So Much Is Happening Right Now. A Non-binary And Indigenous Kid Was Brutally Murdered And NO ONE Did

nothing cuter than a cat reaching out to very gently bother you with a paw

albert dasilva harem anyone

literally learned about all of the wilbur soot stuff yesterday/today……..,what the fuck. this man was a HUGE part of my covid years. literally every youtuber i’ve loved since around 2020 ish suddenly has grooming/domestic abuse/criminal allegations made against them and nothing feels real anymore. to be completely clear i do not support wilbur soot anymore but i am still hesitant about not supporting lovejoy. like yes wilbur was a part of it bit idk if any of the pther members really knew or had much of an idea.

“Davey – Day, c'mon, y’ain’t makin’ any sense…” Jack says gently, rubbing his hand across Davey’s shoulders. “I mean, d’ya just not like her? ‘Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, sometimes a girl just ain’t the one-”

“But she was.” Davey insists, and he feels all the more like a child for it. “She – she was smart, a-and funny, and beautiful, and if there was ever a girl I could’ve liked, could’ve – could’ve been with, it’d be her, b-but I… I just…”

He takes a painful breath, his voice crushed - like shards of glass - into his throat.

“Jackie, I don’t…” He whispers as hot tears scald his cheeks. “I think there’s something wrong with me?”

His voice pitches up at the end like a question – but he knows the moment the words are said, the moment the thought is finally pitched into existence, that it’s not. There’s something wrong with him. He knows it. He knows it. And now Jack does, too.

you should watch 92sies :) /nf

RAHHH I WANT TO!!!!!!! but I keep like putting it off... like I wanna watch it SO BAD but it's sooooo much EFFORT yk....... ty anon!!!!!

davey who finds all of jacks drawings- not just of him, but of everybody in jacks life. candid pictures of crutchie, race, albert, katherine- literally everybody jack knows. but as davey's snooping (because he just cannot resist) he finds a picture of a middle-aged man, drawn with considerably less refined penmanship than the others. it's labeled as 'pops' in fading pencil.

jack's father. ... oh.

davey slips it back between the two landscapes it was nestled in, but makes sure to make the corner visible- so jack might see it and consider drawing it again.

he also makes sure to snap a mental picture of the drawing labeled 'davey gazes into the distance <3' before he places the papers back into their tube and back under jack's scruffy pillow.

please spread this so that it can actually be funny instead of just 1 person voting

David didn’t want his first visit to the lodging house to be this, anything but this would’ve been better.

He attempted to readjust the way JoJo’s arm hung across his shoulders, fingers digging in in a grip that matched the wince on his face with every limped half step.

Les forged on ahead of them in some kind of attempt to clear the way, and people moved for the dirt-stained kid with tear tracked cheeks and an arm held to his chest, spattered with blood; his own or someone else’s David wasn’t sure yet and as much as he wanted to grab Les and give him a once over for any injuries aside from the obvious, JoJo who’d gotten a club to the knee and then the head once he went down took priority.

JoJo was also spattered with blood, but it was obvious it was his own, leaking from his newly crooked nose-

He lurched to the side suddenly, and David did his best to keep him upright but he was tired and his head was spinning and something in his chest was sending shooting pains along his ribs when he breathed too deep and staying upright was hard-

“Sorry Dave.” JoJo’s voice was slurred like he was drunk and Davey realised he didn’t even know what age he was. Not old enough to get drunk, not even close, 14 at most surely, not the youngest but younger and-

“It’s fine. We’re almost back, just a couple more steps.”

“Y’seen Splasher?”

“Don’t worry about him right now. We’re almost back.”

“That copper got him real good Dave. I don’think I seen him get up.”

David swallowed bile, clung to JoJo’s waist a little harder.

He hadn’t seen Splasher get up either.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” He said out loud.

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.

pssst hi antonio is a fanon name from a really old fanfic (same with sean for spot) but ed is the historical racetrack higgins' name!

OHH ITS FROM A FANFIC????????? epic ngl