This Too Is Javid

tysm for the tag??

tiny homo :)

no pressure!! @pigeonwit @imbluedabadeedabadye @the-woild-is-y-erster

thought this picrew was absolutely ADORABLE so i am starting a tag chain :DD

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/2069970

@apollos-dodgeball-target @morningstarthegood @quarter-noter @galloweye @mildlyinterestedcreature @apple--cid-er @ginjaninja839 @xo-linguine-pasta @clever-fandom-reference @keyboordspam @sneakyfox55 + whoever wants to GO FORTH AS YE WISH!!

Jack writes in a diary, but instead of titling it like others would with "Dear Diary" He directs each entry to a different Newsie. He finds it easier to let it all out if his mind thinks he's writing all this to somebody. His diary entries are really more like letters he'll never send.

Dear Racetrack,

We got some new kids today, Davey and his brother Les. Les thought I was pretty cool, Davey might take a little more convincing. They seem pretty sound though, they got parents and a flat, the whole nine yards, y'know?

Dear Jojo,

We're officially on strike against Pulitzer! That bastard raised the prices without even a word of warning to us and expect us to just go along with it? Yeah, well, have we got news for them, am I right?

Dear Crutchie,

This wasn't how today was supposed to end. I know we were warned this could go wrong, but I didn't think we'd be beaten that badly.

I feel like real shit knowing I didn't go down there and help him after all those times he helped me. My brothers been sent to the one place I swore to protect everybody from, and I just stood there. I'm so sorry Crutch.

Dear I'm sorry I let you down Davey.

how they aleep btw

DELECTABLE!!!

Some Sort of Peace- Racetrack Higgins

(No trigger warnings)

Summary- Davey’s the Manhattan newsies’ leader now, but that doesn’t mean that Race still isn’t second-in-command- and it doesn’t mean that there isn’t still problems to solve.

************************************************************************     “What do you want?” Davey snapped from his place at the door, and Race swallowed any nervousness as he looked sheepishly at him. 

    “Heya, Dave,” he greeted the taller newsie, doffing his cap and offering Davey a grin that was not returned. “So, I was just thinkin’, and I got an idea for a solution to the whole situation with Brooklyn.”

    “Make it quick.” Davey glared somewhere over Race’s shoulder, in a direction that Race knew well enough to be facing the Brooklyn Bridge. Ever since Jack had taken off to Santa Fe and Davey had taken control of Manhattan, tensions with Spot Conlon and his boys were rising endlessly- Jack’s charisma had been a bigger asset than any of them had known at the time, and with him gone, they had nothing to keep Brooklyn placated other than compromises, which were adding up by the ton.

    “Well, since a lot of the problems are with Brookies sellin’ on our turf, maybe we could station some newsies near the bridge?” Race watched Davey’s face for any sign of further agitation, any note that he should back off and come back later, but the other’s face remained stone cold. “If we set definite rules for where Conlon’s boys can go, he won’t try and push the boundaries any further back.”

    “How do you know this’ll work?” Now, Davey seemed interested. Race almost heaved a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be facing the wrath of their new leader, who’d changed so much from the meek and polite boy the newsies had first met that it was uncanny, especially how fast he’d been to take over when Jack left. It’s like remarryin’ while your wife ain’t even cold, Race mused silently. 

    Clearing his throat and twirling his cigar in his fingers, Race continued. “I’ve been hangin’ around Brooklyn a lot- had a lot of conversations with Spot, y’know- and I’ve notice that for all their toughness, the last thing Conlon wants is a fight.” His lips turned up in a smile. “If we play nice for a while, give ‘im a soft reminder that Manhattan ain’t his turf, he’ll back off.”

    Davey’s hand toyed almost nervously with the seam on his sleeve, picking at the worn thread. “Go see if Specs’ll deliver the message,” he commanded, and Race resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not even a thank-you?

​​​​​​​   “Sure thing, boss.” As Race turned to leave, he felt some sort of shift in the air behind him. Turning to look one last time, he saw Davey looking at him- were his eyes that misty before?

    “You’re doing great, Racer,” Davey smiled softly, a complete one-eighty from the angry expression he always wore. “I know that it’s been hard without Jack here, but… you’re doing just fine.”

    Race grinned back. “Thanks, boss.” Before he shut the door, he called back, “You’s not doin’ to bad yourself.”

    And with that, he swept out of the room, off to try and organize some sort of peace with Brooklyn- with a plan in his head and a friendly feeling in his heart.

take this quiz to find out which paranormal creature you are

I just realized something. In the show I’m doing currently, or rather, just finished as of today (😭), I have a fair amount of lines, but not many, so I’ve been doing some little improv-y bits here and there to add on to my character/the show. And it hit me: Max Casella did the same thing with Racetrack Higgins.

I’m gonna paraphrase this, but once I read a quote from Max Casella talking about his role as Racetrack saying: “Racetrack doesn’t have many lines in the script, so I’v been adding little bits of my own.”

I am slowly but surely on my way to becoming the Max Casella/Racetrack Higgins I want to see in the world.

new javey think just dropped!! (cw for mention of sh scars!!!)

Davey needs a breath of fresh air.

He travels up to the roof of the building, taking the stairs instead of the elevator becuase the last thing he wants right now is to feel nauseous.

His chest feels tight, his eyes are sore.

Maybe it's not worth it.

He reaches the roof, opening the door and feeling the cool breeze on his wet cheeks as he glanced around.

He sees another figure on the roof- he's not alone.

Who else would be out here at this time of night?

When Jack hears the door to the roof open, he turns. He doesn’t whip around in surprise, he's far too tired. He turns, almost lethargically.

The figure has the same curls and chiseled nose as David Jacobs. Even in the dark of the night, it's clear he’s been crying. His shoulders are drawn up near his ears and his hands are wringing an invisible towel, trembling slightly.

His voice carries on the wind: ‘Jack?’

He replies, hoping his voice carries the same way: ‘David?’

It's like a Western standoff. The moon slinks behind a cloud. The stars toss beautiful shadows across Davey’s cheeks, shiny with tears.

‘Come here.’ Jack says softly, gesturing to the view. ‘Look.’

Davey begins to walk over, stumbling a little over his own feet. He looks out at the view- it's beautiful. Windows shine like stars, cars flow on the streets like rivers of lights and electricity. Electricity flows through Davey’s veins. Jack’s shoulder touches his.

The sleeves of Jack’s hoodie are drawn up, and his hands dangle over the edge of the building. Constellations of scars and freckles litter his arms. The scars: methodical, patterned, they are buildings, they are cars. The freckles: tossed haphazardly across Jack’s skin, they are dappled light, they are stars.

Davey always had a bit of a thing about stars.

‘Are you alright, Dave?’ Jack asks the city skyline.

'I'm…’ Davey sighs towards the bank building. ‘I’m alright. Better now that I’m chatting to you. Better now that I’m getting some fresh air.’

Jack hums, slipping a hand around Davey’s shoulders.

‘The city’s beautiful at night, iddnit?’

‘It reminds me of you.’

albert doesn't really KNOW how to express affection. he steals race's cigar every once in a while, but he doesn't think race really appreciates that. what he knows (or thinks) race likes is when albert hugs him, when albert compresses race as tightly as possible for as long as possible. usually albert isn't a hugger, but something about the way race melts in his arms is addicting. the faint smell of smoke on his vest, the soot on his cheeks wiping onto albert's neck, where albert wouldn't want to clean, to keep that faint reminder of race on him for a little longer.

some mornings albert 'accidentally' puts on race's vest instead of his own, to smell his scent of smoke and sweat and warmth in winter. sometimes he climbs into race's bed with him just to Be with him. to feel race's warmth and smell his smoke.

being with race is the only thing he really wants, he thinks.

do you think a genderfluid Davey fic would be cool?

i think a genderfluid davey fic is (if you'll permit me) inevitable. do you know why its inevitable.

because hes too hot to be gender solid.

My brain at all times: