must-be-brooklyn

[must-be-brooklyn]

open a new window somewhere in the world. 

[must-be-brooklyn]

Update

So, it’s been the most hellish few months of my life that I can remember and I’m so sorry that I just ,, disappeared ,, 

I can’t promise I’ll be posting every day, or necessarily even every week, but please know that I’m doing my best. Everything is just really busy at the moment and I’ve been struggling to keep up with everything. 

But, yeah - if you’re new around here, thanks for following xx And, if you’ve been following for a while, thanks for sticking around xx 

- Hannah

[must-be-brooklyn]

Paint splashes

Ship: Javid

Words: 1.5k

Era: Modern au 

-o-

In which Javid are very in love, do some painting together and I enjoy making it as fluffy as possible.

-o-

The paints were always stored in the weirdest places. David had come to terms with that in the four years since he had moved in with Jack. Letting out a quiet sigh, he scanned his eyes left to right, across each long shelf that was filled with Jack’s art supplies.

“Jack!” he called, and paused for a second, waiting for a reply.

There was a distance shuffling of feet as Jack yelled back to him. “What?”

“Where are the watercolours?”

The door swung further open as Jack pushed his way into the spare bedroom. He held his hands aloft; bubbles clung to his wrists still and they shone with water that he had not properly dried. A tea towel was slung over his shoulder.

He raised a teasing eyebrow at David and pointed to the top shelf. “Far left,” he said, “Under the pencil box.”

“Why under the pencil box?” David muttered under his breath. He extracted the tin carefully - it was completely obscured from view by pencils - and stepped back. How Jack knew where any of his stuff was defeated David. To him, it looked like a system of ‘where ever it fits, it goes.’

David turned towards Jack, who was wiping away the last bubbles with the tea towel. “Do you need paper, as well?”

“Uh, yeah, can you grab some?” Jack replied, sending him a bright grin. “Next to the reference files.”

He grabbed a few sheets and followed Jack back to the main room, which contained everything except the bedroom, bathroom and spare room with the cupboard where Jack kept all his art supplies.

Jack returned to the sink and began scrubbing a glass while David put everything onto their small paper. He frowned at it. “Is that everything we’ll need?”

“Brushes?” Jack suggested, not looking up from the washing-up.

David sighed and clapped a hand to his forehead. “Brushes,” he repeated, walking back to the cupboard.

“Next to the acrylics!” Jack shouted after him. “The ones with the green handles!”

Muttering under his breath, David took a few minutes to return with the brushes. By that time, Jack was already spreading out the paper and paints he had already gathered, putting them into specific areas that he liked, and accompanying them with a pristine glass of brush water and a pencil.

“Awesome, thanks, Dave,” Jack said, beaming as he took the brushes from David. He held them up to his eyes and scrutinised each one. “You’re still joining me, right?”

David let out a quiet laugh. “Only if you want me too,” he said.

Jack grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and pulled him the few steps back to the table. “Of course, I do,” he said as he pulled David’s chair out for him and pushed him into it. “I always want to do stuff with you.”

He sat in the chair next to him and handed him one of the brushes David had collected. “Okay, so you should use this one to put some water all over the paper before you start,” he said. He looked like an excited puppy, with wide eyes that sparkled with happiness and a grin that was infectious.

David took the brush from it and dropped it into the water.

As Jack took him through the different brushes, and finally gave him the pencil, David found himself unable to stop smiling. He loved listening to Jack, lost in the world of his beloved art. Every time he saw Jack’s eyes light up like that, he felt like the luckiest man in the world, so completely undeserving of being Jack’s husband.

“Got it?” Jack asked, finally pausing. “Oh, wait, I can put some music on, too.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and fiddled his way to the music app.

David nodded, scanning the range of things in front of him. “Sure. But, this isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Anything you do will be amazing,” Jack said, glancing up from his phone screen.

Giving him a raised eyebrow, David picked up the pencil.

Jack backed off with a laugh. “Okay, even if it isn’t amazing, I’ll still love it, at least,” he said, and then tacked on, “That was in our wedding vows, right?”

“Something like that,” David agreed, putting the pencil to the page of thick, watercolour paper that sat in front of him.

Some soft, floaty and vaguely romantic music floated from Jack’s phone and he set it down next to him. Taking up his own pencil, Jack slanted his paper and began to sketch. David could not see what it was from where he sat, but he did not worry himself trying to find out.

Jack drifted into his own, relaxed world, and so did David. The music set the tone, and David could not think of a single place he would rather have been than sitting next to Jack right then, on the eve of their wedding anniversary.

Unlike the hundreds of hours that Jack spent filling art commissions, this was simply for fun. He had asked David if he wanted to join, too, in a spur-of-the-moment question while they washed the dishes that they had eaten their dinner off together.

David had not taken an art class since high school (which he had hated. The teacher had been a nightmare), but it was easy to fall into an easy rhythm. Where there were no rules, no end goal and Jack sitting next to him, David had no reason to worry about how his art ended up. It could have been the ugliest painting in the world, and he knew Jack would gush over it, even he was laughing and teasing as he did so.

The song changed, and David’s head snapped up, his brush pausing mid-stroke on the page.

“This was our-.”

“First dance, yeah,” Jack said, smilingly at him with soft, brown eyes. “I know.”

David’s heart melted into goo as his whole body filled with a wonderful warmth. Words could not describe how much he loved Jack. It was like a flame inside him, licking at his skin and kissing all of his thoughts.

Jack hummed the song softly and continued to drag his brush, forwards and backwards across his page. The colours of a rainbow shone on his page, glistening in the light that shone above them.

David stared at him, lost in the moment. He wanted to freeze time and live in that moment forever. Everything felt right.

“I really, really love you,” he suddenly blurted, still looking at Jack.

Jack gave him a dazzling smile. “I really, really love you, too,” he replied and then launched head first into singing the chorus of the song at the top of his lungs.

David laughed and joined him, struggling to continue to paint at the same time as Jack was doing.

A few more songs passed, all of which Jack sang along to before he spoke again. “You done?”

David looked at his slightly limp trees that looked strangely out of place before a dark, looming background. It looked more like Cirith Ungol than Cerin Amoroth. “Done as I’ll ever be.”

Jack pushed his chair away from the table and walked over to David, peering over his shoulders.

“It’s good!” he proclaimed, immediately, but David could hear the laughter in his tone.

He glanced up at him. “Do you know what it is?”

Jack’s chortles launched into reality. “I’m getting an impression of trees?”

“Close enough,” David said, laughing. He swirled his brush around one in the, now murky green, water and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “What did you do?”

He moved to Jack’s side of the table and looked at the painting. His heart stopped for a moment, as his face broke into a grin that hurt his cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” he said, finding Jack’s eyes and staring into them.

“Bunch of trees,” he said, waving an embarrassed hand, but moving to stand next to David, anyway.

Riverdell, in all its beautiful colours, was unmistakable on the page.

“Did you seriously do this from memory?” David asked, still looking at the watercolour. It was almost perfectly in line with what he envies whenever he read the books.

“I mean, I might’ve read the books before a bit before so I remembered what it looked like.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck and gave David a bashful smile. “You’ve just been talking about it a lot recently. Thought I might try to paint it for you…”

David turned to him and kissed him on the check. “It’s perfect,” he murmured. It meant so much more when David remembered how much the Lord of the Rings agonised Jack. The number of times that David had forced him to watch it during the years they had been together was higher than it had any right to be.

Jack kissed David in return, brushing their lips lightly together, and wrapping his arms around David’s waist. The music continued to play in the background, and they swayed to it, slowly rocking from one foot to the next.

David leant his head against Jack’s. He could smell his aftershave, still clinging to his skin, and the inherent paint-like-scent that hung around him. It smelt like home.

[must-be-brooklyn]

once & for all we won’t carry no banners that don’t spell freedom (newsies 2012)

happy pride month!

(bisexual version)

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 50

Race: We should all speak in 'z's for the day

Crutchie, softly: No

Race: Zes

Crutchie, with more force: No

Race: Zou Zre Zll Znder Zy Zower Zow

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 49

Medda: Be nice to your sharps

Medda: They suffer too much from stubborn kids who refuse to read the key signature

Romeo, under his breath: Me. Me is the stubborn kid.

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 48

Jack: Memes and coffee make up 90% of my daily life force

Davey: That's,,, not healthy,,,

Jack: You were the one sending me vines at 2 a.m.

Davey:

Jack: You've been known

Jack: Now, you sink to our level

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 47

Race: I’m not taking any more risks until Trump is out of office

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 46

Pulitzer: This is just,,, wrong

Spot: Wrong? I shall have you know I spent the five hours in the night I usually reserve for sleeping writing this essay

Pulitzer:

Spot: Frankly, I take offence

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 45

David, recounting his experience with the french news: Pictures are beautiful but the rest? I had no idea what was happening

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 44

Kath: Two-hundred-and-fifty-two bars, forty-eight notes, four mallets, one woman

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 43

Medda: Now, I need the percussion to be correct

Romeo:

Romeo: Then why the hell am I on drum kit?

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 42

Specs: If this was sentence was a piece of music, it would be death metal and everyone would be banging their heads.

Specs: And while you’re listening to that, I’m going to be over there with my recorder playing twinkle twinkle little star.

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 41

Race, looking around: Where are my arms?

Race:

Race: I need the holidays

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 40

Albert: I just wrote hon hon hon oui oui baguette in my official exam

[must-be-brooklyn]

Sprace fic? Maybe a college au?

Idk if this is what you wanted, but it was so much fun to write lmao 

Ship: Sprace

Words: 1.3k 

Era: Modern university au

Warnings: Some language

On the best days, the college library was relatively quiet, and the books Race needed were all stocked in the right places. Unfortunately, those days were always few and far in between. The rest of the time, he suffered trying to reserve the texts and then prayed that it would be returned before the work was due, or spend hours trawling the internet for the few pages he needed. 

Honestly, it was a rare occasion that he had ended up on the library, at five in the evening the day before the economics task was due, to search for the book on the shelves. And, it was a rarer occasion that he ended up staring directly at another student that he recognised from his class, equitable distance away from its location. 

Race regarded him suspiciously and took a few steps forwards. So did the other boy. 

“You’re doing Neilson’s task?” Race asked, voice low for fear of being hunted down by angry librarians. 

The boy nodded. “You too?” 

Race pulled a face. “Left it a bit last minute, didn’t you?” 

“You’re one to talk.” The boy gave him an unimpressed look and snatched the book from the shelf before Race could even extend his arm. Turning on his heel, his backpack flying around behind him on it’s almost completely loosened straps, he marched back down the narrow aisle towards a table. 

Race rushed after him, huffing irritably, and watched as the boy took a seat at a table. Unapologetically, Race sat next to him. 

“Share the book?” he asked, doing his best to come across as more polite than he apparently had done earlier. 

The boy looked up at him. Race’s eyes were immediately drawn to the heavy bags under his eyes; it was as if he had not slept in a week straight. Being friends with Mush, he was more than familiar with how that looked on a person. This boy even had the hair that stuck straight up in a veritable mess and an oversized hoodie to complete it.

“This book’s only big enough for one of us, and if you’ll leave me alone, I might even give it to you after I’ve finished.” 

Race rolled his eyes and squished closer, completely disregarding personal space. “Oh, fuck off, you know as well as I do this is going to take hours.” 

“Then perish,” he said simply, flipping open the cover and searching for the contents page. 

Race scowled, and set his bag down resolutely, pulling out his old laptop. “It’ll be ten times quicker if we do it together, and if we both claim being mutual dumbasses, maybe Neilson will have some sympathy.” He opened the lid and waited for the screen to load. “I’m Race, by the way.” 

With a heavy sigh, the boy dropped his forehead to the table. “Fucking fine. Whatever, let’s work together. Not like this can possibly go any worse than if I work alone.” He muttered as if trying to avoid being heard too clearly by Race. Sitting up again, he gave Race a frankly foul look. “I’m Spot.” 

Race grinned at him, ignoring the way his throat tightened under Spot’s glare. The name sounded familiar, and he wondered if one of his friends had mentioned him in passing from some other class one of them shared with him. It would not have surprised him; they were first years, so between all of the general classes, people were mixing all over the place. Besides, Spot was not a common name, and Race seriously doubted he would have forgotten this boy if they had ever met before. 

Race hummed under his breath as he opened his inbox and searched their professor’s name. “I’ll find the task. I’ve got it somewhere on email…” 

Next to him, Spot continued flicking through the book. “Great…” He turned the page again. “Find the page reference, will you?” 

For all purposes, they worked very well. Within four hours, they had finished their notetaking on the book and were finished enough with creating worryingly-similar essays that Race was honestly impressed. Truth be told, he probably would have been close to pulling an all-nighter if he had been working alone because as it turned out, Spot was excellent at pulling together last-minute projects. 

Race yawned as he sat back in his seat. His eyes were sore after so many hours at a laptop, his back ached and his concentration was rapidly declining. 

Spot glanced up from his own laptop. “Done?” 

“Like, two conclusion sentences to go,” Race replied. He saved his work and sighed as he rubbed his eyes. “But, done enough that maybe I’ll just do it later.” 

Spot scoffed. “Yeah, right. Just suck it up and finish it. You’ll thank yourself later if you just get it done now.” He typed a few last words and lifted his hands off the keyboard with a theatrical flair. With a smirk, he saved his work and slammed his laptop closed with more force than was probably needed. 

Race held back a glare, suppressed the swoop in his stomach, and put his hands back to the keys. The words in his head flowed like goop, agonisingly slow and fairly useless. 

Spot finished putting his stuff back into his bag and then leant over Race’s shoulder. Race could hear his breathing in his ear and refused to react to it. 

“Just say something about fiscal policy being only short-term in the New Classical perspective,” he said, and then pointed at another sentence on Race’s screen. “And then link it to that and write a sentence on the use of monetary policy from Keynes’ perspective.” 

Race banged out the two sentences and then grinned, turning towards Spot. “Okay, thanks,” he said. He then groaned quietly and rubbed his eyes. “God, that sucked.” 

“It’s done,” Spot said with a shrug. He withdrew from his position and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Almost ten.” 

Race pushed his laptop into its case and stood up from the desk, raising his hands above himself to stretch. His joints cracked in a very satisfying way after so long sitting still. “I’ll shout you a coffee for basically writing half my essay if you want.” 

“You do the coffee and I’ll pay for dinner.” He stood up too and gave Race a grin despite his hoarse voice and the bags that were even deeper than they had been before. “I was kind of an asshole before and I owe you an apology.” Picking up the book, he started towards the closest returned book trolley and put it on top of it. “Food, in my experience, tends to be the best way to do that.” 

Race shrugged. “You know the way to my heart,” he said. His eyes were drooping, and he definitely needed some sustenance. Now that the project was finished – what wonders a few hours of solid, torturous work could do – his brain had simultaneously completely shut out anything related to work and study and abruptly woken up to the fact that Spot was almost cute, despite their less-than-desirable meeting. 

(He had to admit, though, for a rocky start, Spot was a decent person to work with. In the short time they had spent together, he was already forming an impression of a teddy bear with a prickly outside). 

Spot raised an eyebrow at him. “The way to your heart? Is this a date or something?” 

The disorientated state of Race’s brain never helped his common sense or ability to process and answer questions. Tonight, was no different to normal. “I mean, I’m open to it, and you’ve already offered to buy dinner.” He shrugged and gave Spot a grin that was bordered on delirious. 

Spot shrugged. “You’re not so bad, I suppose,” he said. “There’s a good Turkish place five minutes up campus?” 

“You had me at Turkish.” Race shouldered his bag a little tighter. 

Spot smirked at him. “As long as you’re still doing the coffee.” 

[must-be-brooklyn]

Newsies as shenanigans in school - pt. 39

Kath: What’s the difference between a chopped up thesaurus and my work?

Kath: Not much, probably.