cara

jonathan byers x weird girl reader ‧₊˚

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ teeth marks, polaroids, lace stockings, self picked flowers, private photoshoots, promises whispered on perfumed skin, esoteric, colorful thighs, dust in sunlight, ink-stained fingers, strange obsessions, library corners,

“that’s a weird thing to say.”

“…sorry.”

“don’t be. keep talking”

shit as long as she don't die man..I'm not snitching...

GIRL TIRED OF BEING A NEWSBOY.

She Ran Away from Home and Sold Papers at the Bridge.

Josephine Beck, aged sixteen, who, filled with an ambition to be a newsboy, disappeared from her parent's home, No. 117 Dewey-st., Newark, seventeen days ago, was sent back yesterday. The first information that Mrs. Beck received of her daughter's whereabouts was in a letter from the manager of the Emergency Shelter of the Children's Aid Society, at No. 311 East Twelfth-st. He wrote that Josephine had applied to him for shelter, and that she was anxious to get home, as she was tired of being a newsboy.

When the girl left her home, after cutting her hair and donning boy's attire, she came to New-York, found a home in the Newsboys' Lodging House and began selling papers at the Manhattan end of the Brooklyn Bridge. She gave her name as "Joe." The manager of the home took an interest in the girl-boy, and Josephine was sent to the superintendent of the Children's Aid Society, who sent her to the society's farm at Kensico, where she remained a week. It was there that her sex was discovered. She confessed, and was returned to the Emergency Shelter.

The whole man I’m shifting for and I don’t know him. He doesn’t get a lot of attention in his cannon series. So there’s not a lot known about him. And there’s some things you can’t know about a person unless you speak to them in person.

I don’t know the tone of his voice when he’s calm, when he’s flushed, when he’s in a playful mood. I don’t know his facial expressions, his laughter, his home life.

Is his home loud and lovely? Or serene and quiet? Does he have any close relatives? How does he view himself? What’s his sense of humor? How will his lovesick eyes look like while looking up at me?

But what consoles me is that I will know those things. I will know all those little things about him, all the things he probably doesn’t think are important.

The mundanities he doesn’t give a second thought to but I know I will cherish those facts as if they were gold. Because to me they are. Their trophies of all my hard work. All those failed shifts, all the times I felt hopeless. That is what I will have to show for it.