#davey's projects

[dustinbroke]

Popped into Batuu to have a look at things. Finally this MF is as crusty as he's supposed to be.

[1nm806]

autistic spot conlon but his special interest is just newspapers so no one realises. autistic spot conlon but when he goes non verbal people just think hes intimidating. he keeps his sleeves rolled up so his arms aren't restricted and this is "so he can punch easier" but its actually because he hates the feeling of it. he has one (1) conversation with davey where he just talks about newspapers for an hour non stop and davey's just like. Oh you're like me! and they are friends because of it and without that context no one can understand how or why they're friends.

[pigeonwit]

David felt too much.

He had his whole life. He had always been called a ‘sensitive child’; if anyone changed their tone at him or raised their voice ever so slightly, he’d burst into tears, begging them not to be angry with him or asking if they were disappointed. As he grew, he learned that that wasn’t allowed anymore (the mocking from Oscar and Morris in middle school saw to that), and so, David learned to camouflage himself. If someone rolled their eyes at him, or if his joke didn’t land, he’d take the pain he felt and shove it deep, deep down in his stomach, wait for the storm of ‘they hate you they hate you just shut up why are you like this no one wants you SHUT UP’ in his head to calm, and then wait until he was safe in the nearest bathroom stall to hyperventilate into his sleeve. He’d always talk himself down eventually, once all the feelings had leaked out, leaving burning trails on his face and bruises in his chest. And then, he would feel blissfully numb. Tired and deflated and wonderfully empty, for the rest of the day. Everything would blur into the background, leaving him in a peaceful fuzzy euphoria, until he got back to his room and collapsed into his bed, and let the world around him fade away.

As he grew older, though, it was harder to disappear. The house grew louder, and more invasive. His mother would loudly crash around in the kitchen or the laundry room or wherever, desperately searching for some chore she could distract herself with. Les would whine that he was bored, or that he needed help with his homework, or that he was hungry, until David forced himself out of bed to satisfy him. His sister would yell at Les to get out of her room, yell at their mother that she was being unfair, yell at David for doing nothing but hide in his room all day instead of helping the rest of them. Their father never got yelled at, though. Not when he’d shuffle into their rooms without knocking to call them for dinner, not when he shuffled and groaned almost constantly as he tried to find a comfortable position on his new bed on the couch, not when he always looked so bored no matter what was happening, no matter how badly David wanted to scream at him to shut up, stop it, do something, no one ever yelled at their father. And it hurt. It hurt, and ached, and stung, and David felt, felt, felt with nowhere and no way for him to let it out.

The first time he ever spoke to Albert DaSilva, he was sixteen. He’d made it through middle school and almost through high school without ever having to cross the boy’s path, but he supposed that luck ran out over time. David had been trembling, the ten dollars of carefully counted change burning against his palm, and he distinctly remembered shoving his hand out and asking for ‘one weed, please’ with the world’s most perfectly timed voice-crack. Albert had laughed so hard he wound up letting David take the bag for five. David tried to think of it as an act of generosity rather than pity.

David wouldn’t call himself a pothead. He definitely wouldn’t say he was addicted. Technically, he would always remind himself, you couldn’t get addicted to weed. He knew it was a stupid argument – it didn’t matter if something was addictive or not, anyone could get addicted to anything. Still, it made him feel a little less anxious about smoking it, those rare occasions when his feelings were just too much for him and he didn’t have any other way of getting rid of them.

Today is one of those occasions.

David yells a half-hearted ‘going to Albert’s’ into the chaos of the Jacobs’ household, and swings the door closed before anyone can respond – not that anyone ever did. He doubts that they mind, really; he knows it annoys them when he leaves at random points of the day, since that meant one less pair of hands to do chores and deal with their father’s episodes, but he knows they’re also grateful to have one less person to snap at. The winter wind hits him like a thousand tiny needles piercing his face, and David grimaces, pulling his scarf over his mouth. Just a few minutes, he swears to himself. Just a few minutes, and he wouldn’t feel anything at all.

The path into the woods is beaten and muddy, and the number of weeds and bracken coating its edges makes it almost indistinguishable from the forest floor. But for those gifted few, the hikers and the dog walkers and the emotionally stunted teenagers who needed some place quiet to get high, walking the path was as easy as breathing. It wound and twisted its way around the gnarled trees, over the knolls and through the overgrowth, until you found yourself walking along a ledge of ferns and shrubbery. David had it down to a perfect art – he would identify the wild cherry sapling poking its way out of the shrubbery, walk exactly seven paces, find the tiny hollow where some animal had wriggled its way through the shrubbery (David assumes it was a fox, given the tracks and the strands of fur in the brambles), and manage to shove his way between them until he was through the wall of shrubbery and on the bank of a small stream. From there, David would perch himself on a rock, roll his joint, take a drag, and lose himself in the sound of sweet, sweet nothingness.

David groans in relief as the stress begins to seep out of his body; a loud, obnoxious sound that he makes purely for the sake of making it. For being loud without having to worry about someone yelling at him to shut up. The phenomenon of inconsequentiality is a rare one, and David relishes it. He stretches out on his rock and bathes in the silence for no one knows how long. Who’s keeping track? The birds certainly aren’t judging him.

His joint burns down, bit by bit – he blows smoke rings and smiles dopily as they melted away on the wind. He toes the water, splashing at it rhythmically, and then bursts into a giggling fit. Singing water. Babbling brook. Babble was a fun word. Babble. Babblabblabble.

God, his mother would throw a fit if she could see him here.

David giggles again.

[chimeofthecomet]

@newsiesminibang24 art piece #1 !!! ta daaaa ✨✨

Building Momentum - @agentsnickers

story link here!! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/55304677/chapters/140300932

lyrics from rises the moon by liana flores !!! ok yall have GOT to read this fic its immortal au its found family its gender and time shenanigans you will get so invested into their livesssss,,, and i had so so much fun with this art i put some fun little details in :D

[loiteringandlurking]

ME WITH JAVEY

[goosersellpapes]

Davey: hears thumping sounds coming from the living room

*goes to living room*

Albert: *hitting head on wall repeatedly*

Davey: ALBERT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

Albert: I HAVE A HEADACHE

[tenantoftheorpheumcircuit]

Davey is like 100% an insomniac. But not in the up-at-ungodly-hours way in the has-to-go-to-bed-at-8:30-else-his-melatonin-won’t-work way.

Dude is like the princess and the pea, the room has to be pitch dark, he needs an audiobook, the covers have to be the right kind of cosy otherwise sleep evades him.

[frogmanfae]

David Jacobs is the guy who reminds all of his friends to take their meds but is also the guy who consistently forgets to take his own meds

[livesincerely]

“Jesus, Jack,” Davey groans when Jack releases his lower lip from between his teeth⁠—from between his fangs, Davey mentally corrects, noting the change with a quiet thrill. “I thought you didn’t want to dance?”

Jack’s hands slip lower, one curling around his hip, the other splaying wide and possessive over the small of Davey’s back. “Changed my mind.”

“Oh?” Davey murmurs, curling his fingers through Jack’s belt loops to draw him closer even as their hips continue to sway to the beat. “And why’s that, I wonder?”

“One’a life’s great mysteries,” Jack says, leaning in to kiss along Davey’s jaw. “Why would I want an armful of the prettiest guy in the room? The world may never know.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Davey asks, pitching his voice to something soft and sultry, batting his lashes just so.

Jack’s eyes narrow, his grip around Davey’s hips tightening that much more.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, and god, he’s so easy to rile this close to the full moon. Davey has to bite his lip to keep himself from smirking. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“So, you don’t think I’m pretty?” Davey pouts.

Jack tilts his head and catches Davey’s mouth in another kiss, deep and dominating.

“I think,” he says against Davey’s still-parted lips, his voice low and rough, “that you’re the most gorgeous creature on the face of this Earth. An’ I think you’re gonna regret teasin’ me like this when we get home.”

“And I think,” Davey replies, a little breathlessly, looping his arms around Jack’s neck and bringing their foreheads together, “that isn’t as much of a threat as you probably think it is.”

[monpanache]

Modern au Daey hates driving, he finds it too stressing

[free-boundsoul]

I have no idea why but I imagine Anton as a big guy

[dustinbroke]

Little gay wires for my little gay robot.

[wrestlingarsenal]

My tribute to Paul Roma continues with this edited video depicting the stud's utter dominance over hunky jobber, Davey Rich. Sure, Romeo Roma is pure eye candy, but there is also something very sexy about his hairy-chested jobber too! That chunky dad bod and those bulging little trunks on Davy Rich, are you serious?! I'm in love.

We get to see Roma's trademark Over-the-Knee Backbreaker Series in the video, where he demonstrates his power by repeatedly hoisting up his opponent and dropping the poor dude's spine across his knee to bust his back. So brutal and merciless! That one always turns me on, and I don't think I'm the only one because I've heard other wrestling lovers mention his OTK gimmick as a favorite.

The full match is available on YouTube. Years ago, I had this match on a video in my old wrestle-porn collection, from which I screen-capped these two images that were posted to my April 2004 "Spotlight on Paul Roma" gallery:

[angel-bubbles]

bouncer david and bartender angel

[locustsend]

meant to post this yesterday for trans day of visibility but wtv... my fav transmascs :]

[jasperscringepit]

I personally think that David Jacobs is a diehard fan of lego batman. He'd never watched it before, and jack delights in being the first person to show him. Needless to say, he is in love immediately. It is one of his favourite films