Someshortstories

I'm just a kid that wants to write, so, as a result, I write gay fanfiction. This is basically just a shiny Newsies trash blog.

[better-inwriting]

Nobody Is You

Guess what? More Sprace. For something that isn't Sprace or more Sprace if that's what you're into, follow my blog. It's just a lot of Newsies. In the meantime, enjoy some angst!

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Six months. It's been six months today since Spot lost the only relationship that ever mattered. It all happened so fast. He replays that fateful day in his mind constantly, trying to piece together where everything went wrong.

Well, he knows what went wrong. He got jealous and lost his temper. He showed a side of himself that he tried so hard to bury as far down as humanly possible. A side he never wanted anyone to see, especially not Race.

Perfect, perfect Race. The only person who ever loved him for him. The only person who tried to see past all the bad and actually sometimes loved it. Race taught Spot a thing or two about love. When they met, neither of them were looking for a relationship. The timing was so weird, but after one cup of coffee, they both knew that it was right.

They were so happy. Race was thriving as a dancer and an actor because Spot made him more confident. Spot was becoming more empathetic and human because Race made him a better person. They were both admittedly happier than they'd ever been before.

Then Race started spending a lot of time with Albert. It was completely harmless. They had both moved to the same dance studio that was a little more advanced than either of them were used to, so they were practicing together a lot to get caught up. They were together every evening until at least midnight.

Spot and Race hardly saw each other for a few weeks. Spot was happy to see Race doing well with something he loved, but he did miss his boyfriend. Race was working really hard and, as far as he knew, Spot was supportive, so the extra rehearsal time didn't seem like a problem. Maybe if Spot had just talked to Race and communicated his feelings, they would have fixed the problem.

But that didn't happen. Spot let it fester. He let it all build up until one awful day at work followed by the absence of his boyfriend pushed him over the edge. He called Race and asked him to come home. Then communicating his feelings just turned into him yelling about how Race would rather spend his time with Albert than Spot and how he didn't love him. Race tried to talk Spot down with reassurances and apologies, but the line about his lack of love did not sit well with Race. He too started yelling. Before either of them knew it, the words, “Maybe we should take a break,” were shouted from Race.

Spot left without another word and only went back once for confirmation. He got it in the form of seeing Race and Albert kissing. That was all the confirmation he needed.

And now Spot is lonely and drunk every night wishing he could take it back. He should have just told Race he had a problem. Race would have been understanding. He would have tried to fix it. Spot knows that because that's how Race is. Spot has a problem and Race fixes it. Not this time. It was too late for Race to fix it.  

Spot hasn't tried to contact Race since. They have all the same friends, so they're sometimes forced to suck it up and see each other. Spot never heard anything more of Albert and Race and he doesn't know if they were ever officially together. The thought makes him sick, but at least there's no proof of it and he can pretend it never happened.

So, here he lays upside down on his couch. The apartment is completely dark and quiet save for the muffled sound of Sam Smith coming from his headphones. The nearby area is littered with beer cans, some from today and some from the course of a week. There are also three still sitting unopened on the coffee table.

He reaches for one just as there's a knock on his door. He ignores it, proceeding to open his beer and take a long sip from it. The knocking continues impatiently. He knows that whoever it is isn't going away, so he gets up and goes to the door, fully prepared to yell at whoever is disturbing his pity party.

He isn't prepared to see Race.

They stand in awkward silence, just staring at each other for a long time. Then Race says, “Hey. I'm sorry for just showing up like this, but I needed to see you.”

Spot blinks. Six months. Six months of nothing from either side and now here he is. Here he is needing to see Spot.

“Can I come in?” Race pushes.

Spot nods and steps aside to let Race in. He stops just inside the door and looks out over the mess. Spot isn't a messy a guy, so the appearance of the apartment shocks Race.

“So why are you here?” Spot asks, more blunt than he intended.

Race slowly turns to him. “I have some stuff to say. You don't have to say anything, just listen. Just hear me out and if you still hate me and want me to leave when I'm done, I will.”

Spot opens his mouth to protest that Race insinuated Spot hated him, but Race puts his hand up to stop him.

“Just wait. Please.” Spot nods and sits down, going back to his beer. “I don't like  the way we ended things. I know you were hurt, but I promise I didn't cheat on you. Albert and I were not, are not, never have, and never will sleep together. I loved you then and I still do, but I was so mad at you for what you said and for not trusting me. I tried to move on, I really did, but nobody is you. I need you and I hate that i need you. I want to try this again, but only if you want to and only if you trust me. My trust in you has never wavered once. I deserve the same from you.”

Spot just stares at him. He's surprised to hear it. Race doesn't always say what he thinks, but now he is. The honesty hurts a little, Spot thinks. Still, Race is right. And Race is here offering Spot a second chance, a do over. A chance to be better.

Spot stands up. “I'm sorry for the things I said and the way I acted. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you how I felt sooner. I'm sorry I never called. I'm sorry.”

“So? Can we try again?” Race asks hopefully.

“I would like that,” Spot says, smiling for the first time in a long time.

“Can I kiss you?” Race asks.

Spot's answer comes in a kiss of his own, pulling Race to him and wrapping him up in his arms. He holds him there even after the kiss is over, just to be sure he won't let him slip away again.

[better-inwriting]

Art and Hot Pockets

In honor of International Women's Day (Though its well after midnight when I'm posting this), I thought I would write something that features a strong, beautiful woman. So, enjoy some modern Jackrine.

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The rain is coming down fast on a dreary day in September. Outside, the streets of New York are nothing if not full of life despite the depressing mood. The temperature is lower than normal with wind coming in from all directions. As she stands alone in her small, quaint apartment she wonders if it's even worth it-

“Earth to Katherine!” Jack's voice cuts through Katherine's internal monologue.

With an annoyed huff, she turns away from her laptop to stare at him, annoyance clear in her eyes. His holding a hot pocket in one hand and his sketchbook in the other. He's also drenched, meaning he probably ran all the way to her apartment in the rain.

“Did you walk here?” She asks.

He smiles sheepishly, “Maybe.”

“You're an idiot,” She says, rolling her eyes playfully. “What do you have there?”

“A Philly cheesesteak hot pocket,” Jack says, setting his sketchbook aside and approaching her with the other quarter of his lunch. “Try it. I'm not a fan.”

She takes a small bite out of the hot pocket. “It's not bad.”

He hands her the rest of it. “But the superior hot pocket is the pepperoni pizza.”

Katherine vigorously shakes her and struggles to swallow the large bite she gad the taken. “Ham and cheese!” She exclaims still with food in her mouth.

He makes a face before brushing off the comment and reaching for the dishtowel on the kitchen counter to dry his hair. Katherine figures it's a step up from him just shaking like a dog, so she lets it go and makes a mental note to get out a new dish towel when he's not paying attention.

“So did you run all the way here in the rain just to talk about the hot pocket or-”

“No, no, no,” Jack answers in a rush. He lazily tosses the dish towel aside and grabs his sketchbook. He sits down on the couch and motions for her to join. She closes her laptop and sits next to him, watching him flip through many filled pages of drawings.

Finally he finds what he was looking for. He hands her the notebook to an open page where he had sketched a big double gate with a padlock surrounded by overgrown foliage. A worn down brick walkway leads up to the gates and a young girl in a dress with her hair in pigtails sits in front of the gate facing it. Next to her is a small backpack and a kitten licking at it's paws. Katherine recognizes the image instantly.

“This is from my book,” She says almost in a whisper as she examines the drawing. “This is the entrance to the adandoned mansion. This is amazing, Jack. This is exactly how I pictured it.”

“So you like it?” He asks hopefully.

“I love it!” She practically shouts. “How did you know all these details?”

He hesitates. “Don't get mad. The other day when I was here and you took a call to deal with yet another of Specs’ emotional ordeals, I read a little bit of what was on your computer.”

She opens her mouth to start an argument. Jack had a tendency to peek at her things, be it her computer, her phone, her mail. He seems to have a compulsive need to be invasive and they've fought over it a million times. The fact that he would look at it, create it, and then tell her about it is a little astonishing.

“Look, I'm sorry,” He says before she can argue. “I know you hate when I look at your things and rightfully so. I shouldn't do that, I know. But I also know you've been doubting yourself about this book and I didn't want you to give up another project that you're passionate about because you think no one else will appreciate it. Well, I do. I think the book is great. Everything you've written that I could read in the time you were on the phone was amazing, Kath. You're so talented. I thought that if I could just show you how much I believe in you, you wouldn't give up.”

Jack kneels down on the couch in front of her and takes both of her hands. He looks genuinely sorry. “I'm sorry I looked at your things without asking.”

After a second she nods. “Okay. I'll let it go.”

“Thank you,” He says and kissing the back of her hand. “You amaze me, Katherine. You can create life and worlds with just some words and punctuation marks and that is… that is so amazing. You are the most intelligent, beautiful, talented woman I know and I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Jack,” She says. “Thank you. This drawing is fantastic.”

He shrugs. “You made it, I just drew it.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“No, it doesn't, but I know what I'm trying to say,” Jack says, standing back up and stretching. He leans down to kiss Katherine briefly. “Do you have any pizza hot pockets? Because I'm still really hungry.”

“Yeah probably,” Katherine says, resettling herself as her desk chair and opening the document of her novel. It's been an uphill battle of internal judgement and an inferiority complex, but Jack's support never ceases to help. His support is one of the things that keeps her going.

“Just the damn ham and cheese!” Jack shouts from the kitchen. “Oh well, that'll work, I guess.”

Ten minutes later, Jack is situated on the couch with his sketchbook and his large array of materials. They lapse into comfortable silence, both working on separate projects requiring total focus. Then after a few hours, they catch each other up on what they've done. Katherine finds herself writing more that day than she has in a while and Jack sketches up more and more scenes from her work in progress.

Katherine finds it to be so much easier to work when there's someone in her corner. And after eating three hot pockets because Jack can eat nothing else.

[better-inwriting]

Everything Is Fine

Aaaand more Newsies. Enjoy another fluffy Sprace fic.

**********************************************

Everything is fine. The caterers are half an hour late, the flourist sent the wrong flowers, and Albert misplaced the rings somewhere in his pigsty of an apartment, but that's okay. Race isn't worried. He's totally calm. It's. Fine.

“Great! Thanks,” Jojo hangs up the phone and turns to Race. “Crisis averted. The florists send their sincerest apologies and will be sending someone by to exchange all the flowers and they will also be returning half the cost of the original order to make up for their mistake.”

Race lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, okay. That's good. That's great. Awesome. Where are we with the caterer?”

Jojo's new look of happiness dissipated instantly. “I'll go check with Elmer and, while I'm at it, I'll call Albert and light a fire under his ass. Cool?”

Race nods, “You're the best best man ever.”

Jojo smiles and rushes out of the room. Race takes another deep breath and collapses into the nearest metal folding chair which he instantly regrets.

It's his wedding day for fuck's sake! Why was everything such a mess? Why couldn't this one day be perfect? Why couldn't the caterers be on time? Why did the florist mess up the order? Why did Albert have to lose the rings? Why-

Oh and now he's crying. Race stands up and wipes his eyes. He catches a glimpse of his reflection. He looks sick and exhausted. He runs a hand through his curls in frustration.

Suddenly the door opens and he turns to see Spot, fully dressed in his tuxedo and looking more gorgeous than ever. It then occurs to Race that he hasn't even begun to get ready. He's standing in the middle of the room in his Nike joggers with no shirt on.

Spot smiles sympathetically. “You okay?”

Race sighs. “No. This is… this is… I am-”

Spot shushes him and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “I know, baby. Breathe. Jojo is dealing with it.”

“This was supposed to be our day. The best day of our lives and now its-”

“Who says this isn't going to be the best day of our lives?” Spot asks. “Race, we're getting married. We made it through all the shit and every petty fight and here we are. We're getting married. And I love you so much.”

Race is crying again. Spot reaches up to thumb away his tears. “I love you,” Race whispers.

“Let's get you dressed, yeah?”

Though it's not a group effort, Spot helps Race get dressed in his tux. He takes every excuse he can to kiss Race. As he's tying Race's tie, he kisses him deeply the whole time, pulling away only when he's sure the tie is done well. Race is slightly surprised by that.

Jojo enters the room again just as they finish with Albert in tow, looking anxious and disheveled.

“I am so so so sorry,” Albert blurts out. “I am so sorry.”

Spot puts up a hand to stop him. “Do we have the rings?” Jojo nods. “Then it's okay.”

“And the caterers?” Race asks.

“Getting set up now,” Jojo answers. “All is well. We'll do the ceremony in twenty minutes. Are you ready?”

Race looks up at Spot and locks their fingers together. “Yeah.” Spot kisses him quickly and agrees.

Twenty minutes later, the guests are all seated and waiting. At the end of the aisle, Davey stands ready to officially marry them. Behind the big oak doors, Spot and Race stand together, hands locked with wide grins on their faces.

The fanfare begins and the two of them walk hand in hand to the altar. Around them, all their friends and supportive family stand and smile at them. There are a few tears in the crowd as well. Race is trying very hard to keep his own tears at bay. Spot is just as stoic as ever, but there's a loving glint in his eyes. He doesn't need to cry for Race to know how meaningful this is.

The reach the end of the aisle and stand facing each other before all their closest friends and family. Race refuses to let go of Spot's hands. Davey reads his prepared speech, but Race only half hears it. He's so focused on Spot. He's so in love nothing could possibly ruin this moment.

“Sean Conlon, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Anthony Higgins, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me and the state of New York, I now pronounce you husbands. You may now kiss.”

Davey isn't even done speaking when Race pulls Spot to him, kissing him like he'll lose him at any second. Spot kisses him back just as fervently.

Race pulls back and holds Spot's face in his hands. Everything is fine because he is now married to the most perfect, amazing man who he loves so dearly.

[better-inwriting]

When You Love Someone

Ahh more Newsies because what else would I write. Enjoy this fluff/angst RedFinch

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Finch wasn't surprised to find the door to his apartment unlocked. Albert had a key and always forgot to relock the door behind him. Finch would have to lecture his boyfriend once again on the dangers of living in New York City and about being cautious.

He had his speech all prepared until he entered the apartment and heard muffled crying from the bedroom. Carefully and quietly, he hung his keys on the rack and kicked off his shoes.

He cautiously entered the bedroom where Albert was sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, crying and breathing heavily. He looked up when Finch entered the room and quickly tried to look like all was well. He even plastered a painfully fake smile on his face as Finch closes the door and sat next to him.

“Hey, babe, you're back early,” Albert said in a choked, strained voice.

“Al, what is going on?” Finch asked. He tried to wipe away Albert's tears, but he flinched away.

“Nothing! Nothing is going - I'm fine,” Albert said defensively, standing up from the bed and wiping at his eyes again. “All good.”

Finch stayed seated to give Albert room to freak out. Normally when Albert gets anxious he needs some space to cool down, but this is different. He had never seen this side of Albert before - panicky and sad. There was almost a look of fear in his eyes. It made Finch's stomach twist to see his boyfriend like this.

“Albert,” Finch continued quietly, “we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

Albert shrugged. “There's nothing to talk about.”

Finch only nodded and reached out a hand that Albert reluctantly took. Finch gently coaxed him back to a sitting position beside him and kept a firm but gentle grip on his hand.

“How were your classes today? You had an exam, right? You were worried about it,” Finch tried changing the subject instead.

Albert sighed, “Yeah and i didn't really prepare for it so I know I'm going to get a bad grade. If my parents find out we're going to get into a big fight. They're trying to convince me to leave New York.”

“Wait, what? They want you to move back to Rhode Island? That's ridiculous! You're friends, your dreams, it's all in New York,” Finch said quickly, feeling overwhelmed by this new information. “How long have they been saying this?”

“A month or so,” Albert shrugged. He turned his gaze to he and Finch's locked hands when he continued, “I think they might be right, Finch. All I've ever wanted to do is dance, but I can't land a gig to save my life. That was the whole point in coming here and now-” He cut himself off as his voice got tight again.

“Just because you didn't get it yet doesn't mean you won't,” Finch said. “It takes time. Look at how long it took Jack to get anyone to take his art seriously. And Race hasn't officially landed anything yet. You're working hard and you'll get there. Besides what is there for you in Rhode Island?”

“My parents-”

“Who have hardly spoken to you since you came out,” Finch interrupted.

“They said they want to talk things over,” Albert said, quieter still.

“Only because they know I can't follow you there,” Finch said, though it seemed a bit too dramatic afterwards. Albert's parents didn't even know Finch and they hated him for “turning their son gay” and Finch thinks this is a ruse to get Albert to leave him for a woman.

“They aren't as awful as you think,” Albert suddenly snapped, yanking his hand away from Finch's. “They just want what's best for me. They want me to be happy.”

Finch is taken aback by Albert's support of his parents. In the two years they had known each other, including 18 months of dating, Albert rarely had a nice thing to say about his parents or his hometown. Where was all this coming from?

“Are you not happy?” Finch asked softly, feeling at fault.

Albert was quiet for a beat. “I don't know. I should be, right? I have school, and friends, and dance, and you.” Albert paused as the tears started flowing again. “This just isn't going how I planned and I'm wondering if I should have just stayed in Rhode Island. If I had never come to New York-”

Finch stood up and interrupted, “You never would have started taking dancing seriously or considered it a career. You never would have meet Race or Jack. You never would have tried Thai food.” He paused. “You never would have come out.”

Albert looked away and wiped his eyes again.

“Your parents love you and want the best for you, but they don't know what you've got going here. They don't know this new you that was bred from the city,” Finch continued. “Albert, you auditioned for NYU's dance program on a whim and got major scholarships for it. Now I watch you dance and I can see how happy and passionate you are about it. You light up and it's so contagious. If you never did that, you would be working in the bakery with your parents and you would have given up dancing.”

Albert was quiet for a long time and Finch was sure he wasn't going to get anywhere with him. Then Albert said, “They had a Facebook page to connect you to other people in your field. That's how I met Race. He was a blond twink from Brooklyn who talked to me like he'd known me all my life. Then he invited me to the city for a whole week before our first semester. I slept on the couch of his apartment that he shared with his boyfriend, Spot. They were the first gay people I ever knew. They made me wonder about myself.”

Finch nodded. “And on that first night in the city, Race and Spot brought you to the coffee shop/karaoke bar we always hung out at. That's when we met.”

“I was so scared to talk to you,” Albert chuckled. “I kept asking Race questions about you and then he finally called you over, introduced us, and walked away.”

“And we spent the whole night dancing and talking,” Finch finished. “Two weeks later-”

“We kissed on the Brooklyn Bridge,” Albert said with a smile. “It was the best kiss I'd ever had, but I was still trying to figure out my sexuality, so I told you I wasn't ready for a relationship.”

“I told you that I understood, but it actually kind of broke my heart. I really liked you and I said all this to Race-”

“Who said it all to me,” Albert sighed. “School started and we got so busy we hardly saw each other.”

“Until Davey's Christmas party on December 14th,” Finch said. “We kissed again under the mistletoe and you were so flustered by it that you dragged me into the bathroom by my shirt collar and proceeded to kiss me for another half hour.”

Albert laughed, “Poor Elmer did not need to see that.” Finch laughed too. “I told you I was ready and asked you to be my boyfriend. When I went home for Christmas break a week later I told my parents the truth. We fought about it.”

“You called me crying on Christmas Eve because your grandmother told your aunt she didn't want you at the party,” Finch said. “So you left the party early and when you were alone we had our first sexual encounter.”

“Phone sex, Finch. We had phone sex,” The bluntness of the comment makes them both laugh. “I wasn't supposed to come back to New York until January, but I was fighting so much with my family and I missed you, so I flew back on the 27th.”

“I was at Race's and we were hammered. I screamed like a rich girl in a rom-com when you came in. I was so happy to see you,” Finch said. “Then we all got drunk and played spin the bottle.”

“And I made out with Race that night.”

“It was awkward,” Finch chuckled. “It was smooth sailing from there, though. Right?”

Albert nodded. “My parents weren't talking to me because I left without telling them goodbye. Race and I started with this amazing dance company which was a lot of fun. I invited my parents to shows but they never came.”

“Then you left me for a ten week tour in the summer,” Finch added feigning offense.

“You survived. You were doing an internship and were way too busy to think about me.”

“On the contrary. Spot got very tired of listening to me whine about missing you,” Finch countered. “Then you two came back and Spot and I didn't speak for weeks.”

Albert sighed, “Then there was the fight.”

“Yeah, the fight.”

“I didn't know it was possible for you to get that mad,” Albert admitted. “It was scary.”

“I never meant to take it out on you,” Finch said, guilt evident in his voice. “I didn't think Striker or any of the group home kids would contact me again and the fact that they had the audacity to bring you into it-”

“I know, Finch,” Albert said. “I was mad that you never told me about that part of your life. I felt like I didn't even know you and then you started lashing out and you were this completely different person. I tried to talk to you, but you would shut down and lock yourself in this room for days.”

“But that lead to me telling you that I loved you,” Finch said positively. “Al, none of that mattered because things were so different from back then. I didn't want you to know that your beloved boyfriend used to be a juvenile delinquent.”

“It didn't change how I felt about you. I still loved you even after I found out about all that,” Albert said. “That's how I knew I always would. Something like that would have sent me running for the hills with any of my prior relationships, but it was different with you. I loved you.”

“Do you remember that art show Jack had at the university?”

“The one where the security guard caught us making out in the bathroom and we got thrown out?” Finch nodded. “Jack wouldn't talk to us for weeks. He was pissed.”

The reminiscing stopped for a moment while they laughed and smiled nostalgically at each other. Then Albert's face grew solemn again.

“Then Race got that callback,” He said. “I was happy for him, but I wanted to catch a break too. We fought about it.”

“You punched their wall,” Finch interrupted.

Albert waved away the input. “That's when all this started, I guess. I was upset and I talked to my parents about it and they started asking me about moving home.”

“What did you tell them?”

He hesitated. “I told them I didn't know.”

Finch nodded and cast his gaze to the floor when he asked, “Are you still happy with me?”

“Of course.”

“But that isn't enough to keep you in New York,” Finch said, sitting back down on the bed.

“I guess I just don't know what kind of future we're looking at,” Albert admitted. “Do you want to get married? Do you want to buy a house and start a family?”

Finch shrugged. “I never gave the matter much thought.”

“I have,” Albert said and sat next to him, taking his hand, “and I want that with you. That's the future I want and if you don't- if you don't see a future with me then maybe I should go back to-”

“I do!” Finch interrupted, turning to face Albert. “If that's what you want then I want it too. I only want you and your happiness means more than anything else. That's what it means to love someone and I love you, Albert Dasilva, so very much.”

Albert smiled, “I love you too.”

They kissed then for several minutes. Then Albert video chatted his parents, introduced them to Finch, and told them he was absolutely not moving back to Rhode Island.

“I want to be here with him,” Albert said. “I'm happy. If you want me to be happy, you'll be supportive of me - of us. Because that's what you do when you love someone.”

[better-inwriting]

Valentine's Day

I hate this holiday, but anyway... how about some prinxiety to get through it

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Virgil woke up on February 14th thinking nothing of the day ahead. To Virgil, Valentine's Day was just another day and he didn't intend on making a big deal out of it. He loved Roman, sure, but what was so special about a corporate holiday?

Roman, however, did not share Virgil's views on Valentine's Day, though he did know and respect his feelings. That wasn't going to stop him from doing something for Virgil. Virgil deserved the very best and he had just never been shown that before. Roman intended on showing Virgil just how important and loved he was.

Roman didn't interrupt Virgil's sleep until after eleven, knowing he would be mad if Roman woke him up any earlier. He sets a tray in front of Virgil with a cup of coffee, a plate of scrambled eggs, and a handwritten note on pink paper in blue ink.

"Good morning," Roman says in a sing song voice as he enters the room. "I made you breakfast."

Virgil stirs and sits up as Roman sets the tray down and sits on the edge of Virgil's bed. "You made me breakfast or Patton made me breakfast?"

Roman blushes, "Fine, maybe Patton made you breakfast. And Logan might have made the coffee and organized the tray. But I wrote the poem. Neither Patton nor Logan could have written such beautiful words."

Virgil rolls his eyes, "Its too early for you to be mushy."

"Its never too early for my mushyness."

Virgil forgoes the food on his plate and picks up Roman's note. Roman has a hopeful expression as he watches Virgil intently. The note reads:

My heart beats as fast

As a bird in flight

When I think of you

My midsummer's night

I know you despise

This glorious day of love

But today and every day

It's only you I think of

Virgil stared at the note for a second, willing himself not to become emotional. His heart felt too big for his chest as he looked up at Roman's face of anticipation. Virgil leaned forward and kissed Roman very softly.

"I love you and this poem," Virgil said.

"I love you, too," Roman said. "Happy Valentine's day, Virge."

"Happy Valentine's day," Virgil said with a playful eyeroll.

[better-inwriting]

First Date

Inspired by @and-i-lostmy-shoe. Possibly a Javid one of similar theme coming soon, stay tuned.

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Race was practically jumping up and down from excitement the entire day. Three months of back alley rendezvous and late night strolls was finally leading up to a real date. Tonight after it got dark, Race was taking Spot out in their real first date. He couldn't be more excited, though Spot didn't think they needed to have a first date. They knew enough about each other to skip the whole “first date” nonsense. Race refused and declared that Friday October 17, 1899 would be a date that would live forever in their relationship as a milestone and an anniversary.

At first, the idea of a first date seemed terrifying. Race and Spot already knew they were soulmates, as did the few of their close friends who knew about their relationship. Still, Spot was the best thing to ever happen to Race and he wanted him to know it. He confronted Jack with this problem and he told him the story of his first date with Davey right after the strike.

Medda Larkin, a close friend of Jack's and an advocate for the newsies, owns a theater in the Bowery. Race, always a man willing to gossip, knew the Bowery as “the gay part of town”, so naturally it appealed to him when Jack said that Medda was more than willing to allow the gay newsies of New York to hang out there when they needed to be alone. That's where he took Davey on their first date.

Race thought it was a little weird to take his boyfriend to the same place his friend did, but he didn't have a lot of options. So he made the necessary arrangements and informed Spot, who returned his excitement with slight annoyance at the idea, but agreed to go on the date.

Now, with all his papers sold, Race is practically sprinting across the bridge to Brooklyn to meet Spot. He hopes that Spot finished selling already (he told him he would be there for their date by 7, but Spot doesn't always listen). He is relieved to find Spot corralling a group of younger newsies who appear to have just been fighting into the lodging house.

“I don't wanna hear a peep from even one of you's, got it?” Spot says.

The younger newsies grumble a response as they sulkily go back into the house. Spot rolls his eyes as he approaches Race.

“These kids. I'm tellin’ ya.”

“Dare I ask?”

Spot opens his mouth to explain, then thinks better of it and shakes his head. “I left Hot Shot in charge. Let's do this.”

Race smiles twice as wide now that he knows Spot isn't fully against the date idea. He has to fight the urge to hold Spot's hand the entire way to the theater as Spot talks about his day and the recent news of the Brooklyn lodging house. The Brooklyn newsies have shorter tempers, so fights break out more often and there are always interesting stories.

By the time they reach Medda's theater, some of Race's nerves have come back. He squeezes Spot's hand briefly as he opens the back door, ushering Spot in before him.

They enter a side room off the wings. It's lavishly decorated and clearly of Medda's design. There's a long, velvet couch with two similar arm chairs and a purple and red area rug in the middle of it all.

“Surprise!” Race says.

Spot doesn't say anything. He enters the room more and looks around at everything. Race's nerves go crazy the longer Spot is quiet.

“I know it's not much, but I thought-”

He's cut off by Spot pushing him against the nearest wall and kissing him. All the confusion and anxiety melts away as they kiss. Race realizes how stupid it was to be nervous about the date when Spot seems content enough just to be with him. The kiss finally ends when they both need to breathe again.

Race leans his head back against the wall with a goofy smile on his face. “I take it you like my surprise?”

Spot laughs, “You're here, and I like any room with you in it.”

Race blushes and invites Spot to sit down with him. Three hours later they part ways after talking, laughing, and a lot of kissing. Spot concedes that their first date was actually pretty good and not a total waste of time. He also agrees that it will be his turn to plan their second date.

[and-i-lostmy-shoe]

Jack introduces Medda as “the greatest star on the Bowery today”. The Bowery in 1899 was known for being a center of gay subculture.

So new headcanon: Medda’s theater is a safe space where newsie couples go to spend quality time together. They still try to hide, but there’s less fear in the prospect of getting caught in the theater.

[better-inwriting]

I'm in love with this and I'm about to write the shit out of this headcanon please don't be offended @and-i-lostmy-shoe

[kashuan]

Me as a child: *creates an entire complex dystopian dungeon story with a vet clinic set and a couple toys with character development, conflict, and an edge-of-your-seat finale*

Me now, as a writer: *clinks two characters together* hehe they’re kissing

[better-inwriting]

Appendicitis

More Sprace. What else, honestly? Enjoy

**********************************************

“Spot, sit down. Your pacing might form a tornado,” Elmer jokes.

Spot stops and sighs as he sits next to Elmer. He knows everything is fine. Race was having a routine procedure and he would be home tomorrow. Still, even routine procedures sometimes go wrong.

“Race is fine. He's not going to let something as silly as a appendicitis take him from you,” Elmer says.

“I know, I know,” Spot sighs.

Race started complaining about a pain in his side about a week ago and refused Spot's advice about going to the doctor. Then, he collapsed, effectively scaring the hell out of Spot. Spot rushed him to the ER and now he's in surgery. Despite the doctor's reassurances, Spot is still terrified of losing Race.

He can finally breathe again when the nurse comes in and tells Spot that Race is fine and takes he and Elmer to see him. Race is still sleeping when they go in.

“He should wake up soon. He might be a little… silly and delirious from the meds, so be patient with him,” The nurse says. “The doctor will be in to check on you.”

Spot and Elmer thank him. Spot sits down next to Race and squeezes his hand gently.

“Didn't I tell you it would be fine?” Elmer says.

Spot only rolls his eyes and focusing on Race, watching him breathe. Race stirs and wakes up about an hour later. He looks up at Spot with a goofy grin.

“Hey,” Race says in a sing-song voice, “it's my boyfriend.” He giggles. “I miss you.”

“I missed you, too, Race,” Spot says. “You feeling okay?”

Race ignores the question and instead burshes his thumb over the Spot's cheek. He's looking at Spot like a treasured object.

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” Race asks, looking very confused.

“Your incision,” Spot clarifies.

“Oh,” Race says with sudden realization. He pulls his shirt up to reveal his fresh scar. “It's right there. The doctor cut me.”

“Well yeah, Race, that's her job,” Elmer pipes up from the corner of the room.

Race gets a perplexed look and leans close to Spot. He whispers, “I think the doctor is trying to kill me.”

Elmer is stifling his laughter in the corner and Spot is just gaping at Race. Race's expression stays serious and solemn as he waits for Spot to say something.

“Why do you think that, Race?” Spot asks.

Race's eyes get wide with shock and he points at the scar. “Spot they cut me and they're making me stay here!”

“Because you're sick. They were just taking care of you,” Spot says. He can hear Elmer laughing behind him and he's trying very hard not to laugh.

“They didn't do a very good job because this still hurts really fucking bad,” Race says.

“You just had surgery,” Elmer says, “it'll hurt for a few days.”

“How are we feeling, everyone?” The doctor asks as she enters the room.

“Is she the one who cut me?” Race asks Spot.

“Yes, Anthony, that was me,” She says. “I just came to check on you.”

“Did she call me Anthony?” Race asks.

“That's your name, dumbass,” Spot says with a light laugh.

Race stares blankly for a minute before he bursts into laughter. Spot and Elmer exchange a look before laughing too.

“I see we're still recovering from the anesthesia, huh?” The doctor says as she moves closer to Race. “Your incision looks good. I'm just going to check on your heartbeat and then I'll leave you all alone.”

She puts the stethoscope on him and Race looks over at Spot nervously. “This is what I'm talking about,” He whispers.

“Race, you're fine,” Spot says, but Race continues to eye the doctor skeptically.

“Okay, you're all good. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Race lets out a sigh of relief when the doctor leaves. He then turns to Spot with another goofy smile.

“I love you,” He says dreamily.

“I love you, too,” Spot says.

Elmer clears his throat, “You seem calm now, I'm gonna go. I'll see you later, Race. I'll tell everyone that you're fine. That is, unless the doctor kills you.”

Race gets nervous again. “That's not funny Elmer,” He hisses, looking around nervously.

Spot turns back to Race when Elmer leaves. He's starting to look tired now and slightly pained, meaning the meds are wearing off. He likes seeing Race this silly and carefree. He's always pretty relaxed, but right now, he doesn't seem to care about anything in the world.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Spot says suddenly.

Race giggles, “Me too. I almost died.”

Spot rolls his eyes, “No you didn't.”

“I did,” Race argues, but he's smiling. “It was very scary.”

“Oh, yeah, you seem terrified,” Spot scoffs.

Race yawns and closes his eyes for a second. He locks his fingers with Spot's and kisses the back of his hand. He looks at their hands thoughtfully for a long time.

“What?” Spot asks.

“Can we get married?” Spot gapes. “I don't mean like right now, but maybe sometime in the future. I really love you, Spot, and I want to be with you forever.”

“Are you proposing to me?”

Race laughs, “No, I want you to do it. If you even want to, I mean.”

Race looks kind of timid after that and won't mert Spot's eyes. He seems embarrassed about asking. Spot stands up and motions for Race to move over. He lays down next to him, wrapping him in his arms but keeping their hands together.

“I will,” Spot says. “I would love to marry you, too, Race.”

Race sighs and weakly says, “Yay!”

Spot pets Race's curls with his other hand. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” Race sighs, “and my side hurts.”

“Get some sleep and when you wake up there will be food and drugs,” Spot says.

“Oooh, that sounds promising,” Race says through another yawn.

Race's breathing evens out soon after and he sleeps for a few hours before waking up with obnoxious complaints about being in pain. He doesn't remember asking Spot ro marry him, but Spot was already planning to ask him.

[better-inwriting]

You're Invited

The gentle knock on the door snaps me back to reality. I'm not sure how long I've been staring out the window trying to ease my anxiety, but I'm slowly starting to feel better. My son steps into the room and hands me an envelope. Assuming it's a doctor or a collection agency, I toss the letter onto my desk to be dealt with at another time. I go back to staring out the window, but the letter stays in my mind. Finally, I look at it.

It's a small white envelope addressed to me with a return address I don't recognize. I open the letter and pull out a small, light pink card. The front has two black line figures - one a bride and one a groom - facing each other and holding hands. On top in black cursive is, “You're invited”. I open the card to find the date, time, and location of the wedding. It says, “Join us in celebrating the union of Janine Harper and Justin Sommer.” Janine Harper being my estranged daughter.

I feel a pang of guilt in my chest as I reread the letter a few times. I probably won't go. She doesn't really want me there. Her soon to be husband probably just wanted her to invite her mother to their wedding.

I go to put the card back in the envelope, but I notice a folded up piece of lined paper. I pull the note out and begin to read.

Mom,

I know we haven't spoken in a while. I also know that it's my fault. I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry about everything that happened. I didn't mean the things that I said, it was a bad time and things got out of hand very quickly. It's not your fault things got bad after dad left. It's also not your fault that dad left. I don't think that either, I was just so mad that night.

Speaking of dad, I also invited him to the wedding. He hasn't RSVP'd, but i thought you should know. I want you both to be there, but not if you two can't handle being in the same room together.

So yes, I'm getting married. And yes it is the same man we fought about the last time we saw each other. Justin is an amazing guy and I think you would like him. He might have done a few things in the past that you don't agree with - that I don't agree with - but he's not that guy anymore. We've all done things we wish we could talk back, you included. He really wants to meet you.

I love him, mom. He makes me so happy. He makes me feel beautiful and special and loved. I can't imagine being with anyone else. I want to spend the rest of my life with him and I want our wedding to be special. It would mean the world to me if you were there. I love you, mom, and I'm sorry that I've been a bad daughter when you were only doing your best to be a good mother.

I've learned a lot about being an adult since we stopped talking. I learned that you were a big help when it came to all the things I didn't know how to do. We had a plumbing issue that practically flooded our apartment a few months ago and I really wish I could have called you for advice then. It was such a mess. I had no clue what to do. Justin and I just threw towels on the puddles until it was dry and then we spent three days trying to get all our towels clean again.

I'm doing really well in my job. I actually just recently got promoted to the head of my department which is so exciting. Money is good, respect is good. Life is good. It's just missing one thing: you.

I'll leave my number at the bottom of this letter in case you want to catch up. I really hope you call. I miss you and I love you, though I wouldn't blame you if you didn't call. I would understand.

Love,

Jan

I only realize that I'm crying when I see a teardrop splash onto the paper. I wipe my eyes and set the note aside. I remember the last time I saw Janine very vividly. We fought and she walked out of the house in a storm of tears and shouting. This is the first I've heard from her in almost a year. Married. She's getting married to an ex-con of all people. We fought about that, too. It is her life, though. If she's happy then I should be happy too. Her happiness is the only thing that matters.

I let my tears subside and I find myself reaching for the phone and dialing the number on the letter.

“Hello?”

“Janine,” I say, “it's mom.”  

**********************************************

How weird is this; i wrote something not based on Newsies or Sanders' Sides. Who knew that was possible? I thought of this at work and thought I might as well write down so enjoy.

[better-inwriting]

This is what being friends with a writer consists of. My sisters deserve awards for the shit they deal with when I'm writing.

[better-inwriting]

Inspiration (Prinxiety)

I haven't posted on this blog in a million years, but here's a cute prinxiety drabble I wrote months ago.

**********************************************

Virgil watched Roman write furiously. He fixated on the way Roman's eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He admired his sharp jawline and structured cheekbones that looked amazing from the side. Every once in a while, Roman would lick his lips and smile when he wrote down something he liked. He would stop writing for a moment and bite his lip in thought before going back to writing.

Virgil couldn't help but stare at him. To Virgil, Roman was a work of art. He was the most exquisite thing Virgil knew. He was beautiful, smart, talented.

Roman glanced over at Virgil briefly and noticed how he was watching him. He stopped writing and turned to him fully.

“What?”

Virgil shrugged, “Nothing.”

Roman put down his pen and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like if you blink you'll miss something exciting.” Roman chuckled. “Take a picture.”

“You know, that's actually a good idea.” Virgil sat up, reaching for his phone. “Go back to writing with that stupidly cute concentration face.”

Roman shook his head playfully and turned back to his writing. After a minute or two, he resumed his look of intense concentration. Virgil took several photos, editing them subtly and adding filters.

“Satisfied?” Roman asked without looking over.

“I would be more satisfied if you would pay attention to me.” Virgil mumbled. He didn't mean for Roman to hear it but he did.

“Let me finish this chapter.”

“No, no.” Virgil sighed and flopped back on the bed dramatically. “Take your time. I can tell this is important to you.”

“It is.” Roman said. “You're a big piece of inspiration for this, honestly.”

“Really?” Virgil stood up and crossed the room to look over Roman's shoulder at what he was writing, but Roman snapped the book shut quickly. “Why can't I see it?”

Roman turned his chair to face his fake pouting boyfriend. “It's not finished yet.”

“Can't I see what you have so far?”

Roman shook his head, “Nope." Virgil pouted more. Roman sighed, taking his hands. “It's about a boy who's gone through a lot and someone comes along and loves him. He starts to see things differently.”

“Isn't that kind of a cliche? Hasn't that story been told like a hundred times?”

Roman nodded, “Yes, but not by me and not about you.”

“There's nothing about me that would make a good book.”

“I beg to differ.” Roman stood up and pulled Virgil over to his bed. They laid down there together, Roman holding Virgil against his chest. “There's plenty to write about when it comes to you and I intend to write it all down. Then, perhaps one day you'll understand what it is I see when I look at you and what I feel when I'm this close to you.”

Virgil scoffed. “Can you explain it to me, please? I don't get it.”

“It's all in the book.” Roman yawned.

Virgil craned his neck to look up at Roman who was starting to doze off. Virgil leaned up to kiss Roman's cheek.

“I love you, princey.” He whispered, but Roman had already fallen asleep and didn't respond.

After a few minutes, it became clear that Roman was fast asleep. Virgil carefully and cautiously untangled Roman's arms around him and tiptoed over to where Roman had left the book. Roman's words about love and happiness brought Virgil to tears, especially since they were about him. He would never understand Roman's infatuation with him, but he enjoyed it all the same. He loved loving Roman and Roman proved time and time again that he loved Virgil. It was enough to love and be loved without understanding it, Virgil decided as he laid back down with Roman and quickly fell asleep on his chest.

[wellfuckthishellsiteiguess-deac]

i made this instead of writing

[starfallskitter]

im reblogging this instead of writing

[lullabyknell]

Brain: I don’t wanna write anymore. I wanna read something. 

Me: Alright, I guess we could do that for a bit. What do you wanna read? 

Brain: Don’t know. Wanna read. 

Me: There’s a lot to choose from. How about this? 

Brain: No. Not that. I wanna read a thing that fits these exact specifications. 

Me: Uh, alright, wow. Those are really exact specificatio-

Me: …

Me: Are you telling me you want to read the exact thing we were writing? 

Brain: YES! I wanna read that. Let’s read that. 

Me: …

Me: I don’t know how to tell you this, but we have to write it first. 

[sarasa-cat]

I FEEL CALLED OUT BY THIS POST

[be-more-chill-evan-hansen]

Me with the books I’m working on ugh

[spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn]

Pairing: Ralbert

Genre: Fluff and angst

Warnings: uh a character may or may not die sorry about this

Editing: who needs to edit anything?

——————————

Today was the day that he was going to do it. He was going to propose to Race. Albert and Race had been dating for several years, and they were in love. Albert had been planning this for a while, but now that Race was out for the day with a few friends, the day seemed perfect to propose.

Albert went out to the store to buy food, getting expensive cuts of meat and potatoes to make shepards pie, one of Race’s favourite dishes. For dessert he got the fruit that he needed to bake an apple pie. He invited Romeo and Crutchie over to help cook the dinner and clean up the house to make the perfect atmosphere for his proposal.

They spent a fun afternoon putting together the shepards pie, then baking the apple pie, lacing it with plenty of cinnamon and sugar, just the way Race loved it. The day couldn’t have gone better, Albert thought, elated. The shepards pie was cooked so that here was a very light crisp on the top of the potatoes, and the pie was baked to perfection, with a thin flaky layer of homemade pastry surrounding the still warm cinnamon coated apples. Albert went to his room and put on one of his nicer teal shirts and black pants. He smoothed his ginger hair and nervously fingered the black satin box that held the ring he had chosen for Race.

Albert had bought it several months before, once he had decided that he loved Race more than anything else, and that he wanted to marry him. It was a simple silver band, but with one thin strip of rose gold that swirled over the surface of the ring. It was perfect.

Albert dimmed the lights and lit soft candles, smoothing over the tablecloth and making sure that everything was ready. Where was Race anyway? He wondered, pacing around the living room, trying to ignore all of the scenarios that he kept coming up with for the night. What if Race says no? He pushed the idea out of his mind and wiped his palms on his shirt. It was almost 7, and Albert was starting to get worried. He had asked Spot to get Race back by 6 for the dinner he had prepared.

He checked his phone again for the third time. No texts. He shot Race another text, then leaned back against the wall. He’s fine. He reassured himself. Race is fine.

At 7:15, the doorbell rang. Albert sprinted for the door, tripping on the rug and almost falling, barely catching himself. He took a second to compose himself before smiling, and opening the door wide.

“Excuse me. Are you Albert DaSilva?”

Albert froze in surprise, his heart starting to pound at the sight of the police officer. “Yes..”

THe officer looked at him, sympathy written all over his features. “How do you know Antonio Higgins?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” Albert’s heart was pounding so hard and so loudly that he hardly made out what the officer said next.

“Your boyfriend was found dead an hour ago.”

[your-tires-are-too-cold]

knife stab to the heart

[sun-kissed-star]

HEY

NOT COOL

[better-inwriting]

EXCUSE ME THAT WAS ABRUPTLY NOT NICE WTH

[better-inwriting]

The World is Ugly

Pairings: Ralbert

Warnings: none

Word count: 482

Genre: Fluffy, happy ending angst

Description: i was listening to "The World is Ugly" by My Chemical Romance at 1 in the morning and then i wrote this

Editing: lmao nope

**********************************************

Race stumbled into the lodging house after 11 PM to find Albert was still waiting up for him. He had just been in a bad fight with the Delanceys and a few other street kids. He had lost pretty badly. He could hardly walk and he was bleeding pretty heavily. His eye was quickly swelling and turning black and blue. His entire body hurt.

Albert jumped up and ran over to Race just in time to keep him from collapsing to the ground.

“Holy shit, Racer,” Albert muttered as he helped his boyfriend sit down, “The hell happened?”

“Nothin’.” he tried to protest Albert's cleaning him up. “I’se fine, Albie. You didn't haveta wait up for me.”

“Yeah, I did. I knew you was gonna get in trouble.” Albert made quick work of getting Race cleaned up and bandaged. “Did you at least getta few good hits?”

Race smirked and tried to look smug, “‘Course I did. See, nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Albert rolled his eyes playfully and kissed Race quickly. That wasn't enough for Race. He pulled Albert back by the back of his neck and kissed him again, longer this time. When the stopped, Albert rested his forehead on Race's and intertwined their hands.

“I was worried.” He admitted, shyly.

“I always come out on top,” Race tried to be reassuring.

“But i love ya,” Albert rushed out, nervous of how Race would take that word, “‘n the world is ugly. Never know what might happen out there.”

Race smiled softly and kissed Albert quickly. “You’s right. The world is ugly but you’s beautiful to me. No ugly thug on the street is gonna take me away from you. I won’ let ‘em. Got it?”

Albert smiled, “Got it. Now, come on. We need some sleep.”

“Speak for yaself!” Race exclaimed despite Albert picking him up bridal style, “I'm feelin’ the adrenaline still!”

“You’s going to bed.” Albert stated as he dropped Race gently into his bunk.

Albert kissed his forehead before turning to head to his own bed. Race grabbed his hand to stop him.

“Lay wit’ me.” Race asked.

“Race, the other fellas-"

“I don’ care,” Race yawned and stretched his arms out in a welcoming away. “Please, albie?”

Albert sighed before climbing into bed with Race, wrapping his arms protectively around his boyfriend, around his love.

“Hey, Race,” Race hummed in response, “you really thinks I'm beautiful?”

Race lifted his head from Albert's chest to make eye contact. “You’s the most beautiful fella I ever met. And you’s all mine. Don't you forget that.”

Albert kissed Race quickly, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, beautiful,” Albert blushed. “Now, go to sleep.”

Albert fell asleep with the goofiest smile on his face. He was in too deep with Race but he didn't mind. He loved him so damn much. And Race loved him too. Nothing else mattered.

[livia-writes-deactivated2019021]

hey everyone!

this is a brand new blog and i’m looking for friends/people to follow/people to send in requests!

please reblog if you post about any of the following:

- newsies

- tuck everlasting

- mean girls

- be more chill

- dear evan hansen

please check me out! i’d love some requests (and i have none rn so they’ll be done kinda quick:) 

i’d love to follow all of you guys and make some friends!

- livia 

eunoia-anon

(you-noy-a)