#color blind crutchie

[imbluedabadeedabadye]

Jack Kelly is light blue.

The color of bluebirds and Manhattan and the sky out in Santa Fe. The color of freedom and dreamers and dreams pushed down for a day instead spent at work. The blue of artists and bluebells and the spring. But he's also the blue which, although pretty on the outside, is crying out for help underneath it all. Underneath all the freedom is longing, longing to leave and never stay in one place for too long before jumping up and moving again. Underneath the beautiful sky of his personality is a raging storm, one screaming that he's not meant to be here, shouldn't be here, at the moments his newsies treat him kindest. He's the blue sky, but also the blue of lost things.

Crutchie Morris is bright yellow.

The yellow of the ever burning sun, of Apollo's chariot brightening the sky as long as it possibly can. The color of sunflowers and dandelions and golden retrievers, the color of lightning and trophies and victory and dawn. But with the dandelions comes wishes blown away and lost, with the sunshine brightening up the sky comes the yellow of caution tape and anxiety. The yellow of please be careful with me, I'm hurting right now and can't bring you up the way I used to. The yellow of I'm hurting but still trying my best, just please go easy on me- I can't handle everything by myself and hide it all behind a smile anymore. Sometimes his electricity zaps people, and sometimes Crutchie lets people too close to the sun and so they melt and plunge into the sea below.

Racetrack Higgins is neon green.

The green of Monster Energy cans and fresh cut grass, of the plants in Central Park and the lizards and frogs hanging around the ponds he sometimes visits to get his mind off things. The color of science and experiments, of limes and unripened lemons. The color of bounciness and unrest, the color at first screaming "I'm okay" on the outside but once you delve into it you notice it's forcing itself to be okay too hard, the color too bright and artificial to be real. The perfect mix of sky blue and bright yellow, the color the sun and the sky make when you zone out too long and your vision starts to blur. With the neon green comes the color of chameleons, the ability to shift your personality to what the others around you need you to be. Because who is Race if he's not pretending to be the ever-joking, never unhappy prankster?

David Jacobs is the color the sky makes on a rainy day.

The blue of the raging storm of his mind, the thunderclouds hiding behind his polite smile and manners. The blue of stormy seas, of rage and unhappiness and unfairness. The blue of math class and the color the trapped bird sees of the sky when he's locked behind a cage. He's the color of being lost at sea, of the wild rapids down in the Grand Canyon he visited one year with his family when they could still afford to go anywhere. He's the color of raging unhappiness and overthinking every move, but he's also the color of waves gently lapping against boats, of the water down in the harbor he so often visits in Brooklyn when the Manhattan guys get too overwhelming. He's the color of peace and tranquility, but he's also quick to storms of rage and despair.

Spot Conlon is blood red.

The color of Brooklyn and the crabs that snap and pinch if you get too close. The red he so often sees clouding his vision, the blinding red rage of the anger issues he can't control no matter how hard he tries. The red of the blood he often comes home to seeing his newsies covered in, the red of cuts and scrapes and bloody broken noses. He's the red of toughness and of control, the regal red of kings and queens long since past. The red of the circus, of unpredictability and flightiness, of hearts too broken that even diamonds can't ever fix them. He's the red of dusk, of lava and the burning infernos Jack always uses to sell headlines. He's the red of stop signs, of urgently telling people to back down and back away before they get hurt by him. Of hidden pasts and secrets and of urging people to go away before he inevitably snaps and hurts just like the crabs his boys pick through at the docks. But he's also the red of roses, the red of love if you stay long enough to cut past his thorns.

Katherine Pulitzer is bright purple.

The purple close to being magenta but not quite pink enough, of regality and kings and queens and riches. The purple that's just pink enough to be counted as a "woman's color", but also has so much blue to where she never fits in with the women around her. The bright purple of urgency and dawn, of plums and grapes. The purple of the royal she was born to be, the purple of the stronghold her father holds over all of the city. She's the purple of grape soda and pansies, the purple torn between the love of men and women, of a woman torn between the world her father could've given her or the world she could make for herself. But she's just a woman struggling to find her way in a man's ever-judging world, and so she's stuck hoping the dawn of the new decade will be what it takes for her to finally find her place in life.

[sparkedblaze]

Random modern AU thoughts I have that no one asked for

@noxexistant you sent that ask just as I started this, but I feel like you won't get mad at me for finishing this first

Morris tweets solely from his computer. There's no punctuation or capitalization. It's all stream of consciousness.

Oscar tweets solely from his phone, and everything is punctuated only with periods. No commas or anything, when he's finished a thought, he puts a period and moves on.

Morris has broken so many crayons, Oscar has gotten him the big jumbo ones, and eventually gets him a little art tablet.

Racer thinks he can outrace anyone at Mario Kart, but he's honestly mediocre, his friends just suck. So when he does races with fans, he gets his ass handed to him.

Skittery is a ghost hunter. They don't do anything once they find one, they're just looking for a thrill

Graves usually goes along with them, to make sure the dead is being respected, and because he's the one who is gonna put in the work to do the research and try to find out who is haunting the place and why

Blink doesn't get his nickname from his disability (though he is half blind). He gets it from the way a camera shutter 'blinks', which led to the name of his business/page 'Blink Photography'

Davey is very open about his mental illnesses. He talks about living life with autism and anxiety. How difficult it was with both him and Les (who is def AuDHD), especially with how tight money was for a long time.

Crutchie posts daily vlogs. This wholesome ray of sunshine is immediately taken up by the general public (much like AKB), and his entire audience can and will fistfight you over him. Do not talk bad about Charlie Morris-Larkin you will have not only his brothers to deal with, but also millions of fans who are absolutely feral

Henry starts off as a cooking channel. He gets so excited to try new things, and even more so when a fan suggests it. He'll ask about their favorite place to get it, or if there's anywhere good to buy it at all, or if he should just get together with someone to make it instead. He always invites said-fan to come and do the video with him and get to see him try it live and in person. There's very little he doesn't like.

Henry will bring in people from the culture (i.e. probably having someone from Elmer’s family if they’re trying pierogis, or Miss Medda if they’re trying something like gumbo (Medda Larkin is from the south and you can fight me on that), or they’ll call in Itey if they’re making an Italian dish) to kind of make sure he's not an idiot? They help explain where the dish comes from and what usually goes into it (Henry obv does research himself beforehand, but google def lies sometimes)

HENRY ALSO DABBLES IN FASHION. (HE'S THE ONLY NEWSIE WHO DOESN'T HAVE SEVEN THOUSAND COLORS ON HIM. ALL HIS CLOTHES ARE ROUGHLY THE SAME COLOR YOU CAN FIGHT ME)

Itey's channel is called Earning Your Laurels and they use yt to help people learn the Italian language, and about the Italian culture. Just kinda rambles during videos. Everyone thinks it’s cute as fuck. Especially Snitch. They share the yt channel, and Snitch uses the time to practice his Italian. Is very bad at it for a long time, pretends to still be bad for a while (but practices in secret to surprise Itey), and makes Itey cry on camera when he tells them this super big, heartfelt confession when he tells them he loves them for the first time. They leave it in the video so everyone can see. The fans go absolutely nuts over it.

Jojo's channel is called JojoPlaysShit only because he couldn't think of anything when he first started, but now he's too attached to the name

Les and Mush have competing souvenir collections. It's an actual competition. There are rules.

Les can beat almost anyone in the group at their favorite games. He's just naturally talented.

PLEASE BEAR WITH ME AS I MOMENTARILY RAMBLE ABOUT MIKE THIS IS MY FAVORITE IDEA IN THE ENTIRE AU Y'ALL

His channel is Dropping the Mike:

Bob Ross style tutorials Except he’s pretty fucking terrible at everything he tries. He’ll do painting tutorials, sewing tutorials, cross stitch, knitting, crocheting, etc etc etc The only thing he learns before doing the tutorials is the basics. Like literally 'how to knit'. He doesn't look up patterns or anything, just how to get it started. It’s actually a motivation channel. To let people know it’s okay to not be perfect at everything. They’re allowed to just do things for fun. He tries paper mache and is surprisingly good at it. And just stares at his creation in utter fucking shock and is like ‘how tf did I do this???’ and his fans expect him to keep doing paper mache but he never does it on camera again.  Or at least that’s the plan before a lot of them are like ‘why don’t you do it anymore? Why can’t we see this thing you’re good at?’ and Mike tries to explain that it kind of goes against the whole point of his channel and that he’s perfectly fine being bad at everything the public gets to see. The comment section of that video explodes with demands to see more.

Romeo's is also one of my favorites, please hold

Let’s Start a Fight: A conspiracy channel. Will connect anything to anything else. Also has a series that’s essentially a game show to pit his friends’ relationships against each other to see who has the most solid relationships. The thing is, the questions are entirely arbitrary and have nothing to do with the actual partnership. Some examples: Is Pluto a planet? Is a hotdog a sandwich? Which direction is toilet paper supposed to face? Is cereal a soup? Do you eat or drink soup? There’s at least one fistfight every episode. Only a few of them were staged.  The winner isn’t determined by points or anything.  The winner is the last couple standing. The last couple not arguing. Probably gets a tv or yt deal to make it an actual show.

I wanna turn it into an actual thing but I don't know enough people. So if anyone wants to help me make this a reality I will love you forever

[onstagesport]

Color My World Chapter 1/ 2

I may be taking a hiatus from Ao3, but I still want to share this. I did a lot of research for this and also am ignoring the passage of time (aka It’s 1903 but they haven’t aged)

Crutchie supposed that he just didn’t ‘get’ art. He enjoyed sketches and even some paintings, but he couldn’t really distinguish them from each other unless the content was really memorable. Most of the time, it wasn’t. But that was okay, he just didn’t ‘get’ art.

He liked Jack’s art, though! Everything Jack showed him, even the paintings he thought were kind of ugly though he never said that out loud. Jack was usually so secretive about his art that if he shared it, he either knew it was ugly and didn’t care or he was especially proud of it. Either way, Crutchie voicing his opinion would do no good.

After a stressful day of selling, all Crutchie wanted to do was go up to the penthouse and unwind with Jack. The headline had been crappy, and his leg hurt more than usual but he refused to play it up for sympathy. That would make him just as bad as all the others who faked their limps.

He struggled up the ladder to the rooftop, pulling himself up rung by rung and holding his crutch under his chin. If he dropped it from all the way up here and it fell to the ground, he might never get it back. That would be the cherry on top of his day.

“Hey, Crutchie! Heard you coming!” Jack appeared above him with a jovial laugh, ready to lend a helping hand.

“I can do it,” Crutchie glowered. Jack had seen him do it before.

“I know,” Jack promised with a smile. “But how’s about I take your crutch and then you don’t have to worry about it, huh?”

Crutchie frowned up at him but allowed him to take the crutch up to the penthouse for him. He took several more seconds to climb, but eventually he got there. Jack was waiting for him at the top of the ladder and he held out the crutch with fanfare. Crutchie had to smile at that. Jack could brighten even his gloomiest day.

They settled in and Jack returned to what he had been doing before Crutchie arrived. Unsurprisingly, he was sketching on some rolls of paper that Miss Medda probably provided.

“What are those?” Crutchie asked curiously, pointing to the sticks Jack was using to sketch. They were shorter than Jack’s pencils and wrapped in paper, so they couldn’t be the coal sticks he occasionally used.

Jack turned to him, beaming.

“Just got them today,” he nodded, proudly handing over the box. “For a nickel.”

Crutchie nodded as he read the box.

‘Crayola Gold Medal Eight Colors School Crayons Binney & Smith Co.’

“A nickel?” he repeated, looking up at Jack.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, saw them in a shop and figured ‘you know, I deserve something nice.’”

Crutchie snorted, shaking his head at Jack.

“What? You think I don’t deserve something nice?” Jack pouted, placing a hand over his heart. “That hurts, Crutchie.”

“What I think is I think you got conned.”

Jack huffed out a laugh and held up the eighth crayon that was missing from the box to show that he had gotten what he paid for. Crutchie turned the box over in his hands to see if there was any more information about crayons.

“Can you pass me the green one?” Jack asked, holding out his for an exchange.

“Sure thing,” Crutchie nodded. He picked one from the case and passed it to Jack. “What’re you drawing?”

Jack didn’t respond, but instead gave Crutchie a slightly confused look for a moment. Crutchie somehow felt very small. He wasn’t used to feeling like that with Jack.

“What?” he asked, his eyes darting to the ladder. He knew that he wouldn’t need to escape from Jack, but there was a fleeting moment of panic.

“Sorry. Did I say ‘brown?’ I meant green,” Jack corrected, handing the crayon back.

Now, Crutchie looked at him in confusion.

“No, you said green. …Like the grass,” he confirmed.

Jack side eyed Crutchie. Whatever this joke was, he sure was committing to it. He asked for the box back and Crutchie willingly handed it over. Jack plucked out a crayon that was almost the exact same color.

“Green, like the grass,” he repeated. Crutchie stared between the two crayons, trying to see how either was more grass-like than the other.

“Can you not see colors?” Jack inquired. Crutchie knew he didn’t mean to be, but after the day he had, that rubbed him the wrong way.

“I see colors,” he grumbled. He didn’t need a messed up leg and messed up eyes. He continued a little more quietly. “They just all look the same.”

Jack stared at Crutchie in awe like he was some kind of exotic exhibit in a zoo. Crutchie grabbed for his crutch. Even though going inside would be loud and grating, it was better than sitting here and getting silently made fun of by his best friend.

“Hey. Hey, where you going?” Jack asked, sitting up straighter as Crutchie got to his feet.

“You’re looking at me weird,” Crutchie defended.

“Sorry, I never knew nobody who couldn’t see colors,” Jack explained, rolling up the papers so he could stand too.

“I didn’t know I couldn’t see colors!” Crutchie burst. He had a limp and he couldn’t see right. If he lost his hearing, the guys would think he was an absolute goldmine for garnering sympathy buyers.

Jack reached out to him, carefully touching his shoulders and starting to bring him in for a hug. It was too hot for that and Crutchie shook him away.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jack smiled at him. “It ain’t a big deal.” An idea struck him. “You know, I bet we ask Davey and he would be able to tell you a ton of people who can’t see colors. Inventors, scientists, millionaires…”

Crutchie perked up a bit. Not only about the fact that there might be other people like him, but at the mention of Davey. He hurried to the discarded box of crayons and picked it up. He drew two and stared at them for a long time. 

“Davey’s eyes are blue,” he stated decisively, holding them both up when he couldn’t choose between them. Jack laughed, but it was almost endearing enough that Crutchie didn’t mind. He took one of the crayons out of Crutchie’s hand.

“Davey’s eyes are blue,” he confirmed, smiling. “This is purple.”

Crutchie wanted to argue that they were exactly the same color but Jack was the one of them who saw colors right. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to be good-natured. He shouldn’t be surprised something else was wrong with him.

“I guess I’ll just have to believe you,” Crutchie dramatically sighed in Jack’s direction, sitting back down. Jack smiled at him.

“You’re not leaving?” he teased, settling in beside him. Crutchie shrugged like he hadn’t made up his mind to stay.

“What were you drawing anyway?” Crutchie asked, looking around for what Jack could have been referencing on the roof that required green.

Jack sank into himself a little, modest.

“I never used crayon before, so I was just doing some little test doodles,” he brushed off the question. Crutchie stared at him insistently, silently probing for more. “And I like to draw people I know when I doodle, okay?”

Crutchie scrunched his face in confusion. “And you needed green? Why?” He had a theory but it was probably stupid so he kept it to himself. He didn’t want Jack to laugh at him for asking if the boys with darker skin or darker hair could be green.

Almost sheepishly, Jack reached over and unrolled the paper he had been using.  “Now, like I said I never used them before so it’s not that good and I didn’t finish, but…here.”

He showed Crutchie a half-finished portrait. The lines were kind of flaky but they were still definitely outlining his own face.

“Is this me?” he asked, looking up at Jack again, smiling. Jack nodded. “Why did you need green?” He looked down at his beige clothes. “Do I wear a lot of green?”

Jack laughed again and shook his head.

“Your eyes are green,” he shrugged.

“Oh.” Crutchie frowned before falling silent. That was the second thing he had learned about himself in the span of half an hour.

“Hey,” Jack nudged him. “You ain’t upset about this, right?”

Crutchie shrugged despondently, “I can’t see colors, Jack.”

“So what? Huh? Blink can’t see out of one eye at all,” he pointed out.

“How many things are wrong with me?” Crutchie demanded. “Is…Is my arm gonna fall off tomorrow?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. Granted, he didn’t know that for sure but it seemed unlikely. “And if it did, I’d carry your papes for you if you want. Any of us would.”

Crutchie slumped with a sigh. That was true. He wouldn’t want the help, of course, but it was good to know that they would be there if he ever did.

He reached over Jack’s lap and grabbed the box of crayons. He idly flipped through them as though shifting them would magically allow him to see their true colors.

“Hey, is that why you thought I got conned?” Jack asked suddenly.

“It looks like you only got three colors for a nickel,” Crutchie explained.

He dumped all of them out into his hand and separated them. Blue and purple were together. Green and brown were together. Yellow, slightly darker yellow, black and weird brownish-gray were all their own colors.

“Okay, I guess you got five colors,” Crutchie corrected.

“Penny a color, just like a pape,” Jack laughed.

“Oh! Speaking of papes, the headlines today?” Crutchie changed the topic to complain about the papers. Anything except him. “The most exciting thing was the pope getting sick again.”

Jack laughed but agreed. “And we’ve been reporting on his health for two weeks. There’s only so much interest for ‘the voice of God might be dying? No, for real this time.’”

They dissolved into laughter, and Jack soon started sketching again while Crutchie continued talking about his day, trying his hardest to be cheerful and forget about his weird eyes. They kept on like that until it was about time for dinner, signaled by Jack’s growling stomach. Before they descended, Jack showed Crutchie the finished portrait. Crutchie nodded at it.

“It looks just like me,” he praised. Or at least the version of him that he saw when he caught his reflection. But Jack could have colored him different from real life and he never would have known.

With that, they descended the ladder. Jack went down first and Crutchie followed after.

“You won’t tell any of the guys about me not seeing colors, right?” Crutchie asked when they were halfway down the fire escape.

“Not if you don’t want them to know,” Jack promised, rumpling Crutchie’s hair. “Now, c’mon. Else Henry’ll eat everything before we even get there.”

[livesincerely]

it’s written in bold letters, ch. 1

(aka, the letterman jacket fic. Also on Ao3)

00000

Jack had thought this would go without saying, but apparently not. “You are not wearing that to the game tonight.”

Davey looks down at himself, visibly confused. “Why not?”

Jack points out the obvious problem. “It’s green.”

“So?”

“Green is Westpoint’s color.”

Davey looks at him, nonplussed.

“Dave, you can’t wear the other team’s color to our first home game of the season,” Jack explains with a sigh. “Especially not when we’re going up against  Westpoint.”

“But I like this hoodie,” Davey says with a pout. “It’s comfortable.”

Jack shakes his head. “You gotta change into something else. Don’t you have anything red?”

“Yeah, sure, in my closet. At home.” Davey retorts. “This is all I brought with me, and no,” Davey amends quickly when Jack starts to interject, "I can’t just wear my t-shirt. It’s supposed to be cold later and I am not sitting out on the bleachers all night without at least a jacket.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Jack counters.

Davey huffs out a breath, “Do I really have to?” 

“Just go upstairs and change,” Jack says, shooing Davey towards the stairwell.

“But I’m comfortable,” Davey grumbles, but he obediently trudges up the stairs.

“Pick something red!” Jack calls after him. “Oh, and tell Racetrack to move his ass! I’ve gotta be in the locker room in half an hour and we still have to pick up Crutchie from the library.”

“Calm your shit, Jack, I’m coming!” Racetrack shouts back from somewhere above him before Davey can respond. “Give a man a second to piss, will ya!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Just hurry up!”

He finishes gathering his things together while he waits, grabbing a few bottles of Gatorade and a handful of granola bars and stuffing them into his bag. He’s just lacing up his sneakers when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Jack, Katherine’s just texted me—she wants to know where we’re eating after the game,” Davey says as he wanders back into the living room.

“I dunno Davey, anywhere is fine… by…” Jack trails off, suddenly speechless. Davey is wearing his letterman jacket.  Davey is wearing his—

Jack’s mouth goes dry. It feels like someone’s hit him, hard, right between the eyes.

“Jack?” Davey absently  prompts when Jack doesn’t continue, looking at his phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jack doesn’t answer, can’t answer. His eyes rake over Davey’s form: red is a fantastic color on him—it stands out against his dark hair and emphasizes the blue of his eyes. They’re nearly the same height but Davey isn’t as broad as Jack is, so the jacket is just the slightest bit too big for him, hanging down to the tops of his thighs and dwarfing his shoulders.

Davey chooses this moment to notice Jack’s staring; a delicious flush of pink blooms across his face. “You said I could wear anything red!” he says defensively. “This is red!”

“You’re wearing my letterman jacket,” Jack says, and his voice comes out low and raspy.

“You said something red!” Davey insists, somehow mistaking Jack’s tone for disapproval, his blush deepening further. “But all you had was t-shirts and I didn’t want to be cold and—and Racetrack said you wouldn’t mind!”

He fiddles with the sleeves as he rambles, and fucking hell, they’re so long on him that only the tips of his fingers are visible. “He said you wouldn’t mind, but, uh, I can put on something else if you want me t-“

“No!” Jack growls, startling them both. He takes a deep breath and tries to get a hold of himself before he does something drastic. “No, Dave, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Davey asks, still a little hesitant.

“Positive,” Jack assures him, though he’s anything but. “We can’t have you out there in just anything, now can we? Gotta make sure you’re repping for the team. Besides, you look-“

Fucking amazing. Goddamn perfect. Like you’re mine.

“-good.”

“Go team,” Davey says with a wry grin, looking at Jack through his fringe. His eyes are very, very blue. Jack is abruptly aware of how utterly screwed he is.

“That’s the spirit, Dave.” Fingers suddenly numb, Jack digs out his keys and tosses them over, then manages to to say in a somewhat normal tone of voice, “go start the car, will ya? I’m gonna go drag Racer away from the bathroom mirror—Coach will bench me if I’m late again.”  

Davey shrugs and heads out the door, blind as ever to the havoc he wreaks on Jack just by existing. Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Davey as he walks by, biting back the groan that threatens to tear its way out of his throat when he catches sight of his back: KELLY is stamped across Davey’s shoulders in bold, white letters.

Fuck.

Fuck.

 He’s gonna murder Racetrack.

00000

The drive to the school is an exercise in self-restraint.

Jack is incredibly aware of Davey in the passenger seat, playing with his phone and thumbing idly at the buttons on his—Jack’s—jacket. Racetrack is absolutely no help, the shithead, smirking and wagging his eyebrows suggestively at Jack whenever their gazes meet in the rear-view mirror and just generally relishing in Jack’s pain. Things only get worse when they swing by the library. Crutchie clambers into the backseat with a suspiciously wide grin—it’s clear that Race has already roped him into this latest episode of “Let’s-Fuck-With-Jack!" The two of them settle into a quiet, intense discussion, peppered with bursts of snickering and oh-so-deliberate glances at Jack.

By the time he turns into the student parking lot, Jack’s feeling thoroughly hunted, driving with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He pulls into a space a touch more abruptly than he means to, but you know what? He’s fucking entitled, seeing as how he’s caught in a goddamn conspiracy. 

He leaves the others to get settled in the bleachers, making his way to the locker room with his eyes trained carefully on the ground, where it’s safe and boring and unstimulating. Once there, Jack can distract himself by talking with the other guys on the team or working through some pre-game warm ups. 

It also helps that Davey’s not within arms’ reach or his direct line of sight anymore.

Spot arrives a little after Jack does, tossing his duffle down on the bench with a thud. He takes one look at Jack’s face and snorts.

“So you’re the reason Racetrack’s blowing up my phone?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “I haven’t hadda chance to check my messages yet—what’s he harassing you about now?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna spoil the surprise,” Jack grouses.

“Oh, so, it’s about Davey,” Spot surmises. “What is this, the third time this week? Christ, Kelly, get a hobby. Or fuck, just grow a pair and makeout with the guy, put the rest of us outta our misery.”

“Shuddup,” Jack says, even as a flush creeps up the back of his neck. He can tell the exact moment that Spot starts looking through his missed texts because he lets out a bark of laughter.

“I take it back: keep on being a moron because this shit is hilarious,” Spot says. He’s scrolling avidly through his messages. “Jesus, this is funniest thing that’s happened in months.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Jack mutters. He considers slapping the phone out of Spot’s hand but quickly dismisses the idea—he likes his fingers arranged just the way they are, thanks.

Spot pauses on a particular message, then starts cracking up. Jack briefly debates the merits of knowing what’s being said about him versus remaining blissfully ignorant; unable to resist, he glances over and regrets it immediately. Racetrack has managed to sneak of picture of Jack’s initial reaction to The Incident, and it’s just as bad as Jack had imagined. Racetrack has captioned the picture with LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and a bunch of cry-laughing faces because he’s the fucking worst.

“Channel some of that sexual frustration into tonight’s game and we’ll send Westpoint home cryin,’” Spot manages to choke out between laughs.

“I fucking hate all of you,” Jack says. 

00000

There’s only seconds left on the clock. 

Jack steadies himself, throws....

  The pass connects.

  The crowd explodes into motion almost before Jack can process what’s happened, but they’ve done it. They’ve won.

Jack rips off his helmet and lifts it over his head, both arms thrown up in triumph. They’re all shouting and laughing and cheering, a victory anthem playing over the loudspeaker. He happens to turn back towards the stands and somehow manages to pick Davey out of the mass of people. 

Jack’s arm falls back to his side, his helmet thunking hollowly against his leg. This is what they mean by tunnel vision, he realizes suddenly, but it’s a distant thought. The roar of the crowd, the jostling and screaming of the team celebrating their win, it all fades away. There’s nothing to hear but the deafening sound of his pulse beating in his ears, nothing to see except Davey steadily fighting his way through the sea of cheering spectators that have flooded the field.

He’s still wearing Jack’s letterman.

“Oh my god, Jack, you were amazing! That was—” Davey’s already talking a mile a minute, but it’s like Jack doesn’t have the brain cells to listen to Davey and look at Davey at the same time, and the looking must take priority. His face is flushed pink from the cold but his eyes are all but sparkling in his excitement. His hair is a disaster—Jack imagines him sitting in the stands, raking his hands anxiously through his hair as the game rocked through its final minutes. Someone, probably Katherine or Crutchie, has drawn a #12 on his cheek in black marker.

He’s very pretty. He’s very close.

 He’s still wearing Jack’s letterman.

Davey’s hand lands on Jack’s arm, and it breaks through the haze.

“-ck? Jack are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” Davey asks, peering at Jack worriedly. “Your pupils are dilated—I mean, really dilated. Are you okay?”

Jack swallows, licks his lips, blinks. 

He starts to answer, but he’s honestly afraid of what’ll come out of his mouth, so he decides a tactical retreat is in order: he murmurs something unintelligible, then turns on his heel and all but runs back to the locker room.

When Spot comes to find him some fifteen minutes later, he’s toweling his hair dry after a very cold shower.

“Are you actually hurt or are you just freaking out again?” Spot asks, “because whatever you did has got Davey all concerned.”

“I’m not gonna make it,” Jack says frankly, staring into the middle distance. “I literally can’t look at him directly, he’s too fucking pretty. My heart’s gonna give out. I’m gonna keel over and die. My dick is gonna swell up and—”

“Jesus,” Spot mutters. He digs Jack’s clean t-shirt out of his bag and lobs it at his head. Jack doesn’t even make an attempt at catching it: it hits him in the chest and falls into his lap with a soft fuwmp.

“Not that this ain’t funny as shit, but I’m gonna need you to put aside your bisexual yearning for, like, two seconds and get dressed,” Spot says, rolling his eyes. “I want onion rings and you’re holding us up.”

Jack looks at him. "I'm in distress," he laments. "Does no one care that I'm in distress?"

"Onion rings, Kelly," Spot says, ignoring Jack completely. "Hurry the fuck up."

Jack sighs, but does as he's told. Guess it's time for round three.

Rest in fucking pieces.

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Karma’s A Bitch

So....I hear that people like my fearplay and I’ve been meaning to write something for @that-one-fandom-vore-blog ‘s shifter!verse for a long ass time. So that means.....

STORY TIME!!

I hope I have managed to do something worthy of your amazing AU. I absolutely love it and hope you can enjoy my attempt at writing for it

Vore under the cut :)

Something snapped. He felt it. Something snapped inside him. Something broke and his vision flooded with a red. A deep, crimson, blood red. His fingers twitched at his side, slowly curling into fists. His blinded eyes bore into the two his stare was fixed on, his pupils slimming to slits like that of a snake or cat. His joints and bones ached with an urge to change. An urge to move. An urge to shift. His vision drowned in red as he turned tail and ran.

Lucky for him, they followed.

Over rooftops, across roads, around corners he ran. His legs cycled and blood carried adrenaline though his veins. Left, right, left, right, left. Right. Over and over. One then the other, left then right. His arms pumped at his sides as he jumps over a half wall or slides under a low bar. With seemingly inhuman speed he ran.

He ran and they followed.

Finding his way to a more quiet part of town was easy. With the way his senses heightened he could tell who was where seemingly a mile away. Skidding on the slick stone roads, he makes a sharp left into an abandoned alley. He makes it to the end and into a little boxed off side area when he finally looses it.

Falling to his knees with a cry, he tangles his fingers in his hair. Why did this one hurt? Is it cause he suppressed it? Is it because of the boiling, white hot rage behind it? He didn’t know. He could feel his joints and bones shift as the world around him became smaller. People only seemed to be five inches tall and buildings seemed his height when he kneeled. Desperately intaking giant breaths of air through his now massive lungs, he struggled to catch his breath.

Footsteps began to echo in the alley. Itty bitty footsteps neared as his attention snapped to the exit of the boxed off little area. Animalistic eyes snapped onto the opening, his breathing becoming quieter in an instant as he crawled closer. He could grab them. He could just grab them and squeeze them until they pop or-

NO! Dear goodness no! What was he thinking? Had he lost it? He swore he wasn’t ever going to be a headline for a shifter attack! He made that promise to himself and to the others. To Crutchie....To Kath....To Race, Albert, Elmer, Specs, Les- To Jack.

He would just scare the shit out of them. Yeah. Just scare the shit out of them.

“Where th’ hell’d ya go ya freak?!” A voice rings out from one of the two as they stalk down the alley, kicking crates as if he was going to dart out from behind own. “We know You’s is here and we ain’t leavin’! Come out and face us if ya really wanna act all mighty, freakshow.”

He watches through red-blinded, slit-pupil eyes as the two pass the corner into the open. They don’t notice. They don’t notice him. Ha! Were they looking to die? A low growl surfaces in his throat before he can stop it. They turn, their expressions drop, and all color drains from their face. It’s their turn to turn tail.

Too bad his hands are faster.

That look.....they’ve seen it before. They saw it in the papers. They saw it on faces of others. Yet they’ve never seen it on the face of a pissed shifter. A pissed shifter the size of a building. It was something they’ve never wanted to see. Something they wanted to run from and forget. Something they’d never see again. Yet here they were. Try as they might to turn tail, it’s too late. Warm, lanky finger wrap around them and hoist them into the air. Air intake is restricted as they struggle the best they can against the grip. No. Nonono. Not this!

“You.” Davey growls, squeezing the two in his fists. It was about time they got this. Karma was coming to them sooner or later. That time was now and he was the lucky one to get to deliver it on a silver platter. “Give me one reason I should spare any, or better yet all, of your limbs.”

The two yelp, sputtering choking sounds drawn from their throats as they struggle to take in air. Their arms burn as they try and push out the fingers to allow just the tiniest bit of room to breath. Try as they might, nothing. Nothing as a minuet passes.

“Nothing?” Davey asks with a raised eyebrow. He breaths out a laugh. “Pathetic.” Reluctantly, he forces himself to loosten the grip so they can breath. “Funny, isn’t it? How some ‘freakshow shifter’ like myself can be more merciful then two normal boys. How does that work?”

Neither opened their mouth to respond. Neither moved. They just stared. Stared up at the boy who would plague their nightmares for months at this rate. Stared while they shook like someone trying to shake sense into them.

“No answer again? Interesting.” Davey lookes the two of them over. “See, I don’t recall you having mercy when you pinned Romeo to the street at the neck with a crutch until he passed out. I don’t recall you having mercy when you knocked poor Crutchie unconscious with his own crutch. I don’t recall you having mercy when you pinned Les’s arm to the gate and tried to snap it through the bars. So tell me....”

He took a moment to take a deep breath, eyes closing only to open to be filled with pure rage. “Why. Should. I?”

The two stop, the shaking going still, the breathing coming to a halt on its own. No. Nonono. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. No. No. NO!

“B-Because.....” one started before their mumbling became unintelligible. This only seemed to fuel the fire of Davey’s rage.

“What was that? Speak up unless you want a first hand demonstration as to why shifters are feared,” he growls, grip momentarily tightening just enough to squeeze an answer out of the boy.

“B-BECAUSE THEN YOU’D BE JUST LIKE TH’ SHIFTERS IN TH’ PAPES!!” They yelp, squirming hard in the grip.

Davey backs off, loosening his grip again. Huffing a sigh, he growls. “Your point is made. I would. I would be and I hate that. So I won’t kill you.”

The two in his grip relax. Thank god! It seemed like he was going to go full out and destroy them right here right now and-

“That means nothing about teaching you a lesson.”

-Fuck. That.....no. Nonono. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. No. No way. Again, they began to squirm. They began to fight. They needed to be free and get help. But how? How could they escape the hands of a furious shifter?

Davey looked the two over. Hmm....what could he do that wouldn’t leave them with anything too permanent on them? What could he do that would have no physical evidence against him? What could he do? “Now....what do you believe is a suitable punishment? Maybe knocking you out like Romeo or Cruthcie? Pressure like with Les? I’m not-“

A hollow growl rings through the air, cutting him off. A growl that makes his lips twitch into a near psychotic smile.

“Or....” Davey starts, licking over his lips as his gaze shifts over the two of them. “We could go the route you made poor Jack take~”

The two feel their hearts drop to their shoes. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. That’s not a good sign. No sir! Not with where Jack ended up and how they had a good chance of not making it out of there ever. “N-No.....nonono....”

Davey chuckled, switching his grip to dangle them by their clothing. One by their suspenders, the other by their shirt. This would be so so much fun. Fun and entertaining.

“Oh hush. Jack didn’t get a choice. This or certain death, had you said? Well, let’s give you the same deal~” Davey brought one forward, dragging his tongue up over him. He could feel and taste the fabric along with something salty. Sweat was his guess. “Mm....not bad.”

A low, empty growl rings in the smal side alley again. A growl that serves to make Davey’s smirk turn more sinister. “Look at that, my stomach agrees. Now...hmm....who should go first?” He shifts his position, getting more comfortable on his knees and sitting on his feet.

“N-NO ONE!!” The other, in suspenders, yelps. No. Nonono. This was horrible. Downright  horrendous! They squirmed the best the could. Fighting the terrifying future they were about to face. This couldn’t be real, right?”

“Aw~ how funny. You didn’t give Jack that choice.” Davey breaths with a soft chuckle. Boy this was entertaining. “One of you is going down. I think......Hmm.....Oscar.” With a simple flick of his wrist, he tossed the small, squirming body into his maw and snapped his jaws shut around him.

A scream tore from the teen’s throat as he was tossed without a second thought. Crap, no! It only gets worse as he lands against a wet, hot, twitching muscle, pearly white and razor sharp teeth snapping shut around him. Fuck! He tries desperately to coax his limbs into motion. To do anything to keep him away from the dark tunnel in front of him that was Davey’s throat. When the slimy muscle underneath him begins to move him around, he finally does. He kicks and pushes and squirms the best he can while Davey shoves him around. Left to right, up and down, knocking the wind out of him by squishing him against his palette, you name it.

Suddenly, there’s a gush of light and cool breeze that rushes over him.

Morris stared at his brother with a face pale as a ghost and eyes as wide as dinner plates as Davey parts his jaws to let them see each other. It only gets worse when the tongue seems to tip his brother back further and further and further until-

Gulp.

With a guttural cry of pure fear, Oscar disappears down Davey’s throat. Oh god....

He’s engulfed in the hot, tight, strong muscles of the shifter’s esophagus, feeling himself tugged down with each deafening swallow. Try as he might, he can’t squirm. He can’t fight. He can’t move. He can only sit there and scream until he drops into the teen’s empty stomach to be met with a pleased gurgle. This....this was sick. This was insane.

The shifter in question gives a second, softer gulp to send Oscar all the way down. He gave a satisfied sigh, tracing the lump down to his stomach. “Mm....a little salty for my tastes. Stale fabric too....mm.....but still not bad,” he mumbles to himself, clicking his tongue.

His eyes turn to Morris. The grin on his face becomes predatory again as he brings the quivering tiny closer. “Now....I wonder how his brother would taste? How would your flavor sit on my tongue before I send your small body down like the morsels like you are?”

“N-No. No. God, no. Y-You’s....you’s insane!” Morris yelps, fighting the best he can in the boy’s dangling hold. He’s.....he’s going down, isn’t he? It’s only a matter of time until-

A simple effortless flick sends Morris flying into the open maw of the hungry shifter. The shifter named David Jacobs. The giant teen relaxes back, hands folding over his stomach as he toys with the second of the brothers in his mouth. Just as salty, though the clothing is less stale. Hmm. Odd. Not to mention he seemed to be squiring a good bit more. Feisty. How fun~

Two practiced gulps send the boy down to his stomach to join his brother. With another pleased sigh, he traces the lump from his throat all the way to his belly. Once the feels him drop in, he pokes at his middle. “Ah~ I don’t know about you two but....heh....you really hit the spot. Salty, but good. Filling too.”

“WE DONT CARE ‘BOUT OUR FUCKIN’ TASTE OR HOW YA FEEL!!!” Oscar shouts, shoving at one of the walls. It’s hot. It’s wet. It’s cramped. Then the worst, it’s loud. Every growl, gurgle, or rumble echoes around them as the chamber they’re trapped in churns. They won’t go out like this....right? “LET US TH’ FUCK OUT, FREAK!!!”

Davey humms, relaxing as the squirming picked up. He’d forgotten how good genuine squirming felt. Was that bad? That was probably bad but- he couldn’t worry about that now. He wouldn’t worry about that now. No. There were more important things on his mind. Like the most comfortable position he could be in right here in the alley. “Mmm....I’d watch what you say. One wrong slip and...mm....no one could hear from you again, yeah?”

He knew that wasn’t the truth. He didn’t have it in himself to do that. He hated the idea of being one of the headlines his friends would have to hawk. He was just teasing but boy did it feel real. It especially had to feel real to the two in his gut. Heh.

Good.

He expected the squirming to stop, but to his pleasant surprise, it didn’t. It was like the brothers had ignored anything he said. As the squirming got stronger Davey relaxed more. His hand came up to knead small circles into his gut as he got comfortable.

“Mmmm....my word....you’re- ah- fighting more then Crutchie...!” He mumbles though a pleased sigh. He certainly didn’t mind. “And believe me, can he fight! Ohh.....mm.....oh boy...”

Small phrases escape him between heavy breathing. Ok, maybe he was enjoying this a bit too much...

....

Nah.

He deserved it. If the brothers wanted to fight thought their punishment for hurting his friends then he was allowed to enjoy himself. He was allowed to embrace the internal massage. He was allowed to let his eyes droop closed slowly. He was allowed to let himself drift off to sleep with them fighting away in the fleshy prision of his gut. It wasn’t like Jack would see him like this. He was busy caring for Crutchie, Romeo, Les and the others.

.....right?

[youcantundothepast]

Newsies Scent headcanons

So this is sort of what the Newsies smell like and how that relates to their personality idk I just thought this was cute

Kind of canon era, but also might not exactly he historically accurate

🚬🐎 Let’s start obvious. Race smells like he’s been down at the track all day, which sometimes, he is. Often, he smells like cigar smoke and beer. People can tell when Race enters the room, but it’s not necessarily a bad smell. It takes a little getting used to, but by then, you associate the musky scent with Race and his personality. Brash, candid, cocky, and always willing to put his faith in the underdog. He’s loyal and helpful if you give him a reason to believe in you.

🌱 Katherine smells like mint. It’s a fresh, clean scent, and Katherine is always fresh on the scene. Anyways, the smell of mint isn’t distracting unlike the floral scents she can smell in other women’s perfume. Katherine is always popping a mint to keep her mind focused and to keep her breath from smelling bad. It’s a way of distinguishing herself and proving that she isn’t going to be what the men in power want her to be. She won’t give up so easily, and she won’t be scrutinized just because she’s a woman.

🌦🏙Jack smells like freshly rained on streets during the summer. He’s always evolving and changing just like the streets of New York. Some days, you can particularly smell the ink from fresh newspapers on him. Other days, he smells exactly like perfume of the women passing him by when he sells outside of the Bowery and visits Medda. There’s always a foggy ambiguity surrounding it, though. The scents are often hard to pin, they’re sort of washed out, because of how much Jack moves around. He’s the type of person who can’t stay in one place for too long. But he still smells like New York because New York and the people in it are still his home.

🍭🍒 Elmer always smells like sweets. Specifically, that artificial cherry smell because that’s his favorite flavor. He’s always had the biggest sweet tooth of the newsies, so when he can, he’ll pass through the street’s candy shop. When no one’s looking, he’ll sneak a jelly bean or a gumdrop every so often because he can’t afford to buy a bar of chocolate or a whole bag of candy. It’s only one or two pieces every couple of days, and he remains conspicuous enough to not have the workers be suspicious of his actions. The workers know him, but they either don’t know that he’s swiping candy or they’re turning their eyes. Elmer isn’t sure which. He’s sweet (like candy), can charm the pants off of the candy girls, and is always making people laugh. Just like a candy store, he’s colorful, kind, and always makes the mood a little brighter.

🌲 Even though many of the newsies haven’t ventured far outside of New York in their lives, Kid Blink smells like the forest. Specifically, pine. He does things because he wants to, not because someone else pressures him or because it’ll his change his image in someone else’s eyes. After losing sight in one of his eyes, he realized that people are going to have predispositions about him already because of his partial blindness, why should he care if they have an opinion about anything else he does? Like the forest filled with strong, unwavering trees, he is true to himself. There is no faking the smell of the forest, and once that scent hits your nose, it can either arise feelings of tranquility or feelings of anxiousness because something is lurking deep in the woods. Something you’re never expecting.

🍁 Blink doesn’t open up to people often, but when he does, it’s most often to Mush who smells like cinnamon. Mush is known to be one of the most understanding and empathetic without being sympathetic newsies. A lot of people feel comfortable going to him because he can read the situation well and determine what people really need (i.e. a shoulder to cry on, someone to make them laugh, someone to make them feel not alone, etc.) His warm cinnamon smells makes people feel safe and comforted while still remaining natural. He’s always there to open his arms to any newsies/any person in need of a hug and a reminder that life can become good again.

🌼🍃 Sarah smells like chamomile because it’s her favorite tea. There’s not a lot of space, but she keeps a small garden on top of the roof of her apartment building. It’s not much, mostly practical stuff like herbs or simple fruits and vegetables to use in the kitchen, but she allows herself a chamomile plant so she can make homemade tea even when no one else in her family likes it. It’s one of her few acts of selfishness she allows. She loves the feeling of satisfaction she has of cultivating something that’s living and growing. It’s similar to how she invests herself into her relationships. She is dedicated to constantly developing the relationships she has with her family and friends.

🍯☕️ Similar to Sarah, Crutchie also loves tea with honey when he can get his hand on a cup. It’s very rare, unfortunately, but he loves his with a bit of honey. Whenever he can get a hold of some tea and honey, he always puts a little bit of honey on his finger first and tastes it to “taste test it.” Whenever Sarah brews some of her tea and has some left over, she tells Davey to tell Crutchie to come over after he’s done with his paper run so they can share. He never fails to visit when Davey tells him because doesn’t want o disappoint anyone (and he loves tea). He sticks to people and is loyal. It’s hard to shake the loyalty and friendship of Crutchie. Even when you wrong him, Crutchie will always remain by your side. Other than that, he has a heart and a smile as sweet as honey.

🏠 Davey smells like home, more specifically like whatever is in the kitchen/what was made the night before. It’s a comforting scent. Davey is a bit of a homebody, and he doesn’t usually leave the apartment unless he has to (meaning school, selling newspapers, or hanging out with the newsies at the lodging house.) Davey is studious and spends a lot of his time studying the the large table in the kitchen because it’s one of the only places in the apartment where he has enough room to study at. The smell of the kitchen sticks to him. He also spends a lot of his time at home because that’s where his family, the people he cherishes the most in the world, are. He’s not the best at relationships. He doesn’t bring down his walls for people often, but if he does and makes a connection with someone, that connection is one Davey will never be the one to break.

[timetogoslumming]

The Eyes Have It: Writing Kid Blink and Modern Eyepatches

A while ago, I made a post about realistically writing about Crutchie’s disability in a modern AU. (Check it out here if you’re interested.) I thought today, I’d write a bit about Blink!

Let’s get this out of the way: Blink has a disability. Erasing that disability is harmful, so let’s not do that! Cool.

In addition, I am not vision impaired (other than some pretty heavy duty glasses) and I don’t use an eyepatch. I’ve done research but my voice is by no means a substitute for the voices of people who are actually living with vision impairments. If anyone can speak more on this subject with more authority than me, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

We’ll start with modern use of eyepatches. 

They’re actually not very commonly used nowadays. That doesn’t mean that you never see them, but if someone is wearing a patch, it’s probably for a specific reason, not just “oh, one eye bad”. It’s especially rare to see teens and adults with them.

You see a lot of young kids wearing eye patches. This is generally done to correct a weaker eye and is rarely done as kids grow older. A child will wear an eye patch over their good eye so that the muscles in the weaker eye have to get stronger. They generally only wear it for a few hours per day across a period of a few months. This is not a substitute for glasses/corrective vision aids, but can help even the eyes out. You rarely see teenagers or adults doing this unless they’re recovering from a recent injury or surgery. Both of these situations are short term reasons to wear an eye patch. 

As for long term reasons to wear one, the reasoning can be more complicated. 

A lot of blind people can still perceive light and even color. For some people, that light perception can be extremely irritating and even painful. Sunglasses could help to offset that, but if the issue is only in one eye or the problem is really severe, you could use an eyepatch to block out light. 

Sometimes, a person is missing an eye, for whatever reason. In many cases, they can be fitted with a glass eye that moves and looks like a real one. Glass eyes are very well made nowadays, but they never look exactly like the real eye. For instance, your pupils dilate. With a glass eye, the size of a pupil never changes, because it’s essentially painted on. Some people have reported feeling self conscious when using a glass eye, because they find that people stare when they realize that one eye seems slightly different, because they want to figure out what’s going on. There are people who prefer to use an eyepatch, even if they’re wearing a glass eye, because they find that people accept the eyepatch and move on instead of staring to try to figure out what’s different.

Note: Glass eyes are often covered by vision insurance, but not always, because some insurance companies argue that they’re just cosmetic. A good eye doctor will try to argue with insurance companies that it’s necessary, but that doesn’t always work out. A character without insurance or without the money to acquire one may have to go without because without insurance, a glass eye can cost between $2000-9000. 

In some cases, a person loses their eye because of damage done to the eye socket. A lot of the time, that damage can be largely repaired but in some cases, it’s just not feasible for a glass eye to be used because the damage was too major. Many of these people choose to wear an eyepatch. 

Then, there’s more of a social reason to wear an eyepatch. Blindness can be an invisible disability in many cases. By wearing an eyepatch, the wearer is making a statement that they are disabled. They may choose to wear one because they’re not ashamed of their blindness and they don’t want to hide it. (Note: This is not to say that people who don’t wear a patch are hiding their disability. This is just one way of thinking out of many.) There are a lot of different choices and patterns, so you can really have fun with it as an accessory. 

Also to note: people will ask about an eyepatch. It’s not a very common thing to see nowadays and a lot of strangers thing they’re entitled to the story of why the person wears it. The character will probably have random people approaching them asking what happened to their eye. Is it rude? Yes. Is it a real thing that happens? Also yes.

So. When you’re writing Blink: 

Think about why he wears an eyepatch. Does he have light sensitivity, making it more comfortable to block out all light? Does he want to make a statement about his vision impairment? Does he just like it better? Does he wear it all the time, or just some of the time? Is he self conscious about it? 

It doesn’t necessarily have to come up in your story, but having that background fleshed out helps make the character feel more real.

Can I write Blink without an eyepatch?

Again, a reminder of the disclaimer: I am not vision impaired, so this call isn’t mine to make. My answer is just conjecture. 

I would say yes, but you can’t write him without vision impairment. Keep in mind, even without an eyepatch. He may have discomfort caused by his vision. He may still have visible evidence, like a glass eye and/or issues with the eye socket or eye lid. In many states, a person who is legally blind is not able to drive, which can affect a person’s sense of independence. A disability does not need to take over someone’s life, but it is always going to be a part of their life. 

What should I avoid?

Do not have the eyepatch as just an accessory. If you write Kid Blink as a person with perfect sight who just likes the aesthetic, you’re doing it wrong. 

Do not write with the goal to heal Blink’s vision. Sighted people writing stories about miraculous eye surgeries that bring back vision aren’t helping anything.

Avoid the disabled superhero trope. Think of Toph from Avatar the Last Airbender. We all love Toph, but her blindness is rarely an issue because of the way she can “see” through her feet. This is not realistic. Blink is not going to suddenly have super hearing that makes him able to see through his ears, or whatever. 

I recommend this essay: What Living with an Eye Patch in a Big City Taught Me

[loving-jack-kelly]

Javid story where Davey is slowly going blind and Jack is determined to show david all the beautiful things in his life

When Davey was little, his eye doctors had been hopeful that his vision wouldn’t get too bad. As he got older, they got less hopeful, and by the time he was twenty, they’d told him he’d probably be unable to see anything more than light and dark by the time he was thirty.

He met Jack when he was twenty-five and had to wear glasses as thick as his thumb to be able to see. He was an aspiring writer, somehow making a living in journalism while working on a book he hoped he could publish someday.

Jack was an artist who’d suddenly made it big with one sale nobody could have predicted.

At first, Davey was worried his vision had gotten worse since he woke up when he saw the painting in question. The colors were nice, but the shapes were hard to make out and honestly he had no idea how it was supposed to be a cityscape, though that’s what the label called it.

He hadn’t realized he’d already found the artist when he’d said that out loud and the person standing next to him started laughing out loud.

“You know, I almost didn’t put this one up for sale. I painted it in two hours at three am. I like the others much better, but hey, if you have enough money only ugly is worth it.”

Jack was much closer to a work of art than the painting they were standing in front of, in Davey’s opinion. He was dressed up for the occasion, some fancy gala hosted by the person who bought his painting, and he looked like he fit right in with the crowd around them. When he laughed, he threw his head back, and his hair quickly escaped the styling he’d obviously spent time on and left him with curls falling in his face no matter how many times he pushed them away. His smile took over his entire face, making it easy to picture where the creases would form as he aged, and he never stopped moving. His hands fluttered when he talked, and when they ended up sitting next to each other near the end of the night, he was constantly tapping his fingers or jogging his leg. He was easy to talk to. Funny. Charismatic.

Easy on the eyes, too.

Davey had always looked at his vision loss philosophically. He might have been going blind, but he’d had plenty of years to see things, and he’d chosen and was enjoying a career that he didn’t really need sight for. There were people who had it worse, and he had managed to stay pretty content with his lot in life.

But he was glad he got to see Jack Kelly.

Jack seemed glad to see him too, if their conversation was anything to judge by.

Jack made a joke, and reached out to brush Davey’s hair away from his face. Jack listened to what Davey had to say, and leaned in close in a way that could be excused by the noise around them but just a little bit closer than necessary.

And when the party was finally dying down, which Davey was surprised to notice since he’d been planning on leaving long before most people, Jack extended his arm and an offer to walk Davey home.

And like something out of a movie, or a scene Davey would never write into a book because it just seemed too cheesy, Jack kissed him outside his apartment’s door. There was a florescent bulb flickering overhead, and Jack gently cupped Davey’s cheek and stayed so close when he pulled back that Davey could feel his breath, and then squeezed Davey’s hand before letting go.

He put his number in Davey’s phone with a heart-eyes emoji and responded immediately when Davey texted him.

And dating Jack Kelly was the easiest thing in the world.

He hadn’t quite expected it to be, the first time Jack had asked if he wanted to go out. He’d kind of expected it to be awkward and weird and probably to fizzle out after a couple of dates. And instead, Jack asked Davey on a first date and it was to a planetarium and Jack whispered facts the program didn’t include into Davey’s ear. He held Davey’s hand and took him for ice cream while the sun was setting. They walked the High Line and Jack picked a flower and tucked it into Davey’s shirt pocket.

“You know, I forgot that I’m lactose intolerant,” Jack said thoughtfully, looking down at the last bite of his ice cream cone. After a second, he shrugged and popped it into his mouth. “Oh well.”

“Oh, well?”

“I’ll take a pill when I get home. Ice cream is too good to live without, you know.” He smiled and took Davey’s hand again, both of their fingers sticky from melted ice cream.

They dated for almost two months before Davey fully explained his eyesight.

Jack didn’t do the annoying thing a lot of people did where he suddenly started treating Davey differently, or throwing Davey a pity party he didn’t ask for.

Davey knew he would be blind eventually. He’d known that for a long time, and he was used to it.

Instead, Jack asked a couple of questions about it, and then he asked one Davey had thought about a lot but never been asked by anybody else.

“What do you want to see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have time, right? So what do you want to see before you can’t?”

Davey listed off a few places, a few sights that had always been on on his bucket list, and Jack hummed thoughtfully, and then their conversation had moved on and Davey pretty much forgot about it.

Until he found an envelope slid under his door with a hastily written note covering a little doodle obviously done by Jack.

I wanted to see your face but I had to literally run but I know you’ll be home soon so happy Start of Jack’s Grand Plan.

Davey opened the envelope not exactly sure of what to expect. A clue to a scavenger hunt, maybe. A sweet drawing, a longer note, something small and sweet and romantic, the type of gesture Jack loved to give.

There wasn’t any kind of note. Not a single doodle in sight, other than the one on the envelope which Davey was pretty sure was somebody feeding the pigeons in the park.

Davey opened the envelope and pulled out two plane tickets.

Round trip, three days and two nights, from JFK to Flagstaff Pulliam Airport.

And under the tickets in the envelope was printed off receipt for a two night stay in the Grand Hotel at the Grand Canyon.

And then there was a small piece of paper with a list of places with a bold strikethrough cutting through “Grand Canyon” at the top with a bunch of other places listed underneath.

Five minutes into reading and rereading the tickets and the room receipt over and over again, Davey’s phone rang with the ringtone Jack had picked for himself (a frankly very strange cover of Never Gonna Give You Up that made everyone do a double take when it rang in public).

“Hey! I wanted to wait for you but Crutchie called and said he was having an emergency.” Davey could hear the smile in Jack’s voice and also Crutchie yelling something about fresh baked cookies very much warranting the emergency label Jack Kelly they needed to be enjoyed warm. “Do you like it? They’re far enough out that I can move them if the dates don’t work, but I’m pretty sure they do.”

“Jacky…I…you can’t-“

“Already did. Davey, I sold a painting for enough money that I bought an apartment. In Manhattan. And then I sold another painting for even more money. I want to spend it on something good. And you’re good. Plus, I get to go too. It’ll be wonderful, Davey darling, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Davey heard Crutchie say something to Jack and Jack laugh in response.

“Crutchie says if you don’t go he’ll go in your place and that would be weird because we’re brothers so you have to go.”

Davey laughed back.

“And you know you want to see the Grand Canyon. And it’ll be fun to get away for a little while. And-“

“Okay, okay, Jack, I’ll go with you.”

“We’ll hash out the details later, then. Love you, Davey, but more cookies came out of the oven three minutes ago and if I don’t start eating them soon Crutchie might murder me and that would spoil everything, now wouldn’t it?”

So they went to the Grand Canyon for the first week of April, and it was absolutely wonderful. Jack was wonderful, the trip was wonderful, and the view was wonderful and everything was wonderful.

And two months after that, Jack handed him a birthday card and inside of it were two tickets to Paris that Jack excused with “I’m going anyway for a show, so you might as well come, too.”

And over the next three years, Davey got tickets to Moscow, Hawaii, Yosemite. They drove to Maine and went through Niagara Falls on the way home. When they moved in together, Jack hung a bigger version of Jack’s Grand Plan on the wall and made a big dramatic deal out of crossing out every place they went to.

Davey laughed at every speech and pretended to protest every time Jack planned a new trip, but he knew he wouldn’t win any argument against going and he didn’t really want to stop going, either. He loved going on trips with Jack. He loved that Jack was determined to show him as much of the world as possible and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

How did he get so lucky?

Slowly, though, his vision was getting worse. He was getting tunnel vision, not in the figurative sense but in a very literal sense, and by the time he was twenty-nine, he finally stopped being able to see anything other than light and dark.

There was one stop left on Jack’s Grand Plan, and Davey was sure it wasn’t going to happen, but Jack still insisted.

So even though Davey wouldn’t be able to see the sights, he and Jack books tickets to Norway complete with a two day cruise in the fjords.

Jack was an artist, and he was just as good with verbal descriptions as drawings and paintings. He spent the entire trip describing absolutely everything he could see to Davey, from the outfits of the people around them to the towering stone surrounding them while they were on the boat.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was still pretty good.

Two weeks after they got home, Jack woke Davey up early and dragged him into the living room.

“I have a surprise and you’ll love it,” he said, offering no other explanation until Davey was sitting on the couch. “As you know, we recently completed the last stop on Jack’s Grand Plan. However, I can’t help but feel it wasn’t the same, and therefore, I have decided there has to be one last step before the plan can be declared complete. And that step happens…right now.”

Davey heard Jack pulling paper off of something.

Setting something down on the coffee table. Something big.

Jack took Davey’s hand and squeezed it before setting it down on the thing he’d put on the table.

It was rough. All ridges and texture, nothing smooth about it.

“It’s the fjords,” Jack said, obviously bursting with excitement. “It’s oil paints but it’s almost a sculpture instead of a painting, so you can touch it to see it. It doesn’t look like the fjords at all because I painted them and got the texture right and then added black on top because it’s meant to be touched, not seen.”

Davey ran his fingers over the entire painting, tracing the edges along the frame and feeling for details, surprised at how much he could identify. There was a patch at the bottom that felt the way choppy water looked, and tall patches of rough stone. Swirly clouds.

“It’s beautiful, Jack.”

��With that, Davey, Jack’s Grand Plan is complete. We’ve been to every place you listed, and you’ve seen them all. How was it?”

“Perfect, Jacky.”

Jack sat down next to him on the couch and kissed his cheek, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cause I was thinking we could maybe do a couple repeats. I could paint more like this. Still get to go on vacation together all the time but this time call it a business expense.”

Davey laughed and leaned into Jack’s arms.

“Sounds perfect to me, Jacky.”

[tellthosewithpowersafeintower]

appetence (n.) - an eager desire, an instinctive inclination; an attraction or a natural bond

When David met Jack, he wanted nothing to do with the boy. He was loud and self-assured and declared them partners as though the only necessity of partnership was his want for it, as though David's part of the agreement isn't a factor, and he ran like fire was on his heels ever hurtling into trouble with an unceasing grin.

Jack Kelly was wild. He was a storm of untouched energy and the best of the Manhattan newsies, a storm of tousled hair and eyes that had seen a thousand lifetimes. He gave them the "chance o' a lifetime" to partner.

David Jacobs said yes.

Jack Kelly had never needed to pull Davey after him, for he was already too eager to follow. Even as he crowed protests when he slammed into walls as he ran faster than he ever had he was drawn after the other. But still, everything felt achingly right about Jack's nimble, calloused fingers threading through the fabric of Dave's tie and tugging him up into the rafters.

Everything felt warm in the theater.

When he snuck little glances at the open-mouthed, breath-taking smiles Jack offered to the show below, he pretended it was just the whirlwind of Medda's performance.

Just show business.

Right.

Davey didn't know when his name became Davey and not David. The gentle curling of the syllables and a smile on Jack's tongue instead of the harder reprimand of "David" that seemed intrinsically tied to his own name.

He didn't know, but Davey couldn't regret it.

For some reason, that same grin, and an echoed laugh Davey followed the strange boy so unlike everything he has been told to be his entirely life without hesitation. His heart pulled and he was drawn along after the self-proclaimed Cowboy and best newsie of Manhattan. Something about the boy drew him, like clockwork, after.

Davey wasn't sure when he realized he was stupidly gone over the boy. Maybe it was when Jack scraped those words onto the chalk board, or when he pulled Davey up onto the stone pedestal of the statue alongside him, or tipped his head back or made every part of tension melt away as a carriage pulled up and Jack beamed back.

Maybe it was after one of those easy, carefully reserved smiles to Dave after selling his last pape that shot sunlight through his veins that left him feeling giddy for hours afterwards, the moments of laughter shared against the cool metal of fire escapes, or the fact that he felt like home.

It was stupid.

It was dumb.

But everything, from friendly greeting pats their first day to lingering hugs to tugging him away by his tie had drawn him inextricably closer to Jack Kelly and Davey Jacobs had no intentions of going anywhere.

The rally was chaos.

Jack tugs him into a hug, claps him on the back and introduces him as "my pal Davey here". Even when he stands down with the mighty Spot Conlon, he manages not to lose his cool.

Perhaps they don't listen to him. Even if the boys were stirred to action by Jack and his silver tongue and winning smile, it doesn't matter. Because with Jack's cheeky grins reserved for Dave and half hugs, Davey feels free. He spoke to the thousand gathered rowdy newsboys.

He spoke for himself.

There was something incredible about the knowledge he'd spoken to that many people without Jack to carry his words for him.

When Snyder and the cops show up, Davey lurched forwards and scrambled to get Jack out away, wild, mad, perfectly Jack Jack Kelly away as quickly as possible. He ran, and Jack ran. They ran together and he was the one who pushed Jack and yelled at him to go. When he turned to face Snyder, he couldn't help but note the fact that the first day he'd known Jack, Jack had been the one shouting at him to run, and for once, it was Dave sending him off yelling at him to go instead. Trusting Jack was instinct and he'd never felt anything easier.

After a lifetime of his father's staunch pacifism and days of platitudes trying to prevent things from getting violent, the moment Jack was threatened he doesn't hesitate. In the chaos of the rally, he seized the swing and was ready, even if he was terrified, to fight for Jack Kelly, or at least buy him a few moments. Maybe in the end that didn't let his fingers get any closer when he lurched to try and grab the other boy one last time, but he learned where he stood and the newsies alongside him.

When Jack pushed him against the wall of an alley he felt as though those same eyes burned into his head and for once he felt seen. For once, beyond the vague indifference and melting into the sidelines after biting comments and sneers at his Abba or kippah that he was pressed into by classmates, he felt seen. As though someone had had looked at him and saw every little thing he never wanted to be recognized and stared into all the words in his head he'd kept safeguarded and locked away and analyzed them all in an instant.

Which is why when Jack shoved him back and he staggered away, eyes wide and head abuzz on a high of adrenaline that left him breathless the cried "No!" is far shakier than he intended it to be.

Those same eyes follow him home and haunt his attempts to fall asleep.

Jack Kelly comes back. Because of course he does. Halfway through getting shoved around until Davey's ears rattle in a way he'd never felt before, a pair of brass knuckles stared him down and Sarah's screams sounded a hundred miles away. Jack Kelly appeared and threw himself on top of the Delancey's.

For Davey.

And when he pulled Dave to his feet, Dave still felt as though his lungs were filled with fire when he bit out a sharp question. Jack seemed more weary than anything else.

He still didn't want to hurt Jack Kelly. He just didn't want any more reason to ache over guys like him. And then things were moving at the rapid flying whirlwind of a pace things always do with Manhattan's very own Cowboy, and when they used the printing press and whisper their 'once and for all's Davey shared smiles with Jack and felt more alive than he had in days.

But when he watched the tail of a carriage vanish, he felt as though he'd lost something special. A part of himself had left the square with it.

When Jack Kelly rode in on the governor's carriage, and the cheer of the crowd swelled with it, Davey found he could breathe again. Things made sense when Jack turned and smiled at him. Dave laughed, hefted the papers in his arms.

And from the crowd of ecstatic newsboys patting his shoulder and tugging into victorious embraces, Jack asked, "So, how's the headline today?"

Davey grinned, real and light and free as something flutters in his chest. "Headlines don't sell papes." He put on his cap and tipped it back, revealing the faint line of freckles sprinkled on his features the summer heat was beginning to draw out. "Newsies sell papes."

The crowd roared.

When Jack called, motioned for Dave to join him, his feet moved before his brain or Walking Mouth can begin to think through the fact. He found himself across from Jack and paused long enough to pass off the bundle of heavy papers to a beaming Crutchie.

This time he didn't hesitate. He spat and reached out to shake Jack's hand.

He couldn't remember what they really said to each other.

Davey still remembered the way Jack smiled at him when he stuck his head through Dave's window. The way his tongue peeked out of his teeth in excitement when he paused for a breath, the warmth when Jack seized Dave by his hand and tugged him, brain still hazy and fuzzed with sleep, out through the warm lit streets of New York stayed with him.

"S'the best view of all o' New York, Dave," Jack had shot to him over his shoulder with a grin that made even sleepy Davey melt. "So you has to work for it."

Jack tugged him step by step, weaving the cobbled pavement before he lead him out to the docks. The sky lit up in a thousand brilliant colors, like a world on fire. Davey stumbled clumsily to sit, Jack laughing and jibing with words blurred in Dave's head as he reached out to steady him with a hand. They nudged shoulders and sat side-by-side, watching the sunset light up the still water below.

Davey may not have remembered a word they said, but he remembered that it was perfect.

Eventually, he shot Dave the most blinding grin he'd ever seen, nose wrinkling as he stifled a yawn. His eyes sparked with a child-like mischievousness as he posed, "Toldja I'd show you the best view of New York."

Davey felt that something warm flutter inside his chest again and he couldn't help but smile.

Jack turned back to watch the sky in a quiet awe usually swept under rugged edges and sharp words. As much as he hated the cliché, when he snuck breathless glances Davey thought the most beautiful view in New York was right beside him.

There's a million, thousand moments for which Davey Jacobs found himself loving Jack Kelly. Maybe it was the way his nose scrunched up so slightly when he tried to hide some strong emotion or the way he said that he was no good at keeping track of belongings but seamlessly mittens and warm wear found themselves wrapped around the frame of the littles.

Maybe it was the way he came back for them all. The way he left Santa Fe for the family that wanted him in the city or those beaming, open-mouthed smiles. Maybe it was the way he tugged Davey into one armed hugs and made him feel as though those words they spun could build them entire cathedrals to stand upon.

There were a million thousand moments- Jack perched on that statue, flying through the streets of New York together as though they owned them, Jack spinning stories out of singular words of headlines, his crooked little half-smiles or barks of laughter. Every little motion and twitch of his fingers drew Davey deeper and deeper in and he was falling further than he ever had.

Davey was too far gone, and he hadn't a clue what to do about it.

He was so screwed.

...There were a million thousand reasons he shouldn't. A surrounding world of violence and pain and terror and blood-deep fear. A million reasons Jack should have no interest in someone like him, let alone a boy like him. Countless reasons Jack, smart, charismatic, brilliant Jack with his world-halting smiles and easy humor and cowboy hat and fantasy for Santa Fe could so easily charm anyone of interest right along to his side. Davey Jacobs, awkward and lanky with a mouth faster than common sense or courtesy was none of those things.

There were a million thousand words carefully lined up silently, chipping away bit by bit at thin shoulders, but all of those burned away letter by letter and tossed away to stars when Jack smiled.

Those same million thousand reasons want to bubble in his Walking Mouth when he stands across from Jack Kelly. The stars have never burned brighter or so hauntingly as he tries, shakily and breath choked, to disagree.

Because they can't.

And then Jack's eyes slant in that fond way of his and his lips half-curl in a cheeky grin and the exasperated, "Dave," is enough for his sputtered protests to falter.

"We can't, Jack," the words seem so small, frozen in the night air.

Jack, hair goldening under moonlight and ruffled gently by the evening breeze, has his eyes hard and solemn in a way Dave had never seen them.

"Wouldn't be like we was the first," Jack settles for as he takes a step forwards.

Dave winces and scrambles back, hands darting up to rake through his curls.

"It isn't- Jack, this isn't-" his breaths are coming faster than he intends them to be and Jack crosses the distance between them. His hand rests on Davey's arm and when he twists Dave to face him he realizes with a dizzying rush they are a dangerously close.

There are a million thousand reasons for them not to do this but for all his smarts Dave can't think of one worth mentioning.

"When are you going to realize what you want is enough?" Jack doesn't sound angry, and if anything he looks saddened.

All words die on his tongue as Davey feels his cheeks heat up and his eyes dart away. Forcing himself to swallow, he exhaled shakily.

"You could get arrested," the refutal sounds weak even to his own ears.

Jack laughs then, and grins cheekily. "When have I ever cared about that?"

Davey snorts out a little at that, rolling his eyes before he protests, "Jack-"

"It's worth it, Dave," and he steps forward, eyes sparking and Davey feels his breathing hitch. "Ain't it?"

"Jack," breathless and small and shaky, but when Jack crooks that half-smile at him any coherent thought escapes his mind.

Dave should argue, push Jack away, keep him safe (but Jack Kelly wasn't really one to listen to his rationale on a good day let alone when he had his mind set like this), do something...

"I care about you a whole lot, Mouth," and Jack tries to make his voice as rough and unwavering as the charismatic union leader always seems to be. But even as his hand motions in the air, his words wobble traitorously.

Jack Kelly isn't one for hesitating but he's gauging Dave's reaction, holding his breath, and:

"I love you."

Jack's mouth slides half-open in shock and Davey's heart jumps in his chest. It isn't what Davey meant to blurt out and immediately he snaps his jaw shut, flushing. It's more open vulnerable and honest than he intended to be.

He's messed up, Jack doesn't feel that way, of course he doesn't, he's overstepped and he never wanted to panic Jack with this or-or he wasn't... Wasn't supposed to this. Was this all just a whole way to twist Davey to reveal himself as queer, Jack wouldn't do that, but were the other waiting just to-

And then Jack laughs breathlessly and Davey's heart lurches again and his eyes shoot wide. He's never heard Jack sound like that before. Then Jack tips his head and angles his head closer, his nose pressing briefly to his cheek and softer than David's ever seen him.

Davey Jacobs had always been drawn to Jack Kelly. This time, he doesn't try to resist when Jack's lips meet his.

[soakineverysucker-blog]

newsies as colors

jack kelly: either a soft blue or a hard and cold blue, it depends on who he is showing himself to. he is either the depths of the ocean or a cloudless sky. he reminds you of a perfect night, filled with stars and countless dreams and a moon so big and yellow, it could turn night right into day. he makes you feel free and happy as soon as he’s in your presence. he’s like coming up for fresh air.

crutchie morris: yellow. he gives you a sense of happiness you never even knew you were searching for. his smile will brighten up any room, no matter the circumstances. he can either be a blinding yellow that shows his undeniable strength for miles, or he could be the sun calmly setting on the oceans horizon, innocent and soft. the kind of ‘something’ you’ve been waiting for. he’s like the smell of freshly baked cookies inside the comfort of your own home. he is home.

david (davey) jacobs: the lightest brown. like an old and abondened book you found in the back of a library. the kind that make you question how it got there and why it seems so lonely. he gives you an adventure, but one neither of you realize you are going on until it’s over. he reminds you of how it feels to walk down the empty isles of a library, brushing your fingers against the books as you go. he’s like a deep breath. the one that makes you feel safe again.

katherine plumber: a light pink. it can seem either calming or powerful, it depends on her day. she gives you a sense of inspiration. a sense of confidence you thought you’d never gain. she’s the kind who will hold you tight after a long day and will refuse to let go until you crack a smile. she reminds you of a typewriter. tempting and persuasive. she makes you want to tell your story. she makes you believe the world will listen. she’s like a bicycle ride on a quiet and long road. she makes you feel comforted and free.

[the-dance-boi]

Carrying the banner. Kidz bob vers part 1

"Hey! Thats my crayon!"

"You have another!"

"Guys! The teacher said we got work to do"

"Im drawing a picture of my mother"

"You cant draw!"

"Who asked you!"

"From the fridge to the counter, theres lots of snacks guarantee!"

Ask the teacher, parent or guarder. They can teach you how to read!"

"It's a fun game we're playing,one we'll never lose."

"Long as parents keep on paying just to watch the news!"

"Aint it a fun life coloring the banner through it all"

"A mighty fun life actin like we're all tough and tall"

"When the school bell rings"

"We play where we wish's"

"We's as free as fishes"

"Sure beats washin dishes"

"Bringing home the banner for us all!"

"Hey Crutchie, whats the leg say, gonna rain?"

"Uh, no rain. Ho-ho, partly cloudy clear by evenin'"

"Ha! And the limp gets him extra snacks, all by itself"

"I dont need the limp to get extra snacks, i got personality!"

"It takes a smile that spreads like butter, the kind that turns a teacher's head"

"It takes an orphan with a stutter"

"Whos also blind"

"And mute"

"And dead!"

"Summer stinks and winters freezing"

"When we play outdoors"

"Start out sweatin"

"End up sneezin'"

"Just hope it dont pour!"

"Still it's a fun life"

"Colorin the banner with me chums"

"We're all big boys!"

"Tossin' out a frisbee to the bums"

"Hey! What's the hold up?"

"Waiting makes me antsy"

"I wanna get dancey"

"Dont like the Delanceys"

"What a fun life!"

Colorin the banner through the-

(Teachers)

"Blessed children

Though you wander lost in your game

We all love you

You shall be saved."

(Race) (individuals)

"Cuddled" "just give me half a cup"

"Together" "Somethin' to wake me up"

"Eating donuts" "I want the one with glaze!"

"Sprinkled with love" "It's my favorite food!"

" Homemade" "Papers are running out"

"Biscuits" "its 88 degrees"

"Just" "Jack says im in his spot"

"From" "Wish I could catch a breeze"

"Up" "Maybe it's worth a shot"

"Above" "All I could find was bees!"

"If I hate the work"

"I wont do my work"

"And I'll say anything i have too"

"Cause at two papes per day"

"I dont have a say"

"On what i can do or what i eat after"

(Group 1) (Group 2)

1 "Got a feelin' bout our snack time!"

2"I do too, so it must be true"

1"I smells me a good snack this time"

1 "We's are gonna get some snacks like teach is givin' them away!"

2"What a switch! Soon we'll all be rich"

1 "Betcha the snacks are a doozy"

1 "Bout a playin wit'a floozy"

2 "Don't know any better way to make a kidsie's day!"

1 "Who knows how to make a Kidsie's day!"

(Both)

"You wanna play with us then listen"

"We play card games like war!"

"How ‘bout a game of our invention!"

"Yeah, but that ain’t fun no more!"

"Dragons to Toy Train Stations"

" Running in the halls"

"We play until its vacation"

"Runnin ‘til we fall!"

@crutchieee-morris @shes-the-apex-predator

[woildismyerster]

8 with mush from the prompt list you’ve been doing lately?

THE PUREST BOY

8.  Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.

You fell in love with Mush when you were twelve years old, but you didn’t recognize it until you were sixteen.

In some ways, the memory of it was so faded that it hardly mattered.  Isn’t it funny that important memories fade just as quickly as the stuff you don’t care about?  What you remembered was the look on Mush’s face, and the way your stomach felt like it dropped out when you lunged for him.

Somebody had dared you - Finch?  Romeo?  You couldn’t remember to save your life - to jump from one roof to another.  Not across a street; they were reasonable enough to choose one of the slim alleyways that only the poor and desperate would use.  You had agreed.  You had been the youngest Newsie back then, so you spent your days trying to keep up with the older kids who didn’t have the time or the patience to slow down for you.

Except Mush, but at the time, that was more humiliating than it was comforting.

The group of thirteen and fourteen year olds led you up a fire escape, rickety and rusty, to the rooftop.  It was almost dark, but you could see the roof on the opposite building easily enough.

You had a few boys waiting behind you, possibly to keep you from chickening out.  “What are they doing on the other side?”

Mush, Jack, and Sniper stood across the way.  “We’s here to catch you,” Mush said bitterly.  He didn’t want you to do it, and he had made it abundantly clear.

“And the kids on the ground?”

“They’s gonna scrape what’s left of you off the ground if you fall,”  Albert said.  He was grinning, but when you looked down over the side, you thought he was right.  You would be little more than ground beef if you missed the other side.

“Alright, Y/N,” Race said eagerly.  He was only thirteen then, hyperactive and king of the Manhattan Lodging house.  “Whenever you’s ready.”

You swallowed thickly.  “Right.  Let’s do this.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Mush called.

“Would you?”  This was the real question.  You wouldn’t care if you were too scared to do something that nobody else would do.  If you refused to do something that any of the others would have done, you would never live it down.

He frowned, looking at the gap.  You knew the answer before he said it.  “Sure, but -”

“Let’s do this,” you repeated.  The gap was only about ten feet.  You could probably jump that, right?  You had never tried.  You thought that you could, but looking down, failure was daunting.

You backed up, preparing to take a running start.  Race was grinning, but you could see that Specs and Crutchie looked more anxious than they had a moment earlier.  They had thought you would chicken out, you realized with outrage.

“Y/N, don’t!”  Mush was frantic now.  You had known the fourteen year old for years, but you had never seen him like this.

“Get ready to catch me,” you called back.  You didn’t bother starting slow; you sprinted for the edge of the roof.  With a final push, you threw yourself over the edge.

At first, you looked at Mush.  His eyes were almost comically wide, mouth frozen in a terrified grimace.  You closed your eyes when your stomach kicked.  Surely you’d been in the air for hours, right?  Long enough to have a heart attack, or to vomit up the meager breakfast that you hadn’t been hungry for.

Eyes closed, you reached your hands out.  It was like a game in the harbor.  The boys would throw you over the edge of the pier, and while you flew into the water, you would twist and reach for the people who propelled you over.  Even though you knew you were flying away, that you had begged them to throw you again, you still thought your heart would stop when your fingers didn’t meet theirs.

You felt your body stop rising, then start to go down.  It was like your stomach had a split second of calm, then rose up again when the rest of you started to fall.  In that moment, you were not afraid.  There was nothing left of you; just blind hope as you reached out.

Just when you thought that it was over, that you really would be a stew to be scraped off the ground - maybe you would be the headline; the boys could use a bloody picture - two hands clamped around your wrists and pulled.  You rocketed up and over, gripping Mush’s wrists like vices.

He had to turn his body to get the momentum to pull you up.  He was strong, but he was still a kid.  The two of you collapsed, still holding each other by the arm.  You had scraped your elbows when you hit the ground, but you didn’t feel it.  There was only Mush, panting almost as hard as you were.

You started laughing.  It wasn’t funny, not really, but something about it tickled you.  You had just jumped off a building.  Furthermore, you wouldn’t have made it on your own.  Mush saved your life.

“Oh my God,” he snarled.  His sweet face was twisted with fear and anger, but you could see the relief gripping him.  “Why are you laughing?  I thought you were going to die.”  That brought on another wave of hysterical giggles, and now you could see the unexplainable mirth coloring his features.  He started to giggle.  “Please don’t ever scare me like that again, Y/N.  Never.”

“No promises,” you said once you started to calm down.  “I did it, didn’t I?”

Jack snorted from behind you, relief heavy on his grubby face.  “Hardly.  You were going to fall.”

“Okay,” you said with a broad grin.  You smiled at Mush.  “I’ll only do stupid things if Mush is there to catch me.”

The shock wore off later in the night, sparking nausea and fear deep in your chest.  The only solution you could think of was to walk to Harlem.  Mush stayed in the Lodging house there, and though he never talked about it, you all knew that he made the commute back and forth because he had been kicked out of the house by his stepfather, but didn’t want to be far from his mother.

You scurried up the wall and through the window in Harlem, tiptoeing past bunks with unfamiliar kids.  When you found Mush’s bed, he was fast asleep.

“Mush,” you whispered.  “Mush, wake up.”

His eyes flew open, already focused when they locked on yours.  “Y/N?”

“I can’t sleep,” you said guiltily.

He scooched over to make room for you in the bed.  The twin bed was a tight fit, but with his arms wrapped around you, you didn’t mind.

He was very warm, and his steady heartbeat lured you into sleepiness.  You were almost gone when Mush spoke again.  “I thought you were going to die,” he said again.  This time, there was no humor in it.  He sounded afraid.

“You caught me,” you murmured sleepily.  

“But if I hadn’t -”

“You wouldn’t have let me fall,” you said.  You fell asleep then, totally sure of what you had said.  Mush would never let you fall.

When you were sixteen, you still spent many nights in Mush’s bed.  You didn’t do anything improper, though the Manhattan kids teased you about it constantly.  

“Look at our Mushy,” Race said with joking pride.  “Getting it nightly.  He could probably do better, but still.”

Mush’s cheeks were pink, but he threw an arm over your shoulders.  “Better than anything you’ve had, Higgins.”

You laughed.  You probably should have stopped going to Harlem for him, and you knew it.  The small bed was way too small for the two of you now, and it probably got in the way of any other boys paying any attention to you.  It may have kept girls away from Mush too, but that didn’t bother you.  If anything, that was an unexplainable perk.

Well, maybe not so unexplainable.  Very explainable, and very necessary to avoid.

You didn’t shake his arm off.  “We all know that you’s jealous, Race.  Don’t lie.”

He grinned.  “I could steal you away if I wanted.”

“No,” you crooned.  When you kissed Mush on the cheek, you planned for it to be quick and jocular.  You did not expect him to flush deeper or for his arm to tighten a little around your shoulders.  You rushed to cover it.  “No, Mush is a catch.  I’d throw you back.”

People were so busy ribbing Race that they ignored how flustered Mush was.  You were relieved.  You didn’t want him to be embarrassed because of you.

You walked to Harlem with him when the day ended, not bothering to sneak in under the cover of night.  Everybody knew you would be there anyhow, so why make the extra effort?

“Why do you still come?”  His question came out of nowhere.  Neither of you had ever talked about it before.  You both just assumed that if you wanted the other, the other wanted you.

You thought about it.  “I just want to, I guess.”

“But why?”

“I needed you, that first time,” you said.  

“And now?”  He turned his head a little so he could keep an eye on you while you walked.  

“Now I want you,” you said with a shrug.  “Does it bother you?”

“No,” he said immediately.  “I like having you there.”

There was silence for a while, but you kept thinking about it.  You slept without him just fine.  Sure, you found yourself reaching for warmth that wasn’t there, but once sleep found you, you were gone.  If you didn’t need him to sleep, why did you still go?

Because he was warm.  Because you liked listening to his heartbeat.  Because sometimes he would rub away the knots in your neck and shoulders.  Because you liked that he smelled like the flowers he would snag off of bouquets in shops so his clothes wouldn’t smell like sweat and dirt.  

“Why do you still let me come?”

“Because I want you,” he said.  You wished you could tell if he was blushing again.  His heart was still steady at night, but maybe the way he wanted you was more than just friends holding friends.

“Well,” you said lightly, “it makes sense.  If you’re going to catch me, I have to be within reach.”

“Yeah,” he said.  Without looking down, he grabbed your hand.  “This makes it even easier.”

You tugged him closer to your side.  “It’s only smart.  You don’t need me falling because I got too far away.”

He was beaming.  “Right.  It’s the best arrangement.”

If he held your hand in front of the boys the next day, it was just to make his job easier, of course.

[jackscrutchie]

Proud and Defiant ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 1 ( AO3 ) Chapter 2 ( AO3 )

Crutchie struggles with self worth and jealousy.

A week passed -- The little details from Crutchie's nightmare had been fading, hiding in the back of his mind. Every morning, Jack made sure to wake him up gently -- He made sure one of the first things Crutchie saw in the morning was his smiling face. He made sure to wish him a good morning every day. He tried so hard to make sure Crutchie remembered that he was loved and that he was cared for. That no one thought he was broken.

No one except for himself.

He woke up to birds. Jack was no where in sight and a bell rang somewhere below him. The morning bell. It was time to get up -- But he'd become so accustomed to seeing Jack's face in the rising sunlight that he was a bit thrown off. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Nothing. Maybe he had run down to use the bathroom? Of course, that had to be it. A yawn. He stretched his arms up high, and blinked away the exhaustion. Wait...

Had Jack even come back to the penthouse last night? It wasn't rare that Crutchie would end up home earlier than Jack but -- Last night, Crutchie had fallen asleep before he had seen Jack climb up and over onto the roof. He did fall asleep a bit earlier than usual, but even when Jack played card games inside the lodging house with the boys, he'd always check on Crutchie first. His heart fluttered. What if he was hurt somewhere? What if he had gotten taken to the refuge? No -- That wasn't possible. The refuge had been closed down for months now... But what if -- Crutchie stumbled to his feet, his leg protested but he persisted. He ignored his button-up and vest, leaving them discarded on his side of the penthouse. It was already hot and it was barely dawn. He pushed the sleeves of his remaining shirt up, grabbed his hat and crutch and hopped quickly to the latter.

He paused. He was over reacting -- He knew he was. If went down in a fuss, everyone would tell him just that. He took a deep breath, sparing a moment to collect himself. He was sure Jack was fine. He came up after he fell asleep and was just inside, using the restroom or washing up before everyone else woke up. Crutchie had done that before -- It could be chaos to get a bath sometimes.It was easier in the morning. He fixed the hat on his head and began his careful descent.

With his feet planted firmly on solid ground, he rounded the corner and headed to the circulation gate. He wasn't even going to check inside. Because Jack was in there. He was sure of it. There was no need to bother him, he was sure he'd see him at the gate.

"Mornin' Crutchie!" Specs called from behind him.

He turned to greet the tall boy with a smile. "Mornin'!"

"Where's Jack?" He inquired, sticking his hands into his pockets. "It's weird not seeing the two of ya together in the mornin'."

"Hah.." He rubbed at the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a bit at the thought. "Yeah, he -- I think he might be takin' a bath or somethin'."

A beat. "No?" Specs shifted his glasses up his nose and looked down to meet Crutchie's eyes. "Race and Romeo had the baths when I left."

Crutchie's heart skipped a beat. "He ain't inside?"

"No, not that I saw."

"M - maybe he's already at the gate."Crutchie swallowed hard, picking up the pace of his steps. Jack was fine. He had nothing to worry about, but his stomach twisted into knots not knowing what was happening. Maybe Jack really was bleeding somewhere -- Maybe he got himself in some sort of trouble.

"Hey." Specs grabbed his shoulder gently and leaned down a bit, his legs far too long for his own good. "He's fine, I'm sure of it."

Crutchie let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Yeah -- I know that." He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, trying to deter him from the conversation. "I'm gonna run ahead, okay?"

"You don't want to walk together?" He stopped, watching Crutchie go.

"I -- I gotta stop by somewhere. A regular customer of mine, that sweet old lady at the flower shop told me to swing by before I start sellin' today. You know Miss Said she had somethin' for me." He lied.

"You sure? I don't mind waitin' for you." His intentions were kind, his eyes were sincere -- But Crutchie's mind was going too fast. He couldn't do this right now.

"I'm sure." He turned and smiled, letting it grow big and bright, reassuring. He had to look for Jack and he was wasting time. If it had been longer he would have asked for help -- But it was too soon to cause any panic by telling the boys he couldn't find him. He was still fairly certain that he was overreacting. He just needed to check a few spots first. He had to make sure... "I'll see you at the gate?" He turned back and moved forward. --------------- Crutchie looked everywhere. He checked Jacobi's even though it didn't open for another hour. He checked the park and Medda's theater. He checked the small bookstore they both liked to visit. He even walked quickly by the building that used to be the refuge. Nothing. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster as the sun got higher in the sky. He needed to get to the gate. Maybe he would be there now. If he wasn't, he would tell the boys. They'd have better luck finding him if they looked together.

His eyes stung and his leg ached. He felt sick. "Jack..." He turned a corner --

And there he was. Tall and handsome. Familiar and warm, his smile reaching the golden and warm brown color of his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief. He was safe and... Wait. He knew exactly --

"Jack! Hold on, will you?" Crutchie knew that voice, too. His eyes found the source quickly, easily.

"Quit laggin' Dave!" Jack laughed and swung his arm, gesturing for him to move faster.

Crutchie stopped and moved back, hiding himself around the corner. He felt his heart constrict again, though it was different this time. Different from when he didn't know where Jack was... He peeked his head out, watching as Jack reached up to drape a muscled arm over Davey's shoulders, shaking him playfully.

Of course. Jack was fine. Davey was fine. It was all fine -- Crutchie was fine. Les appeared in the doorway, hopping down the few stairs and landed on the sidewalk, running up to join the two older boys. They walked towards the gate -- Together. He leaned his back against the sun warmed brick. Jack was fine. He could breathe again... So why wouldn't the air come? ---------------- Once he pulled himself together, he slowly made his way towards the circulation gate. Each step felt heavier and heavier as he felt the weight of his thoughts. He quietly hoped he would run into one of the bullies he had gotten into it with. Particularly the one with the crooked nose. At least it would give him some sort of distraction. Crutchie wasn't a violent person by any means -- But it could be nice to punch one of those jerks. Get rid of some of his... Whatever this was.

He deliberately took his time getting to The World's gate, not wanting to risk any sort of questions from Specs or the other boys. Not to mention, he sort of didn't want to see Jack at all. He didn't want to see him walking so close to Davey. He groaned and tilted his head into the blinding sunlight. Why did it bother him? He asked himself, knowing damn well what the answer was.

He kicked a rock, huffing to himself. Stupid Davey... Stupid Jack... Stupid, stupid stupid Charlie. He peered through the open gate as he approached, quiet. No one was there. Just Wiesel and Oscar. He let himself crack a smile, relieved he had missed them.

"There you are!"

Crutchie jumped, reflexes kicking in, his crutch swinging.

"Hey, hey, hey! It's just me!" Jack held up his hands. "It's me!"

Great.

"Jack! Hey! Uh... Sorry 'bout that." He averted his eyes quickly -- Unable to let them linger on Jack's for too long. "I - I was just --"

"See? I told ya he was just running a bit behind." Davey came up to stand next to Jack, a grin on his face. "Listen to me more often."

"Alright, alright. You was right. That what 'cha wanted to hear, huh?" Jack smirked up at him, a brow raised.

Crutchie fidgeted with loose strings on his shirt as the two boys bickered back and forth. His face flushed and his heart beat almost out of his chest. "Uh - Jack?"

"Huh?" Jack snapped out of his conversation with Davey to look back at Crutchie with a smile.

"I'm --" He pointed over his shoulder at the window. "I'm gonna... Go." He forced a smile. Damn this feeling. "I haven't gotten my papes yet."

Jack watched him carefully, his dark brows furrowing.

"You alright?" Davey leaned forward, questioning and concerned. "You seem --"

"Yeah, no! I - I'm fine. Just... Tired is all. Er..." He paused biting his lip. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Jack and Davey exchanged a look. "Alright. Get some rest soon." Davey nodded and took a step back. "I'll meet you?" He looked to Jack who answered with a nod -- He crossed the street and paused, waiting for Les to join him. They leaned together, reading over the day's paper.

"Alright, Crutchie." Jack widened his stance. "What's the matter? And don't you try to lie to me. You know you can't get away with it." Jack leaned close, his hands in his pockets.

"Nothin's wrong, Jack! I promise I'm fine." He smiled up at him, hitting Jack playfully in the arm. "I'm just... I ain't feelin' all that good, ya know? Didn't sleep very good."

"I'm... Sorry I wasn't home last night." He straightened, seeming to believe Crutchie's lie for once. "I ended up stayin' with Dav-"

"It's okay!" Crutchie cut him off, his stomach twisting into knots. "Really. I didn't even notice if I'm bein' honest! I uh --" He dropped his head, "I fell asleep real early and woke up real late so..."

"Crutchie?" Jack reached out and set his hand on Crutchie's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm gonna... Go get my papes." He moved away quickly, not wanting Jack's touch to linger any more and turned his back. "I'll see ya."

Jack stood back, his hand dropping to his side. He sighed, defeated. He watched as Crutchie approached the window and took a slow step back --

"Uh... Fifty, please." Crutchie mumbled, setting his coins on the small table.

Oscar scoffed at him, a brow raising. "Late today." He counted out the papers and held them out. "Wha's the matter with you?" He smirked, "boyfriend trouble?"

Crutchie swallowed, doing his best to ignore his words. He snatched the stack of papers out of Oscars hands and shoved them into his bag. He didn't dignify him with a reply.

He laughed, turning his head to spit. "Run along, fairy."

"Go to hell, Oscar!" Crutchie snapped back, swinging around the shoot him a vicious glare.

"Oooh... Did I hit a nerve?" He sneered back, cracking his knuckles. "Never looked at me like that before. You ain't gonna fall in love with me are you?"

Crutchie could feel the heat on his face, his blood beginning to boil. He clenched his fists, trying to brush the comment off. Just like he always did --

"Jealous that your precious do - no - wrong Jack Kelly," he spit the name, "has a new boy toy?"

Crutchie spun on him, walking close. "You know, Oscar..." He smiled, tilting his head to the side. "I notice you ain't got nothin' to say to me when the other fellas are around." He leaned closer. "You think I'm some weak little crip, that can't fend for himself. You think that I can't fight my own battles." He paused, watching Oscar's face twist into disgust. "But believe me, I can take you down on my own, damn coward." He turned with a scoff, his jaw clenching.

Oscar laughed, shooing him off. "Get lost, crip. Keep tellin' yourself that you're better than you are. Or you could keep lettin' Jack whisper sweet nothin's in your ear at night." He shrugged. "Oh wait, I forgot. Jack's too busy screwin' Jacobs to mess around with you anymore. Won't be long before he tosses you out with the rest of the garbage."

Crutchie spun on him, throwing a fist into Oscar's face. His crutch fell to the ground and he ignored the searing pain in his leg as he put a little too much weight on it. Oscar stumbled back, shocked by the sudden attack and rubbed at his bruising jaw. Crutchie stood, defiant. His eyes shooting daggers in Oscar's direction.

"You're going to regret that, boy." Oscar smirked, tilting his head to crack his neck. He reached forward to grab at Crutchie's shirt, missing by an inch as Crutchie leaned back to dodge. Bracing himself, Crutchie threw his entire weight into Oscar, knocking them both to the ground. His crutch falling to the ground, kicked to the side in the scuffle. Tall stacks of papers flipped over with them as they tumbled, punch after punch thrown back and forth. Crutchie rolled onto him, pulling his fist back and thrusting it hard into Oscar's nose. Blood poured down his chin as he yelled out, shoving Crutchie hard trying to get the upper hand.

Crutchie swung at him again, his fist connecting with Oscar's jaw once more. Oscar swung back, his knuckles crashing into Crutchie's cheekbone. He blinked quickly, trying his best to regain the focus in his eyes. They continued rolling together, and as soon as he saw the chance, Oscar brought his knee down hard against Crutchie's bad leg. He yelped in pain, his leg burning. He grabbed for it, squeezing, trying to calm the agony. Oscar hit him again. He could taste blood -- He hit him again, and again. In the face, the leg. Only his bad one. He was seeing stars.

Oscar was playing dirty now -- Fine. If he could play dirty... They struggled against each other. Oscar had Crutchie by the collar, his fist pulled back, ready to deliver what would most likely be a final blow when -- Crutchie brought his good leg up as hard and as quickly as he could, his knee hitting Oscar hard -- Right between the legs.

Oscar curled in on himself, falling to the side and off of the smaller boy. Crutchie scrambled away and pulled his trembling bloodied fist back. If Oscar could hit him when he was down, then he could do the same. Oscar groaned, his face was red. "Your dirty son of a --" Crutchie let his fist fly again and --

"Hey! Hey hey hey!!"

Crutchie ignored the familiar voice coming towards him as he stumbled as Oscar rolled out of the way. But he wasn't done yet. He tackled Oscar back to the ground, his hands scraping against the concrete. Crutchie tried to pin him to the ground, to show him that he'd won but --

"Hey! Crutchie!! Cool it!"

Arms wrapped tight around Crutchie's center gently, but forcefully and pulled the bruised boy off of the other. "What the hell is the matter with you?!" Jack set him down, but kept a tight grip on his arms. He bent forward, panic in his eyes. "Hey!"

"Ask him." Crutchie tried to after him again, to no avail. His blood was still boiling. His leg was screaming in pain -- His cheek was swollen, his eye already bruised. He sniffed.

"It ain't my problem you and your boyfriend are havin' issues, sweetheart." Oscar stumbled to his feet, fire burning behind his eyes. He wanted more.

Crutchie growled at him, trying to turn out of Jack's grip. He was seeing red.

"Alright! Oscar, shut your damn mouth! Crutchie take a breath!" Jack gripped tighter, trying to bring him back to the ground. "Calm down." He stared at him, both amazed and unsurprised at how hard it was to keep him under control.

"You're lucky the refuge is gone. It's where people like you belong." Oscar scoffed, wiping blood from his nose. He sneered. "And keep your disgusting hands off me. I don't want'a catch whatever diseases you got, fairy."

"Cheese it." Jack glared at him -- His gaze so strong Oscar submitted, dropping his eyes quickly as he spit at Crutchie's feet.

"Have a good time cleanin' up." Oscar turned and walked away -- His tail between his legs.

"Now." Jack turned his gaze, gentle, back to Crutchie. His hands moved from his arms, to his trembling shoulders. "What was that about? I ain't mad at you. I just want to know why I have to go finish him off."

It was quiet for a moment -- The only sounds came from the street behind them. People talking, walking by not paying any attention to the chaos beyond the gate. Birds... A low rumble of thunder far in the distance. "Don't worry about it." He brought his hand up to swat at Jack's strong hands.

"Don't tell me not to worry about it." He bent down to pick up Crutchie's hat and dust it off. He looked at it, not remembering it falling off of his head. Jack set it back on his head, positioning it exactly where he liked to wear it. "What did that scum say to you?"

"I said not to worry about it." His stubbornness made him adjust his hat. He didn't want Jack to know that he did it right. "It's fine." His voice was sharp, venomous. He straightened his back and brought his hand up to wipe the blood from his chin. His left leg was starting to sting -- All of his weight was concentrated on it... Where was his crutch?

"Whoa -- Charlie..." He raised a brow. "Calm down there."

He melted hearing his name like that. His breath caught and he felt blood rush to his cheeks. He felt his heart flutter and he... Breathed. "I --" He stopped, his eyes falling to the ground, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I just --" He lifted his head to find Jack's eyes again. His vision was clear now and... There was Davey -- Quietly cleaning up the mess they had made of the stacks of papers. "I'm gonna go." His eyes fell again. All of the butterflies vanishing from his stomach. His heart was in his throat.

"No. You ain't goin' anywhere right now." He reached forward to wipe at the smudge of dirt and blood on his cheek.

Crutchie recoiled.

Jack stopped breathing.

"I'm gonna go." Crutchie searched the ground for his crutch, fighting the tears away, willing them to hold off just a little longer. He bent down -- His leg gave out. Jack reached out, grabbing him gently and -- "I got it, Jack!" Crutchie snapped.

Jack blinked, his eyes full of something Crutchie didn't recognize. He helped him regain his balance but let go soon after. Jack scooped up the piece of wood and leaned it towards the shaking boy. "Be careful, alright?" He smiled, weak.

Crutchie's stomach convulsed. What had he done now? His mind was running wild, that little voice he tried so hard to supress whispered in his ear. 'You ain't worth his trouble.' 'It'll be better if you push him away.' He reached out, his eyes on the ground and took the crutch gently out of Jack's hands. "Yeah." The tears that had been building were about to spill. He needed to get away now -- If Jack saw him crying, he'd want to follow him. "See you 'round." Crutch under his arm, he stumbled away, his jaw clenched.

"You alright, Crutchie?" Davey's voice asked, concerned.

Crutchie could see him out of the corner of his eye as he quickly walked past, tall and kind. Davey was so gentle. He was able and proud. Confident ever since the strike ended. He could reign Jack in when he needed to calm down. He was the type of person Jack needed in his life. Not some broken up kid that could barely take care of himself. 'What is wrong with you, Charlie?' He asked himself, ignoring Davey and rounding the corner.

He walked and walked and walked. He walked past Medda's theater, Jacobi's Deli, the lodging house. He walked past the bookshop and the florist. He walked past the church. He walked until he couldn't walk anymore. His lungs burned, his leg seized up, his head throbbed. He pulled his hat off of his head and threw it, a frustrated growl echoed down the alley he had stopped in.

Why? Why was he acting like this all of a sudden. What has made him this way? This wasn't him. He didn't get... Jealous like this. Jealousy wasn't him. He had seen Jack spend time with plenty of people in the past. Crutchie liked Davey! They were great friends. They had spent tons of time together, talking and laughing and selling -- So why..? And suddenly, memories flooded his mind. Memories of his nightmares, memories of his parents -- Voices screaming in his ears. 'Useless,' 'disgusting,' 'broken.' Memories of that poor puppy and those three boys. Memories of Oscar calling him all of those vulgar and terrible and cruel names.

He remembered his time at the refuge. He remembered the horrible things that Snyder did to him. The horrifying things he let happen. He yelled, his voice going hoarse. He remembered how he felt that day. The day he had been dragged on his stomach away from the rest of the fleeing boys. The day he saw Jack run, leaving him behind. The day he heard Jack's voice, yelling his name, echoing after him. He remembered the night Jack came to try and see him. He remembered how he had smiled bright, waving from the top bunk. Pretending came easy. He had to make sure Jack's spirits stayed up...

So, why all of a sudden was he finding it harder and harder to smile? He leaned, his back hitting brick and slid down the wall to sit. There was no way he could go back to the lodging house. He couldn't go where Jack was. He couldn't see Davey or Specs or Race or Jojo or Elmer. He couldn't see anyone. Not while he was like this. He wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging them close.

It would be better if he didn't go back to that place. The boys would be better off -- Everyone would be better off. No one would have to worry about him anymore.

He remembered the night he had woken up from that terrible dream. He remembered Jack's arms around him. He remembered his hands pushing through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow. Jack had said 'you lift us up.' Crutchie had laughed -- And he felt his lips curling up now. He remembered Specs earlier just that day, reassuring him when he couldn't find Jack. He remembered the day of the strike -- He remembered how supportive Davey was when he was showing off the strike banner he had made.

"Why am I like this?" He whispered, asking no one but himself.

He wasn't expecting an answer.

"It's them Manhattan boys. They's all a little... You know."

Crutchie almost jumped out of his skin. His head shot up, his body stumbled back, grasping for his crutch.

"Whoa! Crutchie cool it!" Spot held out his hands. "It's just me kid, I ain't gonna hurt you."

"Spot!" He paused to catch his breath. "What... What're you..."

"I think I should be askin' you that. You's is on my territory."

Great.

Crutchie forced himself up, clearly straining. "Yeah -- Sorry 'bout that."

"Didn't say you wasn't welcome, did I?" He crossed his arms, a brow raised questioning.

He forced a smile onto his face. He needed to get going... "I appreciate it, but you know... I gotta -- I need to get back."

"So you walked here for fun?"

"... Sure did." Crutchie dropped his head, his smile fading slowly.

"Jackass givin' you trouble?" He reached out and grabbed Crutchie's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

His eyes filled again. His chest tightened. Oh no. He lifted his head, his bottom lip quivering a bit. "I'm just -- Bein'..." He paused, sniffing back a gentle sob. "I'm over - thinkin', you know?"

Spot smiled. It was a rare sight that threw Crutchie off. "Come on, kid. Let's get a bite."

[livesincerely]

[Bits & Bobs] The One With the Letterman Jacket

Jack had thought this would go without saying, but apparently not. “You can’t wear that to the game tonight.”

Davey looks down at himself, visibly confused. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Jack points out the obvious problem. “It’s green.”

“So?”

“Green is Westpoint’s color.”

Davey looks at him, nonplussed.

“Dave, you can’t wear the other team’s color to our first home game of the season,” Jack explains with a sigh. “Especially not when we’re going up against Westpoint.”

“But I like this hoodie,” Davey says with a pout that Jack can only describe as absolutely adorable. “It’s comfortable.”

Jack shakes his head. “You gotta change into something else. Don’t you have anything red?”

“Yeah, sure, in my closet. At home.” Davey retorts. “This is all I brought with me and, no,” Davey amends quickly when Jack starts to interject, "I can’t just wear my t-shirt. It’s supposed to be cold later and I am not sitting out on the bleachers all night without at least a jacket.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Jack counters.

Davey huffs out a breath, “Do I really have to?” His eyes are wide and pleading, but Jack remains firm. The Green cannot stand.

“Just go upstairs and change,” he says, shooing Davey towards the stairwell.

“But I’m comfortable,” Davey grumbles again, but he obediently trudges up the stairs.

“Pick something red!” Jack calls after him. “Oh, and tell Racetrack to move his ass! I’ve gotta be in the locker room in half an hour and we still have to pick up Crutchie and Specs from the library.”

“Calm your shit, Jack, I’m coming!” Racetrack shouts back from somewhere above him before Davey can reply. “Give a man a second to piss, will ya!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Just hurry up!”

He finishes gathering his things together while he waits, grabbing a few bottles of Gatorade and a handful of granola bars and stuffing them into his bag, then he crams his feet into his sneakers and laces them haphazardly. He’s just snatching his car keys off of the kitchen counter when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Jack, Albert just texted me—he wants to know where we’re eating after the game,” Davey says as he wanders down the stairs.

“I dunno Davey, anywhere is fine… by…” Jack trails off, suddenly speechless. Davey is wearing his letterman jacket. Davey is wearing his—

Jack’s mouth goes dry. It feels like someone’s hit him, hard, right between the eyes

“Jack?” Davey prompts when Jack doesn’t continue, still looking at his phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jack doesn’t answer, can’t answer. His eyes rake over Davey’s form: red is a fantastic color on him—it stands out against his dark hair and emphasizes the blue of his eyes. They’re nearly the same height but Davey isn’t as broad as Jack is, so the jacket is just the slightest bit big on him, hanging down to the tops of his thighs and dwarfing his shoulders.

Davey chooses this moment to notice Jack’s staring; a delicious flush of pink blooms across his face. “You said I could wear anything red!” he says defensively. “This is red!”

“You’re wearing my letterman jacket,” Jack says, and his voice comes out low and raspy.

“You said something red!” Davey insists, mistaking Jack’s tone for disapproval, his blush deepening further. “But all you had was t-shirts and I didn’t want to be cold and—and Racetrack said you wouldn’t mind!”

He fiddles with the sleeves as he rambles, and fucking hell, they’re so long on him that only the tips of his fingers are visible.

“He said you wouldn’t mind, but, uh, I can put on something else if you want me t-“

“No!” Jack growls, startling them both. He takes a deep breath and tries to get a hold of himself before he does something drastic. “No, Dave, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Davey asks, still a little hesitant.

“I’m sure,” Jack assures him, though he’s anything but. “We can’t have you out there in just anything, now can we? Gotta make sure you’re repping for the team. Besides, you look-“

Fucking amazing. Goddamn perfect. Like you’re mine.

“-good.”

“Go team,” Davey says with a wry grin, looking at Jack through his fringe. His eyes are very, very blue. Jack is abruptly aware of how utterly screwed he is.

“That’s the spirit, Dave.” Fingers suddenly numb, Jack digs out his keys and tosses them over to Davey, then manages to to say in a somewhat normal tone of voice, “Go start the car, will ya? I’m gonna go drag Racer away from the bathroom mirror—Coach will bench me if I’m late again.”  

Davey shrugs and heads out the door, blind as ever to the havoc he wreaks on Jack just by existing. Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Davey as he walks by, biting back the groan that threatens to tear its way out of his throat when he catches sight of his back: KELLY is stamped across Davey’s shoulders in bold, white letters.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He’s gonna murder Racetrack.

[1misstherooftop-blog]

Dresden Dancing

Read on ao3

Summary: Jack didn't expect the lap dance. He definitely didn't expect writing an entire research paper with the man behind the dance.

Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs

Warnings: mature

Word Count: 9767

Jack wasn't sure when he'd last seen the sun-the literal sun that is. He hadn't looked away from the sun he was painting for at least twelve hours. His hand was cramping from holding his paintbrush. He could feel paint smeared across his skin, most notably the blue behind his ear. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to get paint there. The colors on his canvas kept blurring together. Jack figured he had been staring at it for too long.

The painting was almost finished. Jack knew painting it all in one go was the best idea. There was no way that he would think of a new style or technique before he finished. He was sure he'd taken a break before his fourth pass, or maybe he was already on his fifth. Whatever the case, he was it would be done soon. He just needed to add gold detailing and make sure the background had the same color unity as the foreground.

Jack used the end of his paintbrush to scratch his nose. The door to his studio slammed open, startling Jack into jabbing the paintbrush at his eye. He swore, tears already tracing through the paint on his cheek.

"Jackie!" A voice called. Jack spun around, squinting through his half-blind eye. Race was grinning at him, his arm slung around Crutchie's shoulder. Jack wasn't sure how they even managed to get into the building. He didn't think he wanted to know.

"What, Race? Can't you see I'm busy?" Jack was trying to make his eye stop watering, but to no avail. He feared he may have permanently blinded himself.

Race let go of Crutchie to step closer to Jack's painting. "It's lovely, Jack, but we haven't seen you outside the studio in fifteen hours. Have you even eaten?"

Jack frowned. "I've been drinking coffee. What time is it anyways?"

Crutchie checked his watch. "Almost 9:30. You've been in here since 7 this morning!" He sounded concerned.

Crutchie touched Jack’s face, leaning close in to look at his eye. “Did you jab yourself with a paintbrush again?”

Jack ducked away from Crutchie, rubbing at his eye. "It’s fine. I'm almost done, just a few more hours."

Race grabbed his arm, prying the paintbrush from Jack's fingers. Jack's hand stayed stuck in that position. One of Race’s eyebrows crept up to judge Jack. "No, you're done. You can come back tomorrow and finish it. You need to take a break, relax a little."

"Race and I have the best idea, you'll love it." Crutchie was practically shaking with excitement. Jack swatted Race away from his paints, cleaning up the tubes and brushes. "What would that be?"

Race took a deep breath, building the anticipation. "Clubbing!"

Jack sighed. "Really? Don't you guys have to study or something?"

Crutchie shrugged. "Nah, besides it's a Friday night. It's time you get your butt out of this room and into the real world. You'll have fun, I promise." He was practically pleading with Jack.

"All the boys are gonna be there," Race added.

Jack considered. He'd already put his paints away, and his hands did need a break. He didn't particularly like big crowds, but it wouldn't hurt if all his friends were there.

"Okay, fine, I'll go. Can I stop home and change first?" Jack gestured to his paint splattered clothing.

"Oh, don't worry. We already grabbed you something to change into." Crutchie tossed a bag to Jack. He opened it carefully, pulling out the clothes. They'd grabbed him darker jeans, and they looked skinnier than the ones he had on. Jack groaned when he looked at the shirt.

"You know I was drunk when I got this. It should only be worn for sleeping!" Jack was holding the shirt close to his chest like he could hide it from them. It was orange with the words "I like to arty hard" written across the chest in blue block letters. If the terrible phrase and complimentary colors weren’t bad enough, the neckline was lower than Jack ever thought shirts had a right to be. It was nice for sleeping in during the hot summer, but Jack could feel his dignity shrinking at the idea of wearing it to a club.

"You don't like it?" Race asked, trying to stop from grinning. "We thought it would make you stand out a little bit. Pick up someone interesting."

Jack groaned. This was the life he was living now. He finished putting his paints away, washing his arms and face while Race and Crutchie waited. He changed quickly, leaving his paint splattered clothes to wear tomorrow. His chest was cold where his shirt lacked material to cover it.

"Can we go now? Or do you have something else for me?”

Crutchie was covering his mouth to hide his smile. "No, we're ready to go."

Jack followed his friends out of his studio, his palms sweaty with anticipation of what was to come.

The pounding pulse of the music hurt Jack's ears. He wasn't sure how much hearing he had left anymore at this point. Race and Crutchie had already dragged Jack to three different clubs, but they clearly had a final destination in mind. They hadn't even met up with everyone else until they came into this club. Jack had seen Romeo, Spot, Mush, Blink, and Specs, but they'd all vanished onto the dance floor quickly. Jack was hovering by the walls, questioning his life choices.

"Crutchie," Jack started. Crutchie stopped watching the dance floor and turned to Jack. "Two questions. One, why are we at a gay bar? And two, why are we at a strip club?"

It wasn't clearly labeled as either. From the outside Jack expected a normal bar. The interior had quickly changed his mind. Everyone in the club was male, and there were incredibly toned and attractive men on platforms around the room, flirting and flaunting.

"Look, Jack, Race and I thought you needed this. We went to three normal clubs before and you didn't have any fun at those."

"So you thought I'd have fun here?" Jack snorted. He hated how loud the club was. His inspiration for his painting slipped with each song. He was never finishing it at this rate.

Crutchie laughed, too. "Nah, but you can relax here. Drink something, find a cute boy, do anything!"

Jack pouted at him. "I could have finished my painting by now."

Crutchie threw his hands up in exasperation. "I have an idea. Wait here."

Jack watched him take off into the crowd, people clearing the way for him and his crutch. The mob of people closed back up behind him, leaving Jack alone. He sighed. He wasn't in the mood for anything today. He was tempted to bail and head home, but Crutchie reappeared before he could put his plan into action. He was dragging Race along behind him who looked excited.

"What are you two scheming about?" Jack asked, the devilish grins on both of their faces a dead giveaway.

"You'll have to wait and see," Race said. Jack sighed. Race clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's time for you to have fun."

Jack was very worried about what 'fun' implied. He guessed it had nothing to do with art.

"What have you done?" Jack asked, trying to dig his heels in as Race started pulling him into the crowd. He was definitely heading towards one of the raised platforms. Jack prayed they weren't doing what he thought they were.

"Here ya go, Jackie." Race stopped walking, letting Jack go finally. Jack did not want to look away from Race. He was too scared of what they'd done.

"Is this him?" someone asked.

"Oh yeah, this is him. Jack," Race said. He pushed Jack forward. Jack finally looked up to avoid tripping. He almost did a double take. Race and Crutchie had most certainly paid one of the workers, and Jack could see that he was the prettiest one there. He wasn't half naked like the rest’ rather, he had a nice vest on over a white button down. His hair was dark and soft looking. The blue of his eyes was like rich paint. Jack felt his heartbeat pick up just looking at him.

"You can sit down," the man said to him. Jack looked at where he was gesturing. It was a single chair in the center of the platform. Jack felt his mouth go dry. He turned to Crutchie.

"You did not pay for a lap dance," he hissed under his breath.

Crutchie touched his arm. "But we did, and you've gotta sit down now."

Jack looked back at the chair. There was no way he was going to get out of this. He sat in the chair. Race whistled. Jack resisted the urge to flip him off, instead focusing on the man.

Hell, he was so pretty. He stepped closer to Jack, his hands resting on either arm of the chair. Their faces were very close. Jack didn't think he was breathing. He could kill Race and Crutchie later.

The man stepped closer, sliding partially into Jack's lap. Jack was staring at his tie to avoid looking into his eyes. Jack knew there must have been music, but he couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in his ears.

The man moved closer, his hands reaching up to loosen his tie. He pulled it off, wrapping it around the back of Jack's neck. He used the tie to pull Jack closer till there was almost no space between them. Jack was forced to look up, straight into his pretty eyes. They could kiss if Jack leaned forward more. They were not going to kiss.

The man stood up, stepping back from Jack for a moment. Jack took deep breaths to recover. The man unbuttoned his vest smoothly, slipping it off before moving on to his button down. Jack sort of missed the vest, but the man's pale and perfect skin was a fine substitute.

Jack's knuckles were white from gripping his legs so hard. The man kept his routine going, but Jack could barely focus. He wanted to save himself from the sheer beauty he was seeing. He wanted to ask the man out for dinner maybe, then afterwards they could resume the strip tease. He didn't say anything, instead sat still and obedient as the man finished.

Jack was almost dizzy by the time the man helped him stand up. He looked flushed, but Jack was sure he was redder. He wasn't sure what to say, maybe thank you? He opened his mouth but Crutchie was tugging him down and back to their group before he could.

"You're welcome," he said, smug.

"Damn, Jack. Don't you feel stress free?" Race was smirking at Jack. Jack managed to sort of nod his head. "Ready to head home then? I think everyone's beat."

Jack nodded again. He let Race lead him out of the club, only stealing one glance back at the beautiful man.

Jack somehow managed to go through the rest of the weekend only mildly distracted. He finished his painting and started sketching studies for his next one. He couldn't stop drawing the man. Page after page of his sketchbook was filled with drawings, each more detailed than the last. Jack decided he would work on the painting next weekend and shoved his sketchbook into a drawer so he didn't have to look at it.

Race and Crutchie texted him constantly to tease him. They'd apologized at first, but now they'd moved on to reminding Jack of how pretty the man was. Jack was tempted to block them.

Jack had almost managed to forget about the man by the time class rolled around on Monday. He’d gotten roaringly drunk by dinner Sunday and he was still riding out the hangover. He even found the focus to pay attention through his entire lecture in the morning.

He was worried about his first day in a new class, but he figured they wouldn't do anything today. He found the classroom easily and sat somewhere near the middle. Students were streaming in, filling the seats quickly. Jack rummaged through his bag looking for a notebook, his attention focused solely on his bag.

Someone sat down in the seat in front of him, the movement of the chair causing Jack to bump his head.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The person said. Jack froze. He knew that voice. He kept his head down and muttered something like 'I'm fine'. His heart was pounding. He finally found the notebook and sat up very slowly in case the person in front of him was looking. He wasn't.

Jack slumped low in his chair and started at the back of the man's head. It was , the man from the club. Jack was praying to every god he could think of that the man wouldn't turn around and recognize him. Jack started grabbing his things to move seats, but the teacher tapped on the board for attention. He was stuck.

The teacher launched into a lecture right away. Jack had his notebook open but he was way too distracted to write anything. He couldn't look away from the man. Just watching him write notes was mesmerizing. His handwriting was pretty and neat. Jack admired his hands for aesthetic purposes, completely disengaged from the class. He didn’t dare raise his hand or speak in fear it would draw attention to him.

Watching the man had Jack thinking of the club. He remembered the feeling of the tie against his neck, the feeling of his chest pressed against the man's-

Jack dug his nails into his thigh to remind himself he was in class. He did want to deal with anything during a lecture.

Jack barely survived class, his heart racing the entire time. The second class was over, he threw his things into his bag and ran. He didn't watch where he was going, texting furiously to Crutchie to meet him at the dining hall.

Jack reached the hall in record time, almost sprinting to make sure he was away from the man. Crutchie was already sitting at a table with Race, both of them trying to throw grapes into the other's mouth. Jack slammed his bag to the table and threw himself into the seat as dramatically as possible.

"You're never going to guess who's in my history class," Jack said, breathless.

"Specs?" Crutchie asked hopefully.

Jack scoffed. " , he doesn't need to take history. Do you remember the guy you assholes paid to give me a lap dance?" Jack's voice was pitched low at the last part.

Race howled with laughter, slamming the juice box he’d been drinking onto the table. "No fucking way! He's in your class?"

Jack nodded mournfully. Race laughed harder. He was practically choking, hitting his own thigh as he wheezed.

"Did you talk to him?" Crutchie asked, always curious. He was intentionally ignoring Race now.

Jack shook his head hard enough to hurt. "No! I kept my head down and didn't say anything the entire time. He sits right in front of me."

Race looked like he was going to cry from laughing so hard. He wiped at his eyes like he been. "This is amazing. Are you going to talk to him?"

"Are you insane?! Never! I'm going to keep quiet and change seats as soon as I can. Maybe I'll drop the class, I don't need to take it this semester." Jack was mentally mapping out the route to the administration building, ready to go drop the class.

Crutchie put a hand on Jack's arm. "Don't worry, This class will be fine. You can move seats and never have to talk to him."

Jack sighed. He wanted to talk to him. He just didn't want to think about the lap dance that had changed his life.

"You're right. I'm gonna move next class. It's only a semester. It's not like I'm going to have to talk to him."

Crutchie nodded, still touching Jack's shoulder. "Don't worry about this."

Jack survived the next two days without any extra thoughts about the man. Sure, he had a brief dream in which he made an appearance, but Jack blamed that on the half gallon of apple juice he'd chugged before bed.

He showed up to class earlier than most people, throwing his stuff into a seat in the back. He figured no one would see him unless they were actively searching (and the man definitely wasn't).

Jack spotted him the moment he walked in the door. He sat in the same seat he had last time, not even sparing a glance at the seat Jack had occupied. Jack was at once relieved and upset. At least he knew the man hadn't noticed him.

People filed into the classroom in a steady stream until the class finally started. Jack could actually pay attention this time, as he wasn't distracted by the man. The teacher was talking about a research essay they had to do. Jack could handle that, even if the teacher was insisting they do it with a partner.

"I'll assign you alphabetically. Please listen for your name and who you will be partnered with. You can stand and meet with your partner when your names are called. Rebecca Agnes and Sarah Almaat..." Jack zoned out as the professor droned on. He didn't have to focus till the Ks rolled around. He doubled checked his notes before he started packing up. Once he got his partner he would be done.

"David Jacobs and Jack Kelly," the professor said.

Jack stood at the mention of his name. He looked around for who else standing. He almost ran out of the classroom.

It was the man. His partner was the man. The man- David- was staring up at Jack. Jack thought he could see recognition in those blue eyes.

He was so fucked.

Jack mustered up every bit of courage he could and approached the man.

"Hi, I'm Jack," he said, extending his hand for a handshake.

David shook his hand. "I'm David."

Jack decided he would die before he mentioned the lap dance. He hoped David felt the same way.

"Do you have an idea for a controversial topic?" Jack asked, quick to set them on task.

David's eyes lit up. "I was actually reading about this last night. The bombing of Dresden, it's controversial and easy to research."

Jack nodded. "If you think it's a good idea let's do it. I don't have any ideas myself."

David was smiling. "You have a laptop, right? Let's decide if we want to blame the United States or Great Britain..."

David trailed off as he began furiously typing. Jack checked the wiki page for more info on the bombing. It was pretty boring; he wasn't sure what David found exciting about it. Nevertheless, Jack quickly got caught up in finding sources and references for the paper. He didn't even realize class was over until David started packing up.

"We can work on this sometime this week if you're free," David offered. "I can shoot you an email and we can plan a time to meet."

Jack nodded. "Sounds good to me. It was a pleasure," Jack held his hand out again to shake David's. He felt like an absolute dumbass. David shook his hand anyways, waving once at Jack before walking away.

Jack pulled his phone out and sent a single SOS to Crutchie.

Race and Crutchie were in the same spot in the dining hall when Jack found them. Jack wasn’t sure why Crutchie was bringing Race to Jack’s freakouts, but he wasn’t in a state to complain.

"So, what's going on?" Crutchie asked, lazily spooning crushed cookies onto a cup of ice cream. Jack grabbed the spoon from him and ate some, already stressed.

"I'm paired with him for a project," he said, forlorn and whiny.

Race choked on the ice cream he was eating. "What?! Did he recognize you?"

Jack shook his head. "Neither of us said anything but I'm almost sure he recognized me. He's so pretty. His name is David, like the angel."

"David was a king-" Race hit Crutchie to shut him up.

"You're going to survive this, Jack. It's just one project. It's going to be over before you know it."

Jack shook some sprinkles into Crutchie's ice cream without looking, scooping more into his mouth. "I hope you're right."

The pinging of a notification on Jack's phone woke him up. He'd drifted off while researching Dresden. He fumbled blindly for the phone, pulling it close to his face to see.

A mail notification was the only thing. He didn't recognize the email, but the subject was "Research Project".

Jack’s heart did a little flip. David had emailed him. About the project, of course, but it was something.

Jack scanned the email quickly. It was incredibly formal, each point sectioned into a paragraph. David even had a signature at the end that looked personalized. Jack had to read it a few times to separate random facts from important things.

David wanted to meet with Jack in the library so they could work. He had a study room booked and had already started finding reference texts. Jack was beyond glad that David was on top of things. Jack couldn't even find his pants.

Jack pulled himself out of his bed, quickly typing a reply to David. He toed around for his jeans, checking and double checking his email for typos. He only had to send an "okay see you there" but he thought David wouldn't appreciate that. He finally located his jeans, almost tripping himself as he struggled to hit send while pulling them on.

His phone said it was 5:00. He had an hour until he was supposed to meet with David. Jack figured a snack at the library wouldn't hurt.

Jack threw some of his binders into a bag so he would be ready. He hoped there was a pen somewhere, as he'd lost his during class. Jack had the bad habit of tapping pens until they flew out of his hand.

Jack set the bag by the door next to his shoes to make sure he wouldn't forget it. He opened a text to Crutchie, quickly informing him of the fact that he was going to be stuck with David, in a room, alone, for an unknown amount of time.

Jack dug up some bagel bites and threw them into the microwave. He wanted something sweeter, but Crutchie had warned him that if he ever put sprinkles on bagel bites again, Crutchie would have no choice but to kill Jack.

Jack didn't feel like testing that.

He grabbed a family sized bag of M&Ms and a few cokes to put in his bag too. The bagel bites were like lava as he struggled to fit them into a container.

His phone pinged. Crutchie had only sent a little devil emoji. Jack sent him the middle finger back.

He shoved the rest of his stuff into his bag. Jack didn't have anything else to do. He figured showing up early to the library wouldn't hurt.

Apparently David had the same idea. Jack ran into him right outside the door to the library.

"Jack! Here, the room is over by the computers," David didn't even say hello before dragging Jack into the library. Jack stumbled behind David as he pulled him between shelves to a study room.

Jack whistled when he saw the stacks of books on the table. "All of these are about Dresden?"

David laughed. "No, that's silly. There are some on World War Two, some on war bombing, some on war bombing during World War Two, a few on the history of Germany, and yeah, a few about Dresden."

Jack did not want to read that many books. "Are you hungry?" He asked David, eager to divert his attention from the books.

David frowned at Jack. "Yeah, but you're not supposed to eat in the library."

Jack scoffed, already pulling his food out. "We aren't in the library. We're in a study room. Have a coke."

David watched Jack unpack his food, cradling his pop in his hands. Jack sat, pouring a few M&Ms in with his bagel bites.

David made a gagging noise. "That's disgusting."

Jack shrugged, already enjoying his 'dinner'. "Don't mock me for what I eat. Mock Arthur Harris for thinking area bombing was a good idea."

David snorted, setting his drink down. "A Dresden joke? Great job."

Jack shoved another bagel bite into his mouth. "So," He cleared his throat a little bit. "Should we blame the United States?"

David sat down, already flipping books open. "No, of course not. Here I was reading this and it has a lot about Great Britain..."

Jack half listened to David explain their topic to him. He understood the basics, and David seemed to understand everything. Jack was so thankful David liked historical argumentative papers.

David started stacking books in front of Jack, rattling off summaries. “I bookmarked chapters to read. Just find some good quotes, I can do all the background research.”

“Are you sure? That seems like a lot, do you even have time?”

David nodded. “I’ll be fine, this is a fun paper.”

Jack watched him hoist up a book that was at least a thousand pages. “If you insist.”

Jack somehow lifted his pile of books, his arms burning. They had to equal the weight of a small child. David packed his things as well.

“We can meet back here tomorrow night. Or we could meet at the cafe,” Jack offered.

“How about the cafe around 6? We don't have to do much else besides reading currently.”

Jack nodded, shuffling his books around to extend a hand to David. “See you then.”

David shook his hand. “Be safe.”

Jack watched David disappear back into the library, not even struggling to carry his stack of books. Jack pulled his phone out to text Race.

Jack stared at his screen until Race answered. was all Jack told him. Getting back to their shared apartment took Jack much longer than usual. He couldn't see well over his stack of books and had to walk incredibly slow to avoid tripping.

He kicked on the door to knock, almost sobbing with relief when it opened.

“My god, did you take the whole library?” Race asked, shutting the door behind Jack.

Jack dumped the books onto the table, his arms sore. “Only half. David took the others.”

Crutchie made a noise. “David? Like the actual angel man David? What are you doing with him?”

“Our project!”

Race laughed very loudly. “You’re already meeting up with him?”

“Yes! He's very on top of things. But that's not the point!” Jack slammed his hands onto the table, making Race jump. “The point is that I have to meet up with him everyday this week! We can’t avoid it forever, the lap dance is going to come up!”

“It doesn’t have to if you never mention it. Just do the project and move on,” Crutchie suggested.

Jack groaned. “But he’s so pretty.”

“Someone's got a crush,” Race cooed in a singsongy voice. Jack tried blindly to slap him but Race was too nimble. “What do you plan to do about it?”

Jack sighed. “I’m gonna finish the project and find another beautiful stranger to chase.” Race hit Jack’s leg, his palm over Jack’s knee. “There's my beautiful bisexual. Move on and let go.”

Jack nodded, his heart aching at the thought of David forgetting him.

Jack and Davey met up at the cafe when it was empty. Usually people were packed into the cafe, but on a Wednesday night most people were either already asleep or in the library studying. Jack didn't know if he was happy or terrified to have so little people around.

"Did you start reading yet?" David asked him right away.

Jack stirred his hot chocolate. He'd mixed in chocolate and such to make it sweeter. "I started a few," he lied. He'd read through all of them and hadn't understood anything. He begged Specs to help and spent three hours with him while he explained it to Jack.

David looked pleased. "Okay, so I’m guessing we can focus on the idea of area bombing..."

Jack listened as hard as he could to David. He was distracted too easily. Jack's leg was bouncing incredibly fast as he jotted down notes about what David was saying. He added little drawings too so he would remember certain things later. David watched him with a hint of amusement, still explaining their paper to Jack.

Jack finally understood their paper and opened Specs' notes to show David. David already knew exactly what he wanted from the paper. He poured over the notes, typing stuff onto his laptop. His focus was incredible. Jack's was not.

"Do you want another coffee?" Jack asked him, playing with his own empty cup.

David glanced up from his computer. "Do you mind?"

Jack shook his head. David smiled. "Just don't load it with whatever crap you put in yours."

Jack made a mocking noise of hurt. "This is how you repay my kindness?"

"I don't want to die young from health complications."

Jack shrugged. "Fair enough."

Jack took both mugs back up to get them refilled. He loaded his once more with sugar and toppings, leaving David's untouched.

He walked very slowly back to the table to avoid spilling any. He set his down then handed David his.

David fumbled, splashing the hot coffee onto his lap. He cursed, jumping up.

"Jeez, Dave, you weren't this clumsy Friday night," Jack joked without thinking.

David froze, his hands holding bunches of napkins. Jack watched his face flush bright red. David cleared his throat. "You recognized me?" he asked, his voice considerably higher.

Jack regretted every decision he had ever made in his life leading up to this. "How could I not? You’re quite memorable."

Jack thought about smashing his head into the table until he couldn't speak anymore.

David groaned. "Can't we just do Dresden and act like that never happened?" He was wiping furiously at his things to clean the coffee.

"Why are you even working there anyways?" Jack asked, genuinely curious. "You don't seem the type."

"How do you think I'm paying for this class?" David tried to laugh but it sounded incredibly forced.

Jack shrugged. “Nevermind. I was thinking we can talk about the concept of area bombing versus terror bombing.”

David’s eyes lit up. The tips of his ears were still red. “Good plan! I actually have an outline I can share with you…”

Jack tried to focus entirely on David. He was very clever and organized. Jack figured the project would be easy, especially considering the lap dance thing had already been dealt with.

David finished all of his explanations after two more coffees. Jack was almost excited about Dresden.

“I’ll email you if you want to meet up again,” David said, packing his coffee stained things.

Jack grabbed his things in a messy pile, gulping down the last of his coffee. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Jack shook David’s hand, feeling just as stupid as he had last time. David left the cafe first. Jack hung back, typing a frantic message to Crutchie.

He almost ran back home, flinging the door open the second he got back.

“Major problem!” Jack yelled into the apartment. Race and Crutchie paused the video game they were playing to pay attention to Jack. Jack threw himself onto the couch with them.

“He recognized me! The lap dance thing came up.”

Crutchie covered his mouth to stifle his laughs. Race was already wheezing, his hand hitting his thigh.

“Guys! This isn't funny!” Jack whined.

Race swiped at his face like he was wiping away tears. “I'm sorry. How did this conversation happen? Did he say ‘hey I gave you a lap dance Friday’ or something else?”

Jack groaned. “I made a joke about him being clumsy. He was really shocked I remembered him.” Jack dropped his face into his hands. “How could I not? He’s perfect.”

Crutchie patted Jack’s shoulder. “It's going to be okay. I'm sure he'll forget about it soon enough. You'll just be another lap dance in the list.”

“That doesn't help! I don't want him to forget! Maybe the lap dance part, yeah, but not about me.”

Race patted Jack’s other shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Jack whined. “Don’t lie to me. I’m gonna die.”

Crutchie handed Jack his controller. “Take your frustrations out in Super Smash Bros.”

Jack nodded. He didn’t have to acknowledge his problems if he didn’t want to. Two hours into his tournament with Race he had forgotten entirely.

Jack and Davey met up every night for the rest of the week. Jack made it his own personal duty to bring weird foods for Davey. The most memorable was his s'mores pizza, which was just normal pizza he crumbled graham crackers on and threw on marshmallows and chocolate. Davey had almost cried watching Jack eat it and had gagged when he was persuaded into trying some.

Jack still appreciated his efforts. He really appreciated Davey in general. The tension of the whole "I gave you a lap dance" thing was swept under the rug. Instead, they talked about Dresden, and history, and themselves. Jack was always happy to talk to people and learn about them. He was keeping a little list on his phone of everything Davey had told him so he wouldn't forget.

His favorite thing to hear about was Davey's family. He adored the way Davey's eyes lit up when he talked about his youngest brother, Les. He thought his ex, Katherine, would adore Davey's older sister. Davey spoke about Sarah like she was his favorite person. Jack was just the tiniest bit jealous of Davey's siblings.

Jack even told Davey he wished he had siblings.

Davey had laughed. "No, they're a pain in the ass."

Yet Davey continued to tell stories about them to Jack when they weren't writing. They didn't write much, as Davey had already done the whole paper. Jack was actually surprised he'd managed to contribute anything. He was proud of himself.

Jack and Davey were in the middle of one of their "breaks." Davey was sipping his black coffee (with two pumps of vanilla from Jack) and talking about work. He was quite casual with the whole thing. Jack admired it.

Jack fidgeted a bit, tapping a pencil against Davey's binder. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you have this job?"

Davey frowned a little. "It's not a very interesting story." He picked at his nail, not looking at Jack.

"I don't mind." Jack was open to talking about anything with Davey (besides the lap dance part).

Davey glanced at Jack for a second, probably checking if he was serious. He was. Davey took a deep breath. "My family can't really afford college. My dad, he got fired right before I started this year. He hurt his arm really bad."

Jack made a tiny noise. "Is he okay?"

Davey nodded, focused on his nails again. "He's almost recovered now, he just... doesn't really have a job. My mom was going to get one, but my little brother needs someone to take care of him. His name is Les. I don't want my parents leaving him alone just to pay for me. And my sister, Sarah. Well, she can't really watch him."

"Why not?" Jack asked. He guessed he shouldn't be asking questions but he was very curious and impulsive.

"She's, uh, she's gay. And my parents didn't like it when she came out. She sort of left, sort of got kicked out."

"What about you?"

Davey rubbed a hand across his face. "They don't really know. That I'm gay," he voice sounded strained. "They know I have a job, that's why I'm still here. Sarah knows but she would never tell them. It's the fastest and easiest way I can pay for this year."

Jack's heart hurt at the sight of Davey being sad. It wasn't something he ever wanted to see across the pretty boy's features. Davey was still picking at his nails. Jack touched his shoulder so he turned to face Jack. Jack did the stupidest thing his impulsive ass could think of.

He kissed Davey.

Davey's lips were soft and pliant against his own. Jack leaned closer, his hands moving to touch Davey's face. Davey froze at the touch. Jack pulled back a little to look at him.

Davey's cheeks were flushed, his ears red. His eyes were wide. "What the hell was that?" He asked, his voice low.

Jack blanched. "What? I-"

"You pity me and you think kissing me will make it better? Just because I'm gay or something?"

Jack struggled for words, his head was still spinning. "No, David, I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter what you meant. Just-" Davey scrubbed his hands over his face and exhaled hard. "Get back to your dorm safe."

Davey grabbed his things, throwing himself out of his seat and away from Jack.

"Davey!" Jack called. He kept walking. "Dave, please. David!"

Davey didn't turn back.

Jack swore, slamming a fist down. His hands were shaking. He dropped his face into his hands and took very deep breaths. He wasn't going to cry. He was going to text Crutchie and deal with this.

, he typed.

Jack dropped his phone into his bag and stood. He was practically dragging himself back home. He wanted to crawl into a hole and cry. Or maybe die. Either way he wouldn't have to think about the look on Davey's face anymore.

Crutchie and Race were patiently waiting when he returned. They each looked a little awkward.

“What happened?” Crutchie asked as Jack sank into a seat next to him.

“I, uh. I kissed him.” Jack said, barely speaking above a whisper.

Race clapped his hands together. “Jack! That’s good! What happened?”

Jack cleared his throat. “He shoved me away. He yelled at me for pitying him.” Jack pressed his hands to his face, exhaling hard. “God, I fucked up so bad.”

Crutchie reached for Jack’s arm. “You can fix this. Why did he think you were pitying him?”

“He told me why he’s working at the club, and how his parents don’t know he’s gay. He just looked sad I did the first thing I thought of.”

“You still have to finish the project. Just talk to him. Next time you meet, ask him to talk.” Race suggested.

Jack blinked at him. “That’s actually an okay idea.”

Race shrugged. “I have okay ideas sometimes.”

Jack laughed halfheartedly. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to lay down I think.”

“No problem. We’re here if you need anything.” Crutchie said, his voice comforting.

Jack dragged himself to his room, collapsing down to his bed. He wanted to email Davey. He didn’t email Davey. He laid there, staring at his ceiling. He’d painted the night sky across it. Jack fell asleep staring at the moon.

Jack woke up to pounding. He blinked, checking the clock next to his bed. It was almost two in the morning.

The knocking at the door was loud enough to drive Jack out of bed. It wasn’t going to stop. He wasn't sure if Race and Crutchie were asleep yet, but he didn't want to find out. He stumbled out of his room towards the door, finally wrenching it open.

Davey stood in his doorway. Jack almost slammed the door shut in panic. Davey seemed to notice the look on his face as he put a hand on the door.

"Please, Jack. I need to talk to you."

Jack stepped aside to let Davey in. Davey kept his back turned to Jack, running his hands through his hair.

"Listen, Dave, about earlier-"

Davey held up a hand to stop him. "No, you listen."

Jack was worried Davey had come here to yell at him. He could feel his chest tighten at the idea.

Davey continued, oblivious to Jack's panic. "I realized that you sort of got a lap dance from me at a gay bar, and yeah, that means you're probably not straight and you probably had a reason to kiss me. Maybe I'm kidding myself but you could have had your own motivation to kiss me. I don't want to start assuming things but I don't want you to think I'm mad at you because I was being stupid. You're just so attractive and it's really been throwing me off and the kiss today was like, the final straw. And I really would want to kiss you again but like I said, I could just be kidding myself and-"

Jack grabbed Davey by his stupid tie and pulled him in to kiss him. Davey made a surprised sound against Jack's lips. Jack kissed him hard, desperate for whatever Davey would give him.

He did not disappoint. Davey's hands settled on Jack's waist, barely there. It wasn't enough. Jack clutched at Davey's shirt, pulling him closer. He ran his hands across Davey's chest and back around his neck, barely grazing Davey's hair. Davey stepped closer, pressing their chests together.

Jack moved his hands to Davey's hair and whined. Davey took advantage of his slack mouth and kissed him harder, open mouthed and hot. Jack moaned into Davey's mouth. His lips were amazing. Davey reached for Jack's shirt, his hands touching his bare stomach. Jack tugged at his shirt, desperate to have it off. He pulled away from Davey a moment to remove it fully. Davey whined a little at the loss but stopped when he saw Jack’s shirt.

"Do you only own V-necks?" he asked. His voice was low and rough.

Jack made a noise. "It's my sleep shirt, I get hot." Jack pulled the shirt off fully. Davey’s hands settled on his bare sides, each fingertip burning a mark into Jack’s skin.

"Is that why you're in these?" Davey asked, eyebrow raised as he ran a thumb across the waistband of Jack's shorts. They were short.

"It keeps me cool," Jack protested. Davey opened his mouth again, ready to call Jack out. Jack tugged him back in, whining into the kiss. Davey's hands stayed near his shorts, almost touching Jack's ass. Jack grabbed at Davey, pulling him closer till they were almost completely pressed together. The material of Davey’s shirt was soft against Jack’s chest.

Jack stepped forward more, forcing Davey to step back against the wall. Davey made a surprised noise when his back hit the wall. He kissed Jack harder.

Jack moved from Davey's lips and onto his neck. Dave gasped, biting at his lip. Jack wanted to do it for him, but he was focused on marking the pale skin of Davey's neck. Davey moaned as Jack mouthed along his collarbone. He unbuttoned the top buttons of Davey's shirt so he could kiss more of his smooth skin. Jack sucked a bruise just below the collar of Davey's shirt. Davey was squirming, clutching at Jack and moaning. Jack never wanted to hear any other sound.

Jack went back to his lips, kissing him like he'd die if he didn't. Jack thought maybe he actually would die if he stopped kissing Davey. Davey was gasping and moaning into Jack's mouth, his hands moving restlessly on Jack. He seemed to settle on one hand in Jack's hair, the other on the small of his back. Jack wanted to kiss him till his lips went numb. Instead he trailed kisses back down to Davey's neck. The moment his lips touched Davey's skin, Davey pulled at his hair. Jack groaned, his attention narrowing down entirely to Davey and his neck and the feeling of his hands in Jack’a hair.

Jack's nimble fingers unbuttoned the rest of Davey's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and to the floor. Jack traced his fingers up Davey's spine causing him to arch forward into Jack.

Jack pressed Davey harder against the wall, determined to mark his neck with kisses and bruises. Jack didn't hold back, attacking Davey's neck. His teeth grazed the soft skin and his tongue soothed the sting. Davey was gasping, his nails digging into Jack's shoulders, sure to leave marks. Jack wanted to hear him moan again. His hand moved to Davey's waistband, one finger working at his button-

"My god, please, stop for a second."

Jack flew away from Davey. Davey yelped and stumbled away from the wall, breathing hard. His face was flushed and his hair was a mess.

"Calm down, it's just me."

Jack spun around, his chest heaving. "Crutchie! What the hell? Why aren't you asleep?"

Crutchie was standing in the hall, his hand half covering his face. "It's hard to sleep when you two are crashing around in here.

"Uh, we weren't-" Jack started.

Crutchie stopped him. "You're literally standing here shirtless. David has a killer hickey. You can't back out of this."

Davey groaned. "I guess I should introduce myself." He extended a hand to Crutchie, his face burning. "I'm Davey. Maybe you remember me? Sorry for the lack of shirt."

Crutchie shook his hand. "I don't mind but please, keep it down."

Jack promised they would. Crutchie looked satisfied enough and disappeared back into his room.

Jack turned to Davey and groaned immediately. "I'm so sorry, I thought he was asleep."

Davey half laughed. "No, it's fine, I just wasn't expecting him to show up. I hope it was a good first impression."

Jack gave him a pained smile. "It's getting pretty late. You can stay here for the night, I don't want you walking alone."

Davey considered it. "I'd like that a lot, actually, thank you. Do you have a shirt I can wear?"

Jack held up a finger. He fumbled around the living room till he found his own shirt that Davey had flung. "This work?" He asked.

Davey sighed. "Yeah." He pulled it on. Jack had to focus very hard at not laughing about his half-naked chest.

Jack grabbed Davey's hand, playing with his fingers for a moment. Now that they weren't kissing, everything felt much more subdued. Jack's heart was fluttering. He pulled Davey closer, his hand on his shoulder. He kissed him once, softer and sweeter than he had before. There was no desperation or fear of rejection. Davey kissed him back just as gently, his hands on Jack's hips.

Davey pulled away after a long moment, his forehead still against Jack's. "It's late. We should sleep."

Jack pouted but pulled Davey to his room. He knocked the door shut behind him with his hip, already reaching for Davey.

Davey let Jack kiss him, stepping backwards as Jack stepped closer. Davey's legs hit the bed and he stumbled, falling back onto the mattress. Jack didn't even break the kiss, falling on top of Davey on the bed. Davey kissed him a moment longer before pulling away again. Jack whined.

"Get ready for bed." He said softly.

Jack pulled himself off Davey in the most dramatic way he could. He rummaged through his drawers till he found a shirt and put it on. Davey moved to lay on half of the bed. Jack laid next to him, pulling the blankets up.

Davey rolled and draped an arm across Jack's waist. His head was against Jack's chest. Jack felt very warm and very content. He could feel Davey's breathing slow, and his slowed too. He drifted off into sleep, happier than he thought he could be.

Jack was warm and content when he woke up. He was closer to Davey than he ever thought he'd be lucky enough to be. Davey's back was pressed against Jack's chest. Jack wasn't even sure which legs belonged to who, they were so tangled. Davey's hand held his where his arm was slung over Davey's waist.

Jack laid perfectly still, savoring the warmth. He didn't know how Davey would react when he woke up. He hoped Davey wouldn't be too angry.

Davey shifted against him. His soft breathing faltered, his legs stretching. He was waking up. Jack froze. Davey moved more, pulling away from Jack's chest. Jack felt his heart drop. Davey stopped and rolled, Jack's arm still over his waist.

Davey was awake and staring at Jack with his brilliant blue eyes. His features were still soft with sleep. He was almost smiling at Jack. "Hi," he whispered, his voice rough with sleep.

"Hi," Jack whispered back, his voice barely functioning. He was focusing all of his functions on Davey.

Davey, who'd decided to move closer again. He leaned back into Jack's chest. Jack felt his heartbeat pound harder against his ribcage. Davey was moving slowly but purposefully. Jack could feel Davey's breath hitting his collarbone. His lips followed a moment later. Jack gasped a little bit. Davey's lips were warm on his neck. He did not want to get out of bed ever again if he could have the feeling of Davey's lips on his neck.

Everything felt a little bit unreal. Jack's entire world was hyper-focused on Davey. His skin felt hot where Davey touched it.

Jack shifted to give Davey better access. Davey didn't need more prompting. His lips moved across Jack's neck. Jack gasped at the feeling. He wasn't half asleep anymore. Davey's insistent kisses demanded Jack's full attention.

Davey pressed closer, his hands flat on Jack's chest. He pushed a little bit, gently coaxing Jack onto his back. Jack went willingly, his heart pounding hard where Davey's lips were.

Davey straddled Jack with grace that was unfair of someone so early in the morning. His hands skimmed Jack's sides, pushing up Jack's shirt to reveal his ribs. Jack's back arched a little when Davey touched his chest. His hand was warm and light on Jack's side. Davey bit lightly at Jack's collarbone, grinning against his skin when Jack moaned.

Davey sat up, finally giving Jack's neck a break. He reached for Jack's shirt to pull it off. Davey froze.

"You okay?" Jack managed, his voice rough from sleep and Davey's touch.

Davey grinned at him. "This is the shirt you were wearing when we met." He was laughing.

Jack glanced down. Davey was right, it was his Arty Hard v-neck. "I sleep in this!" he protested weakly. "I get hot at night."

Davey was still in his lap, laughing. He snorted a little bit, the noise driving himself further to the edge. Davey moved off of Jack, curling in on himself on the bed. He was wheezing for breath, helpless laughs escaping each time he dared to look at Jack.

Jack felt his face stretch into a grin. He swatted playfully at Davey. "Stop! You're being unfair."

Davey managed to stop laughing long enough to talk to Jack. "I’m sorry, it's just, who wears that to a club?" He had tears in his eyes.

"I do, when Race and Crutchie dress me." Jack was whining.

Davey finally calmed down. "I'm going to have to thank them."

Jack groaned. "Can't we just kiss and pretend they have nothing to do with this?"

"I’m sorry, Jack, I can't kiss you if you're wearing that shirt."

"This wasn't a problem earlier!" Jack whined.

Davey looked sympathetic to his cause. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Jack’s stomach growled as if on cue. “A little bit. What time is it?”

Davey looked at his clock. “Almost eleven.”

Jack grinned at him. “Race will make pancakes if we ask him nicely.”

“Your friends are interesting,” Davey said, moving so his legs were hanging off the side of the bed.

Jack sat up and draped himself across Davey’s back. “You can meet them later. I want food now.”

Jack moved away from Davey and stood, pulling him upright. The smell of pancakes hit Jack’s nose the moment he opened his bedroom door.

“Good morning you two,” Race said, turning from the stove. He was wearing his Kiss The Cook apron and holding a spatula. “You must be David.”

Davey stepped forward, his hand extended. “And you’re Race?”

Race shook his hand, grinning. “I hope you like pancakes.”

Jack sat down at the table next to Crutchie. Crutchie was wiggling his eyebrows at Jack.

“Stop that,” Jack hissed at him. Race and Davey were talking excitedly to each other while Race made pancakes.

“Stop what?” Crutchie asked innocently, still doing it.

“Nothing happened,” Jack said, answering the question Crutchie wasn’t asking aloud.

“Sure. Tell that to your matching hickies.”

Jack’s hand went to his neck. He hadn’t realized Davey had marked him at all. His face felt hot. “Don’t freak him out.”

Crutchie held his hands up. “I would never. Besides, I think he likes Race.”

Jack turned in his seat to check on the two. Race was pouring the pancake batter into a (hopefully) empty ketchup bottle.

“What are you two doing?” Jack asked.

“Pancake art,” Race answered, scraping at the last of the batter.

“We are going to remake historically accurate aspects of Dresden,” Davey explained.

“I’m making a bomb,” Race added.

Jack turned back around in his seat. Crutchie was looking at him with an ‘I told you so’ face. Jack stuck his tongue out at him.

Race and Davey finished the pancakes quickly. Crutchie and Jack oohed and aahed as they presented each creation. They let Jack finish off the batter. He attempted to make a pancake Davey but ended up with a lopsided smiley pancake.

Davey chatted politely with Race and Crutchie the entire time. They all seemed to get along very well. Jack was pleased. Their little breakfast was done much sooner than Jack would have liked.

“I have to get back to my dorm and make sure my roommate knows I’m alive,” Davey said, standing.

Jack stood with him, carrying their dished to the sink. “So soon?”

Davey nodded, frowning at Jack. “I’ve been here all night.”

Jack walked him to the door. Davey grabbed his shoes then stopped. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Is this it?” Race asked. He picked a shirt up from the side of the couch. He was grinning.

“Yeah, toss it,” Davey caught the shirt. “Thank you.” He pulled Jack’s shirt off and put his own on quickly. Jack watched him sadly as he tugged his shoes on too.

“You really have to go?” Jack whined.

Davey stood. He leaned in and kissed Jack lightly, just once. Jack whined more. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Jack grabbed his hand before he left. He tangled their fingers again, idly playing with Davey’s hand. “I’ll miss you.”

Davey smiled. He kissed Jack one more time and let himself out.

“Jack, holy shit.” Crutchie said the moment Davey was gone. “I don’t remember him being that pretty.”

Jack groaned, sitting down with Race and Crutchie again. “I know. He’s going to kill me, I’m so happy.”

Race dumped more syrup on a pancake, adding whipped cream and sprinkles. He slid the plate to Jack. “Congratulations, my guy.”

Jack dug into the pancakes, eating as he spoke. “He came over to apologize for snapping at me. Then he sort of kissed me? And kept kissing me, and-”

“Alright we get it,” Race interrupted.

Jack was beaming. “We haven't even finished our paper yet, we’ll have to see each other this week.”

“I'm so proud of you.” Crutchie hugged Jack, smiling almost as hard as he was. “Just never keep me awake because you're making out with him again.”

Jack laughed. “I can't make any promises.”

Jack met with Davey nine hours later back at his apartment. He had a huge bag of books and his laptop, ready to work.

Jack was not in the mood to work. The moment Davey was inside he pulled him in for a kiss.

"Hey," Davey had protested, pulling away. "We have research to do."

"Race and Crutchie are gone," Jack said like that was an excuse. Davey acted like it was one. He kissed Jack, his lips softer than Jack thought they had a right to be.

They didn't get any work done that day.

After that they started meeting in crowded and public places. They found it was the only way they could keep away from each other long enough to get their work done

Even then they struggled. Short breaks turned into frantic kisses in the more deserted part of the library, their work forgotten entirely.

Davey ended up at Jack's apartment the night before the due date. They both stayed up all night typing frantically. Sure, Davey's planning was meticulous, but Jack decided after each paragraph he could be rewarded with a kiss. Of course, it never stopped at one. So Jack and Davey stayed up all night to finish.

Jack made them coffee in the morning and practically pulled Davey to the classroom. He had their paper clutched in his hand, beyond ready to turn it in. Jack sat next to Davey during the entire lecture. He tangled their fingers together and played with Davey’s hand. He would trace Davey’s palm and knuckles, stopping only when Davey needed his hand to grab something.

The moment it was done Jack darted to turn in their paper. The professor took it without comment, just a small smile to the two of them. Davey was beaming, as their paper was considerably more pages than the rest of them.

"I can't believe we did that," Davey breathed as they left the classroom.

Jack grabbed his hand, swinging it between them. "Damn right we did. He's going to be blown away, that was the best paper ever."

"Even though we finished it at about five this morning," Davey pointed out.

Jack affectionately head butted his shoulder. "We did it though. And when we get an amazing score, we can celebrate."

Davey grinned at him. "Oh yeah, and maybe I'll show you an improved version of what I did at the club. More personal.”

Jack flushed red and dragged Davey the rest of the way to his apartment. They spent the entire night tangled up together, forgetting the paper entirely.

They checked the grade together the next day. A 98%.

"You know what that means," Davey said to him, closing the laptop. His lips were on Jack's before he could even answer.

Jack had never been so happy about his friends dragging him away from one of his paintings for a lap dance.

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Crutchie, Cursed: Chapter Two

Thank you for all of your support for this AU!! Here’s the second chapter!

The first chapter can be found here, or just by searching #crutchie cursed.

“Here’s the thing, Crutchie,” Katherine said, as the pair strolled through the new mall that King Snyder had supported, probably in some attempt to raise morale for his current rule, “and don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been acting strangely.”

“Strangely?” Crutchie asked, laughing. “It’s just the stress of the coronation and the fear of the direction that this country may go next week. That’s it.”

Katherine hummed uncertainly. “I don’t think so. I’ve been thinking about our friendship and have you ever noticed that you just seem to always… do what people tell you to?”

“I like to follow rules,” Crutchie whispered, his stomach sinking. Back, before his father had died, he had commanded Crutchie not to tell anyone about the curse. He had tried, before, but the words always lodged in his throat, blocky and unwieldy, and he could never form them correctly. Crutchie had even tried writing it down, but his hand had spasmed, getting thick black ink all over the parchment and his clothes. His mother had yelled at him about that. Crutchie hadn’t tried to tell anyone, since.

“Follow rules, I get that. But, Crutch, you do everything that Oscar and Morris want of you. That’s not following rules. That’s following orders.”

“Kath,” Crutchie tried to explain, his voice weak. “I just… I want to make a good impression.”

Katherine scoffed. “A good impression? I might’ve believed that when they first moved in with you, but not now. Crutchie, what are you hiding from me? You can tell me. I’m your best friend!”

“I-I know,” Crutchie stuttered. “But, i-it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Katherine asked, his voice loud with disbelief. “What’s complicated about it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Crutchie tried.

“No, I wouldn’t. Because my best friend won’t help me understand.”

“Kath—“

Katherine froze, the color rushing from her face. “Crutch, are they hurting you?”

Crutchie’s breath caught. That was a tricky question. He opened his mouth, before it snapped shut of its own volition. It wasn’t as if it happened often. Oscar or Morris would usually just shove him a little too hard and he wouldn’t be able to catch himself. Wiesel would turn a blind eye and Medda would gently help treat the bruises that blossomed under his step-brothers’ handiwork. And then Oscar would growl some version of the command: Don’t tell anyone else about this. “Kath, that’s… That’s ridiculous. They’re my brothers!” Step, an insistent voice reminded him. Because true brothers, real brothers wouldn’t— Or, maybe, anyone would and Crutchie was just discovering this after Oscar and Morris had moved in with him.

“You would tell me if they were hurting you?” Katherine asked, her large green eyes searching him for a truth that Crutchie simply could not divulge.

“O-of course,” Crutchie lied. He hated lying to Katherine. He hated that he couldn’t just tell her everything, so that there would be someone beyond his wonderful godmother, Medda, who understood the hell in which Crutchie lived.

He hated the curse.

Katherine frowned at him. “I would tell you, if something like that was happening to me,” she told him. “You know, Crutch, we used to be so close. We were best friends. I told you everything. And I thought you had felt the same way. But, now… Your step-brothers come first. It’s not me, anymore, it’s them.”

“No, Kath,” Crutchie protested.

“Hey, Crutchie! Get over here!”

Crutchie’s back stiffened imperceptibly and he tried to fight the tug to obey Oscar’s shout. “I—I gotta go,” he whispered, not able to even look Katherine in the eye.

Katherine scoffed. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Crutch. But, whatever. Go have fun with them, if you don’t want me around.”

She walked away, and Crutchie didn’t even try to ignore the command. He made his way to where Oscar and Morris were standing. Oscar smirked at him, but Morris was too busy admiring some cinnamon rolls in the store window. “See, freshly baked,” Morris said, tugging gently at Oscar’s elbow.”

“Whatever, Mo,” Oscar said dismissively. “How are you today, Crutchie?”

“Fine,” Crutchie bit out, wishing that he could just go back and find Katherine and make sure that everything was okay between them. If the curse had managed to ruin the one good friendship he had managed to retain through the years… “Did you need something?”

“Yeah, actually,” Oscar said. He pointed to a golden watch on a stand outside the storefront. “I need that. Take it.”

Before Crutchie could even comprehend what Oscar had commanded, the gold watch had been stuffed into his pocket. “Oscar, no,” he whispered, not even bothering to keep the horror out of his voice. “Please, don’t make me—“

“And take that, too.” Oscar pointed to a leather wallet.

“Oh, I want to try,” Morris said, excitedly. He glanced around the store front, trying to determine what best to steal.

“Morris, please—“ Crutchie tried, knowing just how unsuccessful his pleas would remain.

“Take that.”

Crutchie followed the direction Morris’ finger was pointing, gaping at the new task. An entire watermelon. Morris wanted him to steal a watermelon. “Guys, come on,” Crutchie tried again, as he stepped closer to the large, bulky fruit. There was no way he’d be able to hide it. Someone was sure to notice. “Please, don’t make me.”

“Take it,” Morris insisted.

He couldn’t stop himself. Crutchie grabbed the fruit, before stopping, unsure of what to do next. Morris snickered as Crutchie tried to stuff the watermelon under his shirt or hide it somewhere. Before Crutchie could truly manage the large fruit, he was interrupted by a sudden shout. “Hey, you!” the officer shouted, pointing to Crutchie.

Crutchie looked to Oscar and Morris fearfully—though, he wasn’t sure exactly how they would help him, since they had been the ones to put him up to the theft—and Oscar merely smiled, the motion lupine. “Run,” he commanded.

Watermelon in hand, Crutchie took off as quickly as he could. This inspired another shout from the officer of law, but Crutchie ignored him. He shoved past any citizen in his way, accidentally toppling one man into a group of Girl Scouts. Crutchie made his way up the stairs, hoping to lose the officer in a large crowd of school kids, all in matching navy blue uniforms. Which, arguably, had not been the wisest move, since his dark brown vest stood out clearly in the ocean of blue. The officer was shouting, still, but Crutchie couldn’t bring himself to focus on the words over the harsh sound of his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart. If they caught him, what would he do? Would they send him to jail?

“Freeze!” the officer shouted, the word resonating clearly over the hubbub of the outdoor mall.

Suddenly, Crutchie found himself frozen, balancing on one foot, his other foot and his crutch stuck midair. He tried to move, but couldn’t. The officer approached him slowly, perplexed. “Um, unfreeze?” the officer asked, mercifully allowing Crutchie to move once more. Before he could escape, however, the officer had snapped a pair of handcuffs onto his thin wrists, taking the watermelon out of his hand.

He would be taken to jail. Jail. If he was lucky, he would be taken to the local prison within Manhattan. If he wasn’t lucky… Crutchie had heard the rumors of the horrors of the castle’s personal prison, called the Refuge. People came out of that institution changed. And, not in a good way. King Snyder claimed that it was an institution of good, that encouraged the prisoners to be their best selves. He gave speeches about the lives that have been affected and bettered by the Refuge. He never seemed to mention just how many deaths occurred within those stone walls.

And, now, it looked as if Crutchie would be headed there.

“I cannot believe that I am housing a criminal!” Wiesel exclaimed, gesturing wildly to Crutchie, where he stood, shoulders pulled in. “And after all the support I have provided to you and your mother!”

Behind him, Oscar and Morris snickered, their eyes small and mean as they watched Crutchie be belittled by their father.

“If it weren’t for your mother,” Wiesel continued, “I would’ve tossed you to the dogs ages ago. You never manage to do anything right, not with that leg of yours. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more useless, worthless, idiotic—“

“That’s enough,” Medda interrupted, stepping in front of Crutchie.

Wiesel sputtered out something about servants remaining servants and not speaking out, before directing his attention back to Crutchie. “Who put you up to this?” he demanded.

“It was Katherine Pulitzer,” Oscar quickly explained. “You know how the Pulitzers are, always pushing people around. And now she’s getting Crutchie to go around stealing. It’s a shame, really,” Oscar continued, shaking his head mournfully, “that Crutchie can’t seem to make friends with anyone of actual merit.”

“No, wait,” Crutchie tried to explain, but Oscar cut him off.

“Shut up, Crutchie.”

There was a soft knocking at the door and Wiesel glanced in that direction in surprise. “Who’s that?”

Morris glanced out the window, before turning back and confirming, “It’s Katherine, dad.”

“She has the gall to show up here, now? After what she’s put Crutchie through? I want you to march up to that door and tell Katherine that she’s not welcome here any longer,” Wiesel commanded.

“Yeah,” Oscar quickly agreed. “And tell her that you hate her and never want to see her ever again!”

“No!” Crutchie shouted, fighting the tug that urged him to march to the door and speak words that would completely ruin whatever friendship he had once had. “No, I can’t say that to her. I can’t! I won’t!”

“You will,” Oscar said, grinning with a superior smirk. “Now, go.”

Oscar had caught onto Crutchie’s forced obedience rather quickly, when he and his brother had first moved into their new home. Since then, Oscar had used Crutchie’s curse against him, forcing the other boy to give him whatever Oscar decided that he wanted or do whatever Oscar thought he should do. And while that had been awful and humiliating, none of those tasks in the past even compared minutely to what Oscar was forcing him to do now. Crutchie was only able to glance briefly at Medda, who watched with concern as he marched to the door and answered it.

Katherine smiled in relief when Crutchie answered the door. “Oh, Crutch, thank goodness. I hadn’t seen you after you went to go talk to Oscar and Morris and I had heard these awful rumors that you had been arrested and…” she trailed off, noticing how Crutchie’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears. “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching out and placing a hand on Crutchie’s.

Softly, Crutchie explained, “You’re… You’re not welcome around here. I—“ Crutchie swallowed thickly. These words were harder. They were so very, very untrue, but he couldn’t refute them. “I hate you and I never want to see you again,” he whispered around the lump that worried at his throat.

“You… what?” Katherine asked.

“Y-you heard me,” Crutchie said, unwilling to repeat those toxic words.

“I—I did. I… Is this about…” Katherine blinked in confusion, trailing off. “Crutchie?”

“Just leave me, please,” Crutchie said, closing the door before Katherine could ask any more questions or notice the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks. He turned away from the door, pausing for a moment to simply breathe and recognize what he had just done. His best friend, his only friend, gone. Because of the curse. Crutchie glanced across the room, to where Oscar was smiling gleefully, before fleeing upstairs, where he could cry alone and in peace.

Medda had come up, shortly after, giving Crutchie just enough time to cry by himself, before going up to comfort him. She held him as he sobbed, running her fingers gently through his blonde hair. “Shh, shh,” she hushed calmingly. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Crutchie broke out of her soft hug, shaking his head. “Like hell, it is. Kath isn’t ever going to trust me again. I’ve run off my best friend.” He shook his head, frowning. “No, not me. This stupid curse did it.”

“Honey,” Medda said, pulling him back into a hug, “You’ll just be able to go and talk to Katherine again, apologize, and you’ll be back to being best friends again.”

“But for how long?” Crutchie asked, his voice pitifully small. “I mean, clearly, I can’t retain my own friendships. Oscar will just command I never see her again. Or something like that. There’s nothing I can do with this stupid curse. You’ve got to help me get rid of it, Medda. You have powers; surely, there’s something you can do.”

Medda shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey, but the person who gave you the gift—“

“Don’t call it that!” Crutchie interrupted, angrily. “This is not a gift,” he spat.

“Okay, honey,” Medda agreed. “But, regardless of what you call it, I cannot take it away, since I’m not the one who gave it to you.”

“So, who gave it to me?” While Crutchie had been told the story of how a fairy had shown up, days after he was born, and “gifted” him with obedience, he had never asked anything further about the day. Crutchie had been too bitter, too angry, to ever care who had ruined his life in such a manner.

“He is called Racetrack.”

“Wait, he? My fairy is a he?”

Medda frowned at Crutchie. “Why not? Fairies aren’t all female, you know.”

Crutchie shrugged. “Okay, and his name is Racetrack? What’s up with that?”

“You don’t just question the names of fairies. They choose their names. It is significant, in a way that we would never be able to understand.”

“Or, maybe he just likes the Races,” Crutchie suggested, half under his breath. He straightened his back, before asking, “Okay, so how do I find this Racetrack fellow?”

Medda smiled sheepishly. “Um, Crutchie, do you remember back when you were in elementary school? You had that friend, Davey?”

“Yeah, of course. He left sometime in third grade, though. Kath and I never saw him again.” Crutchie frowned. “He never even said good-bye.”

“Um, well, about that. Davey didn’t plan to just disappear. He came over one day and I was supposed to give him a haircut and… Well, I’ll just show you.” Medda stood up, and opened a small cupboard, bringing out a large, white tome. “Um, ta da,” she said weakly, turning the book around so that Crutchie could see Davey’s grinning face on the cover of the book.

“Davey!” Crutchie exclaimed, scrambling backwards on the bed in surprise. “You’re—“

“A book. Yeah, I know. But, the cool thing is, I know just about everything now. Do you know why a snake starts to rattle?”

“No, why?” Medda asked.

“‘Cuz he’s scared,” Davey explained. “Go and look it up, the—“

“Wait,” Crutchie interrupted. “This entire time, you’ve been stuck as a book? Kath and I thought you just, I don’t know, ditched us.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Medda apologized. “I’ve tried to turn him back multiple times, but nothing I do seems to work.”

Crutchie shook his head, still struggling to wrap his head around the knowledge that one of his best friends was stuck as a book. “Okay… Um, so, Davey is a book. That’s… cool, I guess. But, Medda, how will that help me find Racetrack?”

“Ah, see, that’s where I come in,” Davey said. “If you ask a question and then open the book, I’ll be able to show you the answer. To an extent.”

“For example,” Medda said, gently placing Davey on the bed. “Show me Oscar and Morris!” She opened the book, and the page displayed a clear picture of Oscar and Morris rearranging the small shrine they had made in their room devoted to Prince Jack complete with posters and hand-made pins proclaiming their love for the Prince.

Crutchie snorted. “That’s cool. You, Davey, Not my idiot step-brothers.” He took the book from Medda, shutting it before asking, “Okay, Davey, show me Racetrack.” When Crutchie opened the book, the pages revealed a short, blonde fairy standing in line before a ticketing booth more than three times his size. The fairy had an unlit cigar planted between his lips and he seemed to be counting money in one hand. “Where is he? He could be anywhere.”

“That’s the drawback,” Davey explained, his voice somewhat muffled by the bed. “I can only show you pictures; I can’t give exact locations.”

“Wait,” Crutchie realized, recognizing the height difference between Racetrack and the other men and women in line. “Those are giants. He’s gotta be in Sheepshead.” After King Snyder had taken the crown, all giants had been banished to Sheepshead and segregated from all other folk.

“But, what is he doing?” Medda asked.

Crutchie studied the picture, trying to find any clue to what activity his fairy was engaged in. “I don’t know. He’s getting some type of ticket…”

Medda suddenly laughed. “Crutchie, I think you were right at the beginning. He’s at the Sheepshead Races. See!” she said, pointing to where a giant was buying a series of tickets, or, rather, as Crutchie realized, placing a series of bets.

Crutchie grabbed Davey, shutting him gently. “Well, that settles it. I’m going to the Sheepshead Races. I’ll find Racetrack and I’ll convince him to take the curse away.” He glanced at Medda, quickly hugging her. “I have to do this,” he explained, his voice muffled in Medda’s shoulder. “I have to be free. And I’m not coming back until it’s fixed.”