#freedomspelled

[wcnderment]

@freedomspelled / starter

he’s been avoiding race for a while now, something that’s obvious because if he isn’t hanging around at the gym, he’s waitin’ on the boy to get out of class. they ain’t boyfriends, not yet anyways seein’ as they’re taking things slow, but right now he can’t stand the sight of him. or rather, he’s sick of not being able to see him fully, in the way that he’s supposed to. 

spot’s been told by their friends countless times how beautiful race’s eyes are, even been told by strangers on the street that the boy’s big doe eyes are the brightest shade of blue possible, and he hates how he doesn’t understand what they’re talking about. growing up, the colors that were supposed to be blue and yellow were similar to green, everything was more green and red to him. he struggled, he grew angry when no one would believe him, when they all thought he was stupid, so he kept his mouth shut instead. his third grade teacher is the one who figures it out, and everything suddenly makes sense. but it doesn’t make things easier.

he comes to accept it until now, until it matters because all he wants is to desperately see race’s golden locks and stunning blue eyes for himself, has tried his hardest to will it to happen, but it doesn’t. and he’s pulled himself away instead, going to work and then going home without seeing anyone in their group. then there’s a banging on his door and as he’s prepared to give whoever is on the otherside HELL for bothering him, it dies in his throat when he sees one racetrack higgins on the other side. 

“  what are you doing here?  ”

[solestarlet]

⭐. // @freedomspelled ! 

                ❝ yeah, REALLY, race. ❞

she giggles, the widest of grins  spread - ing on her lips. mj is glad to have him – they’re two kids  lost in this crazy city, just trying to make it ;; in a strange way, they kind of need each other.

         he’s her partner - in - crime, al -          most like a platonic  soulmate.

that sounds kind of cheesy, but, hey –  who else would she get in trouble with ?

                 ❝ i’m not  that  BAD ? well, ex -                     cuse me – am i not, like, the                     best friend you’ve ever had ? ❞

she’s only joking, though – evident in the way she playfully  pushes his shoulder and sticks her tongue out at him. 

[andryuska]

@freedomspelled // continued.

the confession is so matter of fact and so dryly stated that race’s close to roll his eyes. he knows andrei, still knows ‘m too well to think that this is somethin’ that started cause andrei found out about his father’s passin’. no, his father’s passin’ only let his dangerously unhealthy habits be exposed to someone else. someone who actually sees it and can keep track on all the horrible shit he puts his body and mind through. ‘s a whole new level of andrei’s bad habits. race wants to pull out a flip chart and start drawing a diagram of all the things that make andrei’s miserable as he is, all the things race could cling to andrei and progress since his days in college. not sleeping and not eating would be on top of that list, right at the front in the race for the first place.

but despite race’s inner monologue he regards andrei with sadness echoed back at him, can’t help himself not to, too emphatic to act like he ain’t . “i know,” he replies, lookin’ at the untouched food on the coffee table and the sad, sad state andrei’s in. “i can see that.”

“ no. you don’t. ” andrei knows this, and speaks with such resignation that it is as though he intends not to speak at all ---- as though there is no purpose to his words, and his breath is wasted on them. race doesn’t see all of it ----  though the physical effect is there, written into his posture and his expressions, into the collar bones protruding at his collar and the darkness circling his eyes, this is the mere response of his body to something that has rooted itself deeper within him. base and unimportant, it is disregarded entirely with little hesitation. the pain he puts himself through cannot compare to that which the war taught him, or to the emotional torment left in place of blood and bullet wounds.

this, where what is public and what is private collide and leave him uncertain, perplexes ---- unable to look at the meal that makes his stomach growl in a way which he must vehemently deny, he shakes his head as weary eyes study pale hands. “ i think you see that i won’t eat or sleep. but i can’t. the distinction is important. ”

[reportess]

❛  AS  I  MAY  HAVE  MENTIONED,    I  have  no  clue  what  I’m  doing !  ❜

*   @freedomspelled

[99centspells]

freedomspelled replied to your post: “if i’m about’a get beaten up, don’t stop anyone....

ZOE I SHALL ALWAYS SUPPORT U IT IS THE LAW OF THIS LAND

THANK U FOR SUPPORTING ME AND THE LOVE OF MY LIFE CASPER ANTLER

[wcnderment-a]

‘ i should tell you i’m a disaster. ’ ( hi @ spot )

some meme that i’ve lost, oops || ACCEPTING if you can find it

he sits there silently for a moment, the words bringing to mind his own demons. no one’s perfect, spot can’t trust those who believe they are ESPECIALLY if it’s from his peers. how are any of them able to call themselves         ‘ perfect ’ when they’re just a bunch of boys who’ve been thrown out in a world that makes it perfectly clear that it doesn’t want them? it just doesn’t make any sense because with a perfect life, none of them would be on the streets trying to fend for themselves, trying make sure they can go to bed with at least a little somethin’ in their stomachs. 

for a handful of them, they get an unfortunate bonus of running from a past that’s only a few steps behind them. and for spot, he not only has to constantly look over his shoulder for the darkness that threatens to drag him back in, but he’s gotta look out for his boys as well. 

there are days where it’d be so easy to let the monster within consume him again, that never escapes his notice. he’s been dancing with the devil all of these years and old habits die hard, but the devil has finally met his match with one racetrack higgins. now, those days where he feels like he’s bound to slip are far and few in between. and he hopes, prays to the god that he’s long since given up on that he somehow could be the same for the boy.  it just isn’t right if he isn’t.

the problem then lies with the fact that he isn’t good at voicing any of this. spot’s train of thought can go for miles and miles, he just knows things in his head. but it’s as if the path from his mind to his mouth has obstacles and his meaning gets lost somewhere along the way. spot is not the type to be sappy, romance to him is a complete and utter farce that he’ll laugh in someone’s face if they even attempt anything romantic, but he’s been trying to get used to the fact that there is a difference between cheesy lines and caring words. how in the world he’s supposed to figure out how to do the latter without sounding like the former ( and without sounding cold and casual ), he’s not sure. but damn it, he’s gonna try.

“ i already knew that, pretty boy. i ain’t gonna go runnin’ for the hills or anything like that, brooklyn boys aren’t cowards. ” spot finally speaks, clearing his throat as his voice is rough and hoarse. a small smirk rests on his face to show that he’s joking, but it drops as he scoots closer to the taller boy. “ i’m not going anywhere, i mean it. whatever this is, i’m in it for the long run no matter what happens. ”

@freedomspelled

[petrifilmed-blog]

@freedomspelled

♥’d

"It’s fine, I could’ve had much worse,” he said, rolling his sleeve back over the bandaged burn. His turnout coat had torn in the middle of pulling someone out of a building when a falling piece of metal had caught on the sleeve. Luckily it was just the edge of the large structure, so he was very lucky indeed. Everyone made it out okay, and he was the only one to get hurt, so that was a win in Colin’s book. “It should be gone in about two weeks. Hey, at least it’s not third degree, and at least I’m not dead.”

[choosehero-archive]

he can’t remember the last time he’s been able to open a book for himself.  calloused and dirty fingers roam over the pages.  the ink has been smudged and blurred by the weather, but it’s not as though he’d be able to read much of the tome, anyway.  he can make out a few words, and it’s a frightening, secret pleasure.   ❝ i wonder what this story’s about... prob’ly something excitin’, don’t you think? ❞ 

@freedomspelled   //   ‘cinders / ellion’ starter call  ( open ) .