Reblog If Your Name Isn't Ashley.

my mutuals’ “headcanons” are MY canon. understand? i only know what they tell me, i only hear what they say. my mutuals’ posts are like the holy texts and i am but a humble scholar in search of knowledge

can i be davey:3 please ...

newsiesblr as the cast of newsies but if u dont put me down as spot conlon i will actually cry my eyes out so u have to make me the short autistic lil fuck

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.’

fuck dude I'm so sad tn . anyway jack doesn't know how to grieve ... both his parents died when he was too young to grieve ... he didn't understand that was how it worked yet . when jack lost his father, he just kept moving ... that's what he always told him to do. 'don't worry, my boy, don't worry. just keep moving. never stop moving, boy. you hear me?'

jack keeps moving. he moves and moves and moves until Davey stops him like a brick wall. one night, davey hugs him just right and jack dissolves. all of a sudden, davey feels tears soaking through his shirt, and feels jack sob. he hugs jack tighter . everything rushes back to jack. the warmth of his little bedroom, his dad's cooking. he never knew his mom, but his dad was better than jack thinks a mom could have ever been.

all of a sudden, jack realises that his father is gone. forever. he died almost 9 years ago.

and fuck, jack never stopped moving for long enough to realise.

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.

guy who has tons of rizz when it's on his terms but if anyone tries to flirt with him he freezes and hits them with the prey animal stare

@coircus-aceman @pigeonc0up teehee!!!

Three??? Days???

There are only three days left to sign up for the Newsies Gift Exchange?!?!?!? 😱😱😱

Whatever shall we do???

…Tag, anyone?

Rules for Newsies Tag:

You pick two people- mutuals, friends, total strangers- and you tag (@) them.

If you are “tagged”, you keep the chain going! Tag two more people!

If they have not already signed up for the Newsies Gift Exchange- surprise! Now they are legally obligated to sign up. 🥰 And they pass it on to two more people!

If they have already signed up- double surprise! They still have to keep the game going, AND you have to tag two more people!!!

If you’re tagged more than once- don’t be lame. Find more people!

Ideas for people you can tag: Mutuals, friends, other people in the fandom you’ve seen around. If that’s too intimidating, just tag your friend. Make them double-tag people for you. If you can’t think of anyone to tag, go through your followers or mutuals or people YOU follow to find the Newsies stans. Or, look up accounts that have tagged Newsies. Spread your wings and fly, people! We’ve got less than 72 hours!

SIGN UP LINK HERE!!!

RAHHHHH SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING!!!!!! I WENT CAMPING!!!!!!!!

“I thought I saw you sneak up here,” Jack murmurs.

“...I just needed some air,” Davey says in a thin, quiet voice, staring determinedly out into the darkness.

“Got room for one more?” Jack asks, stepping closer.

Davey gives a tiny shrug, wrapping his arms around himself. Taking this as permission, Jack clambers up onto the ledge and sits down beside him, not quite close enough to touch, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

The silence stretches on and on, as vast as the expanse of sky overhead. Hesitant, Jack allows it to linger for a long, breathless moment, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s trying to gather his thoughts or his nerve.

But finally he says, “Ain’t seen much’a you tonight. Ain’t seen much’a you in ages, really.”

He pauses there, trying to judge Davey’s reaction to his gentle prodding. But Davey doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to face him, as still and stone-faced as a statue.

The pit in Jack’s stomach grows even wider.

Aloud he continues, “And I’m not tryin’ ta point fingers, Dave, but I’m startin’ to worry that somethin’s gone wrong between us. Horribly wrong. Maybe—“ He sucks in a breath. “Maybe so wrong that it can’t be fixed.”

He wants Davey to reassure him, to explain away the unease that colors their every interaction, why each conversation seems to end with a thousand words left unspoken. To say that it’s all going to be okay.

But he doesn’t say anything. Not a single, godforsaken word, and somehow, out of everything, that’s what cuts the deepest.

i feel like every newsies fan headcanons every newsie as autistic or adhd (or both)