#spot conlon drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingofyewnork · 1 year

Note

sprace with 40 prettyprettyplease

gladly!! when i was reading through the prompts, forty immediately jumped out to me as a sprace fic. like no question--glad you feel the same way :D

I imagine this to be pre-relationship. if you saw my post about the sprace love confession, I'd put this around the time where they're more familiar with each other, maybe flirting just a little here and there, but definitely not considering it a real possibility yet.

hope you enjoy and thanks for asking!

40: "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just smile at me?"

read it on ao3

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"How's the king of Brooklyn on this fine evening?"

Spot knows without looking that it's Race behind him. "Racetrack," he acknowledges, slowing a little to let the other boy catch up even though he really doesn't need to. Race is tall, and mostly legs, so he could easily overtake Spot if he wanted to. He never does, though, opting to keep his pace steady and laid-back. It's a sign of respect, and Spot's noticed.

"Spottie," Race shoots back, voice dropping in a joking attempt to imitate Spot's tone. He can hear the cocky grin in Race's voice, the lilt of his words. "You didn't answer my question."

"Don't call me that," Spot responds, mostly out of habit. Race has taken to using the most ridiculous nicknames for Spot in conversation--he's not sure if it's to try and embarrass him or just because Race wants to flaunt how far he can go without getting soaked by the legendary Spot Conlon. He knows it should get on his nerves, would if it were coming from any other newsie, especially one outside of his turf, but it's different with Race. Maybe because Spot knows that it's not meant as a jab or underhanded insult; this is just how Race is.

"Still not an answer," Race says, now walking beside Spot with his hands stuffed in his pockets, matching Spot's steps with long, easy strides.

"You know I can kick you right back over the Brooklyn Bridge if I wanted to, right?"

"Oh yeah?" Race's grin spreads. It's infuriatingly bright. Spot can't stop sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Stupid Race and his stupidly pretty face are going to be the death of him.

"Yeah," Spot tells him, pointedly keeping his gaze forward more to keep himself in line than for Race to see.

"Well, I guess you could," Race muses in a thoughtful voice. "But you wouldn't."

Spot can tell that Race is waiting for him to ask why. He takes the bait anyway. "And why is that?"

"For one," Race says, speeding up a little and pivoting smoothly on his heel so that he's now walking backwards, facing Spot with that cocky asshole smile on his face, the one that Spot thinks about at night sometimes before he falls asleep. "You would miss my excellent sense of humor."

Spot snorts. Race continues, taking his cigar out of his mouth and tapping a finger against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness. "Seriously, have you ever laughed ever? If you're this stone-cold when I'm around, I'm not sure I wanna know what you were like before we met." He cracks a wolfish grin at Spot. "Bet it was a nightmare for your boys. They'd say, ''Spot, why'd the chicken cross the road?' and you'd say, 'Shut your trap or I'll shut it for ya.'"

Spot rolls his eyes, but he can't help it when the corners of his mouth quirk up just a bit at Race's attempt at imitating him. It's stupid, but funny-stupid.

Race stops suddenly, and Spot nearly walks right into him. "Oh--what the hell, Racer?" Once he regains his balance he looks up at Race accusing.

The other boy is staring at him with an expression of amazement, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"What?" asks Spot warily. Did he do something? He'd just been walking, and Race'd been rattling off like he always does, and--

"Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just smile at me?"

Oh. Spot rolls his eyes again, harder, hoping the extra effort is visible. Race just sticks his cigar into his grinning mouth and slings one lanky arm around Spot's shoulders. "I knew you loved me, Spottie," he announces, leaning into Spot. Spot doesn't pull away. He should, but he doesn't. "I told everyone, I says to them, 'Spot's not scary! He's a real softie once you get to know him.' And whaddya know?"

Spot sighs, but even he can hear the undercurrent of fondness in the sound.

He's so screwed.

#kaelen writes #sprace #drabble #spot conlon #newsies #racetrack #racetrack higgins #prompt

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daveysjackie · 1 year

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ralbert and 24 for the spotify wrapped drabbles ?

The Story of Broken Dreams

Spotify Writing Challenge (No 1)

Song: Dastaan-E-Om Shanti Om by Shaan

Albert tugged at his hair in annoyance as he stared into the mirror. He was unused to it not being its usual flaming red.

Davey sighed. “I know, Al.” He exchanged a look with Jack over Albert’s head. “But remember why we’re doing this.”

Albert set his jaw tight, staring at the little picture in the corner of the vanity mirror. “For Race.”

________________________

If this was a spy drama, Albert would be walking into a dark and mysterious casino, full of interesting characters that spoke in hushed whispers, assurances from his friends through the earpiece he had hidden in his ear.

But real life was nothing like that. This casino (if you could even call it that) was dim and dank. That didn’t seem to bother the high profile clients this place served. They were all still dressed in their work suits, chatting with associates as they placed bets that would have any regular person wincing.

Albert felt a little growl of disdain in his chest. These people gambled frivolously. With money and lives.

He stopped at a roulette table, pretending to watch. In reality, he was trying to find Jack and Davey, the only allies he had left.

Davey was on the far side of the casino, at a blackjack table. He had arrived half an hour prior and had already seemed to make himself comfortable. Albert couldn’t help the little snort of amusement that escaped him. Davey was in his element. But a moment later he looked up and saw Albert, his eyes flashing in recognition. He subtly mouthed “Jack” before continuing his game.

To avoid attracting suspicion, Albert placed a bet in the next round while he scanned the casino floor.

Initially, all three of them were going to gamble. However, Albert didn’t own a suit and none of Davey’s suits fitted him. Jack’s did but he only owned one. It took some arranging but Jack called in a few favours and got himself a job as part of the security for the night.

Sure enough, when Albert’s gaze landed on the bar, there was Jack, standing vigilantly, his gaze darting between Albert and Davey. Catching Albert’s eye, he casually tilted his head. Albert followed the movement with his eyes and felt anger bubble inside him when he saw the reason he had come to this place.

Spot Conlon. Laughing raucously with his companions as they gambled, the pile of chips he had was significantly larger than everyone else’s. Albert wouldn’t have been surprised if that was a result of cheating. Spot Conlon would do anything to win.

Even kill.

“I’m sorry, Albert. Maybe if things were different but…I love Spot.”

But Spot didn’t love Race. And Race paid the price.

Albert walked over to the bar, next to Jack, buying himself a seltzer.

“He’s already half-drunk.” Jack paused as Albert swallowed his drink all at once. “Remember, Al. We just need him to confess. Revenge comes later.”

Albert just nodded and made his way over to the poker table.

“Mind if I join?”

Spot Conlon stared him down. “Do I know you?”

Despite how awful he felt dark hair was on him, he was glad Davey had insisted he dye it. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out his hand. “Francis Sullivan,” he introduced, using Jack’s birth name. Spot didn’t recognise him and it would be best if it were kept that way.

“Spot Conlon.” They shook hands and Albert sat.

They played a few rounds and the entire time, everyone around the table shared stories of exploits, real and fictional. The common theme of utilising others made Albert feel unnerved.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Francis.” Spot was staring at him, curiously. “A man such as yourself must know a good story.”

Albert had been keeping tabs on how much Spot had drunk since he’d arrived. If he hadn’t been drunk before, he certainly was now.

“Well, I did hear a very interesting story from a few years back.” He subtly reached into his pocket and covered up the click of the recording device with a cough.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“The story starts with a young man, an actor. He specialised in dramas and the like. Always one for some embellishment. And he had a friend who loved him.”

“But…I love Spot. Actually, we’re getting married.”

“But he didn’t love his friend. Instead, he was getting married to a big shot. Some man who earned his money in less than legal ways.”

The men at the table cheered. Of course they would cheer, the man in the story was like them.

But Spot had started to recognise…something. His eyes were fixed on Albert, all attention diverted from the game.

Albert didn’t falter. “The actor and his fiancé went to the place they wanted to get married. The…uh…”

“The venue,” Spot filled in, stretching the syllables in what Albert thought was either suspicion or a drunken slur.

“Yep. And the fiancé, no one knows why, burned it down…with the actor inside.”

Mutters erupted at the table, the game effectively halted.

“But there’s a part of the story that no one knows.” Albert locked eyes with Spot Conlon, keeping his gaze and voice steady. “The friend of the actor had followed them and had seen and heard it all. He tried to rescue the man he loved but failed. Nearly died. They say he’s out for revenge.”

“Who did you say you were?” Spot growled.

Albert shrugged and left the table, excusing himself.

As he walked outside to the alleyway, he knew he was being followed. But he didn’t turn until Spot reached out and spun him by the shoulder.

“I shoulda recognised that stupid voice of yours, Albert.”

“That’s on you, Spot. Just like Race’s blood is.”

“Anthony deserved what was coming. He was sticking his nose into business that didn’t concern him.”

“Your business?”

Spot roughly shoved him against the wall. “Yes. My business. He knew too much. He had to die.”

“Albert! I can’t get out!”

“It’s okay, Racer. You’ll be okay.”

Albert snarled and grabbed Spot, spinning them around so it was Spot pinned against the wall. “You didn’t have to kill him. He loved you.”

Spot stared at Albert for a long moment then started laughing. A deep, scary laugh that made Albert loosen his grip ever so slightly.

“‘There’s a part of the story that no one knows,’” Spot told him between chuckles, echoing Albert’s story earlier. “When the fire died out, the fiancé went back, to make sure the actor was dead. But that stubborn little bastard had found himself a little corner to hide in. So his fiancé had to finish the job.”

Albert’s eyes widened, hoping to God that the recording device was picking this up.

“What did you do?”

Spot grinned wolfishly. “That venue has a beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling, undamaged by the fire. A miracle really.”

Albert pushed against Spot harder. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“Directly underneath it,” Spot continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “In the ground, there’s the body. Little bastard didn’t stop screaming even after his fiancé sealed his grave.”

Spot shoved Albert, who was so shocked, he just stumbled backwards.

But Spot was still laughing. “And now, the actor’s friend will join him in hell.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it straight at Albert’s head.

“Drop the gun, Spotty. Or I’ll empty mine into the cavity where your heart should be.” Jack and Davey both emerged at the end of the alleyway. Jack’s gun was aimed directly at Spot.

“Well, if it isn’t my darling brothers-in-law.”

Albert saw Davey put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I only had one brother-in-law,” he said smoothly. “And you killed him.”

Spot snorted. “None of you have proof. Who do you think the police will believe, me? Or a lovelorn friend, an alcoholic brother and his enabling husband?” But he seemed reasonably cowed at being outnumbered because he pocketed the gun, spat on the ground and shoved past Albert.

Davey immediately rushed to Albert’s side. Jack kept his gun trained on Spot until he was out of sight before joining them.

“Didya get it?”

With shaking hands, Albert pulled out the recording device, pausing it. “I got it.” He held it against his chest as he watched Jack and Davey kiss.

They were one step closer to avenging his Race.

#newsies #jack kelly #newsies broadway #92sies #1992sies #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #racetrack newsies #racetrack higgins #ralbert #ralbert newsies #albert dasilva #albert newsies #yes racetrack is dead but if you know the context of the song you’ll know it was necessary

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swimmingnewsie · 1 year

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So 10 years ago, I joined the newsies fandom. I don't even remember how I ended up here, but I'm oh so happy that I did. In that fandom, I found myself in a subset of folks who loved Jack and Katherine just as much as I did. @writetheniteaway and @hoshigomi were two really good friends of mine who I'm happy to still keep in contact with to varying degrees to this day. We had a ship full of love, but no ship name that we really liked. (I don't know why we didn't jive with Jatherine, it's been 10 years, things and opinions fade). So these two were far too late working on school work and at some point Katherine Plumber was called a fluffy lamb and a fic of 'lamb cuddles' was requested.

Next day comes around (April 6, 2013) and there is a semi-joking post asking us to all tag our Jack/Katherine fic as lambcuddles. And then we did. And then more people did. And more. And more until even the National Touring Cast called Jack/Katherine 'lambcuddles' (that was a hell of a day, let me tell you).

I love the lamb fam with all my heart and invite all of the Jatherine folks who caught on board with the west endsies/uksies to share in the love with us and the tag.

Happy Anniversary Lambcuddles. To celebrate, here's a small drabble of our favorite cocky-son-of-a- newsboy sneaking into see Katherine well past working hours.

Enjoy!

---

Tap tap

Katherine’s eyes darted from where she was brushing her unruly curls out for the evening towards the dimly lit window. This was the third time she had heard that damned tapping. At first she had figured it was a bird or bug knocking against her window, lost in the muggy summer night; but there it was again.

Tap tap

That’s when she saw two pebbles hit the pane of her window. Who could want her attention this time of night? Carefully, she opened the window looking to see who was below.

“Well hiya there, sweetheart. Didn’t thinks youse was ever gonna open your window.”

Two stories below, there was Jack Kelly with a cocky grin on his face, eyes beaming up at her.

“Jack Kelly, what are you doing here? “ she called down, trying her best not to shout and blow their cover. “Are you trying to get us caught?!”

It had only been two weeks since the strike had been settled, but Katherine’s father had made it painfully aware of how much he disdained her choice in romantic partner. Their meetings had been limited to daytime walks and stolen kisses in alleyways, far from her father’s prying eyes. It wasn’t easy, but they were managing.

“I missed ya,” he said impishly, running a hand through his hair. “I ain’t seen ya in days.”

“It’s hardly been 36 hours,” she scoffed, unable to resist her own smile. “I got caught up with work today, I’m sorry.”

“They gives ya anything good?”

“A piece at the Navy Yard Pier. Not too much to it yet, but it’s better than engagement news at least.” Katherine shrugged her shoulders, turning to give a quick look at her bedroom door. She didn’t hear anyone coming. Carefully, she crawled through her window and out onto the fire escape. “Gave your love to Spot Conlon.”

“Glad someone’s getting my love,” he teased, looking up at her far above. “Just wishin’ it was you instead, Ace.”

“Jack,” she laughed, “it’s late. I’ll give you plenty in the morning, I'm sure.”

Jack wandered over to the base of the fire escape, careful to hide from the windows and any possible on-lookers. “Is that a promise, Plumber?” he asked, tilting his head back with a cheeky grin.

He really was the most impossible boy.

“For sure.”

#lambcuddles #newsies #jatherine #katherine plumber #jack kelly #katherine pulitzer #happy anniversary lambfam

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anotherdaveyjacobs · 1 year

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About Me

I’m Alex. 28 years old. She/her with a side of they/them depending on the day. Biromantic graysexual.

Newsies my love <3

My Writing!

She's Not You

Fandom: Newsies

Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs, Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Additional Tags: Post-Break Up, Open Ending

Word Count: 1,243

Summary: Jack wakes up with his arms wrapped around Katherine. She's still asleep, snoring softly (though she'll never admit it), sunlight streaming in through the window and making her red hair that much brighter. He's happy. He is.

Except their hotel room has a view of the Eiffel Tower, and the sight makes him want to be sick. He's hit with a wave of memories, of exploring the same city with someone else- broad shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a laugh that made his stomach flip happily.

---

Favorite T-Shirt

Fandom: Newsies

Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins

Tags: Sharing Clothes, Implied Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Summary: "C'mon, Davey, the water's fine!" David laughs, and Jack falls a little more in love with him at the sight.

Word Count: 988

Inspired by: "Favorite T-Shirt" by Jake Scott

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Unanswered Calls

Fandom: Newsies

Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly

Tags: Car Accidents, Hurt No Comfort

Summary: Jack and David get into a fight, and David storms out.

Word Count: 716

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Everything

Fandom: Newsies

Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins

Tags: lots of minor newsies appearances right now, Les Jacobs is nb

Summary: David absolutely did not run away from his feelings...but he hasn't been home to New York in three years.

Word Count: 8,758 (WIP)

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Early Morning Javid Drabble

---

Prompts I've Done (all Javid all day):

(feel free to send me prompts!)

sharing long term dreams & goals || blossoming romance

don't you see? you matter to me || friends to lovers

sleeping in the same bed but waking up cuddling || friends to lovers

slow dancing with soft smiles || little romantic gestures

feeling surreal at waking up next to them || soft gestures friends to lovers

please say it || soft gestures friends to lovers

when they hesitate to kiss you || soft gestures friends to lovers

‘wait, you think i’m cute?’ || soft and sweet

picking a leaf out of their hair || blossoming romance

#my writing

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lynnsfics · 3 years

Text

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Spot Conlon x Reader

Request: hello! i absolutely love your writing! could I request a spot conlon x reader with prompt #19 from list #3? thank you so much! you’re amazing! <3333 Prompt: “It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?” TW: Mentions of neglect, nightmares

Word Count: Approx. 1.8k words

~~~

“Get out of my house,” your aunt’s words echoed in your mind on an endless loop. You bolted up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Once again you were forced to relive the awful night over again in your dreams.

With a quiet sigh you forced yourself to leave your bed. Immediately you began to shiver and started to regret the decision. You kept going, however. If you decided to stay in bed all you would do is fall back into another nightmare-infected sleep, or you’d stay up the rest of the night, staring at the lodging house’s ceiling. Either way, it wouldn’t be a restful night. At least if you were up now you’d be ready for selling in the morning. Besides, maybe if you were tired enough you could sleep through the next night without issue.

While you doubted that theory, you figured there was no harm in trying it. After all it wasn’t as if you had anything to lose at this point. You quickly slipped on a sweater, effectively blocking out some of the chill. The lodging house was quiet as you made your way down the steps. Brooklyn always felt so different at night. When the city fell quiet and you finally felt like you could breathe. All you could hope was that the others wouldn’t ask questions as to why you kept staying up so late.

Reaching the entry of the lodging house, you breathed a sigh of relief. No one else seemed to be up. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to talk to anyone, you wouldn’t have minded the company. But they were almost bound to question why you were up so late, which would lead you to spilling everything, including a lot of tears. It was better for everyone that you kept all that bottled up.

One of the good things about being a newsie was that no one would ask about your past. Almost everyone who ended up selling papes had some kind of tragic backstory so it was only polite to avoid bringing it up. Truth be told, you hadn’t properly processed the trauma of being kicked out by your only family. But to be fair, how could you? As soon as you were on the streets you had to fight to survive, you couldn’t sit around wallowing about what had happened.

As much as you tried to push it to the back of your mind you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Your mother had died when you were young, and your dad did his best to raise you. After he was tragically killed in a factory accident you were left in the care of your only remaining family- your aunt. She was an older woman who tried to raise you but had little money of her own. However she was too proud to admit to her financial situation, and wasted what money she had on frivolous trinkets rather than things you needed to survive. Your needs were always the least of her concerns.

One day you stole some bread from a local bakery, thinking you’d get away with it like usual. Most days stealing was the only way you’d be able to get something to eat. But you were tired, too tired, and didn’t notice the shopkeeper watching your movements. By the time you realized it, it was too late. The bulls had already arrived and you were taken into custody. Thankfully the shopkeeper was kind enough to insist you not be taken to the Refuge, but instead let off with a warning.

When the police escorted you home, you aunt was livid. It wasn’t because you were arrested, oh no, it was because you were arrested for stealing food. Imagine how badly that made her look! “What would people think,” she cried. “That I’m too poor to buy you food?”

“Maybe if you actually bought me food instead of worrying about your image, this wouldn’t have happened.” The words left your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt’s face contorted in rage, “Why you ungrateful little wretch. Get out of my house!” After that you were living on the streets. Fortunately you became a newsie, and now hardly ever had to steal to survive.

You were too lost in thought to realize someone had entered the room you were in. It wasn’t until you heard someone say your name that you were snapped back to reality. Looking up, you glanced around the room. Your heart raced when you saw who it was.

“Oh, hey Spot,” you said, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You prayed you hadn’t. Waking up the King of Brooklyn was probably a crime punishable by death.

“No, I was up,” he answered, much to your relief. “But what are you doing? It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You shook your head, “Couldn’t sleep. You?” Maybe turning the conversation back to him would draw attention away from your vague answer.

He nodded in understanding. “Same thing. Want a cup of coffee?” You weren’t sure where he would get coffee at this hour but nodded yes anyway. It would be rude to refuse, right? Besides, maybe the coffee would help you stay up while selling papers tomorrow.

Beckoning you to follow him, he led you to a back room you had previously thought was just for storage. Instead it seemed to be a small office space. A wood burning stove sat in the corner, a pot of water boiling on its surface. The room had a homey, lived-in feel that you couldn’t help but bask in. Two plush, but worn looking, chairs sat near a desk, and Spot motioned for you to have a seat in one of them.

“It’s my private office,” Spot explained. “Don’t be tellin’ any of the others about it, or else they’ll be in here all day,” he said with a small laugh. The fact he even let you see the office was shocking. While you had talked with him often, you wouldn’t have expected him to trust you this much. After all, it didn’t seem like he became too close with any of the newsies.

He handed you a hot cup of coffee and all other thoughts instantly dissipated. It was perfect, not too sweet or too dark. Just the way you liked it. You drank your coffee in comfortable silence that was occasionally peppered with some small talk.

When the morning bell rang he walked with you to the selling window, causing whispers amongst the other newsies. After the day ended you felt tired enough to fall asleep as soon as you made it back to the lodging house. However, later that night it was the same story as always. The same words echoing in your head, the same racing heartbeat as you woke up. Again, you made your way to the lobby to clear your thoughts, only to see Spot already sitting there.

You smiled slightly, “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You too?” That’s how it happened that once again you found yourself in Spot’s office with a cup of coffee in hand. Before you knew it, it became a tradition. When you both couldn’t sleep he’d invite you to join him for a cup of coffee, and then walk with you to buy his papes. Eventually you’d end up sitting next to each other on the sofa in the lobby— close enough that you could notice the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of a good selling day, but far enough away so if any of the other newsies came down they wouldn’t suspect anything was happening between the two of you. Because nothing was happening, right?

The two of you became closer during this time, often talking about anything and everything. As you opened up to each other he finally explained why he never seemed to sleep. Too many worries about the newsies and selling kept him up at night, leaving him unable to sleep. That night he asked the question you’d been dreading. “Why is it that youse can’t sleep?”

You stared into your coffee cup for a moment before answering quietly, “Nightmares.” For some reason you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you for being plagued by the night terrors.

“Do ya want to talk about it?” His voice was softer than usual, and you could tell he actually cared about what was bothering you.

After a moment of consideration you nodded. You explained it all, from your father’s death to your aunt’s neglect. As you finished your story, explaining the nightmares about being kicked out, a tear slipped out the corner of your eye. Until then you had managed to hold them back, not wanting to cry in front of him, but eventually your emotions had betrayed you.

He moved closer to you, gently wiping the tear away. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said quietly. “You ain’t there anymore, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you found yourself leaning into his embrace.

“It doesn’t even bother me about leaving,” you said honestly. “Life wasn’t good there. I think I just don’t want to be alone again.”

His eyes met yours, “I’m here now, and I promise you that you ain’t ever going to be alone again.” Maybe it was his words, or the small gestures of kindness, or a million different things, but you felt yourself being drawn to him. He leaned in and you quickly closed the remaining distance. The kiss was soft and reassuring. As he pulled you closer to him, you felt safe for the first time in a long time.

When you finally broke apart you were breathless. For the rest of the night you two talked, opening up about your childhoods and things that worried you, occasionally sharing another kiss or two- or more. The whole time you were curled up next to him, his arms holding you gently.

Eventually you felt yourself growing tired and without even realizing it you ended up falling asleep. Spot smiled, glad you were finally able to get some rest. It wasn’t too long after that he found himself dozing off.

When you two finally awoke it was morning. The other newsies hadn’t yet woken up, which you were thankful for. That day Spot stayed with you while selling, and he did the day after that, and again until it became the normal routine. At night you’d fall asleep in his arms, a feeling of security washing over you. He was your protection from nightmares and worries, and you knew you’d never have to be alone again.

~~~

Requested By: anon

I hope everyone had a happy and safe New Year! Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist and as always likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

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achaoticeternal · 6 years

Text

Me: I was awake at 2 reading Sprace fanfic

My friend: (in confusion) Sprace?

Me: Yeah, spot conlon and racetrack higgins

My friend: (in a distressed whisper) Spock? Is a newsie?

Me: no no no! Spot!

#newsies broadway #newsies #spot conlon #spot conlon 92 #newsies spot #mattie rambles #tommy bracco #anthony zas #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies headcanons #spot conlon drabble #spot conlon x reader #sprace headcanons #sprace #racetrack higgins #racer #racetrack headcanons

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lovethyfanperson · 6 years

Note

Spot with the "in the moment kiss", please? Love you! 💕

Of course!!! Love you too my child!!! This is gonna be a Modern AU!4. In The Moment Kiss - Maybe it’s in the middle of an argument or you just looked to damn beautiful not to kiss, but their lips were hot against yours and it felt too good to stop.—It was six in the morning. Usually at the time, you would be the only one in your shared apartment awake. You lived with your friends, Katherine, Button, and Spot. It made it easier to pay the bills - and you guys were thinking of taking in another roommate, if Finch’s parents were serious about actually throwing him out of the house.

But that’s beside the point.

Usually you would be the only one awake because your three roommates were all the kind of people to pull all-nighters and to to bed at 2AM. They were all a bunch of procrastinating assholes - and you loved them. Currently you stood on the kitchen making what Buttons claimed was coffee in the cheap coffee maker your mom had gotten you as a “housewarming” gift two years ago.

You knew your friends would all be grumpy when they woke up, and craving coffee (or whatever the hell this dark liquid was). So you planned on being nice and making it for them, But to your surprise, you heard shuffling of feet down the hall and saw Spot emerge from around the corner.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You said with a light laugh. He looked up at you, sleep still evident in his eyes. He paused. And he stared. And stared. You were starting to get a little worried. “You okay, Spot?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded quickly, shaking his head. “I’m fine. You’s makin’ coffee?” He walked farther into the kitchen, grabbing some coffee mugs before you had even answered him.

“Yeah. Did we pick up any creamer?”

“Can we afford creamer?” You sigh, knowing he’s right. The two of you are silent as the coffee machine does it’s magic. You hum along to a song playing in your head, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Hey Spot, is there anything we need to get at the grocery-” You’re unable to finish your sentence, because suddenly you’re being pulled into a deep kiss. It takes you a moment to realise what’s happened, but you don’t hesitate to kiss back, because (and you would never admit this to anyone if they ever asked), you had dreamed maybe once, or twice, or fifteen times that Spot would make a move. So you don’t take this moment for granted, and kiss back with the same pressure and passion.

When he finally pulls back, your face is flushed and you can see a smirk on his face.

“Sorry doll-face.” He murmured. “You just looked…” He hummed, leaning to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “I dunno how to say it.”

“Don’t say anything.” You murmured back. “Just do that again, please.”

Even when the machine began to beep, the coffee was ignored.

#spot conlon #spot conlon drabble #spot conlon x reader #kissing prompt #drabble #newsies #modern!newsies #modern au #modern!spot

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 2 years

Note

Hi hello hope you're doing well, if you were to write something titled 'Dear Jack', what would it be about? I've been thinking a lot about titles lately ♡

I love this idea!!!

I think it would be Race sitting down and writing a letter to Jack. Race and Spot moved to Chicago for college and he writes a weekly letters to Jack letting him know what he and Spot have gotten up to in that week. Like clockwork, the letter to Jack arrives on Wednesday while the letter to Race arrives on Saturday. Race always starts off the letter with a joke he heard that week (the answer is on the backside of the letter) before diving into how college/work was and anything he learned. He’d write about Spot but before Race posted the letter, Spot would always scrawl lines between Race’s telling Jack “what really happened” and calling Race out on his “bullshit”. He would promise Jack they’d come back to visit “when it gets warmer” and would always tell Jack that Chicago is way colder than NYC ever was.

Meanwhile, Jack would pen his own letter to Race, including little drawings and jokes of his own (which all of their friends would cringe at). He would catch them up on their little family, little antidotes of affection for something stupid Albert or Mush did that week. Blink would include a new recipe he had tried that week for Spot to then try. Medda would include her own note, telling her babies to hurry back. Davey would make sure Race was following the study guide he made him but also told him to make sure he was taking plenty of breaks and drinking water.

And when Race and Spot ended back in the city for their vacation, Race brought home a letter he penned on the ride over. After a very manly hug between him and Jack was exchanged, he handed the envelope to Jack, putting his hands in his pockets, shrugging, “I figured I’d save the postage this time”.

This was fun to write up! Might have to write a letter induced fic at some point. Thanks for sending this in friend!!! ❤️

#cutesiewooren #ask #fic prompt #newsies #Jack Kelly #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #letter writing #fan fiction idea #newsies drabble #newsies fan fiction

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wide-eyed--wonderer · 4 years

Note

17. “It’s just unfair to carve your pumpkin on both sides! It’s cheating!” “It’s creativity, you should try it.”

Thanks for sending this is and giving me another excuse to play with the group newsie dynamic!!

“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, CLASSY NON-BINARY BUDDIES AND JACK.”

“Hey!”

“WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL PUMPKIN CARVING CONTEST”

The assembled group cheered. Standing around tables in Medda’s backyard stood the competitors; Kath, Jack, Spot, Race, Albert and Jojo. In front of each of them was a single pumpkin and some pumpkin carving tools.

Blink was on the microphone, as always, and at one end sat a table with three judges, Buttons, Mush and Charlie.

“THE RULES ARE SIMPLE. YOU HAVE 1HOUR TO CARVE THE BEST PUMPKIN. TIME STARTS…. NOW!”

And with that cue, a flurry of activity picked up amongst the contestants, as well as a steady stream of banter started by Spot, who was the first person to hollow out his pumpkin.

“Wow Race, awfully slow there, I’ve got time to stretch my arms after all that hard carving. Wanna come give me a massage babe?”

“What I want is to throw the filling of this pumpkin on you, but Charlie will disqualify me.”

“Keep chatting Spot and Race, you're just giving me time to get ahead of you, the two boys whipped around to Jack, who had finished hollowing out his pumpkin and was starting to design his pumpkin.

Race, who was yet to even finish hollowing his pumpkin, swore and went back to work.

“Fuck you, Kelly.”

“I think you’re talking to the wrong Kelly, Spot. Race however-.”

“Jack Kelly don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Kath interrupted, lighting hitting Jack on the shoulder.

“Yes Kath.” Jack put his reddening head down and got back to work to the sound of everyone else’s laughter.

“Charlie, babe, I’m dedicating this pumpkin to you.”

“This just in,” Blink cuts in, “Albert tries to cheat by flirting with his boyfriend. Charlie your response?”

“You’re not getting extra points for that hun, but I appreciate it.”

Albert groaned and looked back at his dismal design.

“Please?! Have pity on my Charl”

“Surely having his boyfriend as a judge is considered cheating?” Jojo complained.

“I think having Charlie as a judge is just biased,” Spot added, “his boyfriend, his two brothers, and Kath, who is basically his sister.”

“THIS JUST IN?? IS CHARLIE CORRUPT?”

“Babe, I love you, but we are never giving you a megaphone again.’ Mush groaned. Blnk had been standing next to his partner the whole time, and poor Mush was starting to go deaf in their ear from all the shouting.

“Sorry, hun.”

“Jack Kelly!! You cannot do that!”

“Do what Kath sweetie?” Jack replied where he was hunched over his pumpkin, carving the second side.

“It's just unfair to carve your pumpkin on both sides. It cheating!!”

“It's creativity, you should try it.” Jack shot back.

“And while we're on the subject of cheating,” Jojo added, “surely having a literal artist with his work in international galleries is unfair.”

“THE FINAL VERDICT - THIS WHOLE COMPETITION IS CORRUPT?”

“Blink, please for the love of all that’s holy, put that megaphone down!” Buttons complained.

At the end of the day, Spot had broken Blinks megaphone, and every competitor (except somehow Jojo) had been accused of cheating, and Jojo (kind of by default) won the Pumpkin carving contest.

Thanks for prompting!!

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dancerlittle006 · 3 years

Text

There are no warnings! Found this while cleaning out my GoogleDocs and realized I never posted it! Enjoy!

“What do you get an 11 month old for Christmas?” Race’s eyes went wide, looking over at Spot. “I don’t know what to get our goddaughter.”

“Why are you even worrying? The kid’s just going to ignore the toy and play with the box.” Spot shrugged.

Race’s eyes went wide. “I can’t just show up with an empty box wrapped.”

“Sure you can. She’s 11 months, Race. She’s not going to remember what we got her.” Spot explained, walking into a Toy Store behind Race.

He headed to the dolls section, pacing the aisle, before looking between the shelves for something to jump off and tell him to buy it for Lillian Kelly. “Give me something, Spottie. What can I get her?”

“I think you should just wrap up a box with tissue paper. You’ll make her day with that.” Spot shrugged.

Race sighed, looking towards the ceiling hoping it would show him some sort of sign. “This is pure agony, Spot. I just don’t know what to get her.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help but overhear.” A lady stood at the end of the aisle, giving them both a look. “You’re looking for something for a young child?”

Race looked over at her with a smile. “Our niece, 11 months old.”

Slipping down the adjacent aisle, she pulled a box out and gave Spot and Race a look. “This is a toy that she can walk behind and it has things that she can play with - it’s a win win and my children have all enjoyed them.”

Spot and Race traded looks with one another before they both smiled at her. “Thank you so much, we greatly appreciate it.”

Christmas Morning

Spot and Race had spent the night at Jack and Kat’s only to see Lillian open her presents. The four adults were up earlier than the 11 month old. Coffee was on, the tree was illuminated, and Kat gave the three men a look. “If you wake her, I will personally kill you all.”

“Awww Kat, you’re going to shed blood on this holy day.” Race gave his sister-in-law a look grinning.

“If you wake my sleeping daughter, yes, yes I will.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Kat gave them a look. “You didn’t hear her screaming this morning around 2am? She needs her beauty sleep.”

Race and Spot looked at one another, shrugging. “Didn’t hear her at all.”

“Neither did my husband.” Kat looked at Jack, a hint of a smile on her face. “If she’s not up by 9, you can go wake her up.”

The three looked at the clock - 7:34am - and groaned. “How about I make some waffles and we can eat while she’s still asleep?”

They grabbed their coffees and moved the party into the kitchen. Streaming music from her phone to the bluetooth speaker, Kat grabbed the ingredients for waffles as the boys sat at the counter, sipping their coffee, quiet conversation between them.

Pouring the batter in the waffle maker, she leaned against the counter, looking at the family in her kitchen. She was so thankful that Spot and Race were spending the holiday with them - Medda was visiting friends in Florida while her parents were visiting her brother in California, leaving her and Jack in the city.

“Kat?” Jack asked, giving his wife a look. “You with us?”

Shaking her head, she smiled. “I sure am.”

“You okay?” Spot gave her a look.

“Just thinking . . . head in the clouds.” She grabbed the waffle from the maker, putting it on a plate and putting it on the counter before putting more batter in the maker. “Go ahead and eat, don’t let it get cold.”

Jack grabbed the waffle, drizzling syrup on it before cutting it up. “These are really good, Kat.”

“Chew with your mouth shut.” She gave him a look, passing over a stack of napkins

Her phone beeped with a message. She grabbed it, smiling at the video that was attached. “Race, do you want to go get Lily?”

“She awake?” Race asked, giving her a look.

Showing them the video on her phone, Race nodded, standing from his seat. They watched him leave the kitchen, heading to Lily’s room.

Kat grabbed the waffle from the maker, sliding it onto a plate before giving it to Spot. She moved to refill her coffee mug before pouring more batter into the maker. “So what are your plans for the rest of the week - you mentioned that you’re done working until January, right?”

Spot nodded. “Honestly, we’re looking forward to doing nothing the next couple of days. I know Race has a couple of Netflix shows he wants to get caught up on but I’m glad I don’t have to go into the office and can sleep in.”

“That’ll be nice.” Kat smiled. “Which shows does he want to watch?”

Shrugging, Spot popped another piece of waffle in his mouth before taking a sip of his coffee. “I know The Crown is on his list along with rewatching The West Wing. Other than that, I don’t know - but he has a list that he wants to check off.”

“Here she is . . .the Christmas princess.” Race exclaimed as he walked back into the room with a wide awake Lily.

Jack took his daughter from Race’s arms, snuggling with her. “Merry Christmas Lily!”

“Da!” She yelled back with just as much excitement as Jack had, causing everyone to laugh.

Kat passed Race a waffle, leaning over to press a kiss to her daughter’s head wishing her a Merry Christmas. The three men entertained Lily, Jack feeding her a bottle as she grinned at them. Kat made herself a waffle before joining them at the counter.

Before long, everything was cleaned up and they made their way to the living room. Kat giggled because while she was cooking, they must have separated the presents into piles for everyone. Jack grinned at his wife as he discreetly pointed to her pile in the corner, next to Lily’s.

Grabbing Lily from Jack’s arms, she walked over to the pile with a few big boxes before sitting down. “Lily, look. You got some presents.”

Kat set her on her feet, as she banged her fists on the big box from Race and Spot. “Should we see what your uncles got you?”

She tore a piece of the wrapping paper, putting it in Lily’s hands as she grinned gummly at her mom, before tearing it back further. Soon the box was revealed as Kat oohed on Lily’s behalf. “Thanks boys. I’m sure she’s going to love this.”

Race and Spot beamed at her praises, as they watched Lily play with the wrapping paper from the box.

Jack picked the box up, opening up and starting to assemble the walking toy as Kat moved onto the next present. Lily was fascinated by the tissue paper, crinkling up a piece in her hands as her eyes went wide at the sound it made.

Kat shook her head, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head before opening the present from her parents, clothes for Lily along with a teether toy.

Lily, growing bored with the tissue paper, crawled over to Jack to check on him. She sat in front of him, watching him putting her new toy together. Before long, it was assembled. Jack picked Lily up and put her behind the toy as he put a hand on her back to steady her while pushing it forward with his other hand. Her feet followed as Jack moved it along. She flashed her gummy smile at her parents while slowly walking towards her parents. “I think she likes it.”

“We had some help picking it out.” Race grinned from behind his coffee mug. “Didn’t really know what to get her.”

Kat grinned. “This is perfect. Thank you!”

When Lily’s presents were all open, the adults turned to their own piles, opening up the few gifts from each other. Race gasped at the pair of new dance shoes that Spot had gotten him, he had been complaining he needed a new pair but didn’t want to go out in the habloo of the crazy shopping frenzy. Spot grinned as he flipped through the book Jack and Kat had gotten him about engineering feats in the United States over the last 200 years. Kat loved the calendar Race and Spot had made her filled with photos of friends and family over the last year. Jack was thrilled with the grilling set Spot and Race had gotten him - he had taken up grilling over the last few years and was always eager to throw something on the grill and cook it.

Putting down the calendar, she scanned the room. “Where’s Lily?”

The three men, startled by her question, looked around the room, not seeing the 11 month old anywhere. Kat’s eyes went to the stairs but the gate was firmly closed. Jack went to move the box but stopped, laughing loudly. “I found her.”

Lifting the flap of the box, they all laughed seeing Lily laying in the box with several pieces of tissue paper and wrapping paper in her hands, crinkling them loudly.

Spot gave Race a look. “Toldya you should’ve just wrapped up a box with tissue paper and given it to her. Kids, for whatever reason, love boxes.”

“I’ll have to remember that for next Christmas.” Race grumbled, hating that his husband was right about Lily.

Spot threw his arm over his shoulder and cuddled him tight. “It’s alright snookums. She’s going to love her present but at the current moment, the box is much more entertaining.”

Jack and Kat watched their daughter, looking over at Spot and Race. “Thank you both for the box and the toy. We’re so happy you guys could be here with us.”

“There’s nowhere else we’d rather be.” Race grinned, kissing Spot’s check, flashing his sister-in-law and brother a cheesy grin.

So in the craziness of the holidays I realized I never posted this. So enjoy this extra holiday fic I wrote! Feedback would be wonderful!

#newsies #newsies fan fiction #writing #prompt #drabble prompts #newsies drabbles #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #Jack Kelly #jack kelly x katherine kelly

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offspring-of-calliope · 4 years

Text

Drabble #2: The Love Letter (Redfinch)

Description: Race is trying to help Al write a love letter for Finch. (Canon era, Redfinch, implied Sprace, platonic Ralbert)

A/N: To be honest, I once again don't even know what this is. It was just a random thought that came to my head and suddenly I had this little drabble and I wanted to share it. Comments would be really nice.

I hope you enjoy,

Sincerely, me,

Lélodie

-----

"What's brown?"

"A color," Race deadpanned.

Albert shoved him in the side with his shoulder and rolled his eyes at him. For the third time since Race had agreed to help him to draft a love letter on the remains of a paper he hadn't sold that day. "You's not funny. I mean - what are things that are brown?"

"Well, I don't know." Race took a long drag from his cigar. "Dirt. Wood. Cigars, sometimes. Is there a right answer?"

Al didn't respond for a while. He played with the pencil in his fingers, looking deep in thought. Then, he started, "Do ya think I can write: Your eyes is as brown as the earth I walk on?"

"You're kidding me, right? What happened to romance, ya basically tell him that his eyes look like dirt."

"No, I don't!" Al protested. He began to regret his plan to finally tell Finch how he felt with the help of a letter. Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut before he truly embarrassed himself. "I write earth and without the earth's existence I couldn't live. It's a romantic metaphor."

"A romantic metaphor that nobody gets, Al. Are ya tryin' ta insult him into never talking to you again or are ya tryin' ta woo him?"

"Oh, of course ya don't get it. You got the King of Brooklyn kissin' yer feet without even liftin' a finger. Ya don't need ta impress him." Al sighed, reading over what he'd already written down. However, all he had already written down was: 'Finch. I don't even know where to start cos I never wrote a letter before. But I need ta tell you something.'

"You's lucky Spot didn't hear that." Race chuckled. "Look, Al. I'm just tryin' ta help you but the letter has to come from you. Write whatever feels right."

"No, you's right. Earth is basically dirt. Let's just forget that thought."

"Alright. Maybe one of the others could help us. Maybe -" Race stopped talking. Al didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing but as he looked up from his paper and noticed the smug smile on Race's face, he realised that something was going to happen. Something that he wouldn't like. And there it came. "Finch, hey, Finch, can ya come over for a moment?"

Alarmed, Albert hit his arm. "Are you mad? Racer, you can't ask Finch-"

"Relax, Al. He doesn't need ta know who this is about."

"Who what is about?" Finch asked as he arrived at their table in the corner. "Everything alright?" Concerned, he looked from Race to Al, his brown eyes radiating a warmth that Al could feel deep in his bones.

"Yes. But we got a problem here. Do ya know how ta write a love letter?" The smug smile didn't leave Race's face, even as he put his cigar between his lips.

"I don't need no love letters. And I thought you and Spot's already a thing?" Finch seemed confused.

"Oh, no, I didn't ask for me. Al's writing the letter. But what about you? Ya already got a sweetheart, too or why don't ya need love letters?"

Finch laughed at that, although it didn't quite reach his eyes for some reason. "I ain't got no sweetheart. But when I like someone I'll just tell them personally."

Race gave Albert a pointed look. "That's what I told Al, too. But when does he ever listen ta me?"

"Nobody in their right mind should ever listen ta you, Race," Finch said and Albert laughed at that.

"Rude," Race answered, looking back and forth between the two. "I guess I'll drown my sorrow in some water. You can help Al if you'd like."

Albert vehemently shook his head but nevertheless, Race left them with a big grin on his face.

"Ya don't seem ta want me to help. Should I go?" Finch asked, his brows furrowed.

"Yes." Albert regretted saying his spontaneous thought out loud as soon as he saw the hurt in Finch's eyes. "I mean... Ya can..." A deep breath. "The thing is... that you's the one I like."

He surprised both of them with these words. Finch slowly opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"He also said that your eyes are as brown as the dirt he walks on," Race chimed in from behind Finch - neither had seen him coming back.

"Racer!" Albert exclaimed, exasperated. He wanted to explain to Finch what Race meant but he didn't get the chance.

He hadn't expected Finch's lips to be as soft as they were but he definitely wasn't complaining. "I'm glad you didn't write me a love letter then."

"Oh, shut up," Al said and kissed him again.

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whumpsies · 4 years

Text

You’re No Leader

Rating: Teen (13+)

Word count: 1,088 words

Triggers: Bullying, mocking, panic attack

Whump prompt (from @heartlesslywhumping ) : A stoic whumpee being mocked when they finally break down and cry

———

Spot Conlon did not cry. He was toughened by the streets to have a spine of iron, forcing his way to the top. Young kids looked up to him and if he cried, his respect would be lost.

Trembling slightly, the sound of rough fabric scratching against itself was present in the relatively silent night. An occasional drunk stumbling home broke the odd serenity. Candles in home windows and the fire from the factory smokestacks lit the path well enough to see where he was going.

The air was cool, on the brink of chilly. All of the buildings being built were funneling the wind through the streets, making city life colder. It didn’t help with the stinging in his eyes or the biting at his skin. In fact, it brought tears that much closer to falling.

Spot had been informed that the bulls had attacked, and that Crutchie was in the refuge. All those newsies soaked because he couldn’t bring himself to let someone else lead him. He swallowed thickly as he stumbled.

The streets soon became empty, just the occasional animal moving about. Most candles had been blown out and no light led him down the street. He felt like a shell, not really there anymore. A deep breath in shifted the burden he carried, not relinquishing it.

Spot’s feet should have led him home but they didn’t. When he finally looked up, he was in front of the docks. A numb sort of relief settled in him as he toed off his shoes, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the pier.

The feeling of being alone right now warmed him to the point of burning. It was a double-edged sword. Spot wanted to be alone but not by himself. Loneliness built up until it broke.

He caused this. He let newsies get hurt, when he could have aided them. Spot ached at the realization that someone could have died today because he didn’t like being challenged.

As a tide hit his legs, the tears sprung free. He took a choppy breath in to subdue it, only to find it wouldn’t work. Wiping furiously at his face, Spot couldn’t stop them.

“So this is where you were,” a voice called out. Spot froze, not daring to turn around. The words were laced with venom and he knew the water from his eyes would fuel it.

“Jacobs,” he croaked out, bringing his feet out of the water and his knees up to his chest. Footsteps could be heard, boards creaking under the weight. Shuffling sounded as David sat on one of the posts near the edge.

“Was that enough proof for you , or would you want me to bleed myself?” David hissed. The implications hit Spot in the stomach and he couldn’t help but let a sob out. David seemed curious but not surprised.

“God, I-I’se-“ Spot whispered, choking on his breath. David seemed unamused and just looked at him. A glance to the sky told him he had about an hour before he needed to head to Manhattan before dawn.

“Are you done yet? You don’t deserve to cry. This is on you. Les broke his arm, Jack has hysteria, and Smalls won’t wake up. Every single one of those boys are hurt because you said no,” David hissed, emphasizing on the ‘you’, “And when big bad Brooklyn says no, so do all of the other boroughs.”

Spot felt the tears fall down his face freely as he envisioned all of the Manhattan boys soaked in the street. One of them isn’t waking up because he didn’t show. A small wail left his lips as he shook from the guilt in his chest.

“Go on, Spot. Cry. Cry as your boys are home and safe, working another day. Cry as none of them were soaked by full grown adults with batons. Do it, Conlon.” he mocked. David slid off the post and walked over to Spot, who was shaking his head, hands tugging on his hair. He was hyperventilating; the world becoming fuzzy as he lost oxygen.

“You should cry more. Maybe then no one would respect you. They’ll see that you abandoned others in need over your power-hungry Napoleon complex. Always have to be on top, huh,” Spot had never heard such wrath directed at anyone before with such precision, and it cut him to the bone.

He hiccuped and gagged, coughing from over-exertion. He kept repeating chants of ‘it’s my fault’ to himself. A bitter chuckle could be heard above him.

“Yeah, it is your fault. Crutchie was hit in his back with his crutch. I hope to god he’s not paralyzed, otherwise you should be expecting a lead pipe to yours. But go on, cry like you couldn’t have prevented this. Show the world that you deserve pity.” David gestured to the world around him, slamming his hands back to his sides. He leant down and jerked Spot’s chin to meet his eyes.

Spot tried to squirm out of David’s grasp, only to be clamped harder on. He let out a cry of pain and opened his eyes from force. David had a black eye and a busted lip.

“You’re no leader, Spot Conlon. You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I hope that whenever you cry, you see my face. You think of how pathetic you are that you’re crying when it’s my boys that are wounded. And god, I hope you think of your cowardice whenever you ask for help. You don’t deserve Brooklyn.” he growled, punctuating every ‘you’ with a shake to his jaw. He pushed Spot backward on the dock, sprawling him on the ground. Dusting himself off, David stood up. He walked off the pier and gave one last glance over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Sean. You have no place in this strike.”

Out of all the things that hurt, that sentence hurt the worst. That he had no right fighting for equity when he couldn’t make the first step toward equality. Spot looked to the water, wondering if drowning would feel better than the agony raging through him.

He picked himself up, tears and all, walking off the dock. Numbness muted his thoughts. All except one.

He’d never show his face in New York again.

#newsies #newsies musical #spot conlon #david jacobs #davey jacobs #musical #newsies fanfiction #fanfic #whump fic #whumpfic #whumpblr #whump drabble #whump prompt #whump writing #jack kelly #newsboys #one shot #teen rating

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willowistic22 · 4 years

Note

14. I think you forgot who wears the pants in this relationship

This is probably longer than it needs to be in reality. But I find this quite funny so :D I meant to post this last night but I was sleepy so you get this early in the morning (for me at least) before i gotta endure a few painful hours in online school.

Request some more from this drabble list or just send in some random made up prompt in my ask! Or not I’m not the boss of you lol

Taking his time crouching down on the floor to get to the cheaper stuff, Spot scans each pesto brand carefully. He can’t remember what’s the last brand he bought, which is unfortunate since it’s really good. All he can remember is the jar was bright green, which is unfortunate because it’s pesto: everything is green.

Spot sighs, taking a single jar from the shelf in hopes it’s the same one or it’ll still taste just fine. He gets up to walk back to his cart he had left in the end of the aisle, only to see a mountain of assorted sweets already added in the rest of the pile. He’s sure he didn’t wrote marshmallows and Hershey kisses in the shopping list.

But he has an idea who’s behind this monstrosity.

He takes in the sight of the pile, the emotionless face still on display as before. He gazes pass the cart,d a tall boy marching back with another big pile in his hands coming into sight. His messy blond curls falling over once he noticed Spot had noted what he has done to the shopping cart.

“Racetrack, what is this?” Spot asked with a plain tone.

“...The stuff we’re getting?” Race pretended to be innocent, flashing his electric blue eyes as a means to distract Spot from Race’s despicable act.

“I don’t remember writing down sweets in the list” Spot countered as he carefully places the pesto with the rest of the pile.

“It was on my personal list” Race smiled, still trying to persuade Spot into getting his way.

But Spot’s unmoved. He takes a step away from the cart, folding his arms on his chest and raising an eyebrow. To which, Race smiles grew wider at it.

“No, Race” Spot said as patient as he can, and it’s slowly wearing off.

Race pouts, dropping his excited energy along with his hands that are holding up the chocolates he had grabbed, “Aww, c’mon! We never buy anything sweet!”

Spot simply rolls his eyes as he starts to unload the excessive sweets to a random shelf next to him.

Race walks up to Spot, the pout still lacing his lips, “Can’t you just take a minute and think of the s’mores we could be making for movie nights? Think of the smell!”

Spot lifts his head to meet Race’s eyes whilst placing the last marshmallow pack on the nearby shelf, “You know what else I also smell? Cavities!”

“You can’t smell those! And I won’t get cavities because I thoroughly brush my teeth” Race pointed out, letting his white teeth gleam under the bright grocery store light, “Well, maybe you can smell cavities if your a dog or something. Is it a coincidence someone named ‘Spot’ said that?”

Spot looks up at the stupid grin Race displays, proud of himself that he thought of that joke. Spot isn’t at all amused. He could tell this boy off right this moment, but he’s far too tired to act up on it.

“Just this one pack of marshmallows” Race puts down the new pile he took in their cart to put his hands around Spot’s shoulder and pressing their bodies together. He pulls out more of his inner charm by flashing a grin and tilting his head at Spot.

He isn’t affected by the little flirt, but it has been awhile since they last had s’mores for movie night. Spot sighs, “Just one pack”

“And the chocolate bars?” Race shifted closer, getting excited once again, “We can’t have s’mores without the chocolate!”

Spot nods with an eye roll. Race and his love for sweets can sometimes get a little out of hand, which is something they’re committed to change. Race finds it a little difficult after going almost two months without sweets. But Spot’s got a point about cavities and maybe other problems they could face with this many sweets.

“I said one pack, Race!” Spot stopped his boyfriend’s hands from adding in more from the pile Spot had sat aside earlier.

“No! We need more!” Race tried to force his way to put in more sweets.

Spot blocks him with both hands, frantically swatting away any penetration Race makes against Spot’s shield. Spot ends up holding both Race’s arms with his strong arms. But Race uses his force to fight through it and it leaves them to a hand standoff in the middle of the sauce aisle.

Spot maneuvers their hands to catch him off guard so he can duck down a little and pick Race up, hooking his torso on his left shoulder. Race lets out a yelp as his head gets thrown behind Spot’s back and his legs are sent flying in the air all of a sudden.

“Spot! What are you doing?!” Race protested once he realized the situation he’s in.

“I think you forgot who wears the pants in this relationship” Spot answered as he goes on with assorting how many sweets they’re getting yet still carrying a Racetrack Higgins on one of his shoulders, “Consider this as a reminder, Higgins”

“I did not forget! It’s always been me!” Race laughed as he wriggles his body to get Spot to put him down. But his hips are locked between Spot’s arm and shoulder. And his grip is strong. “Put. Me. Down!”

“If I put you down now, you’ll just add in more sweets in our cart!” Spot made his point.

They go on till the end of their shopping trip like this. A grumbling Racetrack Higgins, a strong dedicated Spot Conlon, confused looking customers, plus a horrified looking retail worker that unfortunately had to attend the couple when they were checking out on the cash register.

#newsies #sprace #sprace newsies #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #race newsies #spot newsies #drabble requests

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the-gay-trashmouth · 4 years

Text

Names

rating: general

tw: past abuse

notes: just a little dive into Spot’s backstory, i love my son so here’s this

~~~~~~~~~~~

If you were a newsie, you didn’t use your real name. Even those who did had them shortened and changed after a year, max.

Antonio was Racetrack

Francs Sullivan was Jack Kelly

Even David Jacobs, one with a past he wanted to remember, went by Mouth, or Striker on rare occasion.

Most names were self explanatory. Race sold down at the tracks, Jack named himself after a cowboy, and David never stopped talking about the things that mattered. Splasher splashed in puddles when she first arrived, Spades was damn good at poker, and Jo Jo’s name was just too damn long.

One name no one knew how it came to be was Spot Conlon. Sure there were rumors, people saying he gave some kid a black eye, or a spot, on his first night in the lodgings. Some people thought it was simply all the freckles that covered his entire body. He alternated stories depending on who he was talking to.

There were only four people in this world knew the real reason. Well, now there’s three ever since Patches…. Well. Now there’s just three.

The real story starts with a boy, 5 years old, showing up on the Brooklyn lodgings doorstep. No one knew where he came from, his name, anything. He wouldn’t talk. All they knew was that he was covered in burn scars up his spine and across his collar bone. Spots.

So that’s what they called him. Spot.

The boy couldn’t read, he would talk, and he looked a day away from starvation. The older newsies took him under the wing, teaching him how to hawk headlines, use his small stature to his advantage. He grew up tough, angry, and strong.

Now, you’d never recognize that small boy. He’s about grown now, strong and covered in scars from fights that made him a boy of legends among street rats.

Now nobody messes with Spot Conlon, and he would never be that small, scared boy again.

#newsies #newsies fnfic #spot conlon #stari writes #how spot got his name #drabble

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lynnsfics · 3 years

Text

Feisty

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x Reader

Request: “race or spot x feisty reader/oc + prompt #84 (sarcasm) from list 2 could be really fun! if it's not a bother, tysm 🖤”

Prompt: “I can’t date him! He hates sarcasm! That’s like my second language!”

Word Count: Approx. 1.7k

~~~

“Wait up,” Race called as you ran down the steps of the newsies boarding house. Although you felt bad, you didn’t stop. You had barely had time to get dressed before you heard the morning bell. The papes were already being sold and you had just left the house. Race being late was his own problem, not yours.

As you finally reached the distribution center for the papers you sighed with relief. Fortunately for you, they hadn’t completely sold out. However, that meant the headline wasn’t an easy seller, so you’d be in for a long day. Race caught up with you at the selling window.

“Hey, why didn’t’ya wait up?” he asked.

“Because it’d be great if we were both late,” you said, rolling your eyes.

He looked confused for a moment and then sighed with exasperation. “Oh, youse is bein’ sarcastic again. You know I hate when you do that.”

“Sorry Race,” you laughed. “But you know I can’t be late. ‘M already almost behind on my payments for the lodging.”

Race nodded in understanding. It was the same story for a lot of newsies, not being able to scrape together the money for lodging and then being out on the streets. “Why don’t we’s sell together today? I already has enough for my rent this month, so you can take some of my extra papes.”

You didn’t want to accept help from anybody, least of all Race. Part of you was worried he would resent you if you held him back, and for some reason that terrified you. “Are ya’ sure? I’ll be fine on my own as always, really.”

He shook his head, “Just because youse is ‘fine’ doesn’t mean that you should have to be all alone.”

Looking down, you nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Race.” You prayed to whoever was listening that he didn’t notice the blush spreading across your cheeks. “We’d best buy some papes and start selling then, huh?”

You handed your money to Weasel, who was standing at the window counting the day’s profit. “I’ll take 50 papes, as usual.”

“Are you sure you can sell that many?” Oscar Delancey taunted. “It’s not a great headline, and you ain’t exactly the top seller anyways.”

Race shot him a glare but you already had a scathing response prepared. “Oscar, I know it’s difficult for youse to understand, but sales ain’t based wholly on the headline. Stunning good looks also factor in, which must explain why you and your brother never made it as newsies.”

“You’d better watch it,” Oscar threatened, balling his hand into a fist. He narrowed his eyes and you could tell he was getting irritated.

As soon as Race bought his papers you were off. Although you weren’t opposed to punching a Delancey, you would hate to get all mussed up. After all, you had to at least look a little bit respectable, that way you could sell in the wealthier areas without attracting any trouble.

You turned to Race with a grin, “So, where to first?”

He shook his head, “Youse is gonna get in trouble for talking back one of these days, you’re too feisty for your own good. But I found a great selling spot in upper Manhattan. People there give great tips too.”

“Perfect,” you said with a light laugh. “And I thinks I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Those Delanceys won’t even know what hit ‘em.”

Race simply rolled his eyes in response. “I certainly hope so,” he laughed. “Let’s head out before everyone in this city already has a pape.”

It was a fairly quick walk, but the brisk morning air made it seem longer than it was. Race looked over at you, noting that you had been strangely silent for most of the trip. When he saw you silently shivering he smiled to himself. Of course you were too proud to even mention it.

“Are you alright?” he asked. He already knew what your answer would be, but he decided to ask anyway. At least then it would seem like he hadn’t already made up his mind on what he was about to do.

Just like he predicted, you answered with a simple, “Yes, why?” However a visible shiver passed over you as you answered, giving away your lie.

“Because you seem cold,” he said, trying his best to sound exasperated and not concerned. He knew if he seemed worried you’d refuse his offer, not wanting to seem weak. “Here, take my coat, I don’t need it.”

“Race, no,” you shook your head. “You do need it.”

“Not as much as you do,” he countered. Despite your protests he shrugged off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. “Don’t even try to give it back ‘til we’s done selling.”

You sighed and nodded, “Fine.” To be honest, it really helped against the chill. Although you knew Race didn’t need it as much, it still pained you to take it from him. There was no way he would take it back, though. He could be as stubborn as you when he wanted to be.

When you finally reached the neighborhood you breathed a sigh of relief. There were no other newsies in sight, which meant you were probably the first ones there. Or, you thought, the others had already sold everyone a paper and you wouldn’t make any sales. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter.

Once you began calling out headlines, both real and slightly made-up, you realized your initial impression was correct. Your papers sold fairly quickly and you received a few nice tips too. The whole time you weren’t selling you spent talking to Race about anything and everything.

Before you knew it the day was winding to a close and you had sold all your papes. Night was falling quickly and you had to hurry back to the lodging house. There was hardly any light on the streets and you became turned around.

As you tried to navigate on the darkened street you realized you had become separated from Race. You called out to him, “Race? Where are you?” Someone grabbed your hand and you jumped. Your heartbeat calmed, however, when you saw it was just him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you scolded, “I could’ve had a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I was jus’ worried ‘cause it’s easy to get lost here. Since I know the way I thought this’d be a safer way of heading back.” He motioned to his hand, still linked with yours. You nodded silently, thankful he wouldn’t notice your blush in the dark.

The trip back to the lodging house seemed to drag on for eternity as your heart raced in your chest. While you had always considered Race a friend, you had secretly wondered if there was any chance of something more. After the day’s events you realized how much you wanted the chance to be real.

When you finally returned to the lodging house you quickly said goodnight to Race before rushing to your room. On the way, however, you were stopped by Jack, who was looking at you confusedly.

“Are you wearing Racetrack’s jacket?” he asked you.

Shit. You had entirely forgotten to give it back in your haste to get to your room. “Oh, yeah, he lent it to me for sellin’ today. It was chilly so…” you trailed off, praying Jack wouldn’t ask anymore questions. While he had always been like an older brother to you that also meant he teased you like an older brother would. Which, unfortunately, included joking with you when he thought you liked someone.

Somehow Jack had figured out that you had a tiny crush on Race and was determined to set you two up, and tonight was no exception. “Well I didn’t know youse was sellin’ together,” he said with a smirk.

You answered quickly, “It was just for today, no big deal.”

“Well, if youse ever does get together don’t say I didn’t call it.”

Rolling your eyes, you began to grow defensive, “I can’t date him! He hates sarcasm! That’s like my second language!” Even as you said it you knew it was a bad excuse.

Jack chuckled lightly, “Sounds like something someone makin’ up excuses would say.” Damn it, he knew you too well. “Maybe you should go give him his jacket back and, I dunno, talk to him a bit.”

He was right as always. There was no way you could keep living like this, you had to confront how you felt, which meant confessing to Race. “I think I will,” you said softly. “G’night Kelly.”

You slowly made your way to the front of the lodging house. Somehow you knew Race hadn’t gone to bed yet. When you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew you were right. The faint smell of cigar smoke wafted up the steps from where Race was sitting.

“Hey Race,” you said quietly. “I realized I never gave you your coat back and,” you shrugged, holding it out to him.

He took it silently and you sat down next to him. “Thank you, by the way. For helping me sell my papes today, and for lending me your jacket and, everything, really.”

Race smiled, “Of course. It was nice having someone to sell with.” You could tell something was on his mind, he seemed distant.

“I’m glad you came out here,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Lately I’ve been thinking, and well,” he paused before continuing, “what if we went out sometime? If you don’t want to that’s fine,” he said quickly, “but I was thinking we could go on a date or something.”

Before you could second-guess yourself you leaned and pressed your lips to his. Your heart was pounding in your chest and after a split-second he returned the kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft, and unsurprisingly, the kiss tasted of cigar smoke and something sweet that you couldn’t quite place. When you finally pulled away you were breathless.

He grinned, putting an arm around your waist, “So, is that a yes?”

You laughed as you rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s a yes.”

~~~

Requested By: anon

Why do my newsies fics always end up longer than I originally plan? Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist and as always likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

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