#not really hating on the delancys i just think sometimes they need to have their asses handed to them by a girl

[upside-down-sock-drawer]

All I'm saying is that if Sarah Jacobs wants to deck a guy I think Sarah Jacobs should be able to deck a guy without repercussions.

[deliciouspeachpirate]

Just Another Night In The Penthouse

A.N. This is my fist fic, and I’m super excited about it!! This got a bit angstier than I meant, but its still pretty fluffy. There is a scene about the Refuge and a slight mention of suicide, so please be careful! Please, please let me know what you think and give me any constructive criticism you may have, enjoy! <3

    The lights were all put out in the lodging house as the boys turned in for the night after another long day of selling. Jack finished tucking in the last of the littles, giving them a quick kiss on the forehead, and headed out to the fire escape, clapping Race on the shoulder as he went. He stepped out into the hot night air and sighed, letting the day’s tension fall from his shoulders. Turning, he scaled the latter to the penthouse where he knew Crutchie would already be waiting.  

     Jack smiled when he saw that his best friend was already curled up asleep. His leg had been bothering him more that usual that day, and the rain that had been pouring off and on throughout the afternoon had not helped him at all. Rain always made Crutchie’s leg act up. Jack grabbed his blanket and managed to get it under Crutchie’s head with him only stirring slightly before walking over to the corner where he hid his drawings. He knew Crutchie would scold him in the morning for giving up his blanket, but Jack always insisted he slept better outside without it, which was mostly true. 

      Drawing always helped him calm down after a hard day, or just gave him time to process everything that went on around him. He could revisit what happened that day and work through who needed help finding a new selling spot, who looked like they hadn’t been eating enough, and who the Delancys seemed to be targeting more than the others far easier when he had something else to channel his own emotions into. If he worked through as much of that as he could the night before, he wasn’t so worried about it while he slept and it sometimes helped keep the constant nightmares at bay. 

     Jack picked up his pencil and set to work on a drawing of Medda during one of her performances the other night that he had started working on as soon as he’d gotten home from watching it. The lighting had recently gotten upgraded, and it was a good way for him to practice shading, plus the intricate details on Medda’s costumes were always fun to draw. He just had to finish up the shading on Medda’s hat and touch up the bowery beauties standing off to the side. He was pretty sure they didn’t realize that they could be seen from the audience because one of them had stolen a short kiss before rushing back stage to get into place for their next song. 

     Jack’s eyes drooped as he finished the first drawing and started on another, this time one of the refuge. With his nightmares getting worse the past few nights, he was hoping to get all of the terror our before he went to sleep. He put all of his focus into drawing the broken beds and rats scuttling around, trying so hard not to remember the faces of the boys who tried to sleep three to a bed. Some of them looked terrified constantly, jumping at every sound that could possibly be one of the guards, Snyder, or even one of the older boys trying to take their bed. Some of the faces were screwed up in pain, trying to keep the tears back. But the worst were the ones who’s faces were completely blank, who had heard the lies that the Spider told them every day so much that they had started to believe that they really were useless, worthless, and weren’t deserving of love. Those were the ones that were found under the windows by the police later. 

     The hardest things to block out were the sounds. Kids sniffling in the corner with their backs turned pretending not to cry, an occasional moan or gasp of pain when someone tried to move, and heaven forbid the terrified cries when the Spider came and took someone for “questioning and correction” and the screams that were sure to follow. Jack found himself back in that dark bunk room again, nothing like the one his brothers were sleeping in downstairs. He could hear the screams from down the hall, could smell the blood and sweat of the young boys around him who had really done nothing wrong. Suddenly Snider’s shadowy face was sneering above him, telling him to give up and that no one would want him back, laughing whenever Jack could’t hold back his cries. He was desperate to leave, to run away somewhere no one would ever find him, have someone hold him and tell him everything was okay, even if he knew it wasn’t. Snyder started shaking his shoulder, yelling something at him that Jack couldn’t hear over his own screams. He kept shaking him harder, yelling and hitting his arm, until Jack bolted upright from the ground and dove into Crutchie’s arms. 

     Jack tried to get his sobbing under control while Crutchie gently shushed him and rubbed his back as he held him tightly. He knew Crutchie would be the last person to judge him, and he always felt safest trusting him, but he still hated feeling so weak. He finally started calming down when he felt his brother humming the same song he had sung so many times when one of the boys came to him with nightmares. It was quiet and sweet and hopeful, reminding him of somewhere he had never gone before but still seemed so very safe. Jack started to sing along softly as they both lied back down, Jack still securely in Crutchie’s arms as he fell asleep again for the rest of the night.

     “Soon your friends are more like family, and they’s begging you to stay. Ain’t that neat, living sweet, in Santa Fe...”

     Yep, it was just another night in the penthouse.  

[sparkle-heart-anon]

Secret Love : Crutchie Morris x Reader

Warnings: sex mentions, slut shaming, calling people a bitch and cripple, and the Delanceys being dicks

Word count : 3k

So I had this idea during swim practice today sorry if it’s shitty

The not so subtle glances, the meeting of eyes for a moment then looking back down blush spreading to the faces, the nervous ticks saved only for each other. This continued for far too long between you and the impossibly adorable Crutchie Morris, until finally, one day, exactly two years, four months, and three days ago, you and Crutchie were hanging out, walking back to the Lodge House from a long day of selling. You were both talking about stupid things, the crappiness of the headline that day, you were pretty sure, both trying to repress the obvious feelings you had for each other, when the topic changed. You were close to the Lodge House, it sat at the end of the street.

“So, uh, (Y/N),” his voice was shaking.

“Yeah?” you hummed your voice sweet and kind and only made Crutchie more nervous.

“I, uh, I was wondering,” his accent was thick. It always got thicker when he was nervous. “Do you maybe wanna go out on a date with me? And uh, youse can totally say no if ya wanna but I uh just wanted ta…”

You cut him off. “I would love to.”

That day he smiled so wide, and so brightly. But then, because you were both worried about the other newsies finding out (it was more you really) you agreed to date in private until you both felt ready to tell the others.

Your first date was amazing you were complete struck in love. He was so kind and such a gentleman taking you down to a little restaurant which you insisted was far too much. You walked back to the Lodge House discreetly holding hands.

The next date you went on, he kissed you. It was your first kiss. It was his third. But still, it was awkward. Neither of you was quite sure when to put your hands or how to tilt your head. But still, it was perfect basking in its imperfectness. You still hid this from the others, worried that they might judge you for dating someone.

You and Crutchie took it slow together. You weren’t affectionate in public ever, the closest thing being shy, secret kisses when Crutchie pulled you into an alleyway after being sure that no one else was around.

Six months on the dot into your relationship, on a romantic date in Central Park, Crutchie told you he loved you. He also told you that he wanted everyone to know that he loved you, or at the very least, he was ready for everyone to know. You loved him back. You loved him so deeply and passionately that when you looked at him, your heart swelled so large you sometimes thought it might break. But no matter how much you loved him, you still didn’t really want the others to know. He understood. He was kind. You were worried that the others would tease you for dating someone, or turn on you, pick sides. You were mostly worried about the Delancy’s. They always hit in you, made some shitty sly comments that you tried to brush off. You didn’t want Crutchie to have to endure this either.

Then, after a year, six months, and eight days since Crutchie first asked you out, you two had sex for the first time. You were kissing passionately in an alleyway a few streets away from the Lodge House, getting friskier as your hands roamed his chest and back, and his free hand held you tighter by the small of your back. You snuck back into Crutchie’s room at the very top of the Lodge House without being noticed, and made your way over to his bed. He checked with you a million times that night, making sure you wanted it, making sure you were okay with everything he was going to do. Again, that night was so perfect in its imperfectness. He was worried about you seeing his bum leg for the first time, you were worried about him seeing your body for the first time. But it was all so sweet and so perfect.

He held you afterwards. Held you tight in his arms, professing his love over and over again, you repeating the same feelings. There you laid, facing each other, under the thin blankets, as the moon streamed into Crutchie’s shoebox of a room, and you held hands, noses almost touching.

“I love you so much, Crutchie,” you whispered, kissing him sweetly.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said, slinging his hand over your bare waist and pulling you closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then, it got quiet for a moment as you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Can we, uh, we not tell anyone about this.”

“Yeah.” He understood why this had to remain unspoken. Rules were different for girls, he knew that. Relationships were scandalous enough, but to have sex before you were married, women could have been banished and socially destroyed. So those moments, laying together as he traced patterns into your skin and you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, became sacred secrets held between the two of you, and you wanted it to remain that way. But of course, life could never be that easy.

Every time you snuck up to his room, sometimes to talk and cuddle innocently, other times to do something much less innocent, but you would always made sure to sneak back down to your room by 2 am. No one would hear you, no one would see you, and no one would know. Except for the first time you screwed up. You and Crutchie had had a rough night, and you were both exhausted and wanted to cuddle. You rested your head on his chest as he held you close. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head. Slowly, you both drifted off, not bothering to put back in your clothes, not bothering to put away the things you were using.

The next morning you awoke to the bell and the pounding of Newsie feet around the Lodge House. But more frighteningly, you heard someone knocking on the door. “Hey, Crutch, you ready?” You bolted up straight, his eyes widened.

“Hide,” he mouthed. You nodded, and dove under the bed, pulling down a sheet to wrap yourself in.

“Yeah, uh, one sec…” he said nervously, grabbing his crutch and putting on his boxers.

“C’mon Crutch,” Jack said opening the door, “we gotta get ready to go. . . Woah.” You hid underneath the bed, looking out towards the scene through a small gap between the blanket that had been draped over the side and the wall. “Looks like somebody had some fun last night.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “So who’s the lucky gal?” You couldn’t see Crutchie’s face, only his bare legs and his crutch, but you knew that it was bright red.

“I, uh, I don’t know what youse talking about Jack,” he lied, and bad

Jack’s smirk grew wider. “You’ve got dirty clothes strewn across the room, youse only in your boxers, and uh, over there,” he pointed to the corner, “is a pile of a goirl’s clothes, so I do assume that you had a special lady here last night.”

“What, uh, well. . .” he began to stammer, drumming his nails on his wooden crutch. You smirked, running your fingers on the marks that Crutchie made on your back from his nails last night.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Jack teased. “But you hafta get ready to sell some papes.”

Jack walked out of the room and shut the door. You waited one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, before you got out from under the bed, and turned to Crutchie who looked very embarrassed and ashamed even.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry, I guess we fell asleep and Jack barely even knocks I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, placing your hand on him. “Don’t be. He didn’t see me, we’re good. We just need to be more careful next time.” You gave him a brief kiss. “We should go get ready or else we’s gonna be late.”

You both got changed, and left after the flurry of Newsies had already gone to line up. When the Delancey brothers so rudely commented that “the bitch” was late, and pressed as to why. While the boys that over heard nearly rioted at the nickname they had unceremoniously given you, they wanted to know why you were late. You were never late.

“Uhhhhhh,” you paused and thought for a moment, making eye contact with Crutchie. “I had some lady problems.” You hoped that this would get them to stop asking questions, and once their faces turned bright red, and Crutchie was laughing with a smirk that covered his face, they did.

You grabbed your papes for the day, and was thankful that Jack didn’t find out about you and Crutchie.

The next incident happened two years and three days after Crutchie had asked you out for the first time. This time, you were just cuddling, your hands intertwined, your lips mashed together. You were laughing quietly about stupid little jokes you had, he was adorning your face with kisses. You reciprocated them, peppering kisses along his face and neck, and chest. The night was giggly and happy, curled up together. But then, at 12:37, someone opened the door. While your back was to the door, and you were wearing Crutchie’s clothes, your hair was unmistakable. And, well, it didn’t help when you turned to look at the door, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Davey stood there, his eyes wide. “Crutch, I was coming to get yeah top let you know that Jack is completely shit faced, but, uh, I can see that you’re, uh, busy, so I will leave.”

Davey closed the door, but instantly you jumped up to talk to him. The hallway was empty, thank goodness. “You can’t tell anyone about this please, Davey,” you whispered. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Okay. But uh, why not? Crutchie’s a great guy.”

“I know. I love him a lot, but. . . I’m just worried about everyone else, hating me for dating him, the Delancey’s being jerks and stuff, ya know, the like.”

Davey nodded. “I don’t think the other newsies would hate ya for dating him. I can’t argue with the Delancey stuff, though.” You nodded silently, toying with with the edge of your, well, Crutchie’s shirt.

“I just still worry.”

“How long have you guys been dating?”

“A little over two years.”

“Two years!” he exclaimed loudly. You shushed him and he lowered his voice. “You’ve been dating for two years. Who knows?”

“Me, Crutchie,” you paused, “and you.”

“That’s it?” he whisper-screamed.

“Yeah. . .”

“I wanna know all about it, but I think you have yourself a man to get back to.” You blushed.

“You promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise. But, (Y/N), the guys won’t hate you or nothing of you tell them you’re dating Crutch.”

“Thanks, Davey.” You gave him a small smile, and went back into Crutchie’s room. He sat on the bed, wringing his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), is he gonna tell anyone?”

“No, Davey’s good. He said he won’t.” He smiled and kissed you sweetly, pulling you close into his lap.

Then, there was the final time. Two years, four months, and three days after Crutchie had asked you out, it was the final night before you were discovered. Clothes were strewn across the room, moonlight basked your bodies. It was all so sweet and gentle as you tried to get as close to each other as possible, to express your love. That night you curled together, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he traced little designs into your hip.

“I love you, darling,” he whispered. It sounded like he wanted to say something more, but you just sat there, so content just to be with the other. Then, you drifted off to sleep in his arms. He was going to wake you, he really was, but you just looked so peaceful. Your hair tickled his shoulder, your skin was soft, you looked so perfect asleep there in his arms. He wished so desperately that he could do this every night without you worrying that people would find out and judge you for “having extramarital relations with a man” or whatever.

He drifted off to sleep a bit later, not really meaning to, but at the same time, he didn’t really fight it off. When you woke up it was to the sound of a loud gasp, and someone yelling “Crutchie? (Y/N)?” You bolted up and saw that Jack and Romeo were standing in the doorway. Then you realized that you weren’t wearing a shirt and that the white sheet that covered you had fallen to your waist. Instantly, you moved towards covering yourself, and waking up Crutchie. Romeo had fled from the doorway, but Jack turned around but stood there, clearly in shock.

“Go get decent y’all, I have questions.” Your face was bright red as you leapt out of bed after the door was closed. You threw on the same dress you were wearing yesterday, and got ready. Crutchie hobbled over to get ready, and you helped him, trying to go faster to do damage control. It took you 4 minutes to both get ready, which was record time.

You then threw open the door, and instantly pleaded Jack to not let everyone know. He agreed, and started asking questions when Race raced up the stairs, his feet pounding on every step. “(Y/N), you and Crutchie?” You didn’t realize it was possible for your face to get redder, but it did.

“How did you—“ then you remembered. Romeo. He had probably gone and told everyone. So you did the thing that you felt most reasonable. You raced down the stairs, outside into the cobblestone streets, sobbing. Your feet pounded against the pavement over and over again, but despite all the city noise, the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your heart.

You finally stopped at an alleyway, sinking down and burying your face into your skirt, sobbing. Then, because you’re day hadn’t been shitty enough, you hear the familiar voices of the Delancey brothers.

“My, my, my, now Oscar what do we have here?” You looked up and were struck with fear.

“Leave me alone, please.”

“I think we have ourselves the papah bitch. . . Well, actually Morris, did ya hear? Our paper bitch really is more of a paper slut.” You cringed, knowing what you had predicted had happened. You stood up and went to walk away, but Oscar grabbed your hand.

“Do you think the paper slut has enough to go around.”

“Leave me alone,” you said more forcefully, but your voice cracked, making them laugh in your “pathetic face”.

Then you heard Crutchie yell, “Hey Morris, Oscar! Leave her alone.”

“Oh look Oscar,” Morris said laughing. “We’ve got the cripple defending the slut. How wonderful.”

“Shut up and leave him alone.”

They laughed, but when Oscar turned his face to look at Crutchie, your fist collided with his cheek. He was pissed off and wanted to retaliate, but when Jack threatened him, the boys left, and Crutchie rushed over to you.

He kissed you first, but he noticed you were upset, shaking with tears. “(Y/N), I know it sucks that they found out like that, but at least now we can be with each other in public.”

You shook your head. “(Y/N), what’s wrong? Do you not want to be with me? Why don’t you want to people to know?”

“No, Crutchie I love you. I love you so much, and I want to be with you.”

“Then why don’t you want people to know?” He was more upset this time, nervously tapping his nails against his crutch.

“B-b-because of what they might think.”

“Because you don’t want to be known as the girl who slept with a cripple?” His voice was sharp but he was going to cry.

“No! Because I love you so damn much, but you’re too good for me, and you’re gonna realize that and leave me and then I’ll be stuck for the rest of my life alone because I placed everything on you and you’re gonna leave!” You were crying now.

“What?” he asked, his voice softer. He touched your elbow. “You think I’m gonna leave you?”

“Yeah. You’re so much better than me in every way. And one day you’re gonna wake up and see that.”

“(Y/N), I love you. I love you more than anything and you’re all I want.”

“No I’m not. . .”

He reached in his pocket and grabbed out a small, plain black box. “Yes, you are. . .” He opened the box, revealing a small silver band sitting in the center. “I know it ain’t much, but I love you (Y/N), you’re the only one I ever want. . . Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You cried, smiling widely. You didn’t even realize the crowd of Newsies that had begun to gather. You could only focus on him. “A thousand million times yes.” He places the ring on your finger, and kissed you in front of everyone.

But before he did, he asked, “Are you okay with me kissing you in front of everyone?”

“Yeah, Yeah,” your voice was so happy. He kissed you, pulling you in tightly, so proud that he could finally show you off as his.

“No more secrets anymore, right? I now get to show you off to everyone and anyone I want to?”

“Right,” you laughed. Instantly, he turned to face the Newsies.

“Look at my wonderful fiancée!” he smiled, before turning back and kissing you once more, holding you as tight as he could, never wanting to let you go.

[heartsunholy-a]

☪ five times our muses almost hold hands, and the one time they do. (MORRIS/BETTY ENJOY)

Five Times Drabbles // Selectively Accepting // @tomorrcwsnews​

Aka: Morris yanks Betty around by her wrist a lot and they end up protecting each other a lot more than either of them will ever admit

i.

She can barely see where she’s going - which, admittedly, makes everything worse since she’s only lived in Manhattan for a week or two. But she knows the way to the butcher’s, at least. Problem is, she’s carrying too many packages. Chic said he would take them when he finished his shift but the butcher was close enough to her school that Betty figured she’d lighten her brother’s load - as much as a 12-year-old girl could. But the stack of groceries in her arms makes it difficult to navigate the busy Manhattan sidewalks.

It’s all a blur. The noise of a trolley car rings in her ears as an unseen hand reaches for Betty’s wrist and yanks her backwards, away from the curb. Her groceries fly everywhere but she’s safe. Still a little dazed, she moves to gather her belongings, sparring a look up at her savior. A boy, roughly her age. He makes no move to help gather her things and perhaps Betty’s confusion looks like something more ungrateful to him.

“I saved ya from being tomorrow’s headline. ‘Girl Crushed By Trolley.’ Yer welcome, by the way.”

Betty huffs in annoyance and brushes the dirt from her skirts as she stands with the stack of groceries back in her arms. Just as precariously stacked as before. She’s mostly annoyed he didn’t give her a chance to thank him in her own time - she would’ve. He was right, she very nearly could’ve been hurt. Instead, not appreciating his attitude, the Brooklyn-born blonde peeks around her belongings to shoot the boy a sugary sweet smile. “My hero,” she coos, insincerity dripping from her words. He scoffs and turns on his heel, clearly no longer interested in her thanks. 

She misses Brooklyn.

ii.

Hiram Lodge is kind to them but Betty wonders if it’s only because of her friendship with Veronica. She had been friends with the heiress practically since moving to Manhattan and she sometimes forgets how powerful and wealthy the Lodges truly are. With Hal Cooper laid up with a leg injury he got at his construction job, Betty’s connection to the Lodges has been invaluable. She and Chic need jobs of their own and Hiram will ensure they find decent work.

He’s offering Chic a distribution job, showing him around the World’s distribution center, introducing him to Mr. Wiesel. Betty’s left to her own devices. Hiram’s already promised to introduce her to THE William Randolph Hearst, to be a secretary or maybe a columnist herself! So the blonde thumbs through a stack of papers, bound and ready to distribute. Well…if she tied them back up, what was the harm in taking just one to read for now?

She unties a bundle and moves to grab the paper on top when a warm, rough hand slams atop her own and Betty glances up. There’s…something familiar about this boy.

“And whaddya think you’re doin’, Blonde?”

…Oh god.

“Baking a cake, what does it look like I’m doing?” She’s not winning herself or Chic any favors with her sarcastic retort, but Betty swears she can hear her brother, Hiram, and Mr. Wiesel laughing in the background, so she doubts anyone else has heard her.

“It looks like you’re tryina steal from us,” he presses, hand still warm atop Betty’s but his gaze icy cold. 

“Steal a paper, are you kidding? Do I look like I can’t afford a dime for a paper?” She’s no heiress like Veronica but her family is doing okay. Or at least had been but with Betty and her brother joining their sister in the workforce, they’d be fine again soon enough.

“Then cough it up. Put ya money where ya mouth is.”

“Ah! Betty dear, I see you’ve already met one of Chic’s potential work mates!” There’s something sly in Hiram Lodge’s smile and Betty’s cheeks burn at the implication. “Chic, my boy! This young man is Morris Delancy. He and his brother Oscar run most of the day to day operations here. And Wiesel, good man, this is Miss Betty Cooper, Chic’s youngest sister and my Veronica’s best friend.”

Betty uses the distraction to slip her hand out from Morris’s hold - with her paper clutched victoriously in her grasp. She turns back to Morris, that same sweet smile in place from years before. “Thank you for the paper, Morris. It was really very sweet of you to offer.” Her smile grows smug as Hiram escorts the Coopers to the New York Journal’s offices, away from the seething Morris.

iii.

Chic doesn’t take the job at the distribution center, instead opting for a security officer position at City Hall. But Betty finds herself back at the distribution center before she knows it. She’s chasing a story, with dreams of writing something other than a vaudeville review. The trolley workers are striking and she’s trying to get a quote from the Delancys, about rumors that they were paid to harass the strikers. As per usual, there are raised voices and arguing - Betty’s never seen eye to eye with the Delancey brothers - but Morris cuts himself off when his attention is stolen by a more pressing matter.

Rough fingers curl around Betty’s wrist, tugging her into the nearest alley. His other hand clamps against her mouth when she starts to protest. Only then does the blonde hear the noises from further down the block. She tries to plead with her eyes, assuring him that she’ll stay silent. Morris seems to get the message as he lifts his hand from her mouth. Betty peers around the corner, taking in the shadows. She’s only heard whispers and rumors like he’s some sort of boogeyman but she knows what’s going on. Snyder the Spider taking in an unsuspecting victim to the Refuge.

It’s sometime later when the sounds die down and Snyder doesn’t appear to be nearing their location. Morris’s grip on her wrist is loose, calloused fingertips barely brushing against her skin. He doesn’t protest when she pulls her hand out of his hold entirely. 

“Um…Thanks. For that,” she murmurs, gaze flickering back to the street just in case Snyder was about to show up again.

Morris nods and it’s the most civilly they’ve spoken since they’ve met. “Yeah, well. Shoulda been home anyway, Blondie. Next time, I might not be here t’ save ya.” 

Maybe it’s because she’s seen someone far scarier tonight, but there’s less malice in his voice than usual.

iv.

The newsies are striking and it’s Betty’s chance to get a real story published!

When the newsies successfully stop scabs from delivering the papers in their places, Morris and Oscar try and muscle them all out. Betty has no problems going toe to toe with them. She doesn’t mind being the thorn in their side if it gets her the story - especially not when they treat other kids like crap. They don’t really hit the girls back, just sort of cart them off to the side, but Betty contents herself to being a distraction, for some of the other boys to get somewhere safe.

Then the bulls arrive. And relief lasts for only a second before a nightstick swings back and strikes Romeo’s face. And then chaos returns, a hundredfold. 

The next time Morris scoops Betty up, he doesn’t try to carry her to the circulation gate. He moves to an alley, a side street. A way out. And when he sets her down and Betty tries to rush past him, he stands his ground. 

“For a smart girl, you’re really fuckin’ dumb. It’s suicide, goin’ back there!” His voice is loud but not louder than the heartbeat thumping in Betty’s ears.

“They need me! Not everyone’s a selfish prick like you!” She struggles, hands pressed against his chest, knees lifting but he stands strong, even when she can tell her blows are substantial.

One of Morris’s hands lifts - not to push Betty back, but to hold her in place. His hand around her wrist causes her to freeze. She’s confused and angry and the battle rages on behind them and she just wants to help, hates hearing the way the newsies are crying out, she needs to help!

“Cooper.” 

It’s the first time Betty can ever remember Morris calling her by name. And there’s something urgent, almost pleading in his voice. “It’s gonna get ugly. You don’t wanna go back there. Use that big ol’ brain o’ yours and do the smart thing.”

Oscar approaches, corralling Katherine and Veronica - but he appears less like he’s shoving them and more like he’s guiding them. Veronica, with one hand twined in Katherine’s, reaches for Betty’s. 

They’ll regroup. They’ll find the newsies who’ve already escaped. Snyder and Pulitzer may have won a battle but they haven’t won the war. Katherine and Betty have their articles to finish, after all.

Morris lets go of her wrist, his face unreadable, and he watches for a moment as the girls - hands clutching each other’s desperately - flee into the night. Betty swears his eyes haunt her dreams for the following nights as much as the fight does.

v.

“Honestly Delancy, what would you ever do without me?”

“Stop havin’ so many damn headaches a day, pro’ly.”

She chuckles but doesn’t stop her work, wrapping cloth around bruised and bleeding knuckles. She hasn’t asked what Morris was doing before she found him, resting in an alley on her route home from the Journal’s offices. She’s learned the hard way she doesn’t always want to know the nitty gritty details of Morris’s life. Not like he’ll tell her anyway. They may have formed some sort of tentative truce now that the strike’s over but she knows the Delancey brothers don’t trust a nosy reporter as far as they can throw her. (And Betty wagers they could probably throw her a fair distance.)

But she can’t leave him like this, struggling to bind his injuries with his non-dominant hand. So she takes his wounded hand and rests it in her lap, her fingers working to tie her handkerchief as a makeshift bandage. The banter is short-lived for once and a silence falls over the pair as the blonde continues her work. Once completed, Betty pats his palm gingerly with her fingertips, as if to punctuate the end of her work. “There. That should hold for the night, at least.”

He curls his fingers experimentally but doesn’t remove his hand from her lap. Betty pretends not to notice.

“…Why?” Morris finally speaks up, gaze aimed at his bound hand and ignoring the blonde beside him. His question’s so quiet Betty barely hears it. 

She too is silent for a long moment, only shrugging in reply at first. “I don’t hate you, you know. You and Oscar seem to think I do but…I don’t.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he grumbles and Betty finds herself chuckling softly.

“I mean, you’re an absolute prick, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not gonna just let you bleed out on the street. No one deserves that.” He falls silent and Betty risks a glance in his direction. Something she can’t quite name worms its way into her chest and she hates it but she doesn’t ignore it. Instead, she pats his palm once more before standing up. “…G’night, Morris.”

She almost swears she hears a “G’night, Cooper” as she returns on her path home.

vi. 

She really hates having to do this. But the headlines had all been talking about the borough-wide streetlight repairs being done and she knows it’ll be dark on her walk home tonight. Chic’s home with the flu, meaning he can’t pick her up from the Journal’s offices. She doesn’t want to bother her father - he’s still easing back into work after his leg had healed and walking across town and back wouldn’t be good for him.

She leaves the offices while it’s still light and tries to rush to the World’s distribution center. She figures there still oughta be some of the newsies around getting their pay. Maybe she can ask one of them to escort her home. But when she arrives, all she sees is Morris, stacking empty crates. None of her friends, not even Oscar or Wiesel, though Betty figures they’re inside.

Shit. She glances at the horizon, watches the sky turn dark. She could probably make it to the Tribune to see if Darcy was still there, but…

“Hey! Beat it, Blondie. Ya ain’t got nothin’ better t’ do than hang out around here? All ya newsie pals ‘re gone.”

…Great. So much for getting away without dealing with Morris.

Betty sighs, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Don’t worry about it, okay? I was just trying to see if Jack or Davey or someone was still around and could walk me home. You know, since the lights are down and all?” Her gaze refocuses on the sky, trying to calculate how dark it would be by the time she walked somewhere else to find an escort home. “But forget it, I’ll go back to the Journal and-”

When Betty turns back around, words died in her throat at the sight of Morris’s outstretched hand and expectant stare. “…Are you serious?” she questions, skepticism all but dripping from her tone.

“D’ya see anyone else around here? C’mon Cooper, the sooner I get ya home, the sooner I can go t’ bed. You ain’t the only one who had a long da-”

It’s Morris’s turn to go speechless when Betty takes his hand, fingers lacing between his. Her smile is a little too smug to be aimed at someone doing her a favor. But Morris deserves it. He doesn’t really retaliate, only scoffing. He tugs on her hand, urging her to walk. And she does, falling in step beside the boy. 

It’s dark enough to mask any heat that dusts Betty’s cheeks, allowing her to focus on the warmth of Morris’s hand in hers.

[chicklette]

Title: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Square Filled: Shotgunning

Ship: Stucky

Rating: E

Major Tags: Post-grad AU; drug use

Summar: Steve is 100% gone on Sam’s new roommate, Bucky.  

Word Count:

Created for @mcukinkbingo

“It’s hopeless,” Steve says, and thunks his head against the locker door.  

He and Sam have just finished showering after a workout, and Sam’s invited Steve to his place after. Which would be fine, it would be great, except that Sam’s roommate Bucky will be there.  Bucky moved in with Sam a few months back, and Steve was – is – Steve is smitten.

“Hopeless,” Steve says again.

“Come on, man.  He’s a good guy, you’re a good guy.  What’s the problem?”

“He’s just – god, Sam, haven’t you ever just wanted someone?  It’s - the way he talks about things, like they matter.  And his…his smile.  He is so out of my league.  Ugh.”

“Uh, excuse you,” Sam says, because Steve is not that tiny little punk anymore, and that he hasn’t yet internalized this is a little disconcerting.  “Have you seen you lately?”  Sam gestures up and down Steve’s body.  “There’s not many people out of your league.”

“No, it’s not – not like that.  He’s just so smart.  And, you know, gorgeous.”

“Okay, gonna have to stop you there, Romeo.  I am not in the mood to hear you waxing poetic about Bucky’s eyes again.  I have to live with the guy.”

Steve shrugs.  “Fine, fine.  Sorry.”  Steve finishes dressing, and slings his gym bag over his shoulder.  “He does have pretty eyes.”

“Fuck you,” Sam says. Then: “You coming over for brunch or what?”

Sighing, Steve thunks his head against the locker door again.  “Yeah. What should I bring?”

“OJ.  And bagels from the guy on -”

“Delancy, I know, I know. See you there.”

.

Brunch is an absurd affair. There are mimosas, waffles, bacon, mushroom and swiss crepes, fruit salad, biscuits with milk gravy, Bucky’s incredible blintzes with fresh strawberries and lemon ricotta, and of course, the bagels, lox and cream cheese.   Steve and Bucky are sitting on the couch, and Sam is patting his belly.

“I think I’m taking this food baby to bed.  See you all in a few hours.”

Steve’s feeling half comatose himself, but he’s also nervous, because now he’s alone with Bucky, and he’s going to make an ass of himself, he just knows it.

“Hey, thanks again for grabbing bagels,” Bucky says.

Steve cuts his eyes Bucky’s way, just for a second, before smiling.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Anytime.”

Bucky’s flipping through the channels.  He stops at CNN and they watch as a reporter covers a protest outside of an ICE detention center.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “Jesus Christ.”

Something in Steve’s gut pulls hard.  The images being shown, the sounds, none of this is the country he grew up believing in. He thinks about his grandparents, who were Irish immigrants and who didn’t exactly come the country legally.  At least centers like this didn’t exist then.

“Hey,” Steve says, because he can see Bucky getting visibly upset from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, and changes the channel to a showing of Galaxy Quest.  “Sorry,” Bucky says.  “Every time I think I can handle it, I’m wrong.  It just makes me so angry.”

“I know,” Steve says, and risks another look at Bucky.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to.  He wants to. He really wants to.

It’s just – if he looks too long, he’ll stare.  He’ll forget that Bucky isn’t actually his to look at.  Besides, when he looks at Bucky full-on, it’s sometimes like looking at the sun.  It’s too much, too bright, take in all at once.  His eyes are that shade of blue-gray that Steve is never, ever going to be able to pin down.  And his jawline, Jesus.   He wishes he was good with words like he is with paints, because that jawline is….

So Steve doesn’t really let himself look at Bucky straight on, not like he’d like to.

“So,” Bucky says, and when Steve chances a glance, he can see Bucky packing a bong.  

Now, Sam’s not much of a smoker, and Steve tried it a few times in college, but never really picked up the habit.  Bucky though, he’s a pretty regular smoker.  Steve watches his hands (his hands – god, his fingers are so gorgeous, long and slender and if he ever played the piano Steve is pretty sure he’d orgasm on the spot) as they pick the bud apart, as they clean out the bowl, and then as they pack the bowl back up.  

“You want some?” Bucky asks, picking up his lighter.

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve says. He really needs to think about getting out of there.  Now that Sam’s fucked off to have a nap, there’s no reason for him to hang around.

“You sure?” Bucky asks. “You seem tense.”

Steve listens as Bucky lights the bong and breathes deep.  For a split second, Steve is actually jealous of the bong, the smoke.   “I should go,” he says.  

“Aw, c’mon Stevie,” Bucky says, and Steve turns his head and looks at Bucky full on.  He’s wearing jeans and an old, faded t-shirt.  His long, pretty hair is bound up in a messy knot on the top of his head, and he’s looking at Steve with something like regret. There’s a haze of sweet-smelling, bluish smoke clouding around him.  He’s so beautiful it almost takes Steve’s breath away.  

“You never want to hang out with me,” he says.  “Am I too boring?”

“What?” Steve asks, the word leaving him in a huff.  “What?”

“I just,” he shrugs, “never get to hang out with Sam’s hot friend.  You never want to talk to me.”

Steve feels like his eyes are bugging out of his head. He cannot stop staring.

“I never….  I –“  He exhales, long and deep.  “I always want to talk to you,” he says, because fuck it, fuck it.  If there’s any, any chance, he has to take it.

“Oh.” Bucky says.  “But you never do.”  He looks down to where his hands are cupping the bong, the blue glass making pretty swirls.

“I didn’t…think you wanted to talk to me,” Steve says.  He feels nervy and daring, his whole body lighting up and tensing.  If he confesses his crush and it’s one-sided, that’s going to – god – make things so awkward.

Bucky stares at him, evaluating something, and then seems to come to a decision.  

“Let me shotgun you,” he says, and his voice is low and husky and it makes Steve want.

“I don’t….what?”

“D’ya just never smoke, or…?”

“I’m not opposed,” Steve says.  He has no idea where this is going.

Bucky lights the bong again. He takes a deep inhale, the water gurgling, and then sets the bong down.  

Steve watches him, can’t take his eyes off of him.  He gets up from the couch and walks to the loveseat where Steve is sitting.  Then he sits down in Steve’s lap, straddling him, looking down at him.  There’s a tendril of hair that escaped his bun and is laying against his cheek. Steve moves to brush it away, and notices his hand is shaking.

Without a word, Bucky presses his thumb on Steve’s lower lip.  He looks – god – he looks hungry.

Opening his mouth, Steve cants his head up, and waits.

Bucky doesn’t leave him waiting long.  Leaning forward, he angles his face so that their mouths are close, so close, but not touching.  As Steve watches, the smoke leaks out of Bucky’s mouth, and Steve leans forward, just that bit more, to catch it.

Their lower lips brush, and it’s  - he’s heard about kisses that are electric, how they feel like they’re lighting you on fire, from the inside out.  He’s heard about kisses like that, but he’s never actually had a kiss like that.  Not until now.

He breathes in the smoke, feels it burn, hot in his mouth, and lets it go immediately.  He cups the back of Bucky’s neck with one hand and holds onto his waist with the other, pulling him down for a kiss.  A real kiss.  A kiss that’s full of smoke and fire and promise.

Bucky’s tongue moves against his, strong and stroking, fucking into his mouth, and Steve grunts because it’s perfect and he’s  - it’s not enough and he never wants it to end.

Bucky changes the angle of the kiss, then dives back in, squirming on Steve’s lap and Steve puts both hands on Bucky’s hips, guiding him down to grind.  

He doesn’t know if it’s the pot or the kiss, but he’s dizzy and he feels like he’s flying and he is just so, so turned on.  He grinds up again and groans when he feels Bucky, hard in his jeans, grinding down.

“Jesus,” Steve says, breaking the kiss and gasping for air.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. “Been wanting you,” he says, “wanting this.”  

Steve takes the opportunity lave open mouthed kisses up and down Bucky’s neck.  “The way you – oh! – look at me sometimes.  Fuck.”

“Yes,” Steve says.  “Yes, I want – fuck.”

“Not on my couch, you’re not.”

The pair break apart and look over to where Sam is frowning at them.  

“Hi, Sam,” Steve says.

“Hi, Sam,” Bucky says.

“This is the thanks I get,” he says, one eyebrow cocked, deadpan look on his face. “You know I don’t need to see this.”

Bucky ducks his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and giggles.

Sam stares at them both, then shakes his head.  “I hate you.”

They hold each other, giggling, as Sam retreats to his room.

“Wait,” Steve says, as the giggling subsides.  “What do we need to thank him for?”

At that point, Bucky looks bashful and it’s adorable, Jesus, he’s adorable.  He mumbles something from where he’s tucked himself into Steve’s neck.  

“What was that?”

Pulling away, Bucky looks Steve in the eye.  “I said I might have asked him if he thought I had a shot with his hot, talented best friend.”

“I – you said that?” It makes Steve feel…floored with flattery, like it’s more than he knows what to do with.

Shrugging, Bucky looks around the living room, where Sam has hung several of Steve’s paintings.  There’s a couple of landscape paintings, a deli and the bridge at the park.  Not his best, but Sam loved them.

“Your work’s amazing,” Bucky says.  And then I met you, and you’re…smart.  Funny. Hot.”

Steve whimpers because he’s never had anyone say these things to him and mean them, not the way he can tell Bucky means them.  It’s overwhelming.

He pulls Bucky close, and leans up for another kiss.

“Your room?” Steve asks, breaking the kiss.

“Your place?” Bucky counters, because Steve lives alone.

“My place,” Steve replies.

Bucky stands and holds his hand out for Steve to help him up.  When he stands, he pulls Bucky close for a long, full body hug.  It feels good, just as nice as the kiss, but in a whole different way.

Nuzzling Bucky’s neck, Steve presses a kiss just below Bucky’s ear.  “I’m gonna make you loud,” he whispers.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says. “I’m counting on it.”

[locktobre]

the wedding of prince harry inspired me to think of barbie movies lmao. What the wedding of sophia and nicholas would be like? I mean how fancy will it be, who will be the guests? and what about broadcasting on tv? if you got some ideas, I'd love to hear them

Firstly, I think that Sophia doesn’t really like fancy things. She likes it okay when she’s at PCS bc it’s kind of a magical fairytale thing but then she becomes the princess and everything is fancy all the time and she really, really hates it so she tries to get around a lot of rules and restrictions where she can. Like, I have a very clear picture of her in her like, queen office, barefoot but she’s wearing a maxi dress so no one can tell. But she knows and she likes that little bit of rebellion. So, the wedding is basically as pared down as a royal wedding could possibly be. I don’t really know beyond that, altho fun fact: According to my timeline, she and Nicholas actually got married in the summer of 2017. (With the movie taking place 2010-2011.)

Sophia told Nicholas, like, right after graduation that she liked him but didn’t really have time to date right then bc you know, she had just become the princess and there was a lot to do with that while they had to do DNA tests to confirm and then she had to stop Dame Devin’s construction project from tearing down her old neighborhood, and then of course the murder trial was all going on. So they didn’t get together right away but Nicholas was like if you need someone to talk to about all that craziness, I’m right here for you. Also, sadly, Prince died pretty soon after she graduated (bc he’s like an 18 year old dog and golden retrievers usually only live like 12 years so he’s ancient). However, on her next birthday Nicholas got her a puppy named Princess, which was after a lot of that all had calmed down, and that’s when they really started dating. (Also fun fact, I think Prince was a gift from her father on her first birthday so it’s really like a full circle thing.)

It bothers me a lot that Sophia is crowned princess at the end of the movie, bc the established highest title is queen so it’s definitely a kingdom and not a principality or anything. So to get around that I decided that to be crowned queen of Gardania, you have to be married or turn 21, which Sophia says is a stupid rule so when they start dating, she tells Nicholas in no uncertain terms does she want him to propose before she’s 21 bc she’s definitely going to age into being queen and NOT get married to do it. He’s fine with that and is basically like well just tell me when you want me to propose then lol. Which is not for a few years after that, obviously, but Sophia really puts it off for longer than she really would have liked bc she hates all the fuss about it and she hates her life being so public and doesn’t want it to turn into a whole Thing, but she’s a queen so of course it has to be a thing. (Sometimes she wishes she never found out about being the lost princess, but then she has to remind herself that at least there’s not a murderer running the country anymore.)

I imagine the wedding would be on TV, since the PCS graduation was. I don’t know beyond that. (I don’t watch the real royal weddings or anything so idk what all goes on there.)

And finally, guest list, which is pretty much off the top of my head and obviously doesn’t include everyone, just the notable characters. I tried to group them all reasonably and didn’t include all the relationships but hopefully the gist is there.

From Gardania: Miss Willows, Emily Willows, Delancy (duh), Sloane, Ms Privet

From Meribella: King Frederic (Sophia’s grandfather), Tori, Meredith, Trevi, Duchess Amelia, Queen Jocelyn (Frederic’s new wife), Felix (Frederic’s son b. 2014)

From Narcissia: Queen Portia (+ Brad), Princess Courtney (+ Marcus), Lady Lorraine, Lady Josette

From Bellmere: Queen Camilla, King Albert, Princess Olivia

From Windemere: King Kristoff, Queen Karina, Kara (+ Frankie?), Zooey, Gabby, Lady Anne, Finn Oxford

From Bulovia: King Terrance, Queen Adrienne, Alexa (+ Kieran), Lillian

From various kingdoms: Princess Hadley, Princess Isla

I feel like I’m forgetting a lot but it’s late so here you go