[i Tap Dance Into Your Askbox] Hear Me Out Newsie Polycule. Katherine Is Also There

@races-stupid-cigar YOU GET ME !!!!!!!!!

crutchie is a BIG fun socks guy ... he's got at least 10 pairs of utterly odd and colourful socks ... davey on the other hand only owns black socks and jack only owns white socks ..

thinking about irresponsible davey again. davey who can and WILL set his own hair on fire because it's funny ... davey who has good intentions but god awful impulse control ... davey who once picked crutchie up and spun him around for literally no reason ... davey who bites jack .... davey who pulls strands of his own hair out to check what colour it is again ... davey who doesn't have a single intact cuff on any of his shirts for reasons unknown ... davey who DOES NOT think before he speaks ...

oh wait so his name is both antonio AND ed

hey chat yhhhhh does racetrack higgins have a real name ... is his legal name racetrack .... because that's so funny .... nonbinary ass name ..... any race expert moots in the rbs does race have a Name

SPRINTS INTO YOUR ASK BOX, doubles over panting .

javey oneshot in a storm at night, jack stays the night at davey's and they're both exhausted so emotions come to the forefront a little faster than usual .......

PLEASE . PLEASE .... I would cry ..... bee ily so much ... bonus points if jack gets a shower for the first time since Davey has met him and he's all clean and pretty ...

bee I would cry ... no pressure tho !!!! I love ur writing so much ...

(Note: I’m super sorry that this was so late, but I absolutely loved writing this! I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for requesting something! 😁)

Jack watched Davey from the doorway as the taller boy turned the next page of his book, humming softly to himself and methodically tapping the cover of the book, almost perfectly in time with the rain pummeling the ground outside.

It was darker than it should have been, thanks to the storm, but Jack didn’t mind one bit. Davey’s face looked warm and soft in the candlelight, a far cry from the expression the world usually knew, the one framed by lines of worry and tired eyes.

He seemed so peaceful that Jack felt as if he was watching a moment more private than it was, his friend’s outer shell stripped away and leaving him vulnerable.

Davey glanced up, smiling when he saw Jack in the doorway, and a blush spread across the other newsie’s face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling quite small.

“Hey, Jackie,” Davey greeted him, scooting over and patting the ground beside him, not noticing Jack’s face getting warmer as he sat down. He nodded at a small bead of water on Jack’s arm, left from where he didn’t dry it. “Feel better?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Jack replied, running a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for lettin’ me stay, by the way.” He shot him a smile. “Means a lot.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Davey yawned softly, and Jack felt a pang of longing shoot through him, one which he tried to ignore. There’s no way he feels the same, Jack, he scolded himself.

Gaining a tiny bit of courage, Jack threw a relaxed arm around Davey, nearly nodding off in the combined warmth of both the wool coat he’d borrowed and Davey’s form next to him.

He was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tired- maybe the strike? No matter how long it had been, Jack’s mind was in shambles.

He felt Davey shift, wrapping his arms around him, snuggling into his neck. Jack fought back the urge to kiss him right then and there, opting instead to reach over and tangle their hands together, chuckling softly as Davey glanced up at him with a lazy smile.

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” Davey whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into Jack’s arms. “I can see why Kath likes you so much.”

“Really?” Jack asked, wondering if he’d heard him correctly. “What does that mean?”

Davey looked up at him, a peculiar look in his eyes- one that Jack had never seen before, one that told him all he needed to know. You know what it means.

Perhaps it was that look, or maybe the drunken tiredness they both felt, but Jack leaned forward and kissed him, pulling him closer. Davey’s lips were soft, just like he’d imagined, and he tasted like cinnamon and warmth. Davey smiled into the kiss, and Jack gave him a final peck before pulling back, still holding him tight.

“It’s late,” Davey muttered, laying his head on Jack’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Jack rubbed small circles into his back, his heart full to the brim with love.

“G’night, Dave,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

From then until the sun rose, there was no sound save for the rain pattering lightly on the window, soothing the two boys to sleep in each other’s embrace.

Davey: I wish I lacked critical thinking skills. Race and Albert seem so happy.

All the screenshots I have so far of my very legally obtained recording of uksies. Yes half of them are of race so what

Also @saveugoodmadam it's your fave

here is your daily reminder that Racetrack Higgins is on no accounts stupid.

It's a pretty common thing to see Race as the dumbass of the group, comedic relief or generally not taken seriously. Don't get me wrong- Race is a hot mess. But he's a smart hot mess.

You think Jack was leading the strategy of Manhattan? I love Jack but you saw him organising and strategising the strike -he was struggling. Yet Manhattan is still one of the more powerful cities, how? Race.

Race who figured out how to manipulate his way into Spot Colon's good graces so he could worm his way into a selling spot at the sheepshead races -guaranteed foot traffic, plus idiots who are either winning money or think they will. They can and will spare a penny for a paper. That is a good spot. One of the better ones in the city.

And you think Race is unaware of that? NO. He did that entirely on purpose. He knows Brooklyn's economy is doing a little better than Manhattans, he knows the factors of a good spot and he knows the angles he can offer.

Race is often known for winning every game thrown at him, you think he can do that without strategy? People who don't characterise him as smart are blatantly mischaracterising him.

Race wants to be known as dumb. He wants to be underestimated. It gives him infinitely better odds. Nobody pays attention to the 'dumb twink with no common sense' they turn their heads towards heavy hitters like Spot. He plays it up, he knows damn well what he's doing but he does it anyways.

Usually it's fun and he gets a kick out of the adrenaline. But the best part is people dismiss him. And Race is always playing the long game.

So anyways this has been your PSA that Racetrack Higgins is in fact smart and incredibly strategic.

Albert, who's the top of his class in Woodwork and Race, who's top of his class in Technical Graphics.

They're soaring in two of the most out there classes in the school, and neither of them actually know how.

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 arm 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 being a lefty.

"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're still a kid. 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.

::::

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, "Well, we'll 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.

man I get sprace I need sprace too I think we all need sprace ... but no javey??????????? understandable ig ig but man I love javey ... no hard feelings also writing sprace rn bc of this post ... expect it soon ...

does anyone have any sprace fic recommendations ? i need more sprace content in my life