#MA LAY OFF THE HAIR WOULDJA? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crispy-milk · 2 years

Text

My holiday exchange gift for @deliciouspeachpirate ! Prompt: A day in in the life of Jack “Mother Hen” Kelly, maybe one of the boys gets hurt/has a nightmare? I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and happy holidays to you! (This gift exchange was organized by the wonderful folks over at @newsiesgiftexchange. Thank you guys so much for making this happen! :) NOW WITHOUT FURTHER ADO-

Mamma Jack

~~~

The sun rose slowly over the horizon, stretching out and warming the pavement. One person, however, was not feeling particularly warmed on this glorious morning. Jack was awoken by an arm shaking him into consciousness.

“C’mon Jack! You’s gonna miss the headline if you don’t get a move on!” The leader of the Manhattan Newsies looked up through squinted eyes, not yet used to the bright light.

He could make out the fuzzy features of his best friend Crutchie, standing over him.

“C’mon you bonehead, ain’tcha sellin’ with Davey today?” Jack perked up slightly at the mention of his friend’s name. He had promised that he would go selling with the Jacobs brothers today and was already looking forward to it. Without any further deliberation, he rolled out of bed and got ready to face the day.

~~~

The morning was warm, but not unpleasantly so. As he caught up to the other boys on the way to distribution, he double-checked that all the guys had their hats on, and their shoes tied.

“Oi, lay off, wouldja Kelly? Quit actin’ like yous’ my Ma,” Racetrack teased, a cheeky grin stretched across his face. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut your trap, Race” he shot back quickly, hitting the blonde on the back of the head with his cap, but the retort had no bite to it. The other boy was about to respond when they found themselves at the wrought iron gate outside The World’s distribution window. The not-so-friendly faces of Oscar and Morris Delancey greeted them all with sneers as they unlocked the gate, in such a manner that it was clear they’d rather lock them out for all time.

“A pleasure as always, boys,” Jack snarked, tipping his hat mockingly at the older men. He heard a few snickers come from the crowd of newsboys gathered at the gates. The now scowling brothers cracked their knuckles menacingly, but let the newsies pass.

~~~

After every newsie had gotten their papers and double-checked they had the right amount, they set out onto the streets of New York. Jack jogged to catch up with the Jacobs brothers as they headed out to sell.

“Burdick struck by woman and killed!” David called out into the street, “Protect yourselves! Read it right here!” He handed off two newspapers to a distressed-looking gentleman and his wife. Somewhere in the distance, a faint shout rang throughout the streets. Davey considered telling Jack, then shook his head. He clutched the nickel he received in his hand.

“Ay, not too bad there, Jacobs -Thank you, Miss- I’ve taught you both well.” Jack snarked with a smug grin, simultaneously selling another paper. “Hey, speaking of it, where’s Les?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Davey said, frantically looking around him. The grin slipped off of Jack's face in a second, replaced with a worried expression. The younger boy was nowhere to be seen. Davey was visibly panicking, and Jack knew that the other boy needed his help.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright Davey, we’ll find him, he can’t have gone far.” This seemed to calm David down a little, but he was still shaken. Both of them foisted off their last papers hastily, barely waiting long enough to collect the payment. They strode off into the nearest alley to begin their search. With every alley they searched, they both became more and more discouraged, until finally, they heard the faint, yet unmistakable voice of the younger Jacobs brother.

~~~

They skidded into the next alleyway and were met with a horrible sight. Les was crouched down on the concrete, but what concerned them more at that moment was the crumpled figure at his feet. A puff of blonde hair peeked out from a brown ratty cap, and the bruised and battered face was the very same one that Jack had woken up to.

“CRUTCHIE!” Jack shouted, the name tearing itself out of his throat. The boy in question looked up weakly.

“Jack? S’that you?” It was faint, but at least he was conscious.

“Crutchie, what the hell happened?”

“Well, ya see, I was selling a pape to a lady, but it turns out she was Oscar’s girl, and he soaked me for it. Says I was bein ‘too friendly’”

“‘Cuz then she’d figure out fellas can be nice, I bet.”

“Ha yeahhhhh-” Crutchie toppled over again. Jack rushed to Crutchie’s side and began helping him up. He grabbed the crutch that was lying on the concrete with his other hand. Davey had been frozen in horror the whole time but was just beginning to come back to himself. He picked Les up and started to scold him.

“Leslie Jacobs, what could have possibly gone through your mind to think that it was a good idea to run off like that? You scared us half to death!” Les seemed to suddenly decide his shoes were the most fascinating things in the world.

“Aw, lay off the kid, would ya? He was just trying ta help me,” Crutchie said. Davey’s gaze softened. He nodded, and helped support Crutchie from his other side, grabbing Les by the hand. They walked Crutchie back to the lodging house as quickly as they could without hurting him. Jack helped him down into his beds, murmuring quiet assurances to the younger boy. He motioned for Davey to sit at Crutchie’s bedside while he ran to the shoddily stocked first-aid cabinet. He quickly grabbed cloth bandages, some old rags, and a bucket of water. He jogged back over to the bunk, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty lodging house. He dragged another rickety old chair next to David’s, set the bucket down, and started to work.

He dipped a rag into the bucket of water, and gently wiped the majority of the dirt off of Crutchie’s face.

“Now who’s the bonehead, huh?” Jack said softly, dabbing at a shallow cut on his forehead.

“Hmm, still you,” Crutchie said through gritted teeth, “Although, for a guy who acts all tough, you sure are a softie. Like a momma, yanno?” Davey ineffectively disguised a snort as a cough, and Jack contemplated his existence after being called a mother twice in one day.

“Yeah, well, most of the fellas ain’t never had a Ma, but I got Miss Medda, so I figure I got a better idea of what a Ma does than the rest of yous,” Jack said, rather sadly. It was sad, but it was just how life was for a vast majority of the newsies. He had become a sort of stand-in mother for these boys, and he quickly realised- he didnt mind one bit. He quickly snapped himself out of his reverie and reached down to ruffle Crutchie’s hair.

“Yeah. Well kid, you’d do well to remember that next time you get yourself into a scrap,” Jack admonished. Crutchie flushed.

“You’re the best Ma that ever was!” Crutchie snarked, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. Davey giggled again, not even bothering to hide it this time. Jack rolled his eyes. He finished tending to the blond newsie’s wounds, and stood up, wiping his hands.

“You’ve gotta rest now, buddy.” richie pulled the threadbare blanket under his chin.

“Mm, G’night Ma.”

“‘Night Crutch,” Jack said, unable to fight back the fond grin that stretched out like the sun on pavement.

Hope you enjoyed! Have the happiest of holidays and a great new year! Lets make 2022 a good one!

#newsies #newsies fic #crutchie morris #crutchie newsies #Jack Kelly #David jacobs #mom friend Jack Kelly #Toby Types #les jacobs

16 notes · View notes

begrimedchains · 5 years

Text

@chxsenpcthfxllxwed

The exuberant tone his mother had when she spoke to his over the phone that Jake was back from wherever the Hell he has disappeared to had him believing the impossible tale that she began to weave for him in a heartbeat (she wasn’t one to lie like that) and without a single doubt in his mind that she was either hallucinating or was, perhaps, misinformed.

Coming home to meet Jake was a both happy and agitating experience for the businessman: they had last spoken on less-than-pleasant terms, and given that Jake more than likely believed that Edward was nothing more than a cold, cruel, callous asshole who cared nothing but about business and money was… well, it was untrue, but the foundation for that lie was mired in truth.

Edward cared. Some. And he must care more than what he even knew he did to come over to Jake’s house, when Jake’s not even there, to “meet up” with a former Killer to introduce himselfto them, since, according to Jake, they’re family now.

He wanted to say something back to him about his life choices, but then he remembered his ex-wife and immediately bit his lip to stop from indicting himself in hypocrisy. Edward did not like that very, very much, but it was the truth, and he had no right to talk in contradiction.

Pushing himself with his professional demeanor and iron-clad willpower, he drives up and parks in Jake’s dirt driveway with one of his less-than-opulent vehicles, with no chauffeur or valet leaving him feeling common and exposed. Patting himself down to make sure everything is in its place, where it supposed to be, that his gun and phone are in their correct pockets (he doesn’t usually carry a firearm, but he does when he traverses alone in unknown territory) and starts taking careful and measured steps towards the front door, tugging his sleeves and gloves continuously downward in a nervous tic that he’ll never admit to if one were to ask.

Edward Park is not one to be nervous. He is strong, confident, brave, unyielding: he’s too old for monsters- Fishing the key Jake had given him for entry to his cabin, Edward is angry at himself when he notices his fingers are vibrating with a feeling he refuses to call fear. The beautiful mahogany wooden door unlocks and is opened with a push from Edward’s shoulders- a moment passes with no immediate pain, no threat of death or weapon in his face, and he lets a breath pass through his tight lips as he steps across the threshold.

And then he spots… a creature, lumbering and stumbling around in his recently returned brother’s kitchen, as if looking for sugary loot to consume just because Jake said that he could have any. He takes another few steps forward, the tip of his toes right up against the invisible line that separated the living room from the kitchen, and opens his mouth to speak, surprised at himself that his voice is cool and steady, unwavering even at the sight of the yellow lump that was scouring around.

He smelt the faint smell of cheap whiskey, far cheaper than anything he would ever pass through his refined lips.

The creature slobbers all over Jake’s mahogany seats (now that he notices it, his brother loves the material since most of his house is covered in it. At least for a forest dweller, Jake has good interior decorating tastes.) and Edward has a sharp needle of worry go through his chest when he sees the fine chair rock back and creak with the monster’s pressure. The redneck accent almost makes him chuckle with humor, just because of how common and ignorant it made them sound- his lips crack open when they can’t count pass one in a smile he brings under his control in a few moments, but his amusement at the other’s ignorance is on full display for those few seconds.

Even though he cared not about the other’s feelings, he’d rather not accidentally anger the creature and earn himself its ire, no matter how stumbling drunk they appeared to be.

“Two.” Clearing his throat, he takes his hands from where they’re clenched in apprehension behind his back (as a gentleman should present himself in front of unknown persons) and moves to remove his long overcoat, tucking and folding it up neatly before laying it across the back of the younger Park’s sofa.

After taking his time to make sure his overcoat wasn’t going anywhere or that it was in no danger of being drooled on, Edward turned back to face the creature to, their credit, looked to be half-man, half- horribly mutated mess, straight from the cesspools of Chernobyl. Jake had told him the names of the people and creatures that were trapped with him and pointedly informed him of the names of the people he was residing with, and it took a few moments of wracking his brain and staring down the abomination to remember it.

Clasping his hands in front of him, Edward doesn’t move from his position when he addresses the mass of sentience.

“You’re… Billy, correct?” Shoulders tense up automatically as the question passes through his clenched jaw, as if his body was subconsciously preparing him from any sort of retaliation for the question- as if he was a child that wouldn’t sit still and be quiet.

“Ah’m Billy? ‘Pends on who ya ask.” Something about this visitor irked him in ways he couldn’t quite enunciate, but certainly still existed based on the slight prickle of black hair rising on his nape. Then again, he wasn’t always so keen on strangers, but at least with either Claudette or Jake around to handle the cordial matters of first-time meetings, he could busy himself with finding the kitchen’s latest Poptart stash in peace, occasionally grunting that he was listening when he was doing anything but. The fact that he now had to endure meeting the saboteur’s kin alone, which—to be fair, he’d been dually warned of by the cabin’s owners when matters in town ensured that both of them would not be present for the introduction of beast and a short-contract babysitter because they weren’t sure he’d burn down the cabin in their absence or escape and cause a heap of trouble on the surrounding farmlands where it was more common to find guns waving at you than arms and hands, but it still was not an ideal situation for the anxious creature, especially with how vulnerable he already felt molting out of his monstrous form. He’d prepared as best he could—with cinnamon scented whiskey that Claudette thought she’d hidden well enough, but couldn’t escape his sharp scent that Phil had helped him hone back in their realm of eternal fog. Perhaps she’d figured that was the first of his senses to dull, but she’d been wrong, and now he was bumping into obstacles on his way to get a better, squinty look at the unwanted company who, according to the Thompson’s vision, was so busy cartwheeling around the room without moving any of his limbs that it was hard for Coldwind’s beast to get a good idea of what he was curling his lip over.

“Yea. That’un. Two.” The numbers two and three had been spinning around his head in a similar fashion, but clarification pins one to his immediate consciousness like an arrow, though whether it’s the right one by design, he can’t be too sure. He just knows it by name, and Ma had always said names held a lot more power than anything else one could establish about any one thing. With the second middle finger and fist combo added to the first to finish off his not-so-welcoming sentiment, he finishes their meeting off by slinging a leg over the chair before straddling it backwards to face the kitchen table where a box of Poptarts lay on its side, a crinkly silver bag already ripped open with a few pale crumbs scattered about the impromptu feast. “And ya can spins around on both of’em. Gits enough momentum t’shoot yerself out th’front door, wouldja? Ah ain’t moodin’ fer comp’ny.” And Jake would get locked out of his and Claudette’s room all night for assuming he was and inviting folks over to make the same faces Carter made at him whenever he’d roped the Hillbilly into a chess match.

A bit of sullen crinkling revealed the mate to the other Poptart, and with the finesse of a chipmunk stuffing its cheeks, he slowly slides the purple tart past the melted edges of his dripping maw, munching away happily with his gums until his saliva helped soften the breakfast treat and break it down enough to store it in his cheek where he’d let it turn more soupy before slurping it down to join the whiskey in his gut. “Ya smells like’im.” He speaks around his mouthful unabashedly, as if all his table manners had disappeared alongside all of Evan’s lessons...alongside Evan. Casting a suspicious glance between his shoulder, he eyes the Untaken with some disdain, knowing he could probably never menace him based on bad memories of his chainsaw cutting through flesh alone. “Not on th’surface. Ya smell cleaner'n whatever he rolls in. It’s under yer skin. In yer blood. Smellin’ like Jake...that’sa mistake.”

#;don't make fun of the boi #;he's just trying to enjoy his well balanced breakfast of wildberry and whiskey #chxsenpcthfxllxwed #╳ ᵖᵒˢᵗ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ ᵃᵘ ╱ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴡᴇʙ ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ

3 notes · View notes