Ok So

cringe is dead cringe is dead cringe is dead cringe is dead cringe is de

newsies but splatoon splatsies if you will

TRUE!!!!! splatoon would absolutely destroy Pulitzer!!!!!!!! he wouldn't stand a CHANCE ...

newsies playing splatoon, however .......

listen I could go ON about their mains and everything but Davey and crutchie play anarchy together and jack sucks actual ass and is rank c- but 100% alterna and katherine consistently asks how they enjoy the game .... my brian worms .... race is x rank btw ... I could go on for hours ....

me when i just draw javey and ralbert over and over 😁👍

welcome to the newsies multiverse. you are now entering MEWSIES

“So, uh,” Jack starts hesitantly, turning to Jacobs. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all that.”

“Uh huh,” Jacobs says, looking supremely unimpressed. “Sure.”

“No, honest,” Jack insists. “It was about time someone knocked that smug look of his face. Do you, uh,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with himself. “Do you want some ice for your hand? That was a mean left hook—“

“I am just fine,” Jacobs interrupts, his tone biting. “So feel free to spare me the All-American, Boy Scout routine. If you really want to help⁠—” the look on his face makes his opinion on the quality of Jack’s help perfectly clear, “—then you can make sure assholes like Oscar DeLancey stay the hell away from my squad. And if he comes within spitting distance of one of my girls again, I’ll have his dick in a vice.”

A razor sharp smile. “So glad we had this talk.”

And with that, he marches away.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jack murmurs to himself, utterly enraptured as he watches him go. He’s real pretty and he’s real mean: Jack’s heart is already doing loop-de-loops around his chest. “‘M so fucked.”

why is he actually so ethereal

Cuddle Buddies 💕

They’re so important to me!! 😫🫂

WAHHHHH

Tipsy Davey is a lovely Davey, easy to blush and fluster – it doesn’t take much more than a smile to send him giggling into his glass, and it drives Jack’s own ego to dangerous heights. He could spend whole nights murmuring compliments in Davey’s ear, tracing his knuckle against Davey’s thigh, listening to him giggle against Jack’s own temple, feebly nudging him away (and letting him come right back) and mumbling "Jackie, stop…" without meaning a word of it.

And then there’s Drunk Davey, when his flush settles high on his cheeks and his bashfulness settles with it. He loses that nervousness he keeps underneath his skin that’s always pulling him back just a little, telling him not to come on too strong. He touches freely, whispers the pads of his fingertips over Jack’s wrists enough to drive him insane, sweeps over the bridge of Jack’s freckled nose and murmurs, “Glory be to God for dappled things…”. The bitter little middle-schooler that still lives in Jack’s mind has always thought that poetry was something just too dorky to be attractive, but that bitter little middle-schooler sure shuts the hell up when Davey whispers pretty things in Jack’s ear on a dark corner of the dance floor. Jack’s not complaining at all.

And then there’s Jack’s favourite – Truly Shitfaced Davey. He’s a rare gift, reserved only for New Years, birthdays and Halloween parties, if his costume is slutty enough. Jack can recount every single Truly Shitfaced Davey encounter he’s ever had, and while they’re nowhere near as suave as Drunk Davey, they are by all means his favourites.

“Face,” Davey mumbles, poking Jack’s cheek and marvelling at the squish of it. Jack has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Yeah, babe?” He asks sweetly, because he is a wonderful boyfriend, thank you very much.

“Your face… It – you…” Davey’s face pinches as he tries to find his words underneath the drunk haze that’s blanketing his brain. He promptly gives up and groans, waving an arm dismissively as he burrows into Jack’s side. “S’good.”

Jack grins, pressing a kiss to the curls tickling his face. He gives up on trying to stifle his smile – Davey’s too drunk to care, and far too drunk to notice the way he’s staring inquisitvely at Jack’s lips the way he usually stares at a good book.

“Thanks, Davey-mine. Your face is good, too.”

Davey stares at him for a moment, mouth squared and silent for a little too long, until he makes a strangled little squeak and ducks his face into Jack’s neck.

“Shuddup!” He orders as Jack laughs, but he can’t help it. As much as he loves Davey when he’s reciting sonnets from memory, he especially loves him speechless, if only for the novelty of it.

Pfffft. Okay. If this gets 1k notes I’ll come out to my teacher at school and ask to be called my preferred pronouns :)