There's No Need To Be Sorry!! I LOVE Talking About Writing It's Legit Why I Went To University Dude!!

everyone look at this fire newsies pin i got

jack and crutchie who have look at phone in bed time together every day vs. davey who has to look at phone in bed by himself (crutchie is funnier so he gets bed time with jack)

crutchie and davey play ranked splatoon w race while jack looks at phone in bed ... occasionally davey yells in anger just like a 'GRHAH' and it catches jack really off guard ... one time he actually falls out of bed ... my domestic boarding school headcanons ...

in my modern au jack has to take davey's concert black pants and they pool at his feet btw. he has to wear platform shoes btw.

Hey we have accidental matching PFPs!! Accidental twinsies 😂😂

LMAOO .... it's an iconic photo tho ...... love David my guy my silly

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.

newsies mutuals we should play among us sometime

im curious what's the first meme you remember seeing? mine was numa numa

ok so

If anyone’s looking for any good newsies fanfic authors here on tumblr, here’s a list of a few of them:

@saveugoodmadam - the resident Crutchie expert, his writing is amazing and makes we want to cry /pos

@loiteringandlurking - Javey. What else can I say? Seriously though, his fics are top tier, I always love reading what he writes

@pigeonwit - I wish I could write 50% as good as he does, I’m not even kidding. Like, where did all this talent come from

I will likely add more to this list as time goes on, but seriously you should check out these amazing people’s stuff if you want to read good fanfiction

(Also sorry if it’s weird that I tagged you three, since I only know one of you well, so sorry about that)

pls reblog for sample size etc

follow for more occasional useless polls :)

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.