Loiteringandlurking - Its Good To Have You Back Again ..🗞️

I love my mutuals. Reblog if you love your mutuals.

OOHHHHHHHH MY GOD HIS NAME IS ANTONIO ................ this is good this is nice

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

its probably becuz im a band kid but i rlyyyy want a newsies band au ...

crutchie on piano and race on vocals (i love ben cooks voice so much) ... im not sure what everyone else would play, but i am very passionate about those two. but someone would have to be on drums, saxophone, trumpet, trombone, electric guitar, bass, etc... that kind of band

IT WONT LEAVE MY MIND

LMAOO can u imagine they both break down laughing and kissing through smiles & happy tears as davey says yes and makes jack promise to keep that box forever ...

This is how Jack proposes to David

Guys heyyy

"THAT'S MY CIGAR."

HOOOOOLLLYYYY SHIT THATS JAVEY

(it's a minecraft build of a college dorm and it's exactly how I imagine javey's room would look, especially in @pigeonwit 's fics)

my top post ever is the “nUWUsies” one and honestly I’m not even ashamed

i love sarcastic Davey. I love Davey. he's my bbg

spot: why is davey here?

davey: i always ask that question.

Davey keeps him close, flattening himself to Jack's back - he could blame the small bed if he wanted, blame the cold or whatever else, but there's no denying the thrumming in his chest, the determined want of 'keep here, stay here, right here with me'. Jack tenses for a moment, muscles seizing in reflexive panic, and Davey's worried he's wrecked it for a moment before Jack sighs, melts, presses the curve of his back against the sturdy bow of Davey's chest, like a fawn huddling into a shelter, away from the wind and wilderness.

"Spoons..." Jack murmurs, his tone more sleep-drunk than actually drunk now. "Just two li'l spoons..."

"That's right, Jackie," Davey curls his arms around Jack's soft stomach. It's possessive in a way that normally makes him sick, but he has to, has to know that Jack's there, has to let Jack know that he's not going anywhere, and neither is Davey. "You just sleep now, yeah? You go right to sleep, Jackie-love..."

He keeps doing that, murmuring sweet things into Jack's ear, petting along his stomach the way he does to Les when he's sick, the way Jack does to every stray kid who needs a warm touch. He's always doing that, Davey thinks, just on the edge of bitter - giving away all his warmth, letting people seep it out of him. It's kind, so achingly kind, but Davey can't help but wonder how long Jack's been doing that, shivering for the sake of someone else's warmth. Jack Kelly, protector of strays, patron saint of never knowing when to quit.

“Look.” Jack murmurs quietly, pointing at the lights above them. “Big Dipper.”

“No, it isn’t.” Davey says immediately, because he’s a proud know-it-all and must prove it at all times. “It’s just the only constellation you know. You can point to any square-ish set of stars and say it’s the Big Dipper and no one would know the difference.”

Jack scoffs indignantly and jabs him with his fork, sticky with marshmallow fluff.

“You find it, then!”

Davey grabs Jack’s hand and points it to the left.

“There.”

“Really?”

“No.”