#saphie scribbles

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies but better written and five years late: a newsies multichap coming tonight, july 2, 2023 EST

hi hello. it’s me saph. back at it again.

the title is exactly what this looks like.

for those of you that were familiar with the first iteration of this story, welcome back, i’m so happy to have you. for those of you who are not, welcome to my long anticipated spies fic. this was originally published under the user @/suddenly-im-respecsable in about 2018-2019 (there is the early version still floating on tumblr but i have changed my url since and it’s not easily findable) and was cross posted on ao3 but was taken down

the basic gist of the story was that race and albert were fbi agents and were field training jack. they get summoned to nyc (where they were trained) to deal with some super hard gang case that no one can crack. in the process they meet spot who is working for said gang and wants out. davey jacobs is the head of the nyc branch of the fbi and hates race and albert because they almost blew up his weapons lab.

i think i got through 14 ish chapters before realizing the whole thing was badly written and in order for it to be what i wanted it to be i needed to redo it. and then i graduated high school and started college and changed fandoms and started dating my boyfriend and there was a global pandemic and then i graduated college and all of that.

and now, 5 years later, i am back on my bullshit, this time with a creative writing degree under my belt and @ainti-pretty to force me to finish what i started. the plot is all relatively the same, just a little tweaked. i never got to the point of all the plot twists so if you read the original version you have no spoilers besides some background knowledge that i am changing around a little. im working entirely off of my original hand written outline that is on the back of my notes from my 11th grade english class

and what motivated me to do this now you may ask? well i’m interning in nyc over the summer and can do irl accurate location mapping lol. that and i made a tumblr to literally post this story and i never finished it so i figured that i should probably do that. and if you’re doubting that this will get finished, which, fair, @ainti-pretty and i are literally living together next year and i am certain that i will be hounded about this every day of my existence

i am tagging people who i remember being very excited about this back in the day. if you want to be tagged in future parts of this please let me know. if you don’t just feel free to ignore :) @sun-kissed-star @getchapapes @jack-kellys @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @fairly-awkward-trashcan @ritsunaru @heller-obama @turtle-steverogers @boygirlctommy @newsies-trash-queen @telling-tragedy @alberteatsglass

and since i have every ounce of this planned, here is my casting if you are interested:

92sies: mush, blink, davey

obc: spot, crutchie, smalls, medda, pulitzer

toursies: specs

proshot: albert, romeo, elmer, buttons, jojo, (anyone else i’ve forgotten is probably proshot)

uksies: jack, finch

race: weird combo of btc and giuseppe bausillo

katherine: a literal tiktok girlie

i am cross posting this on ao3, the tumblr version will all be tagged under #spies 2.0 and it will all me master posted and pinned on my blog.

im so excited :)) this fic is my baby and i want to thank everyone who has read it previously and everyone who will this go around. let me know if you want to be tagged !!

#saphie scribbles #god havent used that one in awhile #newsies #newsies au #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #jack kelly #spot conlon #spies 2.0 #ralbert #sprace #yay #its happening finally

[scorching-passion]

Just in case you didn’t know, I find this man quite beautiful 😭

#saphie's shitty doodles #In the mood for some scribblies tonight~

[terepi]

#homestuck #saphie leijon #scribbles #authorstuck

[saph-y]

"So what are you up to Saphy scribbling all night on your tablet" MAKING POKEMON OCS THAT'S WHAt

(Say hello new brainrot. Meet Hazel ⚡🤘🎻)

#pokemon #pokemon oc #pokemon sword and shield #sort of #she's not the protagonist btw i'm jut re-writting the in universe canon A LOT x) #I just love the galar region and the battles in big ass sport stadium and the cultural possibilities #my art #oc trainer hazel #will be her tag i think #she looks like siv because i rolled as siv in SW and wanted to keep the overall look x)

[zen-unknown]

Are there any webcomics you like?

I scroll through the stuff on Webtoon sometimes so like:

Lore Olympus, The Red Book, Stagtown, Ghost Eyes, Simon Sues, Mage & Demon Queen, Teenage Mercenary, School bus Graveyard, The Warrior Returns, I'm The Grim Reaper, Tales of the Unusual, Ava's Demon, Nocturne, Everything Is Fine, Sweet Home, Ghost Teller, Be My Villain

So,,,

I sorta just snatched a bunch from my subscribed list on Webtoon lol- A lot of fantasy or horror/thriller ones with some gay shit and romance sprinkled in

Some chill/funny ones I like are:

My Giant Nerd Boyfriend, Vampire Husband, Brutally Honest, Saphie: The One-Eyed Cat, War and Peas, The Little Trash-Maid, Scoob and Shag, Live With Yourself, Adventures Of God, Pixie and Brutus, Bluechair, Batman: Wayne Family Adventures, Sarah Scribbles

Also like

A shit ton of Isekai webcomics when they pop up on tik tok sometimes, I can't remember any of the names for the life of me tho lol

#ask #anonymous #goddamn i didnt realize there were so many lol

[boobchuy]

Actually wait no I want you to go insane. If Anne gets transported to wandersong where would she end up where would the other girls end up what part would they play in the main story does amphibia still exist?? Anyways. Here’s some more Anne wandersongs for motivation (she’s always sitting down when I take screenshots)

YOU WANT TO KILL ME IS WHAT U WANT TO DO. U EVIL EVIL EVIL MONSTER....

but anyways

the idea i had when u sent that earlier ask was anne accidentally getting to wandersong at like. the s3b point??? instead of getting to amphibia she gets stuck to another world. how awesome is that lol. (im just kidding i dont think i have the mental capacity to think about that kinda au. think of the emotional turmoil. im a bully but even mental bullying gets exhausting sometimes besides i think physical comedy is underrated ANYWAY)

so a setting where the girls end up in wandersong instead of amphibia would be fun :]]]

because. i dont have any other idea on what to do. ill just *shrugs* and put the main three of each together. so like, marcy w kiwi, anne w miriam, and sasha w audrey

i think itd be super fucking funny to see wandersong trio fumble around w these kids that they had to adopt for some reason. idk.

marcy, still on that sort of escapism mentality, decides to help kiwi, and kiwi. lets her do it and promises to help her get home, bc of course they do. (i do not know how to do the reveal of marcy having the intention of wanting to go here, too early to be thinking complicated thoughts abt this) i like to think that like... she eventually realizes how real this is thanks to kiwi being so genuine all the time.

anne ends up landing face first on a pile of leaves near delphi <3 grandma saphy finds her <3 miriam absolutely does not like her <3 kiwi goes 'aw you guys get along so well :D' and miriam goes 'i will shoot you with lightning.' and kiwi 'D:' miriam begrudgingly lets anne tag along w the coaxing of grandma saphy. and since kiwi has their own 'Annoying' child. might as well

NOW. SASHA. SASHA W AUDREY. SASHA W AUDREY. idk if this duo would be a ticking time bomb or the funniest duo in hell but like. its. complicated. i dont know how the FUCK it would work when all three of them eventually cross paths. but the only reason why audrey lets sasha stay is thanks to eyala saying that so long as the three of them are here they cant let the end of the world happen. some sort of paradoxical time thing??? idk im making this up. it would be really nice. if. these two see similar things to each other, and maybe, they grow close. but also like. the possibility of it blowing up on their faces is just as likely so im crying now

GOD. wandersong makes me go insane how can you do this to me.

I WANTED TO DRAW IT REALLY BADLY SO NOW I HAVE THESE SCRIBBLES TOO. man

hope ur happy

#talking to frogs #kinda went crazy #wandersong does a lot of things to my brain #i will not apologize for that #PLAY WANDERSONG !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #arting #ws au #but not really but its ws so #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sasha waybright

[cantdanceflynn]

Guess what? This is kinda long and badly written and sorta sad and not at all in character. Read it if you want. @miriamwandersong

Kiwi looked at the cottage. They knew Miriam was in there, stinging. She hadn't deserved it, this was all their fault. They thought about the situation for a bit, before shaking their head. They couldn't leave it like that, they thought as they ran towards the house. So what if she wouldn't accept it? They needed to try! As they entered, they noticed the door was unlocked. That........ wasn't like her, at all. The house that'd they'd only seen bits of was actually much bigger then it looked. 

They looked through what must have been at least five or six rooms that were almost untouched. Clearly at some point someone else had lived here. They lingered in one that looked more..... lived-in. There were potion bottles around, but almost all of them had been broken or destroyed in some way. An old antique lamp was still on, one of the two things in the room that was "untouched", per say. The other was a small chart of what looked liked some of the ingredients they'd gathered for that potion, scribbled over and rewritten time and time again. But they were a little different, either slightly off-color or the wrong shape. And that meant........ oh no. 

 Kiwi ran out of the room, looking for Miriam. They'd gotten distracted and if she'd messed up the potion, Audrey could be in danger! They ran up the stairs, trying desperately to calm themselves. As they reached the top of the stairs, they heard faint humming coming from a room on their right. The humming abruptly stopped, and a small noise could be heard. Kiwi walked over to the door, hesitating before turning the handle. The door creaked as it opened slowly, opening to a small, barely touched room. Miriam was sitting on the bed, giving them a look of disdain. 

 "And why would the incredible hero Kiwi be searching out the moody witch who actually wants to save the world? Or, more simply, why are you here? After all, I thought I was dangerous. Or what, did she find you out too? That's it, isn't it?" Her voice was laced with aggression, but it was also clear she was trying to stop from crying.  

Kiwi sat down besides her, and she stood up. "No. That wasn't rhetorical. Why do you need me all of a sudden? And how much did you see down there?" Kiwi let out a sigh, considering their words carefully. As their mind wandered, and Miriam tapped her foot, Kiwi's eye caught hold of her broom, carefully propped against the wall. They'd never noticed it before, but there were hundreds of little notches along where Miriam held onto the broom. Why would she need those if she'd been riding it for............. 

 They took a breath. "Why are those marks on your broom? I thought you didn't need help because your grandma taught you? Is this her room?" 

 Miriam froze. Her face shifted from annoyance to surprise to indignation to sadness, then stayed there. She didn't say a word, and Kiwi knew she didn't want to talk about it. But for once they weren't going to give up on this. "Why are they there? Tell me." They raised their voice, not singing for a second. Miriam eventually spoke, but the words were shaky. "They mark the days since she left. My grandma? Remember?" 

 Kiwi did, in fact, remember her saying her grandma had gone on a trip. "But......, this place has barely been touched in what looks like years. I thought she taught you flying and potion making?" Miriam let out a dry laugh. "Ha. No. I assume you saw my room. I got left with misremembered notes from a few ingredient hunting trips and a barely listening broom. It's mine now though, so what does it matter? She left for a mushroom hunt and never came back. And who could blame her? I'm a nuisance who's only made trouble for you! I lied about knowing potions! I lied about what I could do! I'm barely even a witch! Who'd want me around?"

 She seemed to realize what'd she'd said almost imminently, and the tears she'd been keeping in from earlier came out. She stood there, crying softly for about three minutes as Kiwi sat there. Eventually she sat down besides them, tears running down her cheeks. Kiwi was surprised at how quickly she began crying. She must have been holding it in for a bit. "I would, and I know Audrey would. It's not your fault, really." Miriam gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah. Sure it wasn't. Not when I was soooo sweet and loving. Truly the best granddaughter anyone could ask for." They just sat there in awkward silence for a bit,before Kiwi spoke again. "What was her name?" 

Miriam seemed surprised, before shaking it off. "Sapphire. I used to call her Saphy. Yes, that's why I say it. She was a bit too open to ideas most of the time." They weren't expecting that. "I thought it was just some phrase witches used? Like, the voice in your head was anyone?" Miriam scoffed. "Nope. All me. Surprise!" At least her voice was back to it's normal tone. That was good, right? Kiwi decided to prod a little further. "What was that song you were humming?" Miriam sighed. "Of course it's the music questions. It's a little song I made up to pass the time." They gave her a cheeky look and she groaned. "No, I'm not going to sing it for you. It's embarrassing anyways." 

Kiwi grinned as they spoke. "Well, at least you're back to your...... normal self. Do you want to come back now?" Miriam raised her eyebrow. "Yeah, with Audrey? No. She can be the hero all she wants. We can't save the world. This is how it's meant to happen." Kiwi didn't think this time. "Maybe, so what? We know we can save it! We can do it! Audrey might even help us!" Miriam shook her head. "Nope. She hates me, and either way, the second she uses that potion, she's probably dead or something! I don't............ I don't want to see that." 

Kiwi sighed, before getting an idea. A crazy one, maybe, but an idea nonetheless. "In that case, I'll go to the final overseer! I'll get the last piece! Then we can save the world!" Miriam looked up suddenly. "That's crazy! What if she hurts you? I mean, I-i don't think she would but........... What if?" Kiwi shrugged. "So? Maybe I'm crazy then? I am trying to save the world! So......... Shut up Saphy! If that can mean to not agree with stupid ideas, it can mean don't listen to fake ones! I'll be back soon!" 

There was only excitement in their voice as they ran out of the room and back down the stairs. Only when they reached the bottom did they really think about it. Could they? But they just kept going. They'd have to, simple as that. As they left the house they could hear Miriam's voice calling out, "Stop!" But they didn't listen. They could do this, right? Yeah! They could barely see the mountain on the horizon as they started running towards it.

#lucasong #kiwi #miriam #audrey is mentioned #no im not good at writing and this is awful #shut up #wandersong au

[wanderbard]

How do you cheer up a sick bard?

Kiwi had written a letter stating they would be visiting the following week. Well, the week came and passed and there was no sign of them. Miriam gave it another day before deciding they better go check on the bard. She worried too much about them, which she would never admit to Kiwi in person. They were probably fine anyway. Atleast, that was what she kept telling herself as she flew on her broom to Langtree. 

Soon enough she was at their door. At first, Miriam was just going to storm in. Give them a piece of her mind for making her wait a whole week! There was nothing more annoying than someone making plans and then flaking. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Miriam knocked on the door. 

A few seconds passed. Noises from behind the door could be here. A bang of something hitting the floor, and then hurried footsteps before the door was opened, and there in the flesh was a disheveled Kiwi. Hair sticking up, and only wearing a shirt and pants.

“Miriam!” Kiwi greeted, but it came out a harsh whisper that made them cough. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Miriam spoke as she raised a hand to feel Kiwi’s forehead. “And you’re warm. No wonder you didn’t visit.” It was amazing that Kiwi’s face could express ‘!?’.

“I forgot-” Another harsh rasp from Kiwi.

“Stop trying to talk. You’ll never get better that way.” Miriam ordered, which caused Kiwi to frown. 

Talking and singing were two of Kiwi’s most favorite things. Without them they didn’t feel whole.

“Have you seen Clyde?” Miriam asked as she let herself in and started to  search Kiwi’s cupboards, which left the Bard confused, but they weren’t going to ask what they were doing. 

Once Miriam looked back again, Kiwi gave them a nod and a thumbs up. Then gestured to their night stand where a bottle of medicine sat. 

“Good.” Miriam gave up searching the cupboards. “You need to stock up better! You always try to help everyone, but you can’t even keep the necessities in your house!” Miriam scolded. “I’m going to the store.”

Kiwi grabbed a hold of the back of Miriam’s shirt so the witch had to look at them. Kiwi tilted their head and looked confused.

“Don’t give me that face!” Miriam said. “I’m just going to buy things you need. Some tea and stuff to make soup.” Miriam then turned her head away. “You need to let people help you sometimes. It’s what friends do for each other. I know you’d do the same for me.”

Kiwi beamed and let go of her shirt.

“Now get in bed! Don’t move until I get back!” Miriam demanded and didn’t leave until she saw the bard climb into the bed. “And no singing!” She walked out the door and shut it behind her.

-----

An hour and a half passed before Miriam let herself back into the house. Everything was quiet inside. Kiwi was asleep and softly snoring, but every sound they made while asleep was nothing more than a whisper. Miriam felt bad for the other. They had been through so much, and here they were done in by a cold.

As quietly as she could, Miriam started to make the soup. It was one of grandma Saphy’s recipes, and was filled with enough healing herbs that Kiwi should be better in no time! Unluckily, Miriam dropped a spoon on the floor. Then, rustling could be heard from the bed.

“Miri-” Kiwi tried, but only started to cough.

“What did I say about talking?” Miriam picked the spoon up and set it in the sink. “Don’t you have paper or something you could write on?”

Kiwi’s mouth formed an O as this thought didn’t even cross their mind. Scrambling, they got together some paper and crayons. They sat on the bed and started to scribble something. Once done, they turned the paper towards Miriam. It read “Thank you! You’re the best!” in handwriting that was far from perfect. 

“I’m just doing the bare minimum.” Miriam spoke as she stirred the pot of soup. “I need you better. It’s too quiet without your singing.”

Again, Kiwi was scribbling on another paper. They turned it around. “I miss singing.” It read. Miriam looked up to Kiwi’s face and it pulled at her heartstrings. The bard’s smile was gone and replaced by the saddest frown. Their true emotions raw and unhidden. 

Miriam turned back around and stirred the soup again. Okay, she needed Kiwi smiling again. What could she do? She ‘hmmm’ed to herself. Then an idea. It was crazy. Something way out of her comfort zone, but she needed to do something!

Miriam started to hum. The humming got louder as she started to gather her nerves. She opened her mouth and started to sing. Slowly, she got louder and louder. Soon the small home was filled with her voice. The song was one Kiwi would often sing, so she easily remembered the words. The melody is light and fun. Something to pick up the mood, or at least she hoped it would. 

Miriam finished the song, but didn’t have the nerve to face Kiwi. Then, a soft clapping could be heard. Miriam turned around to a smiling bard giving her a standing ovation. 

Miriam blushed. “It wasn’t that great.”

Kiwi picked up their paper and a crayon. “It WAS great, Miriam!” 

They grabbed up another piece of paper and wrote on it. “I feel better already!” 

---

So I don’t ramble on, I’m finishing it right there haha.

#wandersong

[the-lightest-shadow]

OOOOHHH! What webcomics do you read?!?! I read stuff on Webtoon!

I mean, I don’t read the ones I like off of Webtoon super often, but the ones I mainly read (when they update, most of the serious ones don’t/haven’t in a while} are

Gloomverse

Boyfriend of the Dead

The Reason {by StaleElephantBones}

Hooky {By Miriam Bonastre Tur, rarely, recently finished}

Loving Reaper {Forgot it was on Webtoon aoehjrfuoiehjf}

Lumine {love. love this story so far}

Bluechair

Sarah’s Scribbles

Saphie: The One Eyed Cat

Pilot {Not on Webtoon}

So yeah. The only ones that update frequently are numbers 6-9, and of those ones only Lumine is a serious, continuous story.

#shadow screams #thank you so much for asking! #eliscuddles

[dragonspirebooks]

An Essential Quest (Sunday Scribbles: Edge) #sunscribbles #shortstory

An Essential Quest (Sunday Scribbles: Edge) #sunscribbles #shortstory

Welcome to Sunday Scribbles!

This week I started writing a serious story about Coronavirus, and ended up with a story about a writer trying to get by in a post apocalyptic world. I never was much good at writing about the real world!

An Essential Quest:

Saphy cornered the leader of their ramshackle camp inside his tent. ‘I just want a pen! I’ll be careful!’

‘S’always the same with you, Saph. You…

View On WordPress

#sunscribbles #2020 short stories #Notebooks and Pens #Post apocalyptic world #Quest #Short story #Sunday Scribbles Writing Prompts #Writer&039;s life #Writing Prompts #Zombies

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day. 

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered. 

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead. 

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.  

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead. 

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.” 

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him. 

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing. 

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end. 

“Racetrack Higgins.” 

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.” 

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?” 

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?” 

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.” 

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself. 

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.” 

Jack said nothing. 

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him. 

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely. 

Jack snorted. 

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted. 

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later. 

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.” 

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful. 

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down. 

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there. 

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all. 

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them. 

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say. 

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church. 

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant. 

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.” 

“He was never going to tell you that story.” 

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?” 

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing. 

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.” 

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name? 

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him. 

Albert would know how to fix this. 

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations. 

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started. 

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck. 

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him. 

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.” 

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend. 

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert. 

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?” 

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food. 

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?” 

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows. 

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing. 

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look. 

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals. 

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide. 

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.” 

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.” 

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking. 

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.” 

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away. 

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.” 

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time. 

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed. 

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?” 

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.” 

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time. 

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.” 

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said. 

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms. 

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.” 

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered. 

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump. 

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point. 

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

#saphie scribbles #spies 2.0 #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #sprace #ralbert

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies, but better written and 5 years late chapter 2: please don't scramble my eggs

back at it again :)

i got stuck in florida for 5 days and produced this

___

words: 750 (short but its necessary)

edited: yes :)

warnings: kidnapping, threats, gangs

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

ch 1 | read it on ao3

___

*24 hours earlier*

It was a normal day for Spot. Which should have been his first red flag. There were no normal days when you worked for The Anonymous. 

Which was why he really shouldn't have been surprised when between one second and the next he was getting knocked out and thrown in a van. 

Next thing he knew he was blinking his eyes open in a dim, dank room. One single lightbulb flickered annoyingly above him and thick rope dug into his wrists. Something chirped in the corner. Rats, most likely. Spot wasn’t sure if the higher ups in the gang simply had no money or just had a thing for shitty movie interrogation core rooms because believe it or not, this was not the first time that he had ended up in a room that looked like this. 

“Sean Patrick Conlon.” 

Fucking Christ. 

“Oscar if you wanted to talk to me you could have just asked like a normal person,” Spot sighed. “We work in the same building. There was really no need to pull out all the stops for me.”

Oscar stepped into the light, a sickly smile stretched across his stupid face. The hilt of the silver knife he was rolling between his hands clicked against his many gold rings. Spot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You know you shouldn’t talk to me like that,” Oscar grinned. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.” 

“I wasn’t aware that kidnapping me and tying me to a chair fell into that category” 

Faster than he could blink, Spot felt the tip of Oscar’s knife digging into his collar bone. He ground his teeth together so he wouldn’t flinch. It wouldn’t do him any favors. He waited for Oscar to make some kind of smart ass comment, but what he said instead was far more terrifying. 

“Why did you never tell any of us that you have a sister?” 

Spot’s blood went cold. He hadn’t seen Grace in years. She had been placed in a different foster home than he had been after their mom had dropped off of the face of the earth and he had never been able to find her again after he had aged out. After a few years he had come to accept the fact that she had likely been adopted by whatever family she had been placed with.

He fought to maintain his composure. “So what if I do?” 

Oscar was unfazed. “Grace Michaels. You know she’s living in the city? 42 West 64th street. She has a cat named Slippers. Her Amazon package is arriving today, she ordered a new 10 foot iphone charger. She left the house at 7:33am with her fiancée. Did you know she was getting married? I’m assuming he didn’t ask for your permission.” 

Spot narrowed his eyes. Straining against the rope would just make Oscar more annoyed. 

“His name is Patrick Cortes,” Oscar continued. “He proposed during their vacation two months ago in Italy. The date is already set for next November. She picked out her dress two weeks ago.” 

“What do you want with Grace?” Spot asked, fighting to keep a straight face. In a way, it was comforting to know that Grace was still alive and seemingly okay, but if Oscar was interested in her then that might not last for much longer. 

Oscar flipped his knife in his hands. “Tomorrow morning you are going to go to the FBI Headquarters in Times Square and you are going to turn yourself in. In exchange for your immunity you are going to offer to work with their agents in order to take down this organization. You will refuse to work with every agent except for Antonio Higgins. You will build trust with him and help him to infiltrate our organization. After one month you will double cross him, leading him to his death.”

“And why would I do that?” Spot had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer. 

“Because it would be a shame if your sister was in a horrible accident before her wedding, don’t you think?” Oscar smirked. 

“You’re sick.” 

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not my plan. This one’s direct from the higher ups.” 

“Of course it is,” Spot muttered. “I’m assuming I have no choice?” 

“Not unless you want your roommate to find your head on his doorstep.” 

Spot tried to imagine Elmer opening the door of their apartment to his head in a cardboard box. Not a good mental image. Especially when Elmer thought that he worked as a security guard at a Hilton hotel. 

“Do I have to kill him?” Spot asked. That was his one remaining boundary. Over the years they had pushed him to do worse and worse things, but he had still remained firm in the fact that he didn't want to kill anyone.

“No,” Oscar said. “The higher ups have a plan for him.” Spot resisted the urge to shudder. Hopefully whoever this Antonio was was an asshole so that he didn't feel bad about leading him to what was surely to be a terrible and painful death.

It was a lose lose situation and as usual, the only way out was through. That was how things worked around here. And the worst part was, he was stuck here.

“So are you in?”

“Yeah.” Spot hated that he didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

___

:O evil spot

ch3 will be long and incredible to make up for how short this one is

let me know what you think !!!

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #sprace #spot conlon #spies 2.0 #sprace newsies #racetrack higgins

[all-hail-the-witcher]

loving too hard

so at the last minute i put this in the spies verse although it can 110% be read as a standalone. im not sure when it takes place so dont ask.

by popular demand here's the playlist of songs i was inspired by:

la devotee thin white lies lose you too dying in la 8 letters the reason who knew this is gospel

______

genre: sad 

ship: platonic ralbert

words: some

editing: nah

warnings: its sad, one brief mention of a shootout and weapons, use of the word love, feelings of regret, emotions, albert is stuck in his head and he made a bad decision, race just wants his hot pockets, he was at walgreens

_____

What the hell are you doing here?

Albert stared down at his hands, the light from the setting sun bathing them in gold, accentuating the purplish bruises scattered across his knuckles. Half moons of dried red framed his nails and dirt streaked his forearms. The gentle breeze stung his cuts. But no part of him was compelled to clean off the remnants of the work day. He’d fought willingly, hell it was his job after all, but suddenly it seemed so strange and weird and...wrong. Normally the last day of a case was thrilling and crisp with satisfaction, but all he could bring himself to feel was hollow regret.

It couldn’t be his job. Albert had known exactly what he was signing up for: long nights of research, stakeouts, codenames, fake identities, tailing criminals, not being seen, broken bones, scars, fights, shootouts, outrunning the inescapability of death time after time again...the endless prospects gave him goosebumps. He was a danger seeker. If he were told to take down a criminal with his eyes closed and hands tied behind his back he’d say well bring it the fuck on already!

And yet here he was, contemplating going back inside and opening his laptop to type a very half assed resignation letter. Why?

The view from the cheap hotel room was nothing special (the parking lot of a run-down strip mall mostly populated by a flock of crows) but he found himself leaning forward against the rickety hotel balcony railing to get a better look. Part of him knew that there was a very real chance it could snap and he would plummet 3 stories, but he found himself not caring. He’d fallen from higher places before. If anything, Race would yell at him for being stupid and reckless.

Race. Where was that bastard anyway? He’d left 45 minutes ago to go get first aid supplies or something, Albert hadn’t really been listening. Still, he was pretty sure that it didn’t take 45 minutes to run into Walgreens and grab some rubbing alcohol and gauze. He should have been back by now and Albert couldn’t bring himself to care.

Race was the whole reason he had this job. Why he had left home. Why he had seen so much of the world. Why he knew how to carry on half decent small talk in Russain (thanks Duolingo). Why he was one of the best field agents in the country. Why he could order meat-lovers pizza in 15 languages and counting. Why he had become such a better person than he had been in high school. But then again, Race was also the reason he had nightmares. Why he had nearly died countless times. Why he felt as though he was stuck in a life he wasn’t sure he would pick for himself if he had had the option.

Everything he had done had been for Race. Every bullet he’d taken, every scar he’d gotten, every panic attack he’d had, every time he’d hid his doubts and his fears about the mission...that had all been for Race. To protect him, to make sure he was happy.

Not like that plan had worked anyway. He knew that every time he so much as scraped himself Race panicked. And then they would ignore it until it became too much and Race would end up revealing just how much it hurt him that Albert was doing stupid shit behind his back and why can’t you just think about how this will affect me for once!?

But Race always came back, always tried to mend the rift. He made sure Albert was comfortable and he wasn’t pushing any boundaries. And what did Albert do in return? Kept fuckin hurting him. Race didn’t deserve that. Hell, no one did, but certainly not Race.

Race was too good for him. He had always been too good for him. Albert didn’t deserve a friend as good as Race, he never had and he never would.

The light’s clicked on in the parking lot below. It was no surprise that the lights, much like the strip mall, were shitty and flickering. Still, he was able to make out one lone figure holding two Walgreen’s bags. Only Race would be able to justify spending an hour in a Walgreens. Even from the balcony Albert could tell that Race’s hair was still coated in a thick layer of dirt and that he hadn’t bothered to change out of his mission clothes yet. Seeing him walking calmly back lifted a weight in his chest.

Are you sure you wanna leave this?

Albert turned swiftly, wrestling with the near-broken door for a moment before bursting back into the hotel room. Blindly he grabbed his backpack and threw random clothes and weapons in. Race was safe. He didn’t need to be here anymore now that he knew that Race was safe. Race was smart, he’d be fine, he didn’t need Albert.

He was in the middle of scribbling Race a half assed note when the door opened, bringing Race in with it. Shit.

“Hey Albie, sorry it took so long, I decided to get us food also but then couldn’t decide what to get and also Walgreens doesn’t have the best food options so I got hot pockets and chips and salsa, which, now that I’m saying that I realize that those are essentially the same thing, I hope that’s okay…” He finally looked up, noticing Albert. “Are you going somewhere? Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry Antonio.” Albert kept his voice low, knowing it would break if he spoke too loudly. “I can’t do this.”

Race dropped his bags on the bed and stepped closer to Albert, reaching out to grab his arm. “Do what?”

Albert flinched, stomach tightening as he stepped back to avoid Race’s touch. He felt guilty, but he couldn't do this, he couldn’t do this, fuck why couldn't he- “This,” he waved his hands as if in explanation.

“What Albie?” Race asked gently. “Stay in the hotel? The mission-”

“Us!” Albert blurted out. “I can’t do us.”

“What?” Race’s voice was small and broken as he stepped back, eyes suddenly glassy. Instant regret swelled up in Albert’s throat, but he forced it down. He couldn’t keep doing this anymore. It wasn’t right of him.

“I’m sorry. You’re too good for me Tonio. You’re too good for me and all I do is hurt you. I can’t be friends with you knowing that. I loved you too hard. I need time.” He picked up his backpack, unable to look Race in the eyes. Once his back was turned he tried to wipe at his own tears subtly, but winced when he remembered that he had too black eyes.

“Will you be back?” “I don’t know.” Albert picked up the note he had been writing and held it out to Race.

Race took the letter gently, looking at Albert thoughtfully. “I love you Albert,” he whispered finally. “You can always come back.”

Albert reached for the doorknob. “I-” his tongue stuck in his throat like sandpaper. He couldn’t say it. “Thanks,” he mumbled instead before stepping out into the hallway.

What did you just do?

_____

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@sun-kissed-star

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

@voice-foundshoe-lost​

@stopthe-presses

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid​

@disney-princess-sized​

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog​

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@legoflambwrites​

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad​

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula​

@newsies-of-ny

@papesdontsellthemselves​

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer​

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters​

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo​

@albert-eats-cookie-cake​

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

@panpervinca

#saphie scribbles #albert dasilva #newsies #newsies fic #spy boys #sorry for the sad boi fic #yoink

[all-hail-the-witcher]

out of time

so this is an original work. and yes, i did tag list it because i want to know if people like it/find it interesting. ive been slowly building this universe for the last like 6 years and i legitimately want to write a novel in this universe and this might be the beginnings of the first chapter. you dont have to read it if you dont want to though.

_____

genre: angst i guess

warnings: implied death/violence, visions that could be interpreted as hallucinations, implied anxiety, distress

words: 2791

editing: yes

*note: the bold and italics together represent talking telepathically (sorry if its confusing)

_____

Lynnie where are you?

Trace counted slowly to five as he waited to hear his sister’s response echo in his head.

Dance floor, came his sister’s gentle voice. Your 1 o’clock.

Trace’s eyes scanned the dance floor below him before finally landing on his little sister. The ancient castle that the Friday night dances were held in was definitely not Trace’s favorite place, but tonight he was willing to put aside his hatred for the drafty candlelit rooms and appreciate the long walkway at the top of the grand staircase for giving him a full view of the room below. His shoulders relaxed as he saw Lynnie on the arm of some boy with too much gel in his hair. Her massive poof of an evening gown glistened like freshly fallen snow in the candlelight as she twirled.

Don’t knock over the punch bowl again, he warned, savoring the uncharacteristic misstep he saw her take.

Oh shut up. He could practically hear her eye roll. What’s up though? Do you see someone?

Trace was certain that nothing was amiss and normally he trusted his instincts, but tonight he took his time scanning the area again, even squinting at the frosted glass windows for good measure, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. No, he thought, shifting his weight back and forth subtly so he could feel the small vial tap against his chest. I just have a feeling.

He watched as Lynnie curtseyed, bidding farewell to the boy she was dancing with before navigating her way through the crowd and towards the staircase.

Hold tight, I’m coming.

Trace nodded, unable to formulate a response. His hands were suddenly itching to grasp the vial.

Trace’s Gift was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it helped many people and saved countless lives. But on the other hand, it meant that he had to take a horrifying look into the future, which was often not the happiest place. It wasn’t as if he could prepare for it either, he never knew when his Gift would demand to be felt.

The urge to grab the vial jerked through his body again, jolting him forward into the railing. The room began to blur in front of him and he squeezed the ornately carved wood with such force that he was sure it would break. Lynnie please, I need you, Lynnie please, please, Lynnie-

A hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped, reaching blindly into the inside of his navy blue suit jacket for his father’s knife, cursing himself for letting his guard down.

“Hey! It’s just me! I’m here.”

“Lynnie.” The immediate safety his sister emanated overwhelmed him and he slumped forwards into her unexpecting arms, the knife clattering to the ground, forgotten. Lynnie tensed as she attempted to keep him from drowning in her dress and he distantly wondered if she was worried. Surely she should know that this was just another vision, right? There was no real need for her to worry, the visions themselves weren’t the dangerous part. It was what happened after that she should be worried about.

But then again he had just collapsed on her, and dropped his knife accidentally for the first time since he’d been seven and gotten scared by a mouse that had snuck into the training room. That mouse had been scary, scary scary mouse. But he had just wanted to touch it, touch it, just touch it-

Lynnie’s muttered uncharacteristic string of curse words interrupted his thoughts. “Just hang on a minute Trace.”

Had he said that out loud? Oh no. Even at their worst, Trace had always had control over his visions. He firmly clamped his mouth shut, choosing instead to focus on the pressure of Lynnie’s arm around his shoulder as she guided him into one of the private rooms, away from the people that were undoubtedly staring at the scene he was making them. Hopefully no one would tell his mother about this embarrassment.

Before they could duck into the safety of the room, Trace’s hand unpinned itself from his side and thrust itself at the vial. He struggled against the unseen force drawing his hand towards his neck. “Stop...it,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut forcefully. Lynnie froze next to him, no doubt staring at the spectacle in front of her. Lynnie. He couldn’t let her see him like this, succumbing to an invisible force. With renewed determination he clenched his fist tightly and finally managed to fling his arm back in the opposite direction.

He opened his eyes, unable to hide his relief as he felt the tension momentarily drain from his body. He could control this. All he had to do was get into the room.

He reached out to grab the doorway, ready to pull himself inside and get the vision over with already when the air became still. Too still. He squinted suspiciously, straining his ears for even a snippet of the previously overwhelming noise from the dance below. Trace slowly turned his head down towards his chest, dread overcoming him once again. Screams bounced around his head, imploring him to just touch the vial already! His hands were stuck, floating in the air, unsure whether to listen to his mind or his heart. One commanding voice rose above the rest, drowning them out.  

Look at your sister. What do you see?

Trace’s gaze hardened as he forced himself to focus. Lynnie emerged from the fuzziness, holding up the majority of his weight despite the fact that she was wearing a huge blue sequined ball gown and heels. In that ball gown he knew there were exactly five hidden knives in addition to her white pouch of fairy dust. She was wearing their grandma’s diamond necklace and chandelier earrings, her long blonde hair arranged in an elaborate updo. One of her earrings had scratched the side of her neck and he found himself wanting to reach into his own fairy dust bag and smear some over the minnescule mark. The delicate silvery swirls of her dust marks graced her shoulders and bare arms, their familiar patterns grounding him. Tiny lines puckered up between her eyebrows and around her mouth, the only evidence suggesting she was worried. Her eyes, the same steely blue-green as his, remained unreadable.

No. Look deeper. What do you see?

Trace squinted. There was the tiny scar above her left eyebrow that she had gotten when she was six and trying to shoot her bow for the first time. The arrow had rebounded backwards and smashed into her forehead. He had never told anyone, but looking at his sister’s face frozen in shock with blood gushing out of her forehead had been the first time he had been really, truly worried. The spray of freckles across her nose looked exactly like the ones that littered his mother’s face. She was the only one of all his siblings that shared their mother’s freckles. Her silver hoop earring glinted in the candlelight from its position at the top of her ear. He had given her that piercing at two am in their kitchen when she had been thirteen and their father had said she couldn’t get one. She referred to it as the “first of many acts as a rebellious teen” and so far she hadn’t disappointed. There was the birthmark on her right wrist that looked like an x. She often joked that she had probably been stabbed there in a past life because “x marks the spot.” Everytime she mentioned it he couldn't help but shudder - he did not like the thought of his sister ever being stabbed, no matter what life it had been. She was too important for him to ever fathom losing. Her eyes were set, the determined glint in them reminding him of the way she looked when he proposed a crazy idea to her, except there was something else there as well. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…

“Trace?”

He snapped back into the present, immediately resuming fighting his body as his eyes clouded over again. “Hm?”

“Are you ready to go inside?”

Strangely enough, he smiled despite the circumstances, finding himself grateful for his sister’s perpetual calm and collected state. She was always so dependable, there without question any time he needed her. He could only hope that she thought the same of him.

He nodded, letting himself be led through the doorway before slumping to the floor, not trusting the bed in the slightest. Who knew what kinds of unspeakable things had happened there.

“I need- it's- the vial, the one around my neck,” he said, quieting the screaming voices clouding his consciousness. “It’s time.”

She nodded in understanding. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pull me out.”

Unable to wait for a response, Trace’s hand snapped up from his side again, this time successfully clutching the vial, issuing a guttural scream as images flashed faster than lightning before his eyes. With every anxious breath the images cycled faster and faster, until he couldn’t see anything but color after color after color until they morphed together to form a murky image.

It was dark. That was all he was able to register, darkness. And water. Somewhere water was dripping, pinging against what must have been a stone floor. A door banged open and a bright white shaft of light splayed in, illuminating the bars of the jail cell in front of him. He shielded his eyes, blinking as he scanned the area. To his horror, when he looked into the cell across from him he was met with a gaunt skeleton person staring blankly back at him, their blue-green eyes empty. But he wasn’t the only one. There was another in the cell next to that, and next to that, and as far as Trace could see in the eerie lighting. He looked back to the person in the cell across from him, inhaling sharply when he noticed red marks glinting on their arms, like dust marks that had been ripped off.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the cells and he craned his neck. Coming towards him was a tall man with clean cut hair. He walked slowly, peering into each cell as he went, but said nothing to its inhabitants. Behind him was a girl with a roughly cut black bob, her silhouette flicking on the wall as if she wasn’t really there. The only thing he could see was her eyes, bright purple against the blackness. She was gone as soon as she had come and it was just the man again. The man was close to his cell now. There was a muffled curse from the cell across from him and something glinted against the man’s all black ensemble, something long and pointy and sharp and-

The dim cell block swirled and changed. This time there was a girl with short hair and blunt bangs dressed in green and brown traipsing through the woods. Peeking out from under her shirt were silver dust tattoos, swirling down her shoulders and arms in a familiar pattern, catching the light in the exposed places. Her brown eyes were heavy as she trekked through an overgrown pathway with shaky steps, a sword sheathed on her back. No, not just any sword. His sword. The family one that had been passed down through so many generations that they had lost track. What was she doing with his sword?

As she came closer he could see a boy trailing behind her, his mouth moving with words Trace couldn't hear. But while the girl’s clothes blended into her surroundings, the boy was wearing a tattered pink shirt that made him stick out against the trees. It was clear that he was bothering the girl, and Trace wondered why she didn’t just ditch him. Tactically, he didn’t seem any more useful than a pile of leaves.

The girl, still ignoring the boy’s rambling, tensed slightly and slowed her pace. Up ahead, two figures had appeared on the path in the traditional green fight clothes, weapons drawn. The girl unsheathed the sword and he saw her flinch as her eyes hardened, the briefest flash of blue in a sea of brown. He opened his mouth to call out but words escaped him as the colors flashed again.

This time when the haze cleared he was outside the castle. People dressed in formalwear were running around him, clinking their various blades against an army of black-clad soldiers on a moon-lit battlefield. Screams and cries echoed against the blooming red sky. Distantly, the raid siren was blaring. Instincts kicking in, Trace felt himself taking a low stance and reaching into his jacket for a blade.

One black-clad figure flew past him, sword drawn, target locked. Trace followed the figure's path as he ran several more steps before smacking his blade against one of a blonde boy wearing a navy blue suit that had obviously seen better days. The blonde boy moved in a familiar manner as he jumped, dodged and stabbed at the blade of his attacker. His skill was apparent, but there was doubt clouding his features. Despite the enemy in front of him, the blonde boy’s sword began to hesitate, deflecting the blows only at the last minute until the opposing blade ripped open his dress shirt, gushing blood onto the cobblestones. The dark figure jumped over the body and onto his next victim, but Trace found himself staring at the fallen boy, his stomach sinking with every breath.

He looked up, scanning the crowd of tattered fighters, half hoping that he wouldn’t see her, that this wasn’t possible. There were too many people, she would never find them. But a path appeared in the chaos there she was, blonde hair coming undone as she ran, shreds of blue ball gown cascading around her as she dodged attacker after attacker, heading straight towards the fallen boy at Trace’s feet.

She sank down beside him, tears already staining her cheeks as she swiftly grabbed his sword and scabbard. She placed a gentle hand on the ripped shoulder of his suit, pieces of her hair falling in front of her face like a curtain, giving her a much needed sense of privacy. But Trace could still see her shaking hands reach down and unclip something from around the boy's neck, fastening it instead to her own. She leaned her face down, lips moving in some inaudible phrase before she kissed the boy's forehead. She stood slowly, keeping her eyes trained on the boy for as long as possible before a shout from somewhere further down startled her and she tore past Trace, away from the battle, down the street and-

Come back to me Trace.

Trace gasped, the bloody cobblestone street and clashing blades slipping away as he was drawn back by Lynnie’s voice. He left his eyes closed, focusing on his sweat dripping off his nose and onto his hands, which were tightly clasped in his sister’s. He didn’t move as he attempted to process the fragmented scenes that he had just witnessed. His eyes grew heavy as he found himself arriving at the same conclusion each time. The Gift never lied, he had learned that the hard way. This time though he couldn’t help but hope that it was wrong. It had to be wrong. There was no way that-

Trace. Breathe, Lynnie’s voice spoke in his head. Thankfully she had the sense not to speak out loud. But then, she always seemed to know exactly what he needed. He should have told her that more often.

Almost involuntarily, he felt his lungs fill with much needed air again and again, pushing his tears pushed further and further down with every breath.

What did you see?

I, uh, Trace paused, not knowing how to articulate what he had seen. Normally he always shared his visions with Lynnie, but this time he didn’t think he could. Well, not entirely. There were still things she needed to know. The time had come and he had to pass the job onto her now. What he needed to say had to be said out loud.

“I know what the vial around my neck is,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Lynnie waited several long moments to respond. “What is it?”

“It’s hope,” he looked up at her for the first time and took a deep breath, holding onto as much of the calm moment as he could. He knew it wasn’t going to last. “Protect it at all costs.”

In the distance, the raid sirens began to blare.

_____

for a culmination of 6 years of work its not the best. but i like the au i created and i would be open to writing fics in that au to develop it more if people want. or i also have like, 2 other characters developed in this universe and if people want i could write about them 

anyway thanks for reading, comments are always appreciated, hmu to be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@sun-kissed-star

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

@voice-foundshoe-lost​

@stopthe-presses

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid​

@disney-princess-sized​

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog​

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@legoflambwrites​

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad​

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula​

@newsies-of-ny

@papesdontsellthemselves​

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer​

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters​

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo​

@albert-eats-cookie-cake​

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

@panpervinca

#saphie scribbles #my original work #please let me know what you think honestly cause id really like to build this up more #and thanks if you read it #i know its not fic

[all-hail-the-witcher]

Idk if your asks are open, but, "I thought I could trust you" with ralbert???? Owo

…okay so….

hello everyone. oh boyyyy

so this fic, well, its a Bit of a train wreck. well, maybe kind of not? but theres a story and im going to tell it anyway.

Once Upon The Beginning Of Last Semester Sometime mikey and i were like “lol lets Finally have an angst off !!” and we had you guys pick prompts and were like okay bet lets Do This. and i came up with this completely wild crazy idea and was like “okay this is going to be Great.” well, spoiler alert, i got a few thousand words in and realized that it was Not what i wanted so i rewrote it and came up with a new plot. and then i got Stuck.

meanwhile, mikey had finished his fic like Weeks before and was like “saph cmon are you gonna finish it?” and i was like “uh maybe yeah” and i tried and failed. and tried and failed again. and then life smacked me in the face for awhile. and then mikey was like “okay im just gonna post mine cause i kinda like it and you post yours when youre ready” and he did. and its very good. and im kind of glad we didnt have a competition cause he could have won.

you can read his fic here (and i recommend that you do cause its some Grade A Mikey Angst) although if your someone who has a fear of someone leaving you because you cannot/will not give them sex i would suggest not

and so. that fic sat in my drive for several months. and then my short story writing teacher was like “you need to submit a 4th short story!!” and i was like “well shit the world is ending and im out of ideas!!” and then i remembered this beauty. in all its glory. half finished. actually less than half finished. it was a mess. a whole disaster. and i left my planning sheet at school, so…

but i hunkered down and i ground out some half decent garbage, complaining the entire time to mikey (thanks for listening to all that by the way) and finally, last night, at 1am, was the proud owner of this.

its not the best thing ive ever written. and its obscenely long. but it is finished. and actually edited. and also turned in to my short story writing teacher but were not going to talk about that. its also vaguely based off of several fall out boy songs. and this prompt. which has been sitting in my ask box for At Least a year. 

its essentially the epitome of This Great British Bakeoff Meme:

so. now that ive essentially written a fic about my fic, i give you This:

_____

Dusted

ship: ralbert

genre: angst no happy ending

warnings: violence, implied and referenced character death, alcohol, unknowingly being drugged, concussions, head injuries, weird hallucination type things, betrayal, loss of mother, anxiety, panic attacks, near death experiences, i think thats everything. also its based off of fall out boy songs. that should tell you everything you need to know.

words: 8108

editing: actually yes !!!

_____

due to the sheer Length i posted this only on ao3 to not clog up peoples dashes and theres a lot of italics and i didnt wanna do it all by hand cause tumblrs dumb okay. (also since its tagged as major character death it shows up with that Potential Adult Content thing. theres no sexy times i promise, ao3s just doin me dirty)

also yeah i made a new ao3 acc, expect more on there in the future

read the monstrosity here

_____

well this has been The Strangest fic posting of mine essentially Ever.

what did you think tho?

comments are always appreciated, hmm to be on the taglist!!!

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@sun-kissed-star

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

@voice-foundshoe-lost​

@stopthe-presses

@ridin-in-style

@pinecovewoods​

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid​

@disney-princess-sized​

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog​

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@myidkwhatmynameisblog

@legoflambwrites

@not-a-scab

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad​

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula​

@newsies-of-ny

@mrs-higgins

@spot-me50-papes-deactivated2020

@papesdontsellthemselves

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer​

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters​

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo​

@albert-eats-cookie-cake​

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

@panpervinca

#saphie scribbles #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #oof #when was the last time i even Wrote #this whole thing has been a Hot Mess #wow #if you actually read to this tag i thank you and send you a virtual jelly bean #newsies #newsies fic

[all-hail-the-witcher]

one expensive can of easy cheese

crack head hours my kids

also inspired by a hot guy i saw at walgreens today

the walgreens chaos returns

______

ship: ralbert

genre: crackhead angst

words: who knows, not super long

warnings: mentions of a twine kink, easy cheese, concussions, walgreens, race thinks another guy is hot, uhhh, hot men in scrubs, minor bits of violence, new yorkers been new yorkers, albert is a dumbass, race is more of a dumbass

editing: nah

_____

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese.

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do). So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place.

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat, he was able to dislodge the duct tape.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?”

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick. “Hmmmmmmm. No.”

“But-!” He wriggled around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!”

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell.

“Can you at least untie me then?”

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time.

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?”

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists.

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.”

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.”

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.”

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face.

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!”

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all.

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese.

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese.

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when-

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled around to see Mr. Man Candy himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!”

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese.

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!”

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.”

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick. “Buy some fucking vegetables!”

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame.  

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?”

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.”

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.”

______

that was a ride

feedback is always appreciated hmm if you wanna be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@well-the-kids-do-too

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try

@voice-foundshoe-lost

@stopthe-presses

@ridin-in-style

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid

@disney-princess-sized

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

@insane-tomato

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@myidkwhatmynameisblog

@legoflambwrites

@not-a-scab

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula

@newsies-of-ny

@mrs-higgins

@spot-me50-papes

@papesdontsellthemselves

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@warmwoolysweaters

@spot-the-brooklyn-pirate

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #walgreens au #i hate my branding thanks #this actually came out good #im surprises #happy thanksgiving my kids