight, eventually being thrown far and getting the wind knocked out of him. The only way he can stop Race from getting back up to fight is by threatening to tell Weasel who he was.

He apologizes for it so much later. Race won’t admit it. He won’t admit that he’s Weasel’s favorite punching bag.

After this whole ordeal, Jack takes Race back to Harlem, where he lives with Weasel. He offers to let Race stay in his guest house. But Race turns him down, telling Jack that he’s still available whenever Jack needs him.

HOMECOMING

Only a couple weeks later, Race is back into his rhythm, going to school and then being the friendly neighborhood spiderman afterwards. He loves helping people with any problem they might have. He eventually accidentally outs himself to Albert who does become his “guy in the chair.”

Race constantly calls up Specs, wanting to work with Jack again only for Specs to constantly ghost him. One day, Race stops a bank robbery where he discovers that these criminals have very powerful, very alien looking weapons and he barely makes it out.

Jack calls him, telling him not to engage again.

Race can’t listen. He’s getting bullied at school by his foster brothers, he avoids going home because Weasel has been getting more and more irritable lately. He doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

He follows these guys again, getting fought by a man with a winged suit. He almost drowns. Jack saves him. Well, Jack’s suit. Jack scolds Race from the other side of the world while also trying his best to convey his worry for the kid.

Race still doesn’t stop. He doesn’t know how.

Eventually, Race tracks down a weapons sale that happens to be happening on a boat. Long story short, the boat is eventually cut in half by one of the dangerous weapons. Jack, who had called Race before and heard him in trouble, showed up to help. He saves the ship and Race and takes Race back to his tower and Race accuses Jack of not caring because if he actually cared, he’d be there instead of sending a machine in his place.

That’s when Jack steps out of his suit.

He tells Race he needs the suit back and Race breaks. He begs Jack not to take it away from him, claiming that he’s nothing without the suit.

Jack says if he’s nothing without the suit, then he shouldn’t have it.

Jack buys Race some ridiculous clothes to wear and tries to take Race to Albert’s house. But Race doesn’t want to have to talk to Albert, so Jack takes him to Weasel’s.

Jack knows Weasel is going to hit him. And he very discreetly threatens him.

Weasel doesn’t hit Race that night. But that doesn’t make anyone feel better.

Race eventually figures out that the dealer of all these weapons is actually Weasel himself and ends up facing Weasel in his old, homemade suit.

Weasel nearly kills him.

Albert does what he can to help Race and ends up calling Specs who hangs up on him.

Race gets himself out of it all and gets Weasel arrested.

Jack tries to make him an avenger, but Race declines, telling him that he’s still just a kid and he’s still learning how to do all of this. And then he tells Jack that’s he’s being placed in another boy's home in Queens.

Jack intercepts this.

He and Katherine (his girlfriend) takes Race in.

Months go by. Race and Jack are as close as ever, even if Jack isn’t truly raising Race, his hired nanny is. Miss Medda. She is the one really taking care of him while Jack does his Iron Man thing.

(Someone breaks into Jack’s tower at some point and tries to take Race hostage. Someone remind me to write this)

Anyways,

Infinity War happens.

INFINITY WAR

Race is on a bus, on a field trip when it happens. He sees aliens attacking and he sneaks away to help Jack, meeting a Spot Conlon and a Myron along the way.

Jack tells him to go back, to get away when things get out of hand.

Race gets beamed up to the spaceship, Jack saves him when he starts to lose oxygen and gives him a new suit he’d been working on for him. He tells Race to go home to Katherine and Medda.

Race finds a way back on that ship.

Jack is angry when he finds out that Race did the exact opposite of what he was told. Race jokingly blames him. Jack argues with him, but eventually lets him help.

Jack and Race save Myron and Myron gets angry at them, telling them that if they’re going to take their fight straight to the bad guy, then he needs them to know that he would let both of them die to save the time stone that he had.

This upsets Jack. Race is just a kid.

But he makes Race an avenger.

The ship they’re on crashes. Race, who loves old movies, is quoting and making references to movies the whole time just before they are attacked by the guardians of the galaxy. Race is held at gunpoint by the leader of them, a man named Kenny. Jack flips and threatens to shoot one of the other men they were attacked by, only to find out they’re all on the same side.

This mini team forms a plan to defeat Snyder (yes, it’s still Snyder) and Jack reluctantly lets Race help, telling him to keep his distance. Snyder gets a hold on Race at some point, choking him, almost killing him.

They almost stopped him. Kenny messes it up. Snyder killed his own daughter. The love of Kenny’s life.

Eventually, by threatening Jack’s life, Snyder gets Myron to give up the time stone.

Snyder snaps his fingers, destroying half of the universe. A random half of the universe.

Jack watches almost everyone around him turn to dust. He looks around for Race only to feel the kid crash into him, shaking and hardly breathing.

And his heart drops.

Race begins to cry. He’d say he didn’t wanna go. That he didn’t feel good and he didn’t want to go. Jack would grip onto him, just as Race is clinging to him, promising that everything would be alright, that he was going to be just fine.

Race calls Jack “Dad” as he fades to dust.

Jack screams.

ENDGAME

Jack is lost in space for some time with only Graves there with him, a created daughter of Snyder. Eventually they are rescued and brought home.

Jack expresses how he wishes he’d just died up there with him and Davey calls it survivor's guilt.

Jack doesn’t want to hear it.

Jack tries to move on. He really does. He and Katherine have a kid. A little girl.

But that doesn’t make anything else go away. It doesn’t make the pain go away.

The team reaches out to him when they find a possible solution.

It’s been five years. And Jack still thinks about Race everyday. He has nightmares every night for a year, reliving Race disappearing in his arms.

When they reach out to him, Jack is reluctant. But he agrees.

He agrees because of Racer.

Spoiler alert, Race comes back, along with the other half of the universe. All in the middle of an epic battle. And the second Jack sees him, beat up and all, he runs to him. There’s chaos around them. But Jack just hugs him. And he holds him for a long time.

Until they have to fight again.

The battle is long and Jack makes it his mission to protect Race the whole time.

Up till the very end, when Jack has to snap his fingers.

Race is watching it all happen. And he screams when Jack falls to the ground. He runs to him and falls to his knees in front of him and cries, begging him to stay with him. He lets Jack cradle his face and run a hand through his hair and kiss his head while he sits there dying. And Katherine comes over to tell Jack that they’re gonna be okay. That he can rest.

Jack dies that day, knowing he saved Race and protected his family. And he’s okay with that.

Race however is completely heartbroken.

He wants to build a time machine.

But that’s a story for another time.

Anyways, I love this RP so much. Let me know if there’s any scenes you guys wanna see or any questions you guys have! Thank you so much!

[thefactsofthematter]

Hey so I was the anon a while ago that told you that your how to get free cake story is the reason I realized I was in love with my best friend (now girlfriend) and I’m re reading it a few months later and going through a lot of emotions and so I’m going to just dump this all into your inbox so I apologize. Anyway re-reading this story I realized how powerful your writing is. Especially with fan fiction where anyone can post anything it’s easy to read/write a good story but never have I (1/?)

come across a story that has genuinely altered my life the way this one has. The way you write characters is so obviously grounded in real emotions that I was able to relate to and I haven’t read a piece of fan fiction that has actually done that to me. Your writing made me look past the characters you were writing about and the canon newsies story and made me physically relate to what the characters were going through even if I didn’t know it was what I was going through. See this girl (2/?) and I dated when we were 15 and we liked each other but were both going through A LOT and inevitably we both felt like it would be better to split up and focus on ourselves instead of having a forced relationship and both of us were like yeah we’re over it whatever. 2 years later we ended up being closer than when we were dating and had this best friend bond that both of us were like “yeah we’re best friends” and everyone else was like “there’s something more there” but no one asked us (3/?) because they were thinking we dated before and maybe it’s just a best friend bond etc. when I read your story there was a part when Davey realizes he was in love with Jack where he was explaining their relationship with each other and comes to the realization and when I was reading that scene I was thinking “oh that’s how me and my best friend are” and I kept thinking “oh that’s what I think of her” and that kept going on and on while I was reading of just relating to what David was saying (4/?) about jack and when it switched perspectives that’s when I realized like oh my god I’m in love with her is because when jack said he had been for years I just knew idk. There was no thought process but I’ve never related to a story arc more then when it literally happened to me in real life. And like in your story there was just a moment where I was like “hey I’m in love with you surprise” and she was like “whoa me too” and for months there has just been this tension and this pull between (5/?) us that you wrote jack and david having and when i read your story everything just fell into place and i felt finally clear and no longer confused about my feelings like it all just made sense. i just wanted to tell you all of this because as weird as it sounds i guess i owe a lot to you and that story but you're easily my favorite author because of the sole purpose that you write the characters in person but also so realistic that i could be them. Idk im rambling a lot and this is a very (6/7) long-winded way of saying i love your stories and i think you're an incredible author. (7/7)

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OHH MY GOD???? ANON IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU AND THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME IM FUCKING CRYING !!!!!!