To protect one another Rowan | Twenty Requests are closed right now Accidentally a Sprace blog âSit by my side and let the world slip: we shall neâer be youngerâ ~ Shakespeare
Do non-Brits know of the game âBogies,â or will I alienate everyone other than Brits born around the 90s who watched CBBC if I include that in the fic Iâm writing?
Have some angst because thatâs how Iâm feeling. I really miss my boyfriend but quarantine, baby.
This is based on this wonderful song by Orla Gartland, please go give her Freckle Season EP a listen, and the rest if you can.
ââ
A deep sigh left Raceâs body as he rolled over in his bed, wrapping his blankets tighter around his body. He sniffed, wiping his eyes on the corner of his blanket, and stared up at the ceiling. The sun was setting outside and Raceâs room was losing light fast, but he really didnât feel like standing up to turn any lights on. He was fine with lying in the dark.
Have some angst because thatâs how Iâm feeling. I really miss my boyfriend but quarantine, baby.
This is based on this wonderful song by Orla Gartland, please go give her Freckle Season EP a listen, and the rest if you can.
------
A deep sigh left Raceâs body as he rolled over in his bed, wrapping his blankets tighter around his body. He sniffed, wiping his eyes on the corner of his blanket, and stared up at the ceiling. The sun was setting outside and Raceâs room was losing light fast, but he really didnât feel like standing up to turn any lights on. He was fine with lying in the dark.
  It had been months since he and Spot had decided to end things but Race still went through days like these when all he wanted was to hide in his room and cry about it. It had been the stupidest decision that Race had ever agreed to and, even though heâd thought it was what he wanted, it became very apparent a week or two later that it wasnât.
  Race rolled back over so that his face was pressed into the pillow and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut to try to get the tears balancing in his tear-ducts to fall over the edge. Spot probably wasnât thinking about him. He probably hadnât thought about him in months, yet, every single night, Raceâs head flooded with memories of the two of them together. Spot had probably moved on with his life. Hell, maybe heâd even got that job at that law firm that heâd been working towards. Race had always known that Spot could do anything if he wanted to.
  A knock sounded at Raceâs door and he flung his blankets over his head just in time. It was probably Jojo and he didnât want Jojo to see that he was crying again.
  âRace?â Jojoâs voice was tentative and, without seeing him, Race could tell that he was just barely peeking his head around the door, âIs everything alright? I thought we were eating dinner together tonight?â When Jojo got no response, he carried on, âYou left the shopping out on the counter so I just-â
  âGo away,â mumbling from underneath his blankets, Race knew that it was rude, but he couldnât let Jojo see him like this again. There were only so many times that Jojo could console him about Spot. It had been months, anyway, heâd probably think he was pathetic if he knew that he was still crying over his ex-boyfriend.
  Jojo was quiet for a moment before Race heard a careful sigh and the door close gently in its hinges.Â
  After a moment, Race threw the blankets away, lying face up and staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. His head was racing with all of the things that heâd never actually say to Spot, messages he could send asking for him back or things he could have said to stop him from leaving in the first place.Â
  All he wanted was to just hang out with Spot again. There was this show from the UK that they used to like to watch together, Grand Designs, and Race hadnât been able to watch it since theyâd broken up. He didnât even need to cuddle, really, just at least go back to the days before theyâd dated when they just sat together. They were nice.
  Race had been trying to train his mind to put Spot in another category, as an ex, but it still wasnât coming naturally to him, even after all this time. He still thought of him as his best friend.
  He still thought about Spotâs mum every now and then, too. Was that weird? To think about driving up to her house and meeting Spotâs family and how kind they all were to him? He still wished they could be friends, if he was being honest, heâd always got along so well with Spotâs mum. Obviously, that wouldnât work out but it would have been nice. Thinking about it, heâd never see that dog again, either.
  After it had ended, Race had thought that he just needed a minute to live his life again without Spot, but he still saw him in every stripy t-shirt that he owned. Spot had always stolen them all, even though they were definitely a little tight on him, but Race had never complained.
  Subconsciously, Race pulled his phone out and brought up his Messenger conversation with Spot. The last thing that heâd sent was a photo heâd took of Spot on their walk home from a night out. It was dark, but Spotâs skin, pale and practically translucent, was glowing under the light of a passing streetlight. Race remembered that night like it had just happened. Spot had been a little worse for wear, they both were, really, and had been singing for their entire walk home. It was usually Race doing that kind of thing but heâd stayed quiet to listen to Spot since he didnât normally get to hear him singing. It had been a lot of Kelly Clarkson.
  Trying to snap out of it, Race rolled onto his stomach and threw his phone onto the other side of the bed to stop him from doing anything that he shouldnât. It had been the better part of a year and yet, Race still wanted to message him and beg for him to come back. Heâd been kissing different faces on nights out just to try to make it feel like a reality, that he wasnât Spotâs anymore, but it hadnât worked. He only felt worse.
  God, why did it have to be so hard? Race had really thought that if anything ever went wrong, not that heâd actually thought it would, theyâd still be cool afterwards. Surely theyâd be different. After twenty years of friendship, they had to be some exception to the rule. Race had wanted nothing more than for things to just go back to normal afterwards but, honestly, heâd quickly realised that it just had to be this heavy.
The thing that gets me is he didnât ASK for the impenetrable skin. Poseidon was just like âcool cool but you know what you need? skin of IRON. donât worry bud itâs on the houseâ
Caeneus wishes for a manâs bodyâ and Poseidon doesnât sigh and half-ass it, doesnât break up with him for no longer having a female form, doesnât even simply carry out Caeneusâs wish to the letter.
No no.
My boy Poseidon decides to give his boyfriend something EVEN BETTER just because.
Itâs like he couldnât contain himself; like he couldnât even deal with how in love with Caeneus he was.
MALE FORM? DONE. WHAT ELSE CAN I GIVE MY LITERAL FAVE? I KNOW. I KNOW. I WILL MAKE SURE NO ONE CAN EVER, EVER HARM HIM. FOR ANY REASON. I WILL KEEP HIM SAFE EVEN BEYOND THE REACH OF GODS AND TIME. I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
Okay I donât know if weâre all looking at the same image or not but it says that Caeneus was raped by posedion. It goes on to say that the wish was to have a male form so that they couldnât be raped again. And then Poseidon proceeds to make a joke of it by giving him impenetrable skin, so that Caeneus canât be penetrated. This isnât a âoh by the by Iâm trans and want to be seen as man physicalyâ this is âoh hey so that no one every forces themselves upon me agian I want to not have a vagina.â And if I have to explain the reason why the skin that canât be penetrated, itâs a joke about rape y'all :/ This isnât Percy Jackson, itâs actual Greek mythology and actual Greek mythology can be terrible.
Though I mean I do like this version that Tumblr has made, I feel like itâs important to not bury the fact that this was a rape by making the these two male lovers. Letâs have Caeneus be a trans icon separate from Posiedon if anything.
ok usually i donât reblog discourse-y stuff but this is the WEIRDEST glitch i have seen on tumblr- some people are reading a post that has completely different wording than others
The wording here says âhe was abducted by Poseidon, who fell in love with him.â So the implicated here is that he was first kidnapped, and afterwards Poseidon fell on love. But on mobile:
This is the version says âhe was raped by Poseidon.â and that he wanted to be a man âso that he may never suffer the same thing again.â
I have no idea how this has happened. This is the same post, not edited, being viewed on the same blog, on desktop and mobile. Thereâs discourse going on in the notes about the fanart, but the person who made it has probably only seen the desktop version and not the mobile version.Â
This is INCREDIBLY weird. I see different versions when I switch between app and browser, too. How would that even happen? Did the OP upload one screencap and later updated it with a different screencap, and for some reason Tumblr is disseminating both images as one?
Anyway, thereâs a lot of outrage in the notes that only makes sense if you see the mobile version. On mobile it appears that people are blithely romanticizing a rape when they are in fact interacting with an innocent version of the same post⊠how weird.
(Note: there are a lot of versions of the same Greek myths that were often told very differently by different storytellers, so if people are free to create consensual and minimally creepy versions of Hades and Persephone, I think the same liberties should be permitted for other myths.)
out of all the times it seemed like people on tumblr had seen totally different versions of the media they were arguing about, this time they LITERALLY WERE.
The thing that gets me is he didnât ASK for the impenetrable skin. Poseidon was just like âcool cool but you know what you need? skin of IRON. donât worry bud itâs on the houseâ
Caeneus wishes for a manâs bodyâ and Poseidon doesnât sigh and half-ass it, doesnât break up with him for no longer having a female form, doesnât even simply carry out Caeneusâs wish to the letter.
No no.
My boy Poseidon decides to give his boyfriend something EVEN BETTER just because.
Itâs like he couldnât contain himself; like he couldnât even deal with how in love with Caeneus he was.
MALE FORM? DONE. WHAT ELSE CAN I GIVE MY LITERAL FAVE? I KNOW. I KNOW. I WILL MAKE SURE NO ONE CAN EVER, EVER HARM HIM. FOR ANY REASON. I WILL KEEP HIM SAFE EVEN BEYOND THE REACH OF GODS AND TIME. I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
Okay I donât know if weâre all looking at the same image or not but it says that Caeneus was raped by posedion. It goes on to say that the wish was to have a male form so that they couldnât be raped again. And then Poseidon proceeds to make a joke of it by giving him impenetrable skin, so that Caeneus canât be penetrated. This isnât a âoh by the by Iâm trans and want to be seen as man physicalyâ this is âoh hey so that no one every forces themselves upon me agian I want to not have a vagina.â And if I have to explain the reason why the skin that canât be penetrated, itâs a joke about rape y'all :/ This isnât Percy Jackson, itâs actual Greek mythology and actual Greek mythology can be terrible.
Though I mean I do like this version that Tumblr has made, I feel like itâs important to not bury the fact that this was a rape by making the these two male lovers. Letâs have Caeneus be a trans icon separate from Posiedon if anything.
ok usually i donât reblog discourse-y stuff but this is the WEIRDEST glitch i have seen on tumblr- some people are reading a post that has completely different wording than others
The wording here says âhe was abducted by Poseidon, who fell in love with him.â So the implicated here is that he was first kidnapped, and afterwards Poseidon fell on love. But on mobile:
This is the version says âhe was raped by Poseidon.â and that he wanted to be a man âso that he may never suffer the same thing again.â
I have no idea how this has happened. This is the same post, not edited, being viewed on the same blog, on desktop and mobile. Thereâs discourse going on in the notes about the fanart, but the person who made it has probably only seen the desktop version and not the mobile version.Â
This is INCREDIBLY weird. I see different versions when I switch between app and browser, too. How would that even happen? Did the OP upload one screencap and later updated it with a different screencap, and for some reason Tumblr is disseminating both images as one?
Anyway, thereâs a lot of outrage in the notes that only makes sense if you see the mobile version. On mobile it appears that people are blithely romanticizing a rape when they are in fact interacting with an innocent version of the same post⊠how weird.
(Note: there are a lot of versions of the same Greek myths that were often told very differently by different storytellers, so if people are free to create consensual and minimally creepy versions of Hades and Persephone, I think the same liberties should be permitted for other myths.)
out of all the times it seemed like people on tumblr had seen totally different versions of the media they were arguing about, this time they LITERALLY WERE.
Ummm, also I really love Maisie Peters and just needed to write this fic so hereâs a link to her song. Some lines in this are taken word for word from her so you really should go listen to it, Iâm nowhere near clever enough to come up with anything this beautiful
âââââââââââÂ
Albert had invited Spot and Race to some club in Queens. Apparently, his girlfriend was in a band and they were playing there that night. They werenât to say anything but Albert had told them that he desperately needed somebody with him to stop him from going insane. He knew that Race could act and, even if Spot didnât really care, that was enough to help Albert pretend to like Bethâs band.
Spot was stood at the bar whilst the band set up, Albert downing shots to get through the night whilst Spot ordered drinks for him and Race with his brotherâs ID. It was nice to have your siblings around to exploit for alcohol. Spot always wondered whether it upset Race, he knew that he missed his siblings. Although heâd never met them, Spot often wondered whether Marco, the oldest, would have let Race borrow his ID to go out. Probably not. From what Spot had heard, Marco was the sensible one. That tended to be what growing up raising your siblings did to you.
Looking across at Race, Spot could tell that he was already tipsy. Theyâd stolen a bottle of gin from Spotâs dad before coming out and Race had probably had the majority of it. Heâd managed to find himself a stool and was giggling with Albert as they watched Beth and the other girls get into position. If Albert had been banking on Race helping him keep a straight face, Spot probably should have worked harder to keep him sober.Â
He watched Race lean heavily on Albert, draping an arm around his shoulder whilst Albert shifted uncomfortably. Unlike Race, Spot wasnât completely blind. Every single one of their friends, including Spot, was acutely aware of the feelings Albert had had for Race once upon a time. Who knew if theyâd ever gone away? From the way Albert was doing anything but looking at Race, Spot guessed theyâd never completely left. Race had always been the only one to never notice. He didnât know what it was, but something in Spotâs gut twisted as he watched the pair of them. Theyâd been friends long before Spot had got there but there was something about seeing them together, so close like that, that made Spot squirm.
As Bethâs band was starting to play its first song, Spot made his way over to their table, whisky in one hand for him, JD and coke in the other for Race. He used the opportunity of putting the drinks down to push Albert out of the way and sat in the middle, letting Race prop himself up against his shoulder instead.
The three of them were silent for a few minutes, just listening to the band play and trying to think of what to say. Eventually, Race managed to slur his words into a sentence and interrupted the heavy quiet of their little bubble, âAlbert. Theyâre shit.â
Albert just nodded slowly, eventually letting his head drop into his hands but picked it up quickly, as if remembering that Beth could be watching. With a big smile, he whispered, âI know,â through gritted teeth.
Rolling his eyes, Spot took a long sip of his whisky, wishing this would be over yet not wanting Race to sit upright. There was something calming about the way Raceâs soft curls tickled his neck, his breath hot against his t-shirt.
âââââââââââÂ
When the set eventually finished, Spot let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he watched Albert plaster on a smile to greet Beth. Something was going to go wrong there and very soon, be it Albertâs lingering feelings for Race or the fact he couldnât stand sitting through her band without his friends there.
Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Spot turned to see Race standing behind him, shaking his cigarette box in his hand and tilting his head towards the door. He stood, letting Race take his hand and lead him along behind him. They probably shouldnât have left Albert yet but Race only ever wanted to smoke when something was bothering him and Spot wasnât going to let him go alone.Â
They made their way out of the club, heading past the bouncer, showing the stamps on the backs of their hands so he knew theyâd want back in. Race led them down the alley to the side of the club, behind one of the bins and against the brick wall. Here, they were hidden from the street. If someone came looking for them, theyâd have to venture into the dark alley and Spot had a feeling no one but Race was stupid enough to do that.
He pulled a cigarette out of the packet, resting it between his lips as he dug in his back pocket for his lighter. Coming up empty, Race blinked at Spot and he sighed, getting his own out and lighting it for him, âWhy are you smoking tonight?â Spot watched as Race took a drag, something behind his eyes relaxing the second the smoke spiralled out of his lips and up into the cold air. The early morning was dark but a streetlight nearby cast enough light to cause the bags around Raceâs eyes to look heavy and dark.
âJust to choke that feeling, you know?âÂ
As much as Spot didnât want to admit it, he did know. He knew so much about coping and this way that Race coped especially. He had stopped a few months ago after Race ended up hospitalised for his habit. Bronchitis and smoking didnât really go well together but it hadnât been enough to stop Race, as much as Spot had pleaded, â âTill the walls donât need the ceiling, right?â It was something theyâd always said to each other, something about opening up the part of the brain that shut down when Race was feeling particularly bad.
Nodding slowly, Race went quiet as he just breathed, in and out, smoke flowing through his lungs and flooding the air above them. They were silent for a few minutes until Race eventually stubbed his cigarette out and flicked it into the bin beside them, turning to Spot, âAll we ever talk about is leaving.â
Spot had to admit, this took him by surprise. He thought about it and realised it was true; so many nights turned into long conversations about the places they would go when they got away from the city. He knew that Race had never liked it there but Spot was strangely fond of his little corner of New York, âOkay?â Yeah, he talked about going away but never permanently and definitely not yet. However, there was something final about the look in Raceâs eyes.
âItâs just- Iâm actually going to do it.â Race was certain, Spot could tell just from looking at him, and he realised then that this was what Race had been thinking about all night. Heâd never normally have got so drunk when he was meant to be supporting Albert if something wasnât bothering him the whole time and Spot should have noticed it, âIâm going to England for university.â
This practically floored Spot, who leaned his head back against the cool brick wall as he felt the blood start to pound in his ears. Race was going to leave. He should have known it was coming but nothing could have prepared him for this. Race was going to leave him behind. His whispered words barely passed his lips as his unfocussed eyes blinked at Race, âAre you sure?â He knew it was too late but he had to try. A good friend wouldnât try to hold him back but Spot couldnât help being selfish. He didnât want Race to leave.
âItâs not forever, itâs just-â Sighing, Race fumbled with his cardigan sleeves and ran a stressed hand through his mop of curls, âLook, I just donât want to end up trapped here. It doesnât mean we wonât be friends anymore,â He must have seen Spot growing more and more distressed, as he took his hand and leaned his head on his shoulder, tickling his neck with his hair, âLook, all that I know is, no matter how far away, this is the place we were made. I may not have grown up here but you and I know every streetlight, every nook and cranny of this city. Alright, maybe the colours will change but this is still home. Weâve still got the fires on the beach, all that time weâve spent together. Maybe Iâm far away but the memories wonât just go away. I need to go somewhere new but Iâll always come back here- back here for you.â
Spot glanced out the mouth of the alley, seeing the flickering lights of the city and rush of traffic, even at two am. He caught Albert running after Beth and noticed a construction site raising a building from the ground. Maybe things would change around him but Race promised that they would stay the same and one day he would come back for him. So Spot put on a teary smile and hugged his best friend.
âââââââââââÂ
Spot and Race sat on the steps outside Raceâs apartment building, his suitcases piled up next to them, as they waited for the bus that would take them to the airport where Spot would say goodbye to Race for the longest time since theyâd met. He knew that Race just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere that was far away from home, but he could have picked somewhere a little closer. Somewhere that Spot could have visited. England was so much money away.
Looking at Race, Spot bit his tongue to stop himself from crying. He was going to allow himself one tear and it was for after Race had turned away at the airport so that no one who knew him would ever see it. One big flaw in that plan, however, was the fact that Spot couldnât stop thinking about all of the time heâd spent with Race and what he was going to do with his days now that he was leaving. Spot remembered one time when theyâd played poker in his tiny bedroom and Race had talked about boys he now called exes, freezing cold because the boiler had been broken for weeks. He remembered that twist in his gut then, the one that was happening now, only ten times worse.
Over the last few months, since Race had told him he was leaving, Spot had started to notice the feeling growing. It practically happened every time he looked at Race now and he knew exactly what it meant, he just didnât want to think about it. Spot wasnât going to ruin the best friendship heâd ever had just before he walked out of his life for months and he didnât get a chance to apologise.
The bus pulled up and, as the driver climbed out to help Race put his bags in the luggage compartment, Spot held his shaky breath and watched the New York lights flash against Raceâs olive skin for the last time, thinking about how beautiful he was.
Race stopped at the door, looking back to Spot when he noticed that he wasnât following him. A sad smile crossed his face that practically made Spot melt and he offered him his hand, âCome on, Scotty, youâve not lost me just yet.â
To apply, message this page with the character you would like, your name, age, and how you would portray your character in a modern setting. Ideally, they should be inspired by what is known about them in canon.
Check out @race-brandnewcentury for a taste of what we do! :)
Characters available:
Katherine
Specs
Mike
Ike
Henry
Tommy Boy
Oscar
Medda
Hannah
Bowery Beauty #1*
Bowery Beauty #2*
Suggestions for characters weâve forgotten are also welcome!
* Youâll have to create a name and personality for this character yourselves
Send me an ask with the number(s) youâd like me to answer!
The Basics
1.    Do you listen to music when you write?
2.    Are you a pantser or plotter?
3.    Computer or pen and paper?
4.    Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published?
5.    How much writing do you get done on an average day?
6.    Single or multiple POV?
7.    Standalone or series?
8.    Oldest WIP
9.    Current WIP
10. Do you set yourself deadlines?
The Specifics
11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most
12. Describe your perfect writing space
13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished
14. How do you deal with self-doubts?
15. How do you deal with writerâs block?
16. How many drafts do you need until youâre satisfied with a project?
17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?
18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?
19. How do you keep yourself motivated?
20. How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?
The Favourites
21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?
22. Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?
23. Favourite author
24. Favourite genre to write and read
25. Favourite part of writing
26. Favourite writing program
27. Favourite line/scene
28. Favourite side character
29. Favourite villain
30. Favourite idea you havenât started on yet
The Dark
31. Least favourite part of writing
32. Most difficult character to write
33. Have you ever killed a main character?
34. What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?
35. What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?
The Fun
36. Last sentence you wrote
37. First sentence or your current WIP
38. Weirdest story idea youâve ever had
39. Weirdest character concept youâve ever had
40. Share some backstory for one of your characters
The Rest of It
41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?
42. How do you feel about love triangles?
43. What do you do if/when characters donât follow the outline?
44. How much research do you do?
45. How much world building do you do?
46. Do you reread your own stories?
47. Best way to procrastinate
48. Whatâs the most self-insert character/scene youâve ever written?
49. Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?
50. [Other questionâask me anything]
I think itâs really funny how I see fics where the characters are in a modern setting or with their s.o.âs and theyâll go by real names instead of newsie names, like in mordern AUs calling Crutchie Charlie or the abundance of sprace smut where they call each other Sean and Tony, but never once in my experience in this fandom has anyone ever acknowledged Fr*ncis S*lliv*n
âSome writing days are better than others, and the most important thing is to remember why you write: because you love it, because you have stories to tell, because your readers need your stories.â
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