#crutchie fanfic

[heliads]

'from you i'd buy anything ' - jack kelly x crutchie morris

Jack Kelly is thinking about leaving. Crutchie is thinking about staying. Neither of them like that very much.

a/n: who was expecting me to briefly come back from exam hiatus with a jackcrutchie drabble? not me for sure

masterlist

Imagine, for a moment, that there is a boy on a fire escape, and he is listening to his best friend talk about leaving, and that boy is you. And your best friend is your best friend. And he matters more than anything.

Imagine that you have lived your entire recorded life in one city in one country in one world selling newspapers. Your birth was announced in a newspaper, probably, a newspaper that was sold by a newsboy quite like you in many ways but vastly different in the ones that matter, and when you die, your obituary will be placed in a newspaper sold by a different newsboy who is, again, both similar and dissimilar to you, a newsboy whose birth announcement you sold in a newspaper. You will sell the paper announcing the death of the boy who sold the news of your birth, and you will sell the paper announcing the birth of the boy who will sell your death. And so the chain goes on. You will sell many papers of many boys, and you will not even know it, or maybe you will. It does not matter if you read the newspaper. It only matters that you sell it.

Imagine that you have been selling newspapers with your best friend. He is your best friend because you sell newspapers with him, or perhaps in spite of it. You love him completely; you adore him like a devotee gazing upon a god. If you were one of the well-suited men writing up the articles that get to be in print, you would put your best friend in the newspaper. Not because he was born or died, but because he lived, and he lived extraordinarily.

Imagine that your best friend is telling you how much he cannot wait to leave this place, the only place that both of you have ever known. He could do it, you know. Leave. He would be good at it like he is good at every other thing except staying. Although you are his best friend, there is nothing you could say to make him stick around, so instead of saying anything, you listen. You do not like what you are hearing, although you pretend otherwise.

Imagine that your best friend could have left town a thousand times before now, but he waited for this early morning, this stolen breath before dawn, so that he could tell you he was going and judge your face to see how you would take the news. Imagine that he has already spent hours and days and weeks coming up with every possible argument you could make to keep him in New York City, Gotham, the City That Never Sleeps, so that you would think him clever, and laugh, maybe, and want him here. Imagine that he does not know that you already think him clever. Imagine that he thinks he has to prove it somehow, as if years of friendship and ill-concealed longing were not enough to cement that belief in your mind already. It is printed on your brain with permanent ink. Like in a newspaper.

Imagine that you are on the fire escape and listening to your best friend talk, and imagining what will happen one day when you wake up and are alone. You have been lonely before, but this would be worse. He would be fine at it, you think, your best friend. He is good at making friends. Even best friends. You think about them now, someone taking your place in sunny Santa Fe, where the city is not gray and lifeless, where the children do not starve in the streets. It does not matter if your replacement is a girl or boy, if Jack Kelly loves them as much as he loves you, they are not you and therefore they are an enemy.

Imagine that your best friend does not want to swap you out for anybody. You are the crucial part in his plans, the piece that completes the puzzle, but he does not know how to say it and you do not know how to say it, either, so it goes unsaid completely. The bell rings and the two of you hurry to the place where they give you the newspapers that you will sell together, and neither of you get rid of the words hanging leaden on the tips of your tongues. Tomorrow, he will repeat this conversation, and it will go the same way. Imagine that you might know what to do tomorrow. You won’t, but there is no loss in trying. Imagine that it might work out in the end. Imagining is easier. It always is.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[no-i-wanna-go-down]

The desperate search for good, finished Newsies fics that aren’t modern aus or just aus in general because MY GOD there’s so many :( no hate to anybody who writes modern aus it’s just that part of the charm of Newsies for me is the time period if that makes any sense actually at all

Anyways if anybody has fic recommendations that take place in the canon time period please gimme. Preferably a decent mix of angst and fluff, just all around good fics :)

[jack-kellys]

OOUGHGHHHH CAN U MAYBE DO ,, WHO DID THIS TO YOU ,,,, W JAVEY ,,, PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC WHATEVER FITS THE VIBE IDK ,,,,

also unrelated sidenote i accidentally misread "soup for the sick" and thought it said "soup for the dick" and i was like yknow what? yeah sure. before i reread it and realized what it actually said LMFAO

soup for the dick as a bad things happen event.. hmm

ao3 series is here, and u can request a trope from these. let's get into it.

David isn’t one to stay over at the lodge. It’s not a simple thing to head all the way to his family’s small apartment, give them the news, and head all the way back afterward. Usually it’s rather late when he gets the chance to, and consequently hard to prove to his parents why he should stay out instead.

So this time, he doesn’t tell his parents.

Today marks the last day of Jack’s first week as an artist at the World. Sometimes he gets out early enough to sell the evening, or sometimes he goes in late enough to sell the morning. Today was a morning sell day, so David hasn’t seen the boy all day, and he should be seeing him… about thirty minutes ago, approximately. 

David sits on the lodge’s steps inside, feeling like an overgrown weed as other kids tumble up and down past him as they come down for or finish up their suppers. Maybe it’s childish to wait up for the other, and Jack could have easily gotten caught up with something at a place like that with all these fancy people. Maybe Katherine is simply introducing him to some people, or something. 

“I ain’t like it either,” snaps David from his thoughts, and he glances up and behind him at the stairs’ landing. Crutchie’s pulling himself out of the window there, so he must have been up on the roof. He gives David a small smile. “You’re waiting for him, right?”

“Yeah,” David half-grumbles. At this point he and Jack’s…tendencies toward each other were quite apparent with the Lower Manhattan newsies, so he supposes he shouldn’t be too embarrassed about being obvious. “He’s not usually this late, not after office stuff.”

Crutchie bends down with a balance and strength David can only wish he had, pushing his crutch toward David. David crawls up a stair or to and takes it leaving Crutchie free to hop down with the railing. 

“I know,” Crutchie agrees. “And, I mean. He knows this’s the one time to see you today?”

David bites lip, giving a slight nod.

“Then I really ain’t like it,” Crutchie chuckles, though his eyebrows furrow. David smiles his nervous appreciation at the other. “Look, Dave, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s probably thinkin’ all about how you’re sitting here sighin’ to yourself as you stare out the front window.”

“Crutchie,” David mumbles, feeling his face heat up. He’s not as much sighing and batting his eyes as he is gripping the fabric of his slacks and trying to slow his mind down from the top speed it wants to run at. “I’m worried.” 

“Me too,” C assures, tossing an arm over David’s shoulders once he sits himself down. David leans into the other, frowning to himself but glad to no longer wait alone.  

‘Alone’ quickly becomes a luxury as another twenty minutes slips by. The volume in the building has reached its exponential climax upstairs- most of the kids have washed up after dinner and plenty of them will be heading downstairs to the supper tables again to play cards and other games before lights out. 

“Move, Davey!” is demanded of him by 14-year-old JoJo, and David looks up to see her hands on her hips, expectant. Crutchie remains seated, also giving David an expectant look. David does as told. 

Children bounce down the stairs, followed up by Racer, Specs, and Albert, who pause when they see David and Crutchie. 

“Jack ain’t show?” Albert sighs, shaking his head. “Jeez.” 

“I haven’t heard anything from anybody, either,” Specs supplies. “No one’s seen him since the morning edition- not enough to know where he’s at now.” 

So a longer length of time than David had thought. His mind starts running at the speed it wanted to, gaze sliding to Racer’s. They had to start searching.

Racer nods, thankfully reading David’s mind as he heads down the rest of the stairs. “Let’s go, come on.” 

David jumps up instantly, feet wanting to move by now after far too much waiting, but movement outside of the front door stops both of them. 

“Great timing as always, Jackie,” Racer mutters to himself, but the door opens, and it’s Katherine, eyes shockingly wide, door still concealing most of her body.

“Kath?” David says, coming up to the door to open it for her. “You okay? Where’s-”

And then he opens it all the way. 

Jack Kelly is pressed desperately into her side, his arm slung over Katherine’s shoulder as she clearly holds most of his weight. Both his eyes are half closed, one clearly by someone’s hard fist as the bruise around it purples part of his wide nose, smearing half the boy’s face in the color. His lip’s busted, blood only starting to congeal as past drippings of it still line his chin. His cheek’s split, the knuckles David can see are bruised and open, who knows what’s under his shirt, someone's touched his hair. 

David’s stiffened, he realizes, as he knows everyone’s gaze on him. His eyes are only on Jack, blindingly on Jack, edges turning red, especially when Jack grins. 

“Davey…” he says, smiley, too smiley for David’s liking, “you’re still here, ‘s good, good. Wanted to see you, so Kath- Kath go’me here.” 

“Kath,” David says, steely, softly.

“Yep,” she replies, and David takes Jack’s other side, the both of them carrying Jack through the door together in silence, save for Jack’s sharp intakes of air every few steps. 

The thing about the main floor is that it is small and filled with tables. The thing about nearly every bed in the building is that they’re up a flight of stairs. Long ago, David figures, this problem was recognized and a couple mattresses were tossed down the stairs to live in the back of the main floor. This also means David and Katherine are forced to drag Jack’s corpse-looking figure to said mattress, and the last person to occupy it had been Splasher after the strikebreaking.

Every single kid in the building watches as David and Katherine move Jack to the back, eyes huge. Race, Specs, and Albert speed ahead to start pulling tables back and out of the way, and Crutchie follows, speaking softly to a few more vocal newsies to calm them down. It’s more quiet than David’s ever experienced in the usual madhouse of noise the lodge is. 

Slowly, he and Katherine lay Jack down on his back, and Kath immediately turns to him. 

“I just found him like this, right outside the main building,” she says, words hurried and brows crumpled into a deep crease. “I don’t know if someone tossed him there or- or if it happened right out in the open and I had no idea- I- I was working late and I’m- his ribs are busted up too, I checked. I didn’t know how else to- where else to go.”

“Right place,” Race says with a curt nod. “I’m gonna grab Mush, this’s… a whole operation.” 

He zips off, leaving still too many bodies around David and Jack when Jack is hurt and David’s chest is about to fucking burst with the fact. 

“Uh,” he lets out quickly, suddenly, his mouth motoring without his permission. Crutchie, Kath, Albert, Specs, everyone in the room looks at him. “Can you-” David stops himself. He won’t get anywhere if he asks. “Move, guys. Move, for a minute.”

It’s callous, he knows, and demanding, and maybe even unfair. They’re all worried, just like David.

They move. Katherine squeezes his shoulder, and Crutchie gives himself one last look at Jack, but they all move. It’s just Davey and Jack. 

David looks down at the other again, gaze withering. Carefully, his fingers touch the safest parts of Jack’s face, and Jack just barely turns toward him. 

“Who did this to you,” David demands, clear, enunciated, burning.

Jack watches him as much as he’s able, but he deliberately looks away after a few moments, delirious smile dimmed.

“Y’know those’m, those… friends I said I made? At the World?” he mumbles out. His lip quirks, since he’s about to admit something, and David finds a kerchief in his pocket to wipe the boy’s lip quickly. “They.. ain’t my friends, ‘s f’sure, Davey.”

“No they would not be,” David tries to agree softly, but it comes out of his mouth argumentative, maybe. Jack gives him a smile, covering a wince- David catches his hand trying to find his ribs. 

“You look like you’re gonna do something stupid,” Jack hums. 

“I don’t- have.. a look that indicates that,” David spits out. 

“If you’re gonna do it,” Jack continues, and there’s this look in his eye that tells David that Jack is just as angry as he is, “bring someone.”

David brings Race. 

He gets a general description from Jack as the night goes on, Mush having peeled back Jack’s shirt to ice his ribs and stitch up the cut in Jack’s cheek, and Kath points the two boys out to Race and David the next day. It’s kind of a team effort, sure, but to David the effort isn’t done until his fist is in someone’s gut. 

Things have made him feel ugly inside before, it isn’t that unusual for him, but this ugliness is hot and flaming and demanding action. And in the name of the boy David thinks he loves, he’ll let it the hell out. Race’s dark smirk only encourages it. 

He and Race surprise the boys, catching them on their way home. David hasn’t been in many fights since the strike, in all honesty, but he’s had to fend for himself at school as the new resident working boy in his classes. 

David doesn’t let himself think. If he thinks, he’ll stop, and that’s probably the better option, so David has to ignore it. He’s doing the stupid thing, he brought someone, and they screwed up one of Jack’s braids and beat his face in and–

He forgot how much it hurt to hit someone…

David shoves one of the guys into the alley as Race does, and his knuckles find his guy’s nose- once, twice. He earns one to his jaw, and he tries not to reel in surprise, because Race isn’t- Race takes his punch to the ribs he receives and hits back two times quicker as if to erase the action as a whole. 

David isn’t fast in that way, but he’s damn tall, and he takes his target’s shoulders and drives him against the wall, nailing him in the gut while he holds him there. The boy tries to rip David’s grip away, but David practically slams him back as a knee-jerk reaction. His eyes widen at himself, but it’s fine, it’s an opening. He runs his fist into the boy’s cheek. 

“David,” Race hisses after what must be a while, and David’s attention snaps up and over at the other. He nods, and they both drop what they’re doing and scram.

They slow to a quick walk after a few blocks, and Race grins, slapping David’s chest. The boy’s sporting a bruise by his temple, and David thinks he remembers Racer’s head hitting the brick wall.

“You gotta tell Jack! Davey, I never seen you fight like that,” Racer says, beaming at David- proud of him. David can’t help sending a tiny smile back.

“I know that was- uh- well, very reckless, and unbelievably stupid, so,” David sighs out, “thank you.” 

“Yeah, man, I got you,” Race nods. “For Jack, yeah?”

David finds himself nodding, vigorously, not thinking. Not needing to think.

“For Jack,” he echoes. 

The lodge welcomes them back heartily, and David can see Jack sitting up on the mattress in the back, which he should not be fucking doing. He ignores the cheers and rushes over to him.

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Didn’t Mush say you shouldn’t sit up on your-”

Dark, cherry-colored lips press to his, sudden and silencing. David can feel the cut on Jack’s bottom one with his tongue when he pulls away. 

“You’re nose’s bleedin’” Jack whispers, smirking. David wipes it quickly.

“Uh, sorry,” he lets out, blinking at the other. 

“Did you get ‘em good?” Jack asks, looking up at him, a little differently. Jack’s gaze keeps slipping downward just a tick. David nods slowly.

“I think we did, yeah,” he confirms. “Race was a great help.”

He sits himself next to Jack, even though the boy should really lay down. Instead, Jack shifts himself against David, making himself comfortable. David’s arm slips around his waist.

“You really…care, about me,” Jack says softly. 

“Of course I do,” David nearly scoffs. “Jack. I-”

“This’s something else, Davey, yeah? Somethin’ new?”

David thinks about the burning, and the ugliness- how Jack’s pain had made him feel ugly inside, not just Jack. How he didn’t even think.

“Yeah,” David says. “You okay with it?”

Jack gazes at him again. One of his eyes is officially swollen shut, but the other is wide open, burning with something beautiful.

“Yeah,” Jack smiles. David returns it, without a thought. 

[we-are-inevitable]

and the sun still sets the same // ch. 1 - javid

Summary:

“I get out of class at 5:30 on Wednesday,” David says, looking at the planner section of his notebook. “Do you wanna meet at 6 in the library, then? Figure everything out?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, sure. We can, uh, maybe bring some ideas. For the debate, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” David repeats, giving Jack an unimpressed look. His head tilts just slightly to the left, and Jack watches David’s gaze look him up and down, like he’s sizing him up. Like he’s looking for his next meal, and Jack is the sorry piece of shit in his way. “Text me. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

---

Jack and David live in different worlds. Frat parties and gay bars, chapter meetings and drag queens, beer pong and passenger-seat weed- they're a match doomed to fail, and they're waiting for the wreckage.

But maybe they're more similar than they seem. Maybe they just need some time to figure it out.

Maybe it comes down to decisions and choices, masks and veils, and how to straddle the line between them.

Author's Note:

HIIIIIII I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS!! happy pride and please accept this little love letter to the queers, the freaks, and the fags <3 may you have a safe and happy pride month!

if you enjoy this, please comment and let me know!! this au has been rotting my brain for weeks and i'm so excited to share with you all!

enjoy!!

Read On AO3!

[thisisthegarage]

Would people read my fics if I actually got on my grind and wrote them? I have so many ideas.

[scottyzoomz]

Guys is there a fanfic where one of the newsies dies.. specifically Crutchie, cause.. yeah

[leading-manhattan]

David is absolutely swamped with all the work he's piled on top of himself which leads to him blowing Jack off time and time again. David doesn't realize just how out of control it's all gotten until a few chance conversations with Katherine and Crutchie lead him to the horrifying conclusion that Jack might not be as okay as he's always assumed. Modern AU.

This is ridiculous. The dumbest fight David thinks he's ever had in a relationship. That was because he'd never been in a relationship with Jack Kelly before. Jack, who was apparently determined to start arguments over the most rudimentary things. David is busy and Jack's made it into this whole thing that it never had to be. David sighs, harsh and aggravated, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Even when he was trying to get his work done somehow Jack writhed his way to the front of David's mind.

"Trouble in paradise?" Katherine teases from the other end of the table they've commandeered at the library. Between classwork, his internship, and his job David doesn't have time for anything outside of work so he's grateful to have friends who consider studying together quality time. David heaves another sigh, glaring up at her through his bangs. She gazes back sympathetically, resting her elbows on the table and tucking her face into her hands. She waits patiently, knowing damn well that he was a talker and he was bound to spill if she just gave him enough opportunities to. Katherine was sweet but she was nothing if not nosey, a journalist through and through.

"Jack and I are fighting." David murmurs, turning his glare down to the textbook laid open before him. He's not really looking at the words but it feels rude to point his ire at Katherine. Katherine hums inquisitively and David groans, raking a hand through his hair, "It's just he won't leave me alone. I love him, so much, but I'm completely swamped right now with everything and he keeps trying to get me to go out or make plans and no matter how many times I tell him I can't he just won't take no for an answer and I just- It came to a head and things were said and now we aren't talking." David sags, hunching over the table and resting his forehead pitifully on the pages of his notebook. It sounds even more ridiculous out loud but it's driven David up the wall these past few weeks and now they've gone and made a mountain out of a molehill.

"Oh, pfft," David glances up to see Katherine waving a dismissive hand. "That's just Jack. He's dramatic sometimes."

David grunts, pulling himself back up, "That doesn't mean he gets to pester me when I'm trying to do something important. I have a lot to do, Kath. And now that he's finally leaving me alone he's still somehow managing to distract me." After weeks of nonstop texts and calls and showing up at David's door he finally has some peace and he can't even enjoy it because he's so frustrated with— and worried about— his relationship.

"Yeah, that's why we broke up." Katherine shrugs, a soft smile on her face that David can only read as pitying. "He's like a puppy, David. He needs a lot of attention."

David groans again and lets his head fall back to the table with a jarring thud.

At least the rest of the day passed with a modicum of productivity. He didn't get a lot of schoolwork done but he got pretty much all the housework around the apartment wrapped up before the night's end. Hopefully that would make getting his actual work done this weekend more manageable.

It's when he wakes up that morning and checks his phone to see no texts from Jack that he remembers the shit show he was currently in the middle of. He's half-tempted to text Jack himself but the last time he tried to address this whole thing it nearly ended in a screaming match. He was too worn down to have the conversation he needs to have so instead he just puts his phone back down and resigns himself to talk to Jack tomorrow after they both had a little more time to cool down and sort themselves out. There goes his plans for a productive weekend. He can't help the resentment that bubbles up in him. Jack's not even talking to him and somehow he's still throwing a wrench into David's plans. It's not Jack's fault that David can't stop thinking about their stupid fight, he knows that, but he can't help but be mad at him for it anyway. He's hoping that maybe he can get himself to calm down and regulate a bit before he gathers himself up to go talk to Jack later but as he goes through the morning he only grows increasingly irritated with the whole situation.

By the time noon comes around David is practically fuming. He's heading towards one of his favorite cafés near campus in hopes that maybe the soothing environment of the quaint little place with help soothe his anger. David likes to think that he's a fairly self-aware person and he knows that the burnout from his workload is contributing more to his fury than the actual argument itself. Being aware, unfortunately, does nothing to remedy anything.

When he spots the cafè just a little further down the street David picks up the pace, nearly knocking into someone as he rips open the door. Almost immediately after he enters a sense of peace blankets and he knows that he made the right choice. It's just a little coffeehouse, only about four tables to sit at crowded off to the side, with a bunch of little plants scattered around the counters. It's a homey place filled with the warm glow of the sun. David takes a deep breath and lets the tension bleed out of him as he exhales.

"Heya Dave," A familiar voice calls from behind the register. David glances over and offers a tired smile. "Long time no see." Crutchie's face is warm and welcoming but David can see some curiosity there that tells him that Jack got to him first. Damn it.

"Hey Crutchie. Sorry it's been a while, I've been so slammed." David runs a hand down his face as he steps up to the counter. He doesn't even need to look at the menu before Crutchie punches in his order and David is handing over his card. "You been okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine! It's been a little busy here recently but I got it handled." Crutchie beams, grabbing one of his crutches as he goes about putting together David's usual. There's a long pause while Crutchie makes his coffee and he is painfully conscious of the the steady tension growing between them.

"You can ask." David sighs.

Crutchie's shoulders slump and he shoots David an unsure look, "You sure?" Which definitely makes it sound like it won't be a conversation in David's favor. He nods. Crutchie bites his lip and turns back to the coffee, "You and Jack haven't been spendin' a lotta time together lately, huh?" He presses tentatively.

David groans, his anger spiking, but he reels it back in quickly. He's not mad at Crutchie. He's not even as mad at Jack as he feels. "I don't have the time, Charlie."

Crutchie is silent for a few telling moments. "You have the time to come here." He says it softly. There's no bitterness in his tone but it still feels so accusatory.

"I'm here to get work done." David argues. He is. It's nice to see Crutchie but he's here to try and catch up on the studying he couldn't focus on yesterday. He thought the familiar environment and the welcome company would help keep him focused and accountable.

"You had time to study with Katherine yesterday." Crutchie says and, okay, how many people did Crutchie talk to before he finally got around to David? This was starting to feel like a very small intervention.

"I was working then, too, I have a lot I need to do, Crutch." David hates how pleading he sounds. His anger is flickering, struggling for air where it burns hot beneath his ribs. That's one of Crutchie's many superpowers. It's so hard to stay angry when Crutchie is there with a kind smile, a sunny disposition, and a kindness that rivaled any person David's ever known.

"So you can't work with Jack?" Crutchie pushes lightly, curiously, setting David's finished coffee to the side like the hostage it was.

"That's not what he wants. He keeps asking to go out, to get dinner, to do things. I just- I can't." He wants to. God, he wants to. He misses Jack, it's been so long since they've really seen each other outside of passing glances and they haven't had a full conversation outside of a screen in weeks if you don't count their recent fight.

Crutchie hums empathetically. David's always buried himself in his workload no matter how many times people tried to convince him to give himself a little more wiggle room. It's a prison made from his own ambition and restlessness he hasn't been able to escape from since High School. "Did you ever..." Crutchie pauses, gaze flitting away as he clearly deliberates with himself. "Did you ever offer an alternative?"

David blinks.

Crutchie looks at him suddenly, eyes shining with understanding, "You know. Like havin' dinner at your place so you can keep workin' after or let him tag along when you come out here to study." He explains and the anger snuffs out so suddenly it leaves David feeling almost hollow without it. Something cold and sad rushes in to take its place.

"I didn't even think about that." David admits sheepishly, cringing. Crutchie's advice is shifting his perspective and David isn't really happy with the picture that it's painting.

"Jack can be..." Crutchie trails off and David immediately fills in dramatic. That's what everyone says. Jack's just being dramatic, they'd laugh. "Overbearing. He's been through a lot, I just-" Crutchie sighs, frowning, the first sign of real turmoil shining through. David doesn't know much about Jack's childhood but he knows that it wasn't good. He knows that Crutchie, Racetrack, and Jack are adopted but he's never pushed. "He needs reassurance. And people. He won't admit it but he does. You don't gotta forgive 'im but he loves you a lot and I know you love him too. You don't need to go out and do things to spend time together, right?" Crutchie's right. He knows Crutchie's right. David will have to set some boundaries about inviting him out when he's so busy but he'd been so lost in himself that he hadn't even tried to consider why Jack has been so desperate to spend time together.

"Yeah. God, yeah, I haven't even thought about it like that." David frowns, glancing over at the table he was going to settle into for the foreseeable future. "Can I get that coffee to go?" When he looks back Crutchie is already holding out his cup with a lid snapped on top.

Walking up to Jack's door has never felt more daunting. His irrational fury spurred on by the pit of exhaustion he dug himself into is completely extinguished and now all he has to pull him forward is the guilt at having blown off Jack completely for three weeks straight. How Jack hasn't snapped at him is a mystery of its own but David sure feels absolutely dreadful for having snapped at Jack. He clutches his coffee like a lifeline and hopes the muffin Crutchie gifted him to offer as an olive branch is a decent way to start an apology. He sucks in a long, bracing breath and raises his fist to knock before he chickens out. He'd dig out his phone if his hands were free but part of him is worried that if Jack knew it was him he wouldn't even come to the door.

"Comin'!" David hears Jack's muffled voice and he's immediately blindsided by a wave of longing. He really has missed Jack these past few weeks and he wishes he was coming over under better circumstances. The door swings open and for a fleeting moment David catches a glimpse of Jack's smile, a flash of teeth and bright eyes, but the second they make eye contact Jack's face falls. Jack's eyes flick from David's face to the café bag held in David's hand and something like defeat settles heavy on his shoulders. "Ah, shit. Okay." He mutters, stepping back and holding the door open in silent invitation.

David slips easily into the familiar apartment but he's never felt so unwelcome. "Hey," David greets quietly, setting his coffee down on the table and holding out the muffin bag to Jack, "I brought a peace offering. It's blueberry." He tries to keep his tone lighthearted but the joke falls flat. Still, Jack accepts the gift and David forces himself to take that as a good sign. "We really need to talk, Jackie."

Jack flinches, the bag crinkling in his hands as his grip instinctively tightens. A breathy laugh tumbles from Jack's lips but it lacks any mirth, "Ha, yeah. I was waitin' for this." He sounds so utterly devastated and it stabs David right through the heart. Jack can't look at him, head ducked and wild strands of dark hair blocking his eyes from view. "I'm kind of a lot to handle, right? I know I'm pretty needy." Jack chuckles and it sounds strained and David doesn't understand.

"Jack," David swallows. Jack looks up and David is surprised to see the wetness in his eyes. He's trying to put up a front, laughing despite how obviously hurt he is. "What do you think is happening?"

Jack blinks and scoffs, all false humor falling away. "I mean, it sure sounds like you're breakin' up with me. No one really wants to hear the words we need to talk, you know."

Realization slams into David hard and he immediately backtracks, "No!" He shouts, quieting when Jack flinches, "No, Jack, no. That's not it at all. I meant that we actually, really need to talk. Crutchie kind of helped me realize a few things and I just… I missed you." He confesses, holding his hands out and allowing himself a moment of relief when Jack steps forward. He gently cups Jack's face in his hands and wipes his thumbs carefully over Jack's eyes to clear away the tears clinging to his lashes.

"You did?" Jack looks at him with so much uncertainty it nearly makes David sick. Did he really give off the impression that he hadn't wanted to see Jack at all during his workaholic frenzy?

"Of course I did, Jackie, I always miss you." David pleads for him to understand. The long nights yearning for the feeling of Jack's arms around him. The afternoons trapped at his job almost praying for Jack to appear at the door just to make him smile. David hadn't wanted to be apart but he hadn't realized how many opportunities they'd actually had to be together.

"Alright, alright," Jack huffs a laugh and bats David's hands away playfully. "You're so mushy, Jacobs." He rolls his eyes but a content smile is spreading across his face so David basks in the small victory.

"You're so much worse, don't even start." David throws back, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip for the first time since he got it. He has a feeling that he's going to want to be caffeinated for what's to come.

"Oh, shuddup," Jack huffs, peeling open the bag and reaching in to tear a piece of the muffin free. "So you talked to Charlie?" It's not so much a question as it is a confirmation. They both know that Crutchie worked today and the café's logo is printed on David's cup and the bag. Not to mention David's confession that it was Crutchie who knocked some sense into him. Jack's not asking if he saw Crutchie, he's asking about what Crutchie spilled while Jack wasn't around to swear him to silence. David doesn't really know where to start. Everything has been such a whirlwind for the past month and even now, while he's here with Jack, he's worried about falling behind somewhere. Despite that, he knows that this is the most important thing he could be doing right now and the last thing he wants to do is mess it up.

"I'm sorry," He starts because that feels like the right thing to say. He wants Jack to know first and foremost that he was so sorry for brushing him to the side. "I was so caught up in myself I totally dismissed you and that was horrible of me." He cradles his drink in his hands, holding it tightly and trying to steal its warmth like it could chase away the internal chill of regret.

Jack shrugs, nibbling distractedly on the chunk of muffin in his hand, "You were busy. 'M sorry I kept buggin' you, I just figured eventually you'd be free."

"I could've offered an alternative." David mournfully echos Crutchie's advice. Jack shrugs again and David wants to shake him. He yearns to know why Jack is so dismissive of his own feelings, why he's so forgiving, why it's so easy for him to accept being brushed aside. David wants to know but he won't push because he knows Jack will just close up if he tries to seek out the answers he so desperately craves. "I should've offered an alternative and I am so sorry that I didn't even think to until Crutchie had to shove the idea in my face."

Jack rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the chunk into his mouth in a clear attempt to give himself more time to think before he speaks. Jack looks away, leaning back against the counter, and he would've succeeded in projecting this uncaring aura if David didn't know him so well. Jack's uncomfortable and David can see it clear as day.

"Don't listen to Crutch, alright?" Jack finally settles on, tearing off another piece of muffin, and David realizes that he's keeping his hands busy. Jack rolls his shoulders and looks over to meet David's eyes, his gaze is hard and his face is set in a firm mask to keep the more vulnerable emotions under wraps, "He's just tryin' to help but he don't know what he's talkin' about. I was just bein' dramatic is all."

There it is. That word. He needs reassurance. And people. That's what Crutchie said. Nausea churns in David's gut when he thinks back to his conversation with Katherine. How easily she'd waved David off when she heard about their argument. She'd been so quick to dismiss Jack as dramatic, ignoring the fact that both Jack and David were in genuine distress. To her, Jack was just like that. How many times has Jack sought comfort only to be met with rejection? Was it just Katherine who looked at Jack in need of reassurance and company and turned him away or have others disregarded him just because they didn't understand? How many times has Jack laughed away his own needs because others thought they were a joke? Sifting through group interactions in his mind David isn't liking the answers he's coming up with.

"Who told you that?" David implores despite knowing full well that at least two important people in Jack's life have said that very thing to Jack's face. A pit opens up in his stomach when Jack just stares at him in shock.

Jack is quick to shake himself out of his stupor, staring at David with suspicion. "What'd'ya mean? No one told me that, that's just how it is." Jack shakes his head like it's David who's the weird one and like he isn't breaking David's heart.

"You aren't being dramatic because you need something." David insists. He's desperate for Jack to understand. He hates this new side of Jack he's accidentally uncovered, it's small and resigned and nothing like the bright man that Jack's always been. David's chest constricts painfully knowing that people have taken Jack's innate desire to be around the people he loves and turned it into something to be ashamed of. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for ever being a part of it even if he never intended to be.

"I don't just need somethin' Dave. I'm needy and demandin' and I get all whiny instead of takin' no for an answer like an adult. It's dramatic and stupid and I'm tryin' to break the habit." Jack disagrees curtly, nearly biting his fingers when he shoves another piece of muffin into his mouth. The resentment that's rolling off of Jack in waves is horrendous. Jack's so convinced that his need to be acknowledged is such a toxic trait that for a moment David swears he can feel bile crawling up his throat.   

David's never found Jack whiny or demanding. Needy on occasions but he's always been more than happy to oblige when Jack was in need of a little more attention than usual. To watch Jack stand there and say so confidently that he was certain he was all sorts of things he's never been is gut-wrenching. To hear that he was trying to break the habit of reaching out was the final straw.

David makes a choked noise and frantically tries to blink away the tears that suddenly flood his vision as he hastily puts his drink down before it could tumble from shaking hands. Jack startles, worry suddenly replacing the self-loathing, and practically throws the muffin aside to free his hands. "Hey, woah, Davey," Jack coos, reaching out slowly to make sure David has time to back away if he wants and the easy care and devotion only makes the tears come faster. "What'd I say? I'm sorry, love."

"No," David sniffs, wiping his tears away and trying to compose himself. "Please don't apologize, it's not you." He promises, allowing Jack's hands to come up and rest comfortingly on his biceps.

Jack smiles, amused, "Also not somethin' a guy wants to hear from his distressed boyfriend." He teases. His eyes are still shining with worry, concern dripping off him, and David is overwhelmed with affection. David came here to apologize to Jack, to make sure that Jack felt loved, and to communicate his boundaries to avoid this all spiraling out of control again. Yet here Jack was, dropping everything because David is upset. It was cruel how terribly the world has treated Jack Kelly and just how long it's taken David to really notice.

"Don't make me laugh right now," David huffs, squashing the chuckle building in his chest. He gently smacks Jack's arm, "I'm serious. I just wish you believed me. I don't think you're being dramatic, Jack. I don't think you ever have been, not about stuff like this. I'm sorry people made you believe that but please, please listen to me when I tell you that if you need me I'll make the time. I can always make the time for you, I've just been so stressed I forgot that for a little bit."

Jack shifts and reaches up to try to smooth out the sorrowful crease in David's brow with the pad of his thumb. David can't help but giggle and waves Jack's arm away. Jack's smug little expression is enough to send warmth flooding through David's veins and he swears he's never been so in love. "It's alright—" Jack promises.

"It's not. It's not, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like that." David interrupted. The last thing he wants right now is for Jack to push aside his feelings to appease David.

"I already forgave you." Jack replies swiftly with such confidence and conviction that it feels like a blow to the sternum. David just laughs and finally gives in to the need to pull Jack close, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders and tugging him in for a clumsy embrace. Jack submits easily, arms slipping around David's waist before he nuzzles soothingly at David's shoulder. "I really am sorry too. I shouldn't have kept pushin'." He mutters into David's chest.

"It's alright." David echos fondly.

"Thank you." Jack whispers after a few beats of silence. David doesn't respond, not verbally, instead tightening his hold and pressing a firm kiss to the side of Jack's head. He doesn't need to ask for what, he knows what Jack meant, and while it hurts his heart to know that Jack thought it was something he needed to thank David for he's still so glad that Jack acknowledged it at all. They'd be okay.

[ill-say-anything-i-hafta]

I wrote a Jack & Crutchie story for @loiteringandlurking re: his post about Jack who is an amputee.

One-Handed

In the circulation yard, Crutchie watches the new kid with the knotted-up shirt sleeve, watches how he holds the top of his bag open with his stump and then shoves the papes in one-handed. Crutchie knows that dance; he's got two good arms himself, but one of 'em's always occupied. It ain't as easy as it looks.

Kid says his name is Jack. He's straight from a factory job -- by way of the charity hospital on Hudson Street -- and can't hawk a headline for shit, but he can tie a bootlace real tight, a hard-won skill he's clearly proud of. First, he does up the dangling lace on Crutchie's bad foot. Then he tackles the other side for good measure. Double knots on both scuffed boots. And Crutchie lets him. For once, he don't care who sees him getting help because it makes the guy so happy.

Crutchie lets Jack follow him around, too. Teaches him the ropes. Why not?

::::

August in the crowded dormitory bedroom, hot and airless. Most of the boys have stripped to their undershirts, including Jack, sprawled out on his bottom bunk. Crutchie glances quickly away from the place where his right forearm abruptly ends, the scar still red and angry, and looks down at the sketch slowly developing. A nighttime scene in a desolate place, a wolf howling next to twin pine trees, mountains in the background, a crescent moon riding overhead. Jack scratches his pencil along the wolf's back. His neck flushes with frustration. He still ain't used to drawing with his left hand.

"Looks real good," Crutchie says quietly.

Jack spits out the rubber eraser he's been holding in his teeth. It lands on his pillow and Crutchie waits for him to say something mean. But he only uses the eraser to rub at some of the smudges. "Not every day you gets to see talent like this up close, huh?"

::::

Someone sends word that Jack's old man is doing poorly, so he stops by with a carton of cigarettes he bought. The place is a tenement on Mulberry, prostitutes coming and going. Jack insists that Crutchie wait on the stoop to protect their pile of newly bought evening Worlds. He's back in less than ten minutes, looking slightly out of breath.

"If he lives so close, how come you don't stay with him?"

"Well, I used to," Jack says, though that don't answer the question at all.

"He hit ya?"

"Nah, never." Jack seems to realize he's walking too fast and slows his pace. "Sorry. I think maybe ... I think seein' me makes him feel bad. So I just don't go by there too much."

Crutchie knows exactly what Jack means, and it makes him mad. He stops in the middle of the street to call the headline to an old woman in a kerchief. Jack waits, lighting a cigarette one-handed, while Crutchie juggles his crutch to make change. "You's still a kid," he says. "Your pops should be helpin' you out. If he ain't gonna do that, the least he could do is be proud of how good you is doin'."

"He don't need to be proud. I's just livin my life," Jack says. "Not everybody's gonna understand." He slings his good arm around Crutchie's shoulders. "But I got you."

::::

Ladies like Crutchie. They always have. They want to help him; they buy his papes and sometimes they gives him food and things. But it's girls that like Jack Kelly -- girls their same age.

And Jack seems to like them back, too. He'll pick someone out special to pass the time with, take her to the music halls -- he can sell a hundred twenty papes on a good day and always burns through his money -- draw pictures for her, tell her all about the Wild West. When the boys at Duane Street tease him, Jack tells them to shut up: this is the one.

Somehow, none of them girls ever is. But when it ends, Jack don't seem too heartbroken. Nothing bothers Jack, nothing Crutchie has ever seen.

Maybe he is the wolf in the picture. Maybe he is the moon.

Seems awfully lonesome.

::::

When Jack talks about New Mexico, Crutchie can't help but worry. He's been working to support himself ever since he was eight, but he's only ever done the kind of jobs people think a cripple can do. Who says anybody would hire guys like them them for farm labor?

Jack hooks his right arm over the top rung of the fire escape ladder and reaches his hand down to take the crutch. He says, "We'll just hafta show 'em, pal. We can find a way to do most anything we wants to. Can't we?" And he pulls Crutchie up behind him.

They stand together on top of the world. No mountains, no majestic pines. Just them and the buildings that crowd all around them, the landscape of the city where he was born. Life ain't fair; he's always knowed that. But in this moment, Crutchie thinks what Jack says might be true.

Because he ain't never felt sorry for Jack, not for a minute. Why would he? Maybe there is folks out there who won't feel sorry for him neither, who will see him for all that he is.

FIN.

[saveugoodmadam]

lost & found

🦭this is my personal take on @chimeofthecomet's selkie au, all credit for creating the au goes to pip! :3 word count is around 2.5k 🦭

"Got your pelt?” Davey asks as he and his brother walk back to their house, their path illuminated by softly glowing streetlamps. Les nods, patting his selling bag, then opens it to show a pelt of soft, thick fur with a few patches beginning to develop on the jet-black fluff. His name is inked on the skin, written in their mother's loopy handwriting.

“D’you have yours?” he asks Davey.

Davey opens his bag, expecting to see his familiar spotted pelt inside, but is met with just empty air instead. He stops dead in his tracks. His breathing is rapid, his hands clutching tight to the strap across his chest.

“Is it back at the lodge house?” Les asks, hoping that the effort of finding an answer will stop his big brother from panicking.His plan works. Davey’s hands slowly unclasp and his breathing regulates as he combs through the evening they've just spent with the newsies in his head. He remembers lounging on an old, saggy, threadbare sofa and listening to Jack talking about his newest backdrop. He remembers a short nap he'd taken, lulled to sleep by Jack's smooth voice before he'd been woken up by Race and Albert’s loud bickering. Only now does he remember how his bag was lighter when he'd stood up to confront them.

“Y- yeah, I think so. Somewhere on the couch. I- I-" No. He can't go back and get it now. They're too far away from the lodging house at this point, and they need to be back home for dinner.

“I’ll get it back next morning. I'll be fine without it for a night.”

But he knows he's lying. All through dinner there's a pull in his chest that he knows will only quiet itself once his pelt is back beside him.

“Are you alright, my little leanabh ròin?” Esther asks as he picks silently at his meal. “Is the food too much for your tongue today?”

He shakes his head. “No, Mama. It's very nice, thank you.”

“Whatever the matter is, bubbeleh,” Mayer reassures him with the sort of smile that Davey thinks only fathers can have, “you can always talk to us. We're your parents, are we not? We want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Yes, Papa. It's nothing really. I'll always seek your help if I need it, I promise,” he tells his father, making extra sure to eat everything on his plate.

His sleep is fraught that night and whenever he does drift off for a small burst of unconsciousness, the sea fills his dreams. Guilt seeps into his body, saturating him with the shame of losing the one thing a selkie must never lose. In an act of desperation he knocks on Sarah's door, weeping in relief when she lets him in and wraps the both of them in her own pelt. Perhaps because they are twins and therefore their sealskins are almost identical, the presence of her pelt against his body means the pulling feeling is calmed enough to let him finally drift off.

As early as he can the next morning, he brings Les down to the lodging house to retrieve his pelt and soothe the tugging in his bosom. It's Crutchie who opens the door when he knocks, the older boy's face souring at the sight of him.

“Hey, Les!” Crutchie says, then adds curtly, “Mornin’, David. Jack ain't here.”

“Oh, I'm not here for Jack today. I, uh, I left something here last night,” Davey explains. From the way Crutchie's acting, he's hit by the not unfamiliar feeling that he's really badly messed up but doesn't know how.

“You sure did. And I'll tell you what, we all know what you left.”

Davey freezes up, his hand clasping Les’ tighter. “You do?”

Crutchie nods, his mouth a thin line. “Mm-hmm. There's a seal Jack talked with, down by the harbour. He loved that animal. Wouldn't stop talkin’ about it every time he went down ‘n’ talked at it ‘n’ slipped it bits’a fish. An’ now suddenly you leave its skin behind in the lodge house.”

Suddenly, Davey feels sick to his stomach. Of course the newsies don't believe in selkies. They believe in poachers.

“Listen, I can explain. I promise, this is all a big misunderstanding!” he stammers. Crutchie's harsh eyes soften just a little.

“I sure hope it is, and I sure hope you can explain. But not to me. I don't need explanations. Jack's down at the harbour, with whatever the hell remains of that poor animal.” Crutchie looks like he's done speaking, then adds- “You broke my little brother's goddamn heart, David, and you're damn well gonna fix it up again.”

Davey nods meekly. “I will. I swear.”

He leaves Les at the lodge house and runs.

There are three things that Davey can trust his instincts to lead him to- the ocean, his pelt and Jack. There's a perfect harmony thrumming in his bones as his legs lead him to all three at once. He reaches the harbour as soon as he can- feet hammering against the ground, heart hammering against his chest. Jack is easily spotted from here; his crimson shirt sticks out like a sore thumb against the grey-blue of the water. Davey's heart sinks at the sight of the hunched-over figure at the end of the pier.

“Jack?” he questions softly, approaching the boy.

Jack turns around, his eyes wet and narrowed in outrage. Tear-tracks bleed through the dirt on his cheeks.

“How could you?” he splutters, the bite in his voice softened by grief.

The pelt is clutched to his chest, the fur wet in patches from being wept into. Davey's instincts are hot behind his ribs, urging him to snatch back his pelt and reclaim his second nature. Despite this, some other feeling that always swells in his chest when he's near Jack is weirdly comfortable seeing Jack's fingers against the sealskin, hugging such a crucial part of Davey so close to him.

“Jack, it's not- not what it looks like. I promise, I really-”

Davey starts to speak after a few moments of silence, but Jack quickly interrupts.

“Yknow, I'd never’a pinned you down as one to go around slaughterin’ innocent creatures. That seal hadn't done nothin’ wrong to you! He was… he was my friend…”

“I know. He's not gone. He's still your friend,” Davey tries to explain. Sitting cross-legged next to Jack, he takes back his pelt, feeling a blanket of relief settle over him as he cards his fingers through the fur, gently untangling small knots.

“How?” Jack asks. His tone begs for an answer more than it demands one. “You think I don't recognise the little fella’s skin when I see it? And out of all’a the seals in New York you could’a done this to, it had to be the one who meant the most to me? I'm so used to losing people, Davey. I'm so tired of it. You know that. I thought I could at least trust you not to be the reason I lost anyone else!”

It breaks Davey's heart to see Jack look so horribly betrayed. He’s never realised how much Jack trusts him until now, not really.

“Jack… the answer is- it's easiest to show you. You won't believe me if I use words.”

“Sure,” Jack hisses, his voice hollow and defensive.

In a single practised move, Davey wraps the pelt tight around himself and draws his head under the hood with his eyes shut tight. When he looks back up at Jack it is with the same big wet eyes he first looked at him with when he poked his head above the water on that rainy afternoon in late May.

“Dave?” Jack breathes, using the nickname he reserves only for special situations like this. It's a world away from the Jack who was there just a moment ago. His face is a mask of utter shock. “You was... that seal was... it's you."

Davey barks an affirmative. Jack's face buries in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

“Are you okay?” Davey asks, unwrapping himself from his pinniped form and rushing to console Jack. His answer is a nod as Jack lifts his head, his mouth open in silent laughter, tears of mirth forming in the corners of his eyes. Awkward as ever, Davey just sits there, unsure what to say but happy at least that Jack isn’t upset or angry.

“Oh my god!” Jack says once he's finally calmed down enough to speak. “That little honky bark…sorry, I shouldn't'a laughed, but it was so hilariously adorable.”

“It was?” Davey asks, confused.

“Yeah!” Jack chuckles, then groans slightly in embarrassment. “Oh god, I said so many things I regret now!”

“It's okay. You didn't know the seal was also me.”

“Fair, but, I mean- I did say some kinda embarrassing things in hindsight.”

Davey flashes a wicked grin. “What, like ‘hey there, water doggy’?’ ‘Want some fish, cutie patootie’? ‘Awww, stop lookin’ at me with those big ol’ wet eyes’?”

“Alright, okay!” Jack laughs. “Point well made, Mr Jacobs.”

Then he turns his puppy eyes on Davey, the ones that Davey hasn't learnt to say no to yet.

“Can we pleeeeaaaseee forget that ever happened now, Davey?”

“Fine,” Davey concedes. He doesn't add “you can still call me cutie patootie though”, but he wants to.

Instead, he adds, “If you're wondering, and I don't blame you, I'm a selkie. So long as I have my pelt with me, I can be a human or a seal depending on which is most appropriate at the time. Without my pelt, I'm just plain old David.”

“Hey, you ain't plain!” Jack interjects kindly.

He pauses.

“Sorry I- well, actually that me ‘n’ all the fellas jumped to conclusions.”

“Its fine.” Davey murmurs as he nuzzles the pelt against his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent. His chest-feeling thrills a little at the fact he can smell Jack on it too. “Not the most logical of conclusions, is it?”

Jack shakes his head and offers out his hand as a silent peace offering, which Davey gladly accepts. Their hands pull away slowly when it is over, fingers lingering for want of touch.

“What's the writin’ on it mean, then? The, uh, the word on the skin bit.”

Davey's gaze breaks away from the point in the middle of the sea he's been staring out at.

“Oh, you mean this?” he asks, pointing to his mother's writing.

“Yeah. That word. Dàibhidh,” Jack reads, lips forming around the word in the clunky way all non-speakers’ lips do. His brow furrows in concentration. He looks so desperate to get it right. Davey's lips quirk up in a small smile, finding the effort utterly charming.

“Dàibhidh,” Davey repeats, tracing a thumb over the letters. His tongue wraps around the word from his birthplace’s tongue like he's greeting a long-lost lover. “My name, in the language of where Mama and I were both born. So mine and Sarah's pelts don't get mixed up.”

“So it's a family kinda thing? Damn, I wonder if my folks used t’be selkies?” Jack muses, idly drawing swirls and stars on his arm with a piece of charcoal he's taken from his pocket.

“There's only one way to know that. Have you ever felt a longing for the sea so bad you couldn't do anything but follow your feet down to the beach and dive in?”

Davey trails his fingers wistfully in the water as he waits for Jack's reply. A warm laugh bubbles up from his best friend’s throat.

“Not for the sea, no. But I can tell what you mean.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Santa Fe.”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head in confusion as he turns to look at Jack, who has an old paper set on the planks of the pier and is drawing on it. Curious, he scoots over to see what the picture is of. It's him, just a moment ago, laid flat on his stomach with his arm dangling downwards from the pier. It's in that moment he realises that Jack hasn't drawn Santa Fe in a long while, and that most of the drawings that decorate the Penthouse are of him. In that moment he also realises how tenderly Jack's looking at him, how soft his smile is (oh, those dimples will be the death of him) and how, if he ever did have to give up the sea forever, Jack is the one person he'd do it for. Maybe that's what love is, then. Maybe that's the name of the feeling in his chest. Maybe it's the name of the feeling in Jack's chest too. Now that it's been named, the feeling swells and swells until it bursts and Davey knows.

For just a second, Davey hesitates before he passes the sealskin to Jack. Something suddenly has made him braver than he's ever been in his life; braver than on the swim to America with his pod, braver than the day his dad got into the accident, braver than he was during the strike.

“You know,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady, “when a human gives a selkie back their skin, it counts as marriage in our culture. Well, not marriage exactly, more like eternal commitment, but it's got the same level of cultural importance. It means we trust that person enough to let them have control over our future, and they respect us enough to let us choose. The stories always say you know who you'll give your pelt to when you find them. And I know, I know, Jack, that it's you.”

Jack's mouth opens in an ‘O’ of surprise, his eyebrows raising as he realises what Davey just said, what Davey just did. His fingers trace lines between the spots on the pelt, feeling its warmth, Davey's warmth.

“An’... an’ you want me to…”

“If you don't want to, that's okay,” Davey clarifies, a horrible nausea settling in his stomach at the thought he's misread this situation. Jack probably doesn't want this. Maybe he’ll hate Davey now and never talk to him again. Or he'll take off running with the pelt and Davey won't ever see him again and won't ever be able to come back to the sea again, no matter how much the yearning in his chest hurts him.

“You can just put it down and I'll pick it up and we can forget this ever happened. That's probably what you want, isn’t it? I'm sorry, I'm a fool, I should have asked, shouldn't have assumed. I’ll just- just go, should be getting back to selling-”

He stops as he feels soft fur against his hands. Jack's callused fingers brush against his soft ones. A gasp escapes his throat as his sea-glass green eyes meet Jack's driftwood-brown ones. Then he's enveloped in a hug, strong arms closing around him and giving the exact amount of pressure that he likes. This feels right, feels comfortable. His instincts are gladly adapting to the change, labelling Jack as husband, dearest, darling, mine.

“How the hell are we gonna explain this?” Jack asks with a fond smile.

“I don't know. But I don't doubt we'll find a way. You're an extraordinary man, Jack Kelly, you know that?”

“No less than you are, Davey Jacobs.”

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

Fanfic and AO3 has absolutely ruined whenever I watch or read something, cause my first reaction is always, “There’s gotta be fanfic of this” and then I go down a rabbit hole for who knows how long reading everything.

Just watched the Newsies Musical and I knew there had to be fanfics of it after seeing Jack, David, and Crutchie all interact.

Most of the fandoms I’m in were from wondering if there was fanfic for it. Now I know, though, that there’s fics for fucking everything.

[beetleviolet]

So... how does everyone feel about a rottmnt newsies au? Because I have a lot of brain space and a free weekend.

[icarusapteros]

This feels like a good moment to ramble about Matches (my oc Marbles/Crutchie) so..

Marbles got his name when he just came to the lodging house. He has a small collection of marbles and that day he spilled them all and had to crawl around to get them back, but still didn't find one. His favorite, deep sea blue marble.

A day after, Crutchie approached him and gave him the marble, he had found it somewhere.

Crutchie was the first person to, uh, actually talk to Marbles, because most newsies just didn't consider him a part of their community and preferred to keep distance from him, because he wasn't from New York, spoke differently and was visibly from a better background (his father was a doctor in a small port town), so the fact that Crutchie actually paid attention to him and even returned the marble meant A LOT.

Ever since then, they started warming up to eachother.

I'm actually planning on writing a fanfiction about them, it's name (for now) is "Around "The World" in Eighty Days" :]]

[newsiesminibang24]

MiniBang Calendar:

Author Sign Ups: Nov 25th-Dec 15th Author Check In #1: Dec 29th Artist Sign Ups: Dec 31st-Jan 20th Author Check In #2: Feb 2nd Artist Claims: Feb 16th-18th Pairing Reveal: March 1st Author Check In #3/Artist Check In #1: March 22nd Final Author/Artist Check Ins: April 12th Posting Begins: April 19th-May 10th

Info For Authors:

Minimum Word Count: 15k Maximum Word Count: The Limit Does Not Exist!

Info For Artists:

Kinds of Art Accepted: All! The definition of art is incredibly broad and submissions can include (but are certainly not limited to: * Playlists/Music Compositions * Gifsets * Moodboards * Photo Manipulations * Digital Drawings/Paintings NO AI GENERATED ART OF ANY KIND WILL BE ALLOWED

If you have any questions, feel free to drop an ask or a dm

Moderators for the event still needed so dm if interested

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[jack-kellys]

ONLY SO FAR. Chapter Three.

Splitting.

Jack doesn’t want to change the upper world, doesn’t want to cause any uproar that would uproot Underground. He wants to know what Davey’s thinking about. What Katherine’s thinking about. He wants to know if they think the same about him.

and we are back again >:) pretty quick too! POLL #4 TOMORROW!

read chapter 3 here.

[sntafe]

you made your mark on me (a golden tattoo) - a javey fic

GUYS my javey tattoo au is finally here!!!! i am literally so excited about this you have no idea. this is chapter 1/8 and im literally giddy about this omg.

i would love for people to read it and leave kudos and comments!!! read it HERE

PLS let me know ur thoughts i cannot wait to talk about this !!!! :)

[twig-collector]

Silly little fic based on an idea someone gave in my headcanon post!

Word count: 1,143

Feedback is always appreciated!

Crutchie stared longingly through the large display window of the bakery he frequently passed at the end of the day, stomach rumbling at the sweet scent in the air. All of the pastries and desserts looked delicious, but the boy seemed to be infatuated with one in particular.

A pink birthday cake.

Since its first appearance in the window, it was all Crutchie could think about, the pink dessert taunting him daily on his walk back to the lodging house. Everyday he'd stop and stare, and today was no different.

“Looks amazing,” Davey commented, starling the other boy out of his cake-induced trance.

“You're tellin’ me,” Crutchie chuckled, turning away from the window. Once again, his dream of cake was squashed by the lack of funds in his pockets.

If Davey had noticed him staring at the particular pink cake, he didn't say a word.

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A week later the cake was gone.

Not that Crutchie ever stood a chance of buying it, but his disappointment was evident in the way his posture slumped and a small pout set on his face.

“Damn it,” he muttered quietly.

Davey found his attachment to the pink dessert a little odd, but it was upsetting to see the other seemingly so crushed at its disappearance. There was only one thing to do.

“Hey, Crutchie, when did you say your birthday was again?” Davey asked as they walked down the sidewalk, slowing his pace to match the other. Subtle was not in his vocabulary.

“Tomorrow actually, why?” He responded, glancing over at Davey, a playful grin spreading on his face. “You plannin’ on buyin’ me a gift?”

Davey just shrugged at the question, already forming a plan in his head.

One way or another, Crutchie was getting that damn cake.

Later that night he laid it out for the other boys, sending Jack to distract Crutchie by asking to draw him, giving the group more than enough time to discuss the matter.

“Okay, we'll all pitch in for the ingredients and then I can go back to my folk's place and bake it there, sound good?” Davey asked as the other boys nodded in agreement.

“Blink and Mush will get the flour and sugar, Specs you get the eggs, Les and I will raid our cabinets at home for any vanilla extract or baking powder, Albert’s covering milk, and Finch will get the butter. Everyone got that?” An enthusiastic ‘yes’ was given from the boys gathered around Davey.

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The next day the plan was set in motion.

None of the other boys acknowledged the fact that it was Crutchie’s birthday, going about their morning as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Except it was. Because subtle wasn't really in any of the newsboy’s vocabulary.

“Oh boy, it sure is a lovely day to sell some papes, isn't it Finch?” Said Albert loudly as he threw on his clothes.

“Why yes it is, such a beautiful, lovely, normal day with nothing going on at all,” Finch responded awkwardly, earning him a light smack on the arm from Specs.

Crutchie watched the unnatural exchange between the two unfold before turning to exit the room, not even bothering to ask what that was about.

Once Crutchie was out of earshot, the two boys sighed in relief.

“What's the matter with you?!” Cried Albert, glaring at the other.

“What's the matter with me?! What's the matter with you?!” Finch shot back. “‘Sure is a lovely day to sell papes’ who even says that ‘cause I know it ain't you.”

“Shut up! You're both awful at whatever the hell that was, now stop arguing, we have a job to do,” Specs snapped, sliding on his vest and preparing to leave. The other two boys grumbled to themselves as they pulled on the rest of their clothes before heading out.

–––––––––

Everyone just seemed a little off that day. Maybe it was because no one had even bothered to wish Crutchie a happy birthday, not even Davey who he had literally just told the day prior. Or maybe it was because he had noticed the other boys acting oddly, not just Finch and Albert. He had spotted Kid Blink carrying a bag of flour earlier, which he had absolutely no need for Crutchie was sure, but he still went up to ask anyway.

“Hey Blink, whatcha doin’ with all that flour there?” He questioned, smiling at his friend warmly. What he wasn't expecting was a look of panic to wash over the other's face.

“I uh– I'm…” Blink hesitated for a second, looking frantically everywhere but at Crutchie. “Eatin’ it.” Blink scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion at his own statement.

Crutchie offered a concerned smile to him before letting the other go, watching as he practically ran down the street.

His day was filled with odd interactions and terrible attempts at hiding individual ingredients such as two strangely shaped lumps in Specs’ pants. Very clearly eggs. Crutchie had no idea what had gotten into his friends all of a sudden, but he wished they could've waited at least one more day to start being weird and seemingly avoiding him.

As his day came to an end, with not a single ‘happy birthday’ so much as uttered to him, Crutchie dejectedly made his way back to the lodging house. He passed the bakery, pausing to peer into the window at the goodies he longed for, the absence of the pink cake only bringing his spirits down more.

Reaching the lodging house, he pushed the door open and was welcomed to a strange silence. Crutchie stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around for anyone who may have been in the room with him. He sighed as scanned the empty room, starting to make his way towards the stairs when suddenly something covered his eyes.

“Hey!” He cried as he was carefully led up the stairs. Whoever had blinded him said not a word, leading Crutchie throughout the house before gently pushing him down into a chair and scooting him towards what felt like a table. After some shuffling and the quiet click of a lighter, his blindfold was removed and the tune of the classic birthday song filled the previously silent house.

There, right in front of him sat a cake with a singular candle lit.

A grin settled on Crutchie's face as the song came to an end, the odd feelings of the day replaced by warmth and joy.

“You didn't think we'd forgotten, did you?” Chuckled Davey, who was standing off to his left. “Go ahead and try it,” he said, gesturing to the cake.

And even if the cake was slightly too tinted to be considered pink, a bit on the dry side, and way too crumbly to be considered normal, it was everything Crutchie had wanted and more.