We’re Back In The Microwave, Folks. Just Chillin’. Spinning Around And Around, No Thoughts Except

this too is javid

should I make a pinned/intro post ......

Exploring background manhattan newsie looks!! I want to give them all a cohesive colour scheme and all slightly different outfits, also more variety in ages, lengths and nationalities. Also they're just so fun to draw

javey. dave is performing with an orchestra and has like 3 massive solos, jacks come to support bc why wouldn't he come watch his crush best friend perform the performance of his LIFE.

the performance goes REALLY well, davey absolutely eats it up, and finds jack after the concert and they walk home tgt to their shared dorm. along the walk, davey complains and complains how hot his concert blacks are and then as soon as their dorm door closes, the tie and the shirt and the shoes all come off at once. davey is a master at taking clothes off fast, and now all he's in are a pair of pants fitted very nicely around the waist.

jack falls over dave goes jack what happened are you feeling lightheaded, jack tries to remain suave as this Hot Ass Man is helping him up and rubbing his back consolingly .... then they kiss or whatever

im just saying katherine as a famous if somewhat controversial author, jack as the photographer of a trashy gossip mag trying to get pictures of her and davey as her stressed manager who keeps thwarting him at every turn. discuss.

something to believe in javey ........ not to dismiss katherine she's awesome ... but I need gay ..

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

love when characters have to have a domestication arc before you can even consider giving them a redemption arc

He’s Gone- Specs

Summary- Specs goes to deliver some bad news to Crutchie.

Specs shielded his face against the rain as he stumbled along the narrow road, nearly blinded by the drops of water but still able to see a single speck of light from a street lamp, guiding him through the alleyways. His arms and legs hurt- everything hurt- but he merely gritted his teeth and walked on, not stopping until he saw the place of his nightmares in the distance.

The Refuge. Specs was one of few newsies who’d never been caught within its walls; he was one of the lucky ones. He’d always considered it some sort of mythical creature, looking to ensnare anyone who got too close to its gaping jaws, searching for the weakest of a bunch and trapping them. Jack had been there, Race had been there- god, nearly everyone he knew except himself had served a month or two- and they only had one word to describe it.

Hell.

Swallowing the nervousness that piled up in his throat, choking his voice, Specs began to climb the rickety fire escape on the side of the building. The window was locked, of course it was, and as he reached into his pocket to pull out a makeshift lock pick, he heard a sound coming from inside.

Sucking in a quick breath, ducking down, Specs prayed he wasn’t visible to anyone passing by. He stayed there, not daring to move or breathe, until he heard a voice whisper above him.

“Psst! Specs!”

Glancing up, he met the bruised and broken face of Crutchie, whose eyes had lit up as soon as their gazes made contact. Forcing a smile that felt like more of a grimace, Specs stood and gathered the boy in a hug.

“Crutchie,” he said, taking in Crutchie’s battered form. “It’s nice to see you, bud.”

“You too.” Crutchie picked at a loose splinter on the windowsill. “So, any news of the strike?”

Specs’s heart went cold as he remembered why he was there. “Since I was last here, there’s been… changes.” He watched Crutchie’s face fall as he relayed the news of Jack’s scabbing, of the rally that had failed so badly and dashed any hope of winning for the newsies.

“So, Davey’s taken over?” Crutchie asked, his voice low and wobbling. Specs nodded, unable to meet his eye.

“I’m sorry, Crutch,” he muttered. “Jack’s run off with the money now- he’s gone.”

Crutchie just stood for a second, breathing shallow, the look of disbelief almost too much to bear. “Leave,” he commanded, almost too softly to hear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, leave.” Crutchie’s voice was low, full of tears yet boiling over with anger. “Ain’t no use for you bein’ here if the strike’s finished.”

“I can’t leave you,” Specs argued. “What if… what if he hurts you worse now that there ain’t no one to save you?”

Crutchie laughed, cruel and sharp. “Ha! If he wants to hurt me, let ‘im. What’s one kid in the grand scheme of things? We lost, Specs. We’re done.”

Fighting back the urge to yell at him, to beg him to stay, Specs lifted his head, tears stinging the back of his eyes. “Don’t lose hope, Crutchie,” he said, trying to imitate the confidence Jack had always shown. “We’ll get ya out of here.”

“Sure you will.” Crutchie glared down at him. “But don’t be surprised if you can’t.” He slammed down the window, barely missing Specs’ fingers, and the bespectacled newsie barely heard the cry of fear and anger that followed.

Turning on his heels, Specs walked quickly away, his hopes dashed and his mind running wild.

Maybe Crutchie’s right, he thought to himself, staring out at the barely-visible moon, rain soaking him to his skin. Maybe we can’t do this.

Not without Jack, anyway.

hi !

this is so random but can you write abt ralbert?? like literally anything ralbert, i need more fuel for headcannons :3

RALBERT!!!!!! I LOVE RALBERT!!!!!!!

teehee I wrote this in a moment of yearning, sorry it's so short :(

'Albert, seriously.' Race sounds exasperated, holding Albert's left hand gingerly with his own, holding a torn up shirt in the other.

'I'm sorry, okay?' Albert mumbles over his shoulder, away from Race. 'You don't have to wrap my hands.' He sucks in a breath as coarse fabric tightens against his bloodied knuckles.

'You don't have to get in fights protecting people who don't need protecting.' Race glances up at Albert under his cap, eyes hard and cold.

Albert stares back, trying to give his coldest look. But he winces when Race turns his hand over, so his knuckles are resting on Race's warm palm. The sensation hurts, but it's welcome. Race ties the fabric around Albert's wrist, and gently puts his hand down, picking up the other one, dripping blood on Albert's shorts.

'But he called you bad things.' Albert says quietly, scrunching his left hand up. 'He called Jack bad things. He called the newsies bad things.'

'That doesn't mean you should beat him up.' Race says sharply, pulling the fabric a little too taut around Albert's knuckles. 'We can protect ourselves.'

Albert looks away. 'But I care. About you and Jack and the newsies. How else am I meant to show that I care?'

Race ties the fabric around Albert's hand, finishing the wrap. He puts his other hand on top of Albert's, like a sandwich. 'You feel this, Albert? You feel my hands, and how warm they are? That means I care. Soft touches mean you care, not hurting ones.'

Albert bites his lip. Soft touches. When was the last time Albert felt a soft touch?

Race puts his hand up to Albert's cheek, rubs his thumb over the bump of an old scar. 'Soft touches mean I love you, Albert. Soft touches mean I love you no matter what you do or what happens.' He chuckles a little. 'That doesn't mean I condone you beating up Oscar Delancey for almost no reason.'

Albert smiles softly, before wrapping Race in a tight hug.

It feels nice.

Albert hasn't hugged or been hugged in probably years. He feels his insides melt with comfort as Race reciprocated the hug, rubbing Albert's back and tightening his grip around Albert's middle.

Soft touches mean I love you.