#julswrites

[sleepylevii]

moon’s laugh

ship: rivetra word count: 1.9k warnings: one (1) bad word genre: canon | hurtcomfort/fluff

chile! here’s my first rivetra/first aot in general fic...i just lub them a lot...a lot of u guys asked for established relationship but i lich rally could not get this out of my head i just think it’s SO cute anyways here go:)

The warmth of the open flame that illuminated Petra’s face was the only source of light at the mess hall at this time of night. Even though she knew the moon was awake and based on Gunther’s ever accurate chats that it would be full, the orb had already passed by the sole window to her right side, leaving Petra alone with her pair of candles, one in front and one to her left so that her right hand would not cast a shadow on her work. She didn’t mind the dark, though–with the nighttime always came safety. A moment to herself away from Orou’s teasing and Eld’s chattering was perfectly welcome after a day as long as today has been.

It had started off as an expedition outside of the wall that was continued from the night prior. Due to an injury in her early teens, her lower back was home to lasting pain, and sleeping on the ground, hard–and cold, too, at this time of year–was no help. Without Hange’s specially crafted medicine for her, as she’d forgotten to take it with her before they left, Petra woke up in an uncharacteristically sour mood. Without a titan in sight, the group had traveled relatively far until they’d reached the chosen stopping point to turn around. The mission was only supposed to be a day and a half, a brief expedition to scour which land beyond the wall could be suitable for farming. It was nothing short of a normal expedition until Gunther’s horse spooked and tossed him, leaving Petra bringing his horse home as he rode on Eld’s during the journey home. Hange deduced it as a concussion, though not terribly bad, once they had made it back.

It wasn’t the worst report she’d ever had to write. Levi had begun to task her months ago with writing the reports that would be sent to the king as an update for what his branch of scouts was doing, as Titan activity had been relatively low recently. Really, it had been a general offer–Petra couldn’t yet figure out why Levi didn’t want to do it himself, as he typically liked to be in charge like that–but the others complained about the task, so she took it upon herself to complete it. It’s not like she would pass up on a chance to impress her captain.

For less naive reasons, Petra was very skilled in literary talents. Her older brother taught her to read at a young age, and words kept her company as he left to join the scouts. Now, books were both a painful reminder of what was and a hope to a more peaceful future. She’d scribbled notes in the margins of pages for as long as she could remember–an analysis there, a definition from Alec there, a letter to a friend, her grandmother–all were intertwined in language. Her handwriting was precise at the worst and not unlike a printed sheet of newspaper at the best, and her abilities to describe events and plans were unparalleled within the rest of the scouts, meaning Levi was more than happy to appoint her to accomplish the chore.

However, it did mean that there were nights–like tonight–that she was up far past the sun’s setting, pencil cramped in hand, a cup of tea by her side that has gone cold hours ago. As she finished up her report and scrawled her name at the bottom, Petra folded the sheet of paper in half and secured it with twine, laying it on the table for Erwin to pick up the next morning since he was visiting. She sipped the rest of her tea, blew out the candle, and with lidded eyes, made her way back to her small bedroom.

It was dark, and even though she was tired beyond belief, Petra was sure she knew the path to her own bedroom. Fairly sure.

She rustled around the room for a moment, fatigue exhaling from her quiet grunts as she attempted to cozy herself under the covers. But there was–something?–next to her leg–no, it couldn’t have been anything. Perhaps she’d left her pillows a mess before leaving two days ago. Besides, she wasn’t actively being hurt, so she supposed that whatever the problem was could wait until the next morning.

—

Just because a day was uneventful did not mean that Levi slept well. He wished it could be that way–after knowing all of his scouts were secure in their beds, titans slumbering under the safe eye of moonlight–there he would find peace. But it was not often so, and Levi found himself tossing and turning as per usual that evening.

But such trivialities shouldn’t have ever made their way into the mind of the captain, and he did his best not to entertain them. Covers pulled tight around his chest, Levi did his best to fight off any energy left inside of his busy brain and instead succumb to the sweet embrace of sleep, trying to keep the image of a certain ginger-haired girl out of his head.

Levi wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not by the time he felt a rustling near his back and a weight pull the covers off of him, but he was certainly awake by the time the ordeal in question was over. Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated to react–maybe he was asleep–but he had, and now it was silent.

Brows furrowed, Levi cautiously turned to his left, trying to figure out what had happened while making the least amount of noise and movement possible. To his complete surprise, he found ginger locks messily splayed on the pillow beside him, Petra’s chest gently rising and falling with her breaths. The moonlight cast a soft shadow across her face and for a moment…no. He had to have still been sleeping.

“…Petra?” he murmured, the faintest hint of a whisper leaving his lips. This had to have been a mistake. Petra was sensible, intelligent, and most important, focused on her work. Not him.  Perhaps she’d notice in the morning and skirt off before he awoke, and he wouldn’t say a word about it. Still…sleep hung from his eyes and Levi found it difficult to make a decision. This was what he had wanted for weeks now, was it not? It would be selfish to not wake her, letting her know that she’d made a mistake. But Levi Ackerman was sometimes a selfish person.

He rolled back over, breaths steady, and tried not to think about the girl slumbering next to him, the way her warmth felt in his bed. Goddamn, his brain simmered. You’ll pay for this tomorrow.

—

Petra woke up to sunlight dusting her face, squinting her eyes as she cleared her throat. With the daylight came another exhausting day of trekking through the woods, eyes peeled for roaming titans, and–within moments of opening her eyes, Petra was sure that something was wrong. There was a weight pressed to her side, over her waist, and the morning seemed eerily calm. Slowly, as if a sudden movement could trigger a disaster, she rolled to her side, wincing from the ache in her back. A single night of good sleep would not fix the chronic pain that plagued her. And then–oh, God.

If it was a dream or a nightmare, Petra couldn’t tell which–just that she found herself face to face with none other than her captain, still fast asleep, his arm draped over her side. Petra thought he looked precious asleep, the ever-present scowl gone from his face–but she couldn’t pull herself away from the panic that enveloped her. What happened? Why was the captain in her bed? No…why was she in the captain’s bed? That was even worse. If she moved, would he wake up? Could she crawl out without him noticing? She wished she’d never begun having that silly little crush on him, knowing nothing would ever come of it.

“Petra?”

The captain’s eyes flashed open, squinting in the sunlight as she had just moments before. Frozen, there was nothing she could do except stare at him, his deep grey eyes piercing into hers. “Captain, I–”

“I didn’t think you’d still be here in the morning,” he murmured, face softening.

Lips parted in a semblance of fear, Petra glanced away from his gaze. “I–I’m so sorry, I was–” She pulled herself up with another wince, getting ready to scramble out of the–his–covers–“I was up so late last night; I just, I–” She felt the pressure of Levi’s fingers around her wrist. His grip wasn’t too tight, however, she was sure he could feel her pulse, beating fervently. And then–“You knew I was here last night?” The question seemed to surprise even her, as if she hadn’t quite pieced it together in her brain by the time it spilled out of her mouth.

“I–” Now it was the captain’s turn to flush, lips pursed. “You’d had a long day, I…I felt it would be rude to ask you to leave,” he said. Petra didn’t think he sounded genuine. But, he continued: “I was being an asshole. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Petra couldn’t focus on anything except for his hands gently tracing patterns on hers, as if he was distracted as well. “You–I’m not, um, uncomfortable,” she forced out, trying to regain her composure. “I just…oh, Levi…I don’t know what to say.” She turned her head to the wall, sucking in a deep breath. After a moment’s silence, she looked at him again, still laying on his pillow. “I should go.”

It was strange to watch his face fall in such a real way. It was not like the grief that gripped him on the battlefield as a plan went wrong, nor the annoyance with his teammates when they argued too much for his liking. No–his face was soft, eyes gentle as they fell from hers to her waist, then the covers. “You don’t have to,” he suddenly said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I–I hope I’m not being too forward. But it’s still early. You can stay.”

“Oh…” Petra licked her lips. Was this a good idea? She turned back to him, and for the first time noticed a new kind of fear in Levi’s eyes. She felt like she understood, then–he wasn’t upset at her, or embarrassed–just afraid of losing what could have been. Slowly, the faintest of smiles spread across her face, eyes fluttering. This can’t be real. “I…are you sure?”

“Five weeks sure,” Levi admitted, his cheeks coloring.

Petra slid back down under the covers, cozying up into Levi’s open arms with a hint of a giggle on her words. “I’ve got you beat,” she said slyly, eyes fluttering up at him. “Four months,” Petra said, laughing at Levi’s surprised face. “You didn’t know, did you.”

“I…I knew,” Levi said, smirking.

“You did not,” Petra chuckled. “Knowing you…you would have made a move if you did.”

Levi gasped quietly, the blunt of her words surprising him. “I…I suppose you’re right about that.” There was a brief silence between the pair before Levi rolled over, burying his nose into Petra’s hair. “I’m glad you were stubborn enough to stay up late to finish that report.”

[auspicioustarantula]

love from boy

ship: javid

era: modern | genre: hurtcomfort

word count: 960

edited: no but jellybean said it looked good

warnings: emotional abuse mention, some language

so its been a Hot Minute since ive written anything but!!! ya girl is back in the game now!!!!! anyways this hit closer to home that i thought it would uhhhhh oops

Davey’s backpack hit the ground with a thump before he even closed the door of his dorm room. He was too exhausted to even take his shoes off before collapsing onto his bed.

The sun, still out at six in the evening but slowly starting to disappear below the horizon, shone through the window and onto Davey's face. He squinched his face and muttered a string of near-silent curses, standing up to draw the navy blue curtains that hung on either side of the window.

"If you're gonna cuss like that you might as well make it loud and proud, baby--"

Davey jumped at the voice. It had come from somewhere in the room, but he couldn't quite place it until the bed opposite his rustled. Jack, apparently, was rolled up inside of all of his burgundy covers, a pillow over his head. "Oh, shit, Jack, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were sleeping in here--" Davey paused, the corners of his mouth turning down. "You're back early."

"Mr. Jameson canceled class again so I came back to take a nap before heading over to the studio. I brought you a donut back." He wiggled under the covers for a couple more seconds before he was able to free his hands. Jack tenderly grabbed the pillow and moved it off of his face, scooted over on the bed, and patted the empty space for Davey to sit in.

He wrung his hands together with a sigh, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not hungry.” He couldn't see Jack's face behind him, and even though his lack of affection wasn't unusual, he knew that Jack would be able to tell that something was bothering him. Davey pressed his chin to his shoulder, keeping his gaze down, so that he could focus on Jack’s hand, laying on top of the empty space he’d saved for him. A sky-blue splatter covered his knuckles, and his pinky and ring finger both had band-aids on them. “I failed a big test today. The one that I was worrying over.

Saying it out loud seemed to lift a weight off of his back. Davey fell into Jack’s open arms and rolled over, letting his back push into Jack’s side. “Failed how?” A smile rolled onto his face.

“Seventy-seven,” Davey whispered with a sigh, like if he said it quietly enough, he could speak it out of existence. “I got a seventy-seven, Jack. That’s just…that’s exactly like failing.” As he began to talk, Jack tangled his hands in Davey’s hair. “I don’t know, I just….I thought it would be different when I got to college. That my grades would finally mean something to my parents.”

He knew there was an intense emotion behind the words he was saying, but they only seemed to drone. He certainly hoped that Jack knew how much all of this meant to him. “And—and I know you’re going to tell me something like ‘a seventy-seven isn’t all that bad’ or whatever, but for me it is. I thought it was going to be easier. I thought…damn, Jackie, I don’t know.” Don’t cry, don’t cry. Davey could feel his shoulders shaking.

College wasn’t easier than high school. It was more work, and meaner teachers who took less time to understand the situation at home. Because now there was no situation at home. Here, he was safe from the everlasting taunts of his parents who pushed and pushed for him to be better. The parents who, no matter what he did, he could never seem to make them proud enough.

“That’s okay, baby,” Jack whispered, pressing a kiss to Davey’s head. The heat that radiated off of Jack’s body traveled up Davey’s spine and into his cheeks, flushing them a bright pink. It seemed silly to complain about something so…trivial to him. “I love you, David. Ain’t nothing in this world that could change that. There’s not a test grade you could get that could—”

“What?”

I love you, David.

He’d stopped listening after those words. Had he ever heard them before in his life? David, the name his parents had dragged through the dirt, used so tenderly. The way Jack’s silk-smooth voice rolled over the two syllables sent Davey shivers which slowly turned into sobs.

“David?”

Davey rolled over and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, not fully registering anything until Jack wrapped his arms all the way around his torso, one hand resting on his chest and the other brushing the tears off of his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything that would—”

“No, no, it’s…I…” Davey reached up and grabbed Jack’s hand on his face, interlacing their fingers. “Remember when we first met, and you called me Davey for the first time, and I started going by that?” He could feel Jack mutter an “mmm-hmm?” into the back of his head. “I just…it was like a fresh start. It was new. It wasn’t…it wasn’t David.”

Jack muffled his lips into Davey’s hair, gently stroking the side of his face. “No one’s—no one’s ever said ‘I love you, David,’ to me before.” He could feel the tears brimming his eyes again.

“I mean it, baby.”

Davey rolled over and stared at Jack—stared at him really hard. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn’t really mean it, and he was just saying it because he felt bad. He stared at Jack’s deep green eyes and stared at the freckles covering the bridge of his nose and stared at his lips, pink and chapped. Davey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Jack’s, gently touching the tips of their noses. “I love…I love you too.”

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[julsidubs]

dialogue prompt number 3 from this list. ship: JEON JUNGKOOK CENTRIC, KIM NAMJOON/KIM TAEHYUNG if you squint (BTS) DRABBLE | ficlet | one-shot | novella

It wasn’t unusual for Jungkook to wake up to screaming—more specifically Taehyung’s screaming.

He dragged his feet to the living room to see an amused Yoongi and Namjoon staring at a jumping (and screaming) Taehyung.

“What’s with him?” Jungkook groggily asked.

To answer his question, Taehyung jumped on his back and screamed, “I’m engaged! I’m engaged! I’m engaged!”

“He won’t stop yelling that,” Namjoon mumbled, a sheepish smile on his lips.

Jungkook took a few seconds to process before his jaw dropped. “You’re what?”

“Engaged, Jungkook!” Taehyung showed him his ring.

And all of a sudden, they’re both screaming.

[auspicioustarantula]

send em in guys gals n nonbinary pals ill be workin on an when i have free time

kisses prompt list :)

I compiled some prompt lists I found to form a list of 76 kiss prompts. Send in a number and a character and one of us shall write a one shot based on it.

1. “Good morning” kiss

2. Kiss on the forehead

3. Drunk/sloppy kiss

4. Awkward kiss

5. Angry kiss

6. “I’m sorry” kiss

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss

8. Seductive kiss

9. “War’s End” kiss

10. “Goodbye” kiss

11. “I almost lost you” kiss

12. Kiss on the nose

13. Kiss on the ear

14. Kiss on the neck

15. Kiss on the back

16. New Year’s kiss

17. Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

18. “I do” kiss

19. Shy kiss

20. Surprised kiss

21. Kiss on a dare

22. Sad kiss

23. Exhausted parents kiss

24. Kiss of life

25. Kiss inspired by a song

26. Jealous kiss

27. Giggly kiss

28. First kiss

29. Last kiss

30. Kiss under a full moon

31. Kiss at dusk 

32. Kiss at dawn

33. Kiss in a dream

34. Returned from the dead kiss

35. Themed kisses

36. “We can never be together” kiss

37. It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss

38. Awkward teenage crush kiss

39. Spin the bottle kiss

40. Hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss

41. Forbidden kiss

42. Sated kiss

43. Soft kiss

44. Tender kiss

45. Passionate kiss

46. Long kiss

47. Quick kiss

48. Morning kiss

49. Before Bed kiss

50. In Secret kiss

51. Public kiss

52. Accidentally Witnessed kiss

53. Against a wall kiss

54. Against a Locker kiss

55. True Love kiss

56. Caught off-guard kiss

57. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

58. Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed

59. Kissing So Desperately That Their Whole Body Curves Into The Other Person’s

60. Throwing Their Arms Around The Other Person, Holding Them Close While They Kiss

61. Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp

62. Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up

63. Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing

64. Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward

65. One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other

66. Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

67. When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

68. A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me”

69. Following The Kiss With A Series Of Kisses Down The Neck

70. Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion

71. A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss

72. When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead

73. Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Do Wn And The Other Is On Their Tippy Toes

74. Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap

75. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing

76. Top Of Head Kisses

send in requests with the character and maybe AU of choice :)

[sleepylevii]

rivetra fic in the works....pick one a. established relationship or b. crushes who haven’t admitted feelings yet

[auspicioustarantula]

9 for ravey? (if u want)

blue

prompt:  a kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.

ship: ravey

era: canon | genre: fluff/hurtcomfort

word count: 814

edited: yeet no

warnings: davey is blind

its been a hot second since yall have heard from me and a HOT MINUTE since i’ve written any ravey ? anyways heres the fastest piece (e.g. i wrote the entirety of it. TODAY) ive written in a LONG time

“what’s your favorite season?”

davey’s footsteps fell close intoline with race’s as they walked down bottle alley, their shoulders brushing with everystep. it was easier and safer than holding hands, as much as they wanted to.

race pondered davey’s question forseveral seconds before answering. “winter. what about you?” the sun was slowlystarting to go down over the horizon, casting a yellow glow over the pair.

the brunette shrugged. “i reallylike autumn,” he replied. “it’s not…it’s not too warm, or too cold, and there’sno bugs, except for this one, iguess,” he laughed gently, bumping his shoulder into race’s.

race rubbed his shoulder in mockpain. “oh, yeah? you know bugs ain’t that bad,” he whined.

“yeah, well,” davey started with apout, “i can’t see them when they’re on me and then i don’t know if it’s a goodbug or a bad bug.”

race tossed his head from side toside, considering this. “that makes sense.” the conversation lulled for severalminutes until it was dark, and race found his fingers slipping into davey’s.he, however, hesitated to hold race’s hand back, instead drawing back a coupleof steps. a look of confusion overcame his straight brows. “you ain’t gottaworry,” race reassured him, reaching again for his hand and squeezing ittightly.

“it’s dark already?” davey asked.he kept his head focused ahead, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference which wayhe looked—really, it was always dark.

“mhmm.”

“you’re not taking me back to myhouse, are you.” it was a statement, not a question. if davey was completelyhonest, he wouldn’t mind—no, he would love—staying out here in the dark withrace, holding his hand, getting to wrap himself up in a tight, warm hug fromhim. the season was summer turning to autumn and slowly, the temperature wasdropping more and more in the evenings.

“i’m gonna take all the time i canget to spend with my lover, no matter if it’s cold outside. i’ll take you backthe long way.” a chill ran through davey’s spine causing him to shudder, andrace tugged him closer with a snicker, wrapping an arm around his waist. “you’sereal pretty, david jacobs, especially in this kinda light.”

race could see the moon starting topeek over the horizon as they turned down another street, one even race wasn’tfamiliar with. its glow cast a shadow underneath his eyes from his delicatelashes. the light changed here, too, letting a blue-purple glow fall overdavey’s porcelain skin.

a flush grew on davey’s cheeks ashe turned away slightly. “you don’t know that.”

“but i do,” race said in earnest. “let me tell you, davey, you’se theprettiest boy i’ve ever laid eyes on. i mean, maybe you don’t think it, but ifall in love with you every time I can see the moon reflected in your eyes andevery time you bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing and oh, davey—evenwhen you blush like that. i fall in love, I swear it.” he paused for a second.“keeps me thinking that maybe one day i’ll be as good-looking as you,” hefinished with a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“hey,” davey whispered. “you arepretty.”

“no, i’m not, davey. not like youare, i’m just…just me. besides, you…you can’t even tell.”

“but i can,” davey said, repeating race’s words. he could feel race’s handshaking in his own. “beauty doesn’t come from the outside, love.” maybe, if hetried hard enough, he could find the words that would make race feel better.davey wasn’t that good at words to begin with, and whenever he talked to race,his stomach seemed to become a giant pile of mush and also butterflies. “i seeyou pretty when you’re laughing with all the kids at the lodging house, and isee you pretty when you’re stumbling over the pronunciation of a word, and isee you pretty when i get to hold your hand and hold you close.”

with that, he wrapped a hand aroundrace’s waist and pulled their bodies together in the middle of the street.davey’s lips rested on race’s forehead and he held him there until he stoppedtrembling. “just because i can’t see you doesn’t mean i don’t know you’rebeautiful, tonio.”

he whispered the words tenderlyagainst race’s skin until he dipped down for a kiss, cupping race’s chin in hishand long enough that they seemed to be sharing each other’s breaths. racepulled away with a gasp. “you’re a catch, david.”

“i wouldn’t want to be anyoneelse’s.”

hand in hand, they walked back tothe jacob’s household, and parted with nothing more than a second goodnightkiss on the cheek. oh, yes, it was goodto be his.

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[auspicioustarantula]

Any cute fluffy Davey hc‘s (only if you want to of course), I love your writing so much!

yah!!! u guys i love davey so much i will always write hcs for him (thanks for waiting for this!!) a lot of these can be both modern & canon :)

› davey tends to saythe name of the person he’s talking to at the end of sentences. oftentimes, hedoesn’t even realize it, even if he’s done it several consecutive times. hegets really flustered whenever someone points it out, but it hasn’t stopped him.it’s in his subconscious, so he doesn’t even have a reason for doing it.

› he carries around asmall bag filled with not exactly emergency supplies, but what he describes as“minor catastrophe supplies”. in his pouch, one can find nail clippers, a nailfile, a pair of tweezers, a small compact mirror, a bottle of ibuprofen and oneof aspirin, some chapstick, pads and tampons, a pen, and a couple of bandaids.at first, all of the boys laughed at him for always having it on him, but, oneat a time, after using one or more of the supplies from the bag, slowly startedthanking him for always being prepared.

› davey is quick tolearn other people’s love languages, especially any romantic partners he has oris interested in. he will adjust his behavior accordingly to make his significantother as happy as possible. it’s not him being manipulative in order to winbrownie points, it’s him being a genuinely kind and caring person.

› he has a hard timeopening up to people. in grade school, he was shamed and teased for hisprecocious interests surrounding the civil war, medical history, and latin.while continuing to study these subjects, he no longer shared his findings withanyone in fear of being made fun of. this escalated into him no longer sharingmany things about himself—new subjects he discovered that intrigued him, songsthat he really liked, his favorite kind of sandwich. he simply thought nothinghe had to say was worth sharing. he’s still learning to share his thoughts andopinions with others, but he’s doing better than he was.

› sometimes he findsit hard to explain exactly what he wants to say, especially when it comes toromantic interests. this being said, he likes to leave notes and cards for his loveto find. in these, one will find heart-sickeningly sweet messages that he’sconstructed. without the pressure of having to reply in real time, davey can putwords together like no one else. often accompanied by these notes are little chocolateor pressed flowers or, if he’s feeling a little frivolous, a gift card.

› davey does not haveneat print. his cursive is beautiful and completely readable, but his regularhandwriting is so tiny and scrunched up that sometimes even he has troublereading what he’s written. he’s got “doctor handwriting”, as jack calls it.

› davey has a small birthmarkon his lower back. it’s just a little splotchy oval and it took him a reallylong time to love it.

› his fight or flightinstinct is, to say the least, not grounded very well. it depends on the dayand probably on what he ate for breakfast. davey jacobs is perfectly capable ofholding his own in a fight—it’s not likely that he’ll win, but he can keephimself from being beat up until someone else comes to help him.

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[auspicioustarantula]

hhdbhsjabah THABKS also i nut for @softgrantaire 's fics

Yo does anyone have any newsies fic recommendations? I feel like I’ve been reading the same three over and over Rip

[auspicioustarantula]

enough

ship: redfinch

era: canon | genre: angst

word count: 1.7k

edited: ??no??

warnings: major character death, stab wound, blood

yeehaw i love hurting him.......enjoy :) 

“Oh—oh, God.”

The air surrounding Albert was disgustingly sticky and much too warm for spring. His legs still ached from last night, hiking up and down the Lodging House staircases. It always helped him when he couldn’t sleep, and he knew he was up well past three in the morning by the time he fell asleep. Albert had begged Finch to let him skip his morning paper route, even going as far as offering him an extra nickel if he wanted to take Albert’s fifty papers. Of course, he declined, and promised he would be back to check on Albert later in the day.

Later in the day seemed to come and go without so much as a passing glance of Finch. Albert grunted as he finally dragged himself out of the bottom bunk he shared with Race, throwing on a vest that didn’t belong to him, and, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, started down the stairs again. His calves burned with every step and he silently cursed his nighttime habit.

As he stepped out of the lodging house, Albert had to squeeze his eyes shut. The sunlight, directly overhead, seemed to force its way directly into the back of his skull. When was the last time he had gotten up after the sun? Nevermind it. It felt good to take even half of a rest day.

“Hey, Albert? Hey, look at me, Albert, please—” Finch’s voice is soft and there seems to be a lot of other noises going on, too. Albert can feel Finch’s hands tugging at his shirt, but he can only feebly wrap his fingers around them, bringing them up to his lips.

Noon, Albert thought. Noon. It was the first and only thought that ran through his head for quite some time. Trekking down the streets and alleys of Manhattan, Albert was able to enjoy the city for the first time without trying to hawk a paper or fifty. Occasionally, he would see another newsie that he vaguely recognized but couldn’t name—though he shared the territory with several younger children, the gaping buildings and long, dust-filled streets of Manhattan were his.

They were tall, the Delancey brothers, and they seemed to take up too much space in the street. Albert spotted them a long time before they saw him and quickly ducked out of the way behind a large man with a cane that thumped every time it hit the ground. When he had the chance, Albert found himself slipping into an alley so thin he had to turn sideways to pass through it.

He wouldn’t have admitted that he was afraid of the Delancey’s—though large, they were aloof and talked a big game. But there was something about Morris’s steel gaze and Oscar’s deep-set brows that sent a chill down his spine when he was alone. Backed up by the other newsies he would have been content to walk down the street and spit at their shoes. By himself, though? He wasn’t going to risk it.

“Darling, can you move?”

Albert shakes his head very softly, coughing. There’s a sudden sharp taste in his mouth, something recognizably tangy and bitter—he’s tasted it before, in fistfights, and one time when he was younger and bit down on his tongue too hard. He can feel the blood on the back of his teeth and with a deep breath, coughs again. It dribbles down his chin and he shakily reaches up a hand to wipe it.

Finch pulls Albert close into his lap and catches the blood with his thumb instead. Albert shakes his head instead and looks down at his stomach. He closes his eyes when Finch lets out a whimper, loosening his grip on his torso.

He’d picked a fight with the Delancey’s more than once, usually nothing more than a scrape, just boys looking for an adrenaline rush. More often than not, they knew when to back off, when the punches started getting too hard, when the bones started snapping and the blood started getting on already scuffed-up clothes. Perhaps the brothers truly had a more malicious intent underneath, but it never seemed to show. The newsies could easily outnumber them if they so pleased. They traveled in groups, four or five boys and girls assigned to a specific borough. Someone was bound to always be in earshot of a good yell if something went wrong.

They took care of each other, Albert knew. If someone got hurt, there was always an older newsie with some sort of medical expertise. It might not be fancy hospitals with clean linen sheets and medicine that made the pain go completely away, but it was better than nothing.

Albert pushed himself through the other side of the alley and appeared in another. This alley, though bigger, was still hidden from the main streets. Even though he thought he knew the city like the back of his hand, the name of the street it was connected to escaped his brain. Never again, he thought to himself, would he take the liberty of sleeping in a couple of extra hours. It was just too disorienting. Having just this one thing out of place messed up his schedule and who he thought he was. He couldn’t seem to keep track of anything.

“Dirty boy, we didn’t see you swindle your way out of your newspaper stack this morning.”

Albert stiffened. He could hear Oscar’s voice from a mile away—it was nasally and the sound of it made Albert’s heart stop cold. Don’t let them know you’re scared, his brain said. He turned himself around and crossed his arms over his chest, holding his ground. “What, did you miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t let go,” Albert stutters, but Finch is already moving, trying to assess the situation.

“Al, you—you’se hurt real bad,” Finch says, shaking his head. “I gotta get someone—”

Albert lets out a cry and reaches for Finch again, trying to pull him back. “I’m not…I ain’t going…nowhere, Finch. I just—” A moan escapes him and he falls back into the blonde, who wraps his arm around Albert’s chest. His skin there is simply bruised, not torn like it is lower in his stomach. “Don’t leave. Don’t you dare.” Albert’s words are barely above a whisper. He clings to Finch, digging his fingers into his arms like he’s afraid if he lets go for even a moment that he’ll leave him here, alone.

Alone got the boys hurt. Oscar and Morris closed the gap between them with easy strides, gliding across the street. Their crossed arms and wide stance mimicked Albert’s exactly. “No, we was glad you weren’t there,” Morris said. His voice was deeper, gravellier. It was raspy. “Sure brings my morning down a notch seeing your ugly mug.”

Morris’s fist hit Albert’s jaw before he could react. Within seconds, Albert found himself wrestling with the taller boy—not looking for a fight, but simply trying to get his oppressor off of him. The alleyway suddenly seemed a lot smaller when they were tussling on the ground. Slowly, scraping nails and jutting elbows and the occasional bite from Albert wormed their way into the fight.

Morris wasn’t stronger, but Albert’s disorientation let him have the upper hand. “Heya, dirty boy,” he mocked, grinning as he wrapped one arm around Albert’s throat and the other around his torso. Albert struggled in Morris’s grip and watched as a cruel smile unfolded itself on Oscar’s face. Oscar stepped closer, cocking his head to one side as he reached toward his side, pulling something out of his pocket. The knife’s edge glinted in the sunlight.

A slow smile rolled onto Albert’s face. He could taste blood on his lips, but never mind that—he wasn’t afraid any more. As tough as the brothers seemed to be, he knew that an action like this was all show. There’s no way Oscar had the guts to plunge the blade into his stomach.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. I got you.” Finch slowly starts to rock Albert back and forth, digging his nose into his hair. A gentle melody stirs in the back of his throat, notes fluttering in the air mixed with a gentle “shh, shh,” every time Albert whimpers.

Finch moves the hand on Albert’s chest up to his face, stroking his tear-stained skin. He’s stopped crying. Maybe the pain has finally settled in, or maybe he’s just too weak now. Every breath he takes gets slower and Finch can practically hear him wheezing.

“Hey, Finchie? I’m—I’m gonna be okay, right? Right with you?”

Morris’s grip tightened as his low chuckle turned into a laugh, matched by Oscar’s. Damn, they weren’t twins, but they sure acted like it sometimes.

It happened quickly, the way Morris pushed him forward, the way Albert stumbled with outstretched hands, the way Oscar’s knife slid under his ribcage. Everything after those moments slowed down: Oscar’s mouth, in a gaping hole, the shriek that came from Morris, Albert looking down at the knife, free from Oscar’s grip, stuck in his abdomen. It took a moment for the paint to register and during that moment, all boys were silent, frozen in fear and disbelief.

Oscar made the first move, sinking down in front of Albert. He reached for his knife, pulling it out of Albert’s stomach, knitting his eyebrows together. He then stood up and looked at Morris behind him, shaking his head. As Albert started making noise, Oscar’s hand flailed at his sides, and both boys took off running.

Finch looks down at the red staining Albert’s striped shirt and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Albert was right. Oscar and Morris were too scared to actually hurt him—on purpose, that is. But his stomach had stopped hurting almost two minutes ago—or was it five? He can’t tell. He can’t tell anything, and he doesn’t quite care to. All that matters now was that he’s safe in Finch’s arms, with a lilting hum wandering into his ears. It’s the last thing he hears when he closes his eyes for the last time.

Finch doesn’t move for quite some time, even though he knows Albert’s gone. He’s heavy in his arms, but part of him thinks that if he doesn’t move then he doesn’t have to come to terms with his death.

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[auspicioustarantula]

Elmer x JoJo hcs?

hi these are platonic but could be take in a romantic sense if you ship them! enjoy!

› jojo and elmer metin sunday school at the young age of seven years old, making theirs one of thelongest-standing friendships within the group. elmer was the first person toshorten “jorgelino” into “jorgie”, which, over the course of their friendshipand learning his lengthy full name, became jojo, the name that he now goes by.on more serious occasions, elmer will still revert to his first nickname forjojo.

› elmer fell out oftouch with the church at around age thirteen when he realized that he wasn’tstraight. both confused, the boys grew apart from each other, speaking less andless over the years until jojo tried to bring him back with the notion that thechurch will accept elmer the way he is. he isn’t as involved with the church ashe used to be but will join jojo about once a month and for important holidays.

› they love to go seelive theater together. elmer was an avid theater kid (albeit only workingbackstage, usually with costumes) in high school, and introduced jojo to it bytaking him to see waitress on broadway. jojo fell absolutely in love and nowthey both enjoy supporting their local community theaters by helping out on setdays, volunteering backstage, and seeing the shows.

› elmer has amassed alarge collection of blankets and throw pillows in his house. jojo contributesto this about once every three months with a small gift to elmer.

› jojo taught elmerhow to read. it was a long, and, at times, very frustrating process for elmer,who often wanted to give up. with gentle pushes and prods, jojo was able toincrease his confidence in reading, not quite understanding why he had suchtrouble with a language he already spoke almost fluently. jojo discovered thatelmer was actually dyslexic, which was giving him a much harder time puttingthe words together. slowly, elmer was able to pick up the language, and for hissixteenth birthday, jojo gifted him his copy of the great gatsby.

    » i’m just…i’m stupid. i can’t do it. allthe letters, they’re…they’re wrong.

    » look at me, elmer. you’re not stupid.you’re so smart! you know two languages. just because you struggle withsomething doesn’t make you dumb, okay?

› jojo always bitsthe tip of whatever he’s writing with and elmer is pretty convinced that oneday it is going to kill him

› elmer doesn’t dodangerous things, but he certainly is very clumsy. he’s got scratches up anddown his arms, scrapes on his knees, and bruises covering his legs. he oftenturns corners too fast and runs backwards or waves his arms extremelyhyperactively. jojo stopped trying to get him to calm down a long time ago, andinstead carried around a box of band-aids for him (elmer’s favorites are thekid band-aids that have cool patterns and characters on them. he collects themon his body like boo-boo stickers).

› they love to volunteer!anywhere is fair game—soup kitchens, community gardens, pregnancy centers—but theirabsolute favorite spots to volunteer are animal shelters. one of these sheltersis actually where jojo got his cat, marshy (it’s short for marshmallow, he letelmer name her, of course). elmer also comes over and watches mushy when jojohas to be out of town.

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[auspicioustarantula]

Can I get either some soft sprace or some soft spalbert?

einstein

ship: spalbert

era: modern | genre: ,,chaos

word count: 814

edited: ha! as if

warnings: some language, spot is afraid of heights, just bros being dumb

so al and spot have just moved into their new apartment. also they’re dumb. i love them sorry this probably wasn’t as soft as u wanted but theres definitely no angst in it!

“baby, the light’s out.”

albert threw his bagdown on the corner of the couch that spot wasn’t sitting on. he sighed, castinga longing glance down the hallway. “not even a hello?”

spot smirked. “i wentout and got bulbs but i forgot to get a step stool. i was hoping you could doit when you got back.”

with a shake of hishead, albert ruffled spot’s hair, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, andpadded down the hallway, glancing up at the light. he flicked the light switchseveral times—sure enough, the light wasout. albert reached his arm up to unscrew it, but he couldn’t quite touch it.

damn, he thought with afrown. he knew the high ceilings that had drawn them to this place would havebeen a problem at some point. albert stood up on his tiptoes, and still a hairtoo short, stumbled to the left and hit his shoulder on the wall.

“bustin’ up our newapartment already, huh?” spot jeered from the couch.

albert rolled his eyes.“grab a bulb and get your ass over here. it’s still too far for me to reach.”

spot muttered somethingas he tossed his book down on the cardboard box that held their coffee table aswell as a bookcase, grabbed a lightbulb, and hopped over more boxes strewnabout the room. the mess drove spot wild, but albert promised that they wouldbe completely moved in and cleaned up soon enough.

“i’m gonna put you onmy shoulders, alright? then you’ll be able to change the bulb.” he reached outand took it from spot, who threw his hands up in protest.

“no way, al, i’m notstupid. i’m too heavy for you to carry like that.”

“i can deadlift two hundredand sixty pounds. get on my shoulders.”

albert crouched down and,rolling his eyes, spot situation himself on top of albert’s shoulders. heslowly stood up, ignoring spot’s pleas (“albert, bitch, i’m—i’m hitting theceiling—“) and handed him the lightbulb with glee.

spot nearly whapped himupside the head but was too afraid that his boyfriend would drop him, no matterhow strong he was. “you just did this because you didn’t want to change ityourself, didn’t you?”

albert snickered. “really,i couldn’t reach it, but there’s nothing i love more than holding my boyfriend—”

spot, still hunchedover and now with the broken bulb in his hand and the new one in the ceiling,flicked albert on the head. “come on, put me down, you asshat.”

“oh, no, we’re going onan adventure!” albert ducked out of the hallway with spot clinging desperatelyto his head. “you’re not gonna fall, baby, i’m not gonna let you—”

“al, you know how i feel about heights, yabastard—”

“we’ve got a brand-newapartment,” albert started, crouching down so spot could slide off, then facinghim, “and you’re not gonna let me take you on rides all around it, now that we’vefinally got the room?” spot simply glared at him, rubbing his arms. “it doesn’tmatter, baby.” albert dipped down, pressing a kiss to spot’s forehead. “i can’twait to change more lightbulbs with you.”

@jd-sammy | @suddenly-im-respecsable | @wellkickyouhalfwaytoqueens|@suffering-bi|@astrobluehairedgemi | @madamedelagrrandebouche | @fairly-awkward-trashcan | @spacedustsilmarile | @insane-tomato|@iamliterallyaghost| @maxvanna | @pineapple-of-saltiness|@batlemonrepellent | @musicgays |@c0ronas | @dying-poet |@broadwait |@raveyqueen | @offbrandbroadway|@constantly-singing | @hopeful-broadwaybaby | @fameworks-quicker|@racinghiggins | @brooklyn-noozies |@seasickdolphin |@no-1481 | @queer-theatre-ace | @thedelanceybruddas|@daavenport| @kpop-kk |@broadwayandbookblog | @plutograce |@stopthe-presses | @elmers-half-a-cup |@and-i-lostmy-shoe|@awkwardstranger98 | @backgroundnewsies | @spot-me50-papes | @chewybats | @softgrantaire | @queer-apollo | @honeynutpoptarts | @bxnesof92 | @galaxyminded-and-homebound| @big-potato-asshole | @pirate-capn| @sure-as-a-star | @leximinecrafty | @snakesarenonexistent | @titanic1907 | @yxseminx | @ive-given-up-on-it | @iliveinprocrasti-nation | @libscs | @fasterthanthemoon | @crazymecjc | @malkavered | @myheartissetinmotion | @dolleuhh | @and-its-only-us | @peter-parker-protection-squad | @galacthicc | @papesdontsellthemselves | @wistfullwishing | @theresagoodchanceicouldfly | @alisoncdariel | @supremebesson| @sadsackofcellophane | @axolotlwhizzy | @platinumbered |

[auspicioustarantula]

buckle up folks because i wrote this in ONE HOUR and BARELY edited it. i came into class n my prof told us to write three words on the board. we ended up with over thirty in five different columns and then, IN ORDER, we had to use every single word. they’re bolded. all the sports bros in my class wrote down sports. i wanted to die. enjoy this

There’s so little money in my  wallet I can hear the change jingling in the worn leather every time I take a step. It bounces around my backpack, mocking me with its clatter. It’s there, but it’s not enough. Everything around me seems superficial at this time of year, like I’m not really comprehending it at all. The flowers I pass on the sidewalk (the daffodils and crocuses that peek out through the cracks in the sidewalks are in full bloom, while the roses that sit outside the picket-fence houses on this street are just beginning to bud), the bubbly clouds in the sky, the way the wind brushes my dark hair into my eyes.

           None of it seems real. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, pretending that if I don’t see the medical building on my right, then I won’t be reminded of my mother. But everything reminds me of my mother now that she’s dead. She wasn’t a patient at that center, but each one is more or less the same. I pass a tree to my left with gnarled wood, splitting in the center. Her fingers split, too—she always insisted that they didn’t need lotion, and her skin would inevitably crack.

           I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.  I’m supposed to meet Madelyn after her softball practice, but I just can’t drag myself down to the fields today. I can’t seem to do anything as of late. I feel a buzz in my pocket, and I reach in it, pulling out my phone. “Hello?”

           “Adrian? Where are you? Did you let the dog out after school?”

           Teddy’s voice comes through the speaker. He’s my uncle, my mom’s older brother. I stayed with him some of the time after mom and dad divorced, and now I live with him all the time since mom died. He’s not awful. He’s not exciting, either. He leaves me alone. Teddy loves sports more than he loves me. He mostly just hosts parties for his friends. They come over and drink beer and yell at whatever’s playing on TV. Sometimes, if he goes out, he’ll stare across the bar at some pretty girl and try to get her attention. He glues himself to tennis matches during the day. He watches, watches, watches, and never seems to do a damn thing.

           I know he’s home, so it shouldn’t be my job to let the dog out. We all have jobs to do. Some of us are better than others. I know the nurse who took care of my mom did a really good job of that. She did everything she could. It still wasn’t enough.

           “No, I didn’t get home. I’m meeting with Madelyn after her softball practice.” I can’t lie to Teddy because he’ll see right through it, so I whip myself around on the sidewalk and start going the other way. “I told you that this morning, remember?”

           “Yeah, maybe, but I was watching golf. You know not to interrupt me when I’m watching golf.”

           I can’t talk to him right now. I hang up the phone with a sigh and shove my hands into my pockets. My body makes it down to the softball fields without my brain. I know it’s taken me an extra half hour, but my mind recollects absolutely nothing when I see Madelyn. The sun shines off her scarlet red box braids as she turns toward me with a pout. “You’re late.”

           A dolphin emblem is embroidered on her jacket—her swim team’s logo—that’s folded over on her arm. I swallow, not tearing my eyes away from it. I can’t tell her that I wasn’t planning on coming at all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I got caught up talking with Teddy. Something about a golf game that was more important than me.”

           She purses her lips without a word. “It’s okay. I know moving has been hard. Let’s just go, okay?”

           Moving has been hard, she says, like it’s only been two weeks since I got here and met her and asked her out. Moving has been hard, she says, like she forgets that it’s been almost three years since my mom died, and that I should be at least somewhat okay by now.

           We never have a set place to go for dinner. We just walk and talk and inevitably end up somewhere we both want to eat. Tonight, however, as we pass the soccer fields, we both know that dinner isn’t an option. She’s not hungry, and I can’t pay.

           The sun is still out by the time I get home. “I saved you a soda from last night,” Teddy calls to me. He’s sitting in the living room, a microwaved dinner in his lap. Watching, watching, watching the little people run across the screen, playing a sport that I don’t care about. I don’t say anything to him. He won’t ask if I’m okay. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone.

           My backpack hits the floor with a thump. I toe my shoes off and sit down at my desk, swiveling around in my chair until I find myself facing the long, rectangular mirror that sits opposite my window. I stare at my reflection from far away. Watching, watching. Teddy’s habits have seeped onto me. I stare at my sunken eyes, and the freckles that litter the bridge of my nose. I stare at my black hair, all messy around my face and in need of a haircut, and I wonder why I got to look so much like dad, when mom was so much prettier. I stare and I wait for something to happen, but nothing ever does.

           I fall asleep without doing any homework, even though I know it’s going to come back and bite me in the ass tomorrow. There’s nothing extra to stuff in my backpack. There’s a little alligator pin that is clipped on the front—my mother’s. I rub it every morning before I leave for school. For luck, I think, but it hasn’t been helping much lately. I grab my shoes from where I left them last night at the foot of my bed. The last thing I need is my water bottle. I wonder if filling it with alcohol will made me feel better.

           I decide against it and regret it only when I arrive at school. Teddy slept through my morning routine like he usually does. I sit outside on a bench, waiting for Madelyn, as I normally do. She has every right to be mad at me and I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose not to meet me this morning.

           I hear Madelyn behind me before I see her. “I know you have a rough time during spring,” she says, voice all honey and soft and like my mother. God, everything goes back to her.

           “I know, and I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

           “Don’t worry about it. There’s a new taco place opening up by Richard’s. Just wondered if you wanted to go tonight. I’ll even drive you after school if you want.” A slow smile starts playing on her face. “I had David wash my car last night since he got it so dirty. It won’t be gross like it’s been, I promise.”

           She makes me laugh, even in the midst of all this, and it makes me forget how sad I am, if only for a little bit. The jacket she’s wearing today is an old swim team jacket. Their mascot was a turtle. It’s only fitting to have another aquatic animal as their emblem.

           Madelyn grabs my hands and pulls me off the bench, lacing her fingers through mine. We pass the football field near the school. There are several players already in uniform, no doubt trying to squeeze in a few minutes of practice before school starts. I can’t imagine having that kind of drive.

           As we walk, she starts swinging my hand, tapping her fingers against my knuckles. It’s the little things that she does that makes me completely fold over for her, but those things always remind me the most of my mom. My mother straightening my tie for my first middle school dance and telling me how charming I am parallels Madelyn straightening my bowtie for junior prom and telling me how handsome I look. My mother, pressing her hand against my cheek when I was sick and flushed is the exact same as Madelyn pressing her hand against my cheek before she kisses me.

           The implications are different, but the actions are the same. It infuriates me. I love Madelyn, and I can’t stand her at the same time. I don’t know if she knows how much she reminds me of my mother.

           At noon, I meet Madelyn for our lunch block, and I tell her that I have to take a rain check on dinner. Tomorrow. Next week. It doesn’t matter. I just can’t do it today. There’s no real reason. My brain just isn’t working. It never seems to be. I see her face fall, but she pretends that it’s okay. Maybe I’ve been thinking too much about my mom. Maybe I just need a break.

           I pass a cat on the way home. It’s an ugly, skinny sort of thing, with hair falling out in some places. One of its eyes is clear. Part of me wants to ignore it, but the other part sits down across the road from it. I reach my hand out towards it, and the malnourished animal slowly makes its way across the road, pressing its head into my palm. I feel like this poor cat—ignored, beaten up, left alone. Really, the only person I can turn to right now is Madelyn, and I’ve ignored her, too.

           I get home and slam the door shut behind me. The afternoon routine is the same as always: throw the backpack down, take my shoes off, sit at my desk, and watch myself in the mirror. Watch and wait for something to be different.

           “Adrian, dinner’s ready. I made toast and eggs and…” Teddy’s sentence slips away, not because he gets quieter, but because I stop paying attention. Toast is bland. Boring. Unexciting. I have so many words to describe it, which seems interesting for something that’s so…not. I could pull myself out of this chair with a smile, a mask that covers up how I’m really feeling. Teddy doesn’t need to know. Or I could be late to dinner again. Maybe one day I’ll show up early and help with dinner, making something I actually want to eat. That will really show him, right?

           I think about how much I complain about Teddy, and then I think about how little I do around the near falling-apart house, especially in the spring. I slog through every day leading up to the anniversary of my mother’s death.

           For the first time, I think about how her death affects him too. He grew up with her, after all. He held her when she was born and taught her how to ride a bike. Alarm bells go off in my head. I’ve been so selfish about her. Just because she was my mom didn’t mean that she wasn’t also someone else’s sister and daughter and friend. I’ve been hoarding her, pretending like she was only mine. And I feel terrible about it. I feel worse than I did just thinking about her being dead.

I stand up from my desk chair, take another look at myself in the mirror, brush down my jeans, and call through my door: “I’ll be down in just a few minutes.” There’s always time to change. I guess I just never had the initiative to do it until now.

[auspicioustarantula]

“I was actually awake when you did that thing” AU with Spalbert please :) 💞

be my escape

ship: spalbert

era: modern | genre: hurtcomfort

word count: 1.4k

edited: absolutely not

warnings: implied abuse, language

hey so u should know that i’m not…..super pleased with this?? idk i feel like it could be better but at the same time i think it’s the best it can be and just. kjdsfkldsf i haven’t written modern era in a while but!!! here’s this ilu guys @broadwait i’m sorry it’s not like “pop punk” but it inspired me to do this in modern era i hope u can forgive me baby

“aw, spot, he’s being shit again–”

“shit how?”

albert’s hands trembled over his phone as he held it to his ear, as much as he didn’t want it to. he reached up with his left to steady it. the action blocked off his chest and for a moment, made him feel safer. and then his dad was downstairs yelling again, and the shaking came back. “well, johnny’s back from college on break. eddie didn’t come back which isn’t surprising and i don’t know why johnny did but he’s here and dad’s yellin’ at him and–”

“why don’t you come out? tell you what, you let me know when the bastard’s asleep and i’ll come pick you up.” spot’s voice on the other end of the phone was crackly and albert struggled to pick out his words.

“he’ll hear your car pull up. besides, i can’t sneak out without him hearing–”

“well, i’ll park far off. and you got a window in your room, you know.”

albert couldn’t tell what spot wanted. did he want to see him, or did he want him to get away from his dad? either way, the distraction was welcome. “alright, alright, stop pushin’. give me an hour and i’ll…i’ll be out there. don’t wait up if i’m not.”

“roger that.”

spot hung up with a low chuckle and albert closed his eyes. 

the shouting downstairs from the middle brother and albert’s father slowly subsided within the hour. he couldn’t wait until it was completely silent because then there was a solid chance his dad would hear him pop the window open, jump out and roll when he hit the ground.

eddie had taught him five years ago when he was twelve how to safely jump out of the bedroom that used to belong to him in case he ever needed to use it. when he moved out, albert got eddie’s bedroom, and johnny got the one that they shared to himself. and then when johnny moved out, it was just him and his dad. albert figured that johnny coming back on breaks was a pity move so that the house would be just a little less empty, even if it was only for a couple of days. he talked to eddie on the phone sometimes, but he hadn’t seen him in over a year.

cars came and went and albert stared out of his window at the gravel road that ran in front of his house–a little worse for wear, sure, but it was a house nonetheless, and he was grateful that more nights than not the walls were able to hide him away in his room.

the cars all sounded the same passing the road, but something told albert at 8:46 in the evening that the one that had just passed the opening to the road. before putting his phone in his pocket, he shot a text to johnny: 

heading out, idk if I’ll be back tonight

i’m hanging w/ spot

so don’t worry

albert learned from his brothers to keep his phone on vibrate, if not mute, around his father. johnny would check his phone before he fell asleep tonight, and he knew about spot, and he knew that if albert was with spot then he would be safe.

maybe it was just some shitty luck eddie had, being born first. being born first and having to learn how to wear multiple layers of socks when sneaking into the kitchen to get food, and having to teach himself how to jump out of windows and throw a right hook. because even though his dad was an ass, albert had the guidance of his older brothers to keep him safe. the waters were often dark and deep and terrifying to sail through, but he was in company of good navigators. 

drop, push, and roll. 

the action was simple enough in itself but it had been a while since albert had actually done it, and he wasn’t quite prepared to hit the ground. his body crashed into the dirt with a thud and he held his breath, praying to no one that his father hadn’t heard or that johnny, in the back of his mind, knew what was happening and would be able to cover for him.

no sound came from inside and albert let his breath out, simply laying on the ground for a few seconds, before pushing himself up and beginning a quiet walk to meet spot.

he saw spot, he thought, before spot saw him, and it was everything he could do not to break out into a run and meet the one person who was guaranteed safety for him. despite their heavily physical relationship, there was something underneath, no matter how much both boys denied it. perhaps it was just a repression of emotions on both sides from growing up too quickly and in too hostile an environment.

“al,” spot croaked as the redhead came into his view.

albert looked behind him, and, seeing his house at what he deemed a safe distance, sprinted to the side of the gravel driveway in the grass, practically barreling into spot. 

spot wrapped his arms around albert’s midsection and squeezed tight, pressing his cheek to his chest. “you alright?”

“i’ll be fine,” al mused softly. “let’s just drive.”

drive they did, and albert found himself slumped in the passenger seat of spot’s red chevy impala. it was a little old but spot took care of that car like it was his child. on any given day, albert could stop by the shop where he worked and if he wasn’t dealing with customers, he would be polishing her. 

within ten minutes, albert found his eyelids drooping. spot glanced over, and with a small smile, turned the radio up just a little bit, beginning to hum along, thinking albert was asleep. his voice slowly got louder until he was singing under his breath, then actually singing, just loud enough to be heard over the radio, but quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake a “sleeping” albert. 

it was times like this that albert knew he was into spot for more than his physicality. the soft albeit dorky sean that sat underneath of his hardened exterior showed itself few and far inbetween, but the little glimpses that he got of it were enough to make albert’s day. 

albert hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder. rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the clock on the dash. something past midnight. “have you been driving this whole time?” 

spot shrugged, rolling his neck around to crack it. “i stopped about an hour ago.”

“you didn’t have to come all the way out…wherever the hell we are,” albert said. despite being tired, he couldn’t help but to crack a grin.

spot’s car was parked on the edge of a field, tall, summer grasses swaying in a slight breeze, turned pale blue by the moonlight. albert unbuckled, rolled down his window, and stuck his torso out of the car, letting the wind ruffle his hair, ignoring spot laughing behind him. “you’re a dog, albert,” he said, reaching for albert’s shirt to pull him back inside. 

“yeah, but at least i wasn’t singing,” albert shot back. maybe a little too quickly, he though, as spot started flushing.

spot’s eyebrows knitted together. “wait, what?”

“i was awake when you did that thing. when you…when you turned up the radio and started singing,” al said. “i mean, for someone who can barely keep rhythm on his drum set you didn’t, like, completely suck.”

“shut up,” spot snickered, rolling his eyes.

“make me.”

it was a comforting feeling to find spot’s hands tangled in his hair and his lips crashing into his, the occasional bite on one of albert’s lips sending a shiver down his spine. he didn’t know anybody else who would pick him up in the middle of the night and drive him for hours to the middle of nowhere just because he was feelings a little upset and a little distant and a little uncomfortable. yes, his house was often hostile toward him and his brothers weren’t always the kindest and his mother wasn’t there anymore and sometimes his friends didn’t understand, but albert knew that he always, always had someone to lean back on.

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[auspicioustarantula]

I’d die for some sprace

sugar and smoke rings

ship: sprace

era: canon | genre: flangst

word count: 595

edited: a little at the end

warnings: language, fwb kinda thing, alcohol, cigars

CONFESSION yall know i don’t like sprace but!!!!!! i like. got an idea to write em boozing around and this is what that is um,,, i don’t like this very much but thats probably because of the ship whatever! enjoy!

“you know it’s not good for us, tonio. you know it ain’t. and i ain’t stupid, either, so don’t try to pull one over on me.”

“yeah, well,” race said, taking a drag of his cigar. “i’m not trying to pull one over on ya, spot. just lettin’ you know what up.”

the pair swung their legs over the brooklyn bridge, gazing down at the murky water far below them. at this time of night, there was no traffic on the bridge, and they were free to talk about whatever they wanted. the conversations usually stayed between how good selling was that day or where the booze and cigars were cheaper rather than the technicalities of their relationship, and they preferred to keep it that way.

“you know,” race began again softly, “if jack knew what i was doing with ya in the middle of the night he’d lock me up in the lodging house,” he smarted.

spot gave him a nudge back, rolling his eyes with a laugh. “we ain’t doin’ nothing more than sharin’ a few bottles of cheap alcohol, relax, racer.”

the solidarity of spot’s untrue words settled around the two boys like a thick blanket that was too warm for the summer air that still hung around, despite the months slowly changing into fall. race tugged at his collar, trying to let his skin breath, trying to let the mist that wafted up from the river settle onto his freckles. he had no doubt that his cheeks were now flushed red from spot’s naive comment about what they weren’t doing, since that was a blatant lie.

not every night ended a tangle of limbs and race tugging his knickers on and spot shuffling him out the door, practically begging him not to get caught, but it happened often enough that the boys had begun to get worried every time they left each other for the night. and race seemed to be getting awful close to the brooklyn territory when he was selling, some of the newsies thought, and it sure was interesting that spot hadn’t said a word about it. they supposed that the two had just had something worked out, and nobody dared pry into spot’s affairs with his territory–he treated it like one of his own newsies. 

“that’s a new one,” race said, reaching out for the bottle of alcohol. in return, he offered spot his cigarette. he gently laid his head down on spot’s shoulder. “you stole it?”

“you think i can afford to pay?” spot snickered. “it’s a new shipment they got in, yeah. burns like hell but it’s sweet afterwards.”

race took a swig, still pressed to spot’s side, and promptly sat up and shook his head as he swallowed. “damn, conlon. that is strong,” he smarted with a cough. “and what do you mean, ‘it’s sweet afterwards’? that smarts like hell. no sweetness in there at all,” race said, shaking his head. 

“how about in here?”

spot cupped his hand around the back of race’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. it, however, lacked the trademark roughness that usually surrounded his romantic actions: instead, the gesture was soft and filled with a passion that made race’s heart skip more than one beat.

the boys traded their possessions back to each other with a sigh. there would be no additional actions taken by them tonight besides the occasional smart-aleck remark and the dangling of legs and arms draped around backs and fingers gently idling together. for once, it seemed to be all they needed. 

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@jd-sammy | @suddenly-im-respecsable | @wellkickyouhalfwaytoqueens | @suffering-bi | @astrobluehairedgemi | @madamedelagrrandebouche | @fairly-awkward-trashcan | @spacedustsilmarile | @insane-tomato | @iamliterallyaghost | @maxvanna | @pineapple-of-saltiness | @batlemonrepellent | @musicgays | @c0ronas | @dying-poet | @broadwait | @raveyqueen | @offbrandbroadway | @constantly-singing | @hopeful-broadwaybaby | @fameworks-quicker | @racinghiggins | @brooklyn-noozies | @seasickdolphin | @no-1481 | @queer-theatre-ace | @thedelanceybruddas | @daavenport | @kpop-kk | @broadwayandbookblog | @plutograce | @stopthe-presses | @elmers-half-a-cup | @and-i-lostmy-shoe | @awkwardstranger98 | @backgroundnewsies | @spot-me50-papes | @chewybats | @softgrantaire | @queer-apollo | @honeynutpoptarts | @bxnesof92 | @galaxyminded-and-homebound | @big-potato-asshole | @pirate-capn | @sure-as-a-star | @leximinecrafty | @snakesarenonexistent | @titanic1907 | @yxseminx | @ive-given-up-on-it

[julsidubs]

dialogue prompt number 2 from this list.

ship: MIN YOONGI/PARK JIMIN (BTS) DRABBLE | ficlet | one-shot | novella

“Can I tell you a secret?” Yoongi asked, staring into Jimin’s eyes.

Jimin nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Sure, hyung.”

 Excitement and hope filled Jimin’s heart as he anticipated Yoongi’s next words. Perhaps, on the balcony overlooking the city of Paris, the moment for Jimin to finally admit to Yoongi what he’d been feeling had come.

“I think,” Yoongi smiled wide, “I like Hoseok.”

Call him an idiot in love. Call him a fool for believing. Call him anything you want; it probably won’t pierce through Jimin’s heart and break it in half the way that did.

[auspicioustarantula]

Can you write some fluffy Finch stuff, maybe like RedFinch or Finch/Crutchie thanks! ~Cam

snowflake

ship: redfinch

era: canon | genre: fluff

word count: 418

edited: never

warnings: nope!

s/o to ME for writing something, for the first time i think, where i don’t hurt albert!!!! yall know what this means anyways heres some redfinch its straight fluff :) i also haven’t written anything i think except straight angst for like a month and a half so we out here in new territory

“heya, scoot over, it’s cold.”

before davey had left the lodge that night to go back to his own house, he’d dropped off extra blankets for the newsies and stuffed the bottom of the windows with towels to keep out some of the cold air. but in the middle of manhattan in the middle of january, the cold still crept its way in through haphazard floorboards and cracked glass, as much as the newsies tried to keep it out.

finch had never been one for the cold. he found himself borrowing extra shirts from the rest of the boys starting in mid-september, brought in every blanket on the street, and never slept without a pair of socks on–not even in the summer. he couldn’t understand how jack and crutchie and several other boys found themselves sleeping on the roof. a slight breeze would send him shivering, no matter how warm the other boys seemed to be.

the only solution, then, was to find albert. albert, who seemed to always be radiating heat, was asleep on the bottom of the bunk that he shared with race. nobody else besides albert wanted (and really, he didn’t want to, it was more of a begrudging resignation) to share with someone that snored that loudly, but it was the price finch would have to pay for comfort in the cold months.

albert stirred gently in his bed, making a face. “who’s wakin’ me up–aw, finchie, you shoulda said somethin’.” he ran a hand over his features, rubbing his eyes. finch thought that the moonlight trailing in through the window–god, why did it have to be close to the window, it brought in more cold–illuminated albert’s face perfectly. “c’mere.”

albert turned around, his back to the window, and opened up his arms. with a soft smile, finch crawled in, pressing his back into albert’s stomach. he reached behind him with his right hand for albert’s left, lacing their fingers together and letting them rest on his stomach.

finch hummed softly to himself as albert pressed his nose into his neck, wrapping a leg around his hip. “god, finch, you’re freezing.”

“well, it is cold outside,” finch muttered, snickering as albert gave him a squeeze. “good thing you’re a walking radiator, huh?”

by that point, though, finch knew that the steady feeling of albert’s heartbeat was one that told him the boy was asleep, and he nestled comfortably into his chest, falling into the same breathing pattern. oh, it felt good to be his. 

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