what would you say to anyone who hates tony stark? -fizz
iâd say,. watch the movies again! watch him grow !
like surehes an egotistical ASS NUGHET and that never really goes away!
but as you watch him develop his morals and rethink his past decisions, you watch him grow! ITS CALLES A REDEMPTION ARC
besides thereâs nothing NOTHING he wouldnât do for the people he cares about(PETER?? PEPPER? RHODEY?? CAP???)
and finally, wouldnât you thinkhim sacrifucing his life for the fuckIng WORLS would be enough to convince you that heâs grown as a human ???
tony stark saw what was wrong with himself, made an effort to fix it, then made an effort to grow, THen took it a step further and aimed to HELP people. if that isnât what a hero does then idk what is
confused as to why newsies blogs who like newsies (about unionizing, being against capitalism, the evil greed of the super rich) are out here stanning Tony Stark (billionaire who does not share his wealth, took jobs from workers in spiderman homecoming, is a greedy capitalist)
Jack: There were birds in the tree and i told finch that he should go say hi to his brothers so he climbed the tree to spite me but now he wonât get down
Jack, describing David: His smile is like a sunset in the winter, heartachingly beautiful and you want to cherish it because it can disappear at any moment.
Race, describing Spot: *crying* when he smiles he looks like an angry sneezing bulldog. I love him.
Hey there! This is my first time posting a fanfic on Tumblr, so if the formatâs weird or something, please help a girl out and let me know.
Anyways, this isnât the best, but I thought it was decently cute. I also started writing this the other night when I couldnât sleep, so Spotâs clock is accurate.
And finally, you can pry soft Spot from my cold dead hands.
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1:14 AM
The time on his alarm clock glared at him through the darkness. Fuck, he just wanted to sleep. Instead, he lay awake worrying about absolutely everything. His future, whether his friends liked him or didnât like him, his past, his family, how he felt about himself. He felt tears start to prick his eyes and his chest tightened, making it harder to breath.
He needed to do something, anything, to get his mind off of this. He was spiraling, and fast. And as much as he would definitely rather just deal with it on his own, he did promise Race that heâd try and be more open. He furiously rubs the tears away and snatches his phone off the bedside table, sitting up, head leaned back against the wall. He hits the contact and slides his eyes closed, holding the phone to his ear. After a few rings, a groggy voice from the other end of the line picks up.
âSpotty? Itâs like 1 am, dude. Whatâs up?â
He can hear Race stifling a yawn and almost hangs up. Thereâs a few seconds of silence while Spot hesitates, trying to decide what to do. He felt bad waking him up like this. Race mustâve sensed this because in a more awake, and more gentle, tone he asks "Spot, Sundip, is everything all right?â
Instead of answering him, Spot responds with a question of his own.
"I donât think Iâm doing so hot, RacerâŠÂ Do you think⊠Do you think you could come over?â
He gets an immediate response and a firm âIâm on my way. Stay put.â Before he hears the receiver click.
He puts his arm down beside him, letting his hand rest on the bed, as well as the phone. Heâs not sure how long he sits there, eyes closed, head back, just breathing and thinking. He then hears a distant jingle, a creak, and then a click. Somewhere in his foggy brain, he realizes that it must be Race coming in with his spare key. He hears the gentle pitter pattering of feet across the floor until they reach Spotâs room.
âSunshine? Iâm coming in, okay?â
Spot doesnât answer, knowing that Race does what he pleases anyways. He only moves when he feels the bed dip beside him and Race is pulling him into a hug.
âHiya, Spotty. How you holding up?â He slowly combs his fingers through Spotâs hair.
Spot canât help himself. He curls in closer to Race and mumbles into his shoulder.
âA bit better now that youâre here.â
Race lets out a quiet chuckle. âDear me, is that compassion I hear? Vulnerability? From Mr. Fearless leader of Brooklyn?â
Spot huffs and playfully bites his shoulder, earning a satisfying yelp. âShut it, Racer. Arenât you supposed to be comforting me or something?â
Race smiles wide and tilts Spotâs head up, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.
âOf course, how could I ever forget?â
Spot cracks a small smile back. His boyfriend was ridiculous, no question there, but he always did know how to cheer him up. Even if it just meant being himself.
Spot carefully pulls himself out of Raceâs grip and lays down, pulling him down next to him. Still smiling, but acting a bit more serious, Race asks âso what has you down now, hun? Anything I can help with?â
Spot thinks about it for a moment before letting out a small sigh and a half shrug.
âI donât really think so. Just kinda negative thoughts I canât seem to shake, y'know? Just, um⊠Hold me?â He asks quietly, a bit nervous. He was never super good at asking for what he wanted, even if he knew Race would be more than happy to shower him with kisses all day if that was what he asked.
Race grins, always giddy at the thought of snuggling with his boyfriend.
âOf course, cutie!â He reaches an arm out, pulling him close. Spot cuddles into Race even further, loving the heat that was radiating from him. Even just his presence was comforting. It was something solid to hold onto. It was a reminder that at least one person out there would be devastated if he were gone. It was a reminder that he didnât have to be strong all the time. Someone would love him all the same. Spot nuzzles his head into Raceâs chest and feels him cover them both in a blanket. He reaches up a bit to press a soft kiss to Raceâs jaw. A small âthank youâ as he feels himself finally starting to settle down and relax. His eyelids were getting heavy. He was safe. He felt safe. Race presses a kiss to his temple and runs his hand through his hair a few more times, gently massaging his head as he goes.
âI love you. Sleep well. Sweet dreams.â
And even though Spot wasnât completely all right, and he might not be for a while, he fell asleep knowing that eventually, he would be. And Race would be there with him every step of the way.
Summary:Â After winning a bet, Racetrack now has a date with the feared King of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon. Featuring motorcycle rides, a game of twenty questions, and September by Earth, Wind, and Fire.Â
(Sequel to The Poker Game) (Can be read as a stand alone)
Read on AO3
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Raceâs room looked like a disaster. Well, like more of a disaster than usual. He was rushing around the room throwing clothes everywhere, while a voice from the computer open on his bed made comments.
âNah, that one isnât nice enough. Whoa, that one is too nice, whereâd you get that? Race, those look like PJs.â Race glared at the computer.
âKath, youâre supposed to be helping me, not insulting my entire wardrobe!â He said. Katherine laughed from the other side of the computer screen, having already spent twenty minutes to help Race pick out the perfect outfit for his date with Spot.
âTell him to wear that blue collared one with the checkers, that oneâs good!â Another voice rang out from behind the computer. Race furrowed his brows.
âDavey?â he asked. Daveyâs face popped into frame from behind Katherine, and he gave a little wave. Race looked around in confusion. âWhat the hell is Davey doing at your house Kath?â
âNo, Iâm at Daveyâs house,â Kath said. Race frowned in confusion.
âWhy are you at Daveyâs house?â Race asked, no longer looking at clothes and instead tilting his head at the computer.
âIâm not here for Davey, Iâm here for Daveyâs far better looking sister,â Katherine said.
âHey!â Davey said from the back. Katherine ignored him, as did Race.
âOkay, so where is this far better looking sister of Daveyâs?â Race asked.
âSheâs in the living room,â Katherine said, looking towards the door. A faint âyesssssâ came from Katherineâs side of the screen, muffled through the door and presumably coming from the living room, as it sounded like Sarah. âI think sheâs playing some video game or something, sounds like sheâs winning.â
âOh, cool. Anyway, what was Davey saying about that collared shirt?â Race asked.
Davey came up closer to the camera. âWhy are you asking Kath for help anyway? Whereâs Albert, canât he help?â He said. Race shook his head.
âI would never trust Albert with clothing, he has terrible fashion sense,â Race replied.
âHEY! I HAVE GREAT FASHION SENSE!â A voice shouted from somewhere in Raceâs house. Davey and Katherine shared a confused look before Katherine burst out laughing.
âWait, is Albert there?â Davey asked.
âYeah, heâs in my living room getting his ass kicked playing some video game,â Race said.
âI TAKE OFFENSE TO THAT!â Albert yelled back, followed by a groan of defeat as Albert presumably died in game. âTHIS SJGAY420 IS TOO GOOD!â
Katherineâs eyes widened at that, and she started laughing again. Davey and Race looked at her, very confused at the source of her laughter. She held up her hand and took some deep breaths, before saying in between giggles, âJust wait one second.â
Katherine turned and called out to Sarah. âHEY BABE, WHO ARE YOU PLAYING?â
âSOME NOOB NAMED REDROBINYUM69, WHY DO YOU ASK?â Sarah shouted back. Race finally got the joke and started laughing along with Katherine, Davey still looking lost in the background.
âI⊠donât get it,â Davey said. Race tried to catch his breath, speaking in chunks.
âShe⊠Oh my god⊠Sarah is kicking Albertâs ass⊠and he doesnât even know⊠priceless!â Race said, him and Katherine still giggling about it.
âYES! VICTORY!â was shouted by Sarah at the same time Albert yelled, âARE YOU KIDDING?â This sent Katherine and Race back into fits of laughter
Moments later, Sarah entered the room with Katherine and Davey, a bounce in her step. She plopped down next to Katherine and planted a kiss on her cheek, causing Katherine to flush just barely and smile. She turned to her girlfriend and gave her a peck on the lips. Sarah giggled.
âUgh, stop being so cute in my vicinity!â Davey complained.
âDavey, this is my room,â Sarah replied. Davey narrowed his eyes but didnât say anything more. Sarah turned towards the screen and noticed Race. âHey Racetrack, whatâs up?â Sarah said.
âTrying to find an outfit for my date tonight,â Race said. Suddenly, Raceâs door flew open.
âWHAT! A DATE?â Albert said, bursting into Raceâs room.
âYeah Albo, a date, maybe you were too busy losing at whatever game you were playing to notice,â Race replied easily, looking around for the blue checkered shirt Davey had suggested. Albert pouted at Race.
âItâs not my fault, that SJGay420 guy was way OP!â Albert complained. Sarahâs eyes bulged at hearing the familiar name.
âHold up. Youâre RedRobinYum69?â She asked. Albertâs head snapped over to the screen. He blinked twice. Took a deep breath. And then.
âARE YOU TELLING ME I LOST TO SARAH FREAKIN JACOBS!â He shouted. Sarah just began to laugh, almost wheezing as she wiped a tear from her eye. Albert started to walk dramatically around Raceâs room, ranting about video games and stepping over the clothes strewn about the floor. Katherine just watched it all unfold in amusement, and Davey, as usual, looked slightly confused in the background.
âEveryone shut up about Albert sucking at video games!â Race said, ignoring Albert sputtering about how he didnât suck at video games (but he did). âI found the shirt!â Race held up a nice blue checkered shirt triumphantly in the air. Katherine clapped and Sarah cheered. Albert continued to pout at Race. âNow I just need to find those pants that make my butt look good and weâre set,â Race said, throwing more clothes out of drawers and off shelves. Albert rolled his eyes and walked over to Race.
âWho are you even going on a date with? I havenât seen you express interest towards anyone at school,â Albert said.
âHe doesnât go to our school,â Race answered easily. Albert tilted his head.
âDo I know him?â he asked. Race rubbed the back of his neck as pulled a pair of jeans out of a drawer and threw them across the room.
âYeah, I mean I think you know of him, heâs one of Jackâs friends, ya know?â Race said, avoiding the question.
âOkay, so who is he?â Albert pressed. Race pursed his lips as he stood up all the way.
âUhhh⊠Spot Conlon?â
Albert froze for a moment. Then he yelled. âWHAT!?! SPOT CONLON?!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!? HEâS LIKE, A GANG LEADER OR SOMETHING! HEâS GONNA ROB YOU! HEâS GONNA KILL YOU! I MEAN COME ON RACE! KING OF BROOKLYN?!?â Albert continued his pacing from earlier, hands thrown up wildly in the air as he described the scary Spot Conlon. Race knew that he wasnât Spotâs biggest fan, especially because his boyfriend, Finch, was kind of scared of Spot. And Finch was cool as a cucumber. If Finch was scared of him, that told Albert that Spot must be at least a first degree murderer. Albert ran his hands through his hair, face red. Suddenly, Sarah spoke up through the screen.
âUm, whatâs the huge deal with Spot Conlon?â She asked. Albert dramatically turned towards the camera.
âYou donât know about Spot Conlon? King of Brooklyn? Who will soak you five ways from Sunday if you look at him wrong and has probably at least murdered someone or maybe been in a gang? Who is apparently going out with Racetrack tonight for who knows why?â Albert said. Katherine scoffed at his spiel.
âThose are all just far-fetched tales, Albert. Come on, he plays cards with Jack, he isnât a murderer!â Albert got closer to the screen.
âThat we know of,â he said in a low voice. Katherine looked unimpressed. Albert turned back to Race.
âHow the hell did you even get a date with that guy anyway?â He asked. Race smiled.
âI won it in a bet.â Albert looked at Race incredulously. Race just turned back to his pants drawer.
âThatâs it, Race is gonna die, say your farewells now everyone,â Albert said, defeated, as he flopped down on the bed next to the computer.
âAlbert, it costs zero dollars to stop being a drama queen,â Sarah said. Albert squawked at that, but had no retort.
âYES! Nice booty jeans have been found!â Race shouted, holding up his pants for the world to see.
âCongrats, now put them on, isnât he coming in like five minutes?â Katherine asked. Race picked up his phone and checked the time.
âOH SHIT YOUâRE RIGHT!â He shouted, then threw his phone at Albert (âow.â) and struggled with his pants, almost falling over at least three times, but somehow not quite losing it. He then quickly tried to zip up the fly, and strangely, the zipper getting caught on the jeans was what caused Race to fall over. Katherine laughed, Sarah facepalmed and Davey looked concerned. Albert didnât react, as this was standard Racetrack behavior. Race popped up off the floor, his pants problems seeming to be solved, and he brushed his blonde curls away from his face.
âHow do I look?â He asked.
âYou look great Race! I would recommend putting a comb through your hair but I doubt you own one,â Katherine said. Race stuck his tongue out at Katherine, turning his head when he heard his phone chime. He walked over to the bed and picked it up off of Albert, reading the most recent message.
âHeâs outside! With a motorcycle!â Race bounced up and down excitedly. âThanks for the fashion help, see you losers later!â Race said to the skype screen.
âBye Racetrack, have fun!â Sarah said.
âTell us what happens!â Katherine said. And just as Race was closing the computer, he also heard a concerned, âdonât get murdered!â from Davey. Race slipped on his shoes by the bedroom door and opened it, looking back at Albert, who was still lying on the bed.
âAlbert, I promise not to get murdered,â he said.
âYou better not, cause then Iâd have to avenge you, and fight Spot Conlon, and then Iâd also die and then where would we be,â Albert grumbled. Race smiled.
âWeâd be sipping drinks by a pool in Hell together!â He cheered. He saw Albert smile at that, and figured he would be fine.
âYeah yeah, go have fun.â Albert made a shooing motion towards the door. Race gave him one last look, and headed out into the living room. He carded his fingers through his wild hair one more time in the reflection of a mirror near the front door. Satisfied, he stepped out. This was going to be a good date.
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Race excitedly waved to Spot as he walked down the steps of his apartment to the street. Spot was sitting on his motorcycle, wearing a black leather jacket with dark jeans and a red tank top with black stripes. Did this guy ever wear shirts with sleeves? Race thought. And then he remembered how good Spotâs arms looked and decided he didnât care. Spot looked up and smiled just a little bit. It was barely a smile, and it was likely no one else would have thought it was, but Race saw how his eyes brightened up, and smiled back.
âHey Spotty boy, ready to go?â Race said as he got to the motorcycle. Spot threw him a helmet.
âDonât call me Spotty,â he said, no real bite behind it. Race smiled cheekily.
âAlright Spotty, whatever you say. Now, Iâm starving, so itâs time for some Italian food!â Race cheered. Spot rolled his eyes fondly. He hadnât known Race for long, but he couldnât help soften up around his cheerful and amusing attitude.
âWhere we goinâ Racer?â Spot asked, putting on his helmet.
âYa know where 43rd is? Take a left on the street right after it then take a right,â Race replied. Spot nodded and Race put on his helmet and wrapped his arms around Spot. He could hear Spotâs heartbeat through his back. The motorcycle revved and Race smiled, jittering slightly with excitement.
âReady, Racer?â Spot called. Race squeezed him as a yes, and then they were off.
Race had never been on a motorcycle, and he decided that as long as Spot was there for him to hold on to, that is was the best. He felt the wind rushing on his arms and ruffling his shirt. He looked up to see the city flying by, lights blurring together in the late evening glow that faded into the horizon. He rested his head on Spots shoulder as they navigated the city streets, taking turns occasionally. Eventually, the motorcycle slowed to a stop in front of a restaurant with fancy cursive writing on the window. Spot turned off the bike and pulled off his helmet. Though Race didnât want to, he let go of Spot waist.
âUh, Racer, is this the place?â Spot asked, seeming confused. Race pulled off his helmet and looked at the restaurant. His eyes flickered to the darkened windows and the closed sign in the window.
Youâve gotta be kidding me.
âI swear, Maria said that it would be open today! Or maybe she said next week? But still, Iâm her cousin, she could have at least called me! Or texted me! Iâm her favorite cousin! Probably! This is truly a disaster! Betrayal! Can you believe this?â Race turned to Spot, who had been watching Raceâs rant about his cousinâs restaurant with amusement, smiling at Raceâs constant changing of tone and mood as he rambled on.
âIâm sure we can find somewhere else to eat, Racetrack,â Spot said. Race pouted.
âBut I told you Italian food!â Race whined. Spot huffed a laugh at Raceâs dramatics.
âRace, I donât care where we went to eat, anywhere with you is fine.â Well that made Race stop his pouting.
âDid the toughest guy in Brooklyn, accused murderer, Spot Conlon, just say the softest thing Iâve ever heard?â Race said, throwing a hand to his heart.
âAccused murderer?â
âI cannot believe I have already captured the heart of Spot Conlon while simultaneously ruining the date I won from him!â Spot rolled his eyes. Race really was a handful.
âAlright drama queen, I said one nice thing. And thatâs the last nice thing your dumbass will hear.â Race mocked wiping away a tear.
âSpot, Iâm hurt by your cruelty! I thought you loved me!â
âNo,â Spot deadpanned.
âWow, my heart has already been broken by Spot Conlon. Iâll weep over your pictures while I play our song in the background,â Race said, falling over onto Spotâs shoulders. Spot smirked and revved the motorcycle, causing Race to yell before falling backwards and scrambling to grab Spotâs back, eventually holding on for dear life, the helmet forgotten on the empty street. Spot outright laughed at his, throwing his head back. Race felt it in Spotâs chest as he held him, and decided it was the best sound in the world.
âOkay, we must continue this date not in front of a closed restaurant run by my traitor cousin. I have the perfect place to go,â Race said, picking up his helmet off the street.
âAlright, where?â Spot said.
âItâs a surprise, just go left at the end of the street, keep going until 32nd, take a right, then take a left,â Race said. He then put the helmet on his head as Spot nodded.
âLetâs hope this surprise isnât as bad as the last one,â Spot said, putting his own helmet on.
âYou canât see it but under my helmet Iâm frowning. Youâve broken my heart yet again,â Race replied. Spot snorted.
âI wonder how many times Iâll break your heart before dessert?â Spot said, revving the engine.
âWell, youâre at two so far.â
âGood to know.â
They sped off into the New York streets once again.
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âSTOP! WEâRE HERE!â Race yelled, squeezing Spot to let him know. Spot slowed down and stopped in front of a new restaurant, taking off his helmet. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, taking in a deep breath. He looked like Albert right before Albert ranted. But Race saw a lingering smile on the corners of his mouth.
âRacetrack. Is this really where weâre going for dinner?â Spot said.
âYup, itâs open until like, 11, so I figured it was perfect,â Race said, taking off his helmet and stepping off the motorcycle. Spot opened his eyes.
âYa know what? I think this is the perfect place for a date like ours.â Spot parked the motorcycle and stepped off it, following Race into the IHOP.
Race opened the doors like he was walking into a castle, where he was the king. Spot followed him, hands in pockets, and looked around the restaurant. There werenât many people, which was expected in a breakfast place at 7 in the evening. Race sat down at a table and Spot sat down with him, both picking up menus.
âWell, if we canât have Italian food, Iâm getting the best pancakes money can buy!â Race declared.
âSo why are we at IHOP?â Spot asked.
âI meant that my money could buy. I may be good at poker, but Iâm not rich enough for whatever gold pancakes the millionaires eat,â Race said, before slapping the menu back on the table. âThis one! Double blueberry pancakes baby!â Spot smiled at Race, before looking back at the menu.
âI think Iâll just get the short stack,â Spot said, setting his menu down much less dramatically.
âYou and your pancakes are twins!â Race said. When Spot tilted his head, confused, Race smiled devilishly. âYouâre both short stacks.â
Spot groaned and put his head on the table. âRace, the distance between us is not long enough that I canât punch you.â
âBut Spotty, you would never hurt my beautiful face!â Spot looked up at Race. Yeah, so maybe he did have a beautiful face. But he wasnât about to tell Race that.
âI think a broken nose would actually improve the look,â Spot said.
âSpot! Thatâs three broken hearts! I am torn! In despair!â Race gestured wildly, almost falling out of chair. Spot laughed a little at that, causing Raceâs face to shift from dramatic despair to a look of pride. âI like your laugh.â
Spot blushed, just enough for Race to see. âI thought I just broke your heart,â he said, trying to fight off the redness in his face.
âYeah, but I decided that Iâm going to take you back, where else will I find someone to go to IHOP with me on a date?â
âI guess Iâm stuck with you.â
âDamn right you are. I won this date fair and square.â
As they bantered back and forth, a waitress came over and took their orders, writing down Spotâs water and Raceâs chocolate milk as well as their pancake choices, and taking their menus. Race leaned forward on the table after the waitress left, looking at Spotâs face. He noticed a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks. Cute.
âSpotty, I declare that we should play twenty questions!â Race said, still leaning towards Spot. Spot raised his eyebrows.
âOkay, Iâll start: why do they call you Racetrack?â
âThe poker and gambling made quite the name for me, and I would place bets on the races on TV even when no one else would take them. I was then deemed Racetrack for my love of horses and taking others money.â The waitress returned with the drinks, and Race took a sip of chocolate milk.
âSo, I guess now I must ask, why are you Spotty?â
âItâs just Spot, not Spotty, can still break your nose,â Spot said, though the threat was empty. He sipped his own drink. âAnd that information is classified.â Race smiled dangerously at that.
âSounds like a challenge. Iâll find out one day.â Race kept eye contact as he drank more chocolate milk. Spot thought he looked endearingly ridiculous.
âNext question, uh, whatâs your favorite color?â Spot asked. Race rolled his eyes.
âThat question is booooring, but fine, I am a fan of lighter blue, though red is pulling through as one of my recent favorites,â Race said. He didnât mention that both times he and Spot had met, Spot had been wearing red. âMy turn! If you were a cloud, what shape would you be?â
Spotâs face was priceless to Race, completely thrown off by the odd question thrown at him. âWhat shape would I be? What kind of question is that?â
âSpot, you can ask a question when itâs your turn,â Race answered smoothly. Spot sighed.
âOkay, I guess I would be⊠the Brooklyn Bridge.â Race nodded at this. âUm, whatâs your favorite animal?â
âAlright weirdo, how about⊠what is your Starbucks order?â
âBetter, far better question! Well, it depends on the day. I do enjoy a good caramel frappuccino though.â With the lollipops, pancakes, chocolate milk, and caramel frappuccino, Spot was beginning to assume Race had a bit of a sweet tooth. âNext! What is your least favorite fruit?â
âLeast favorite fruit? UhâŠ. Kiwi? Yeah Kiwi. Theyâre hairy and strange. Not a fan.â Race laughed at this response, and Spot took in his laugh, his smile. He really is pretty, Spot thought to himself. Race had curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a rosy complexion that was made to hold his mischievous smiles. Spot didnât realize he was staring until Race interjected.
âLike what ya see Spotty?â Race said. Spot blushed again, a bit more than last time, but kept his face neutral.
âYou wish. My question is, hm, uh⊠oh, how about your favorite kind of dog?â
âLess interesting but I do enjoy dogs so Iâll take it. I really like golden retrievers. And speaking of dogs, you remind me of a chihuahua,â Race replied. Spot sputtered at this.
âWhat? Why?â He managed
âWell, youâre tiny and angry!â Race said with utmost confidence.
âPunching distance Racer, remember the punching distance. And if weâre assigning dog breeds, then youâre a poodle. Curly hair, high maintenance.â Race looked very offended at this.
âA poodle! If anything I am a labradoodle at least! Four broken hearts before weâve even been served our dinner!â
âIâm aiming high, maybe six by the end of the night,â Spot said. Race gasped at this.
âI cannot believe I am on a date with the rudest man in New York City!â As Race lamented about his fourth broken heart of the night, their pancakes were served. Race created practically a lake of syrup on his plate, happily enjoying the blueberry pancakes at breakneck pace. Spot ate his much slower, laughing slightly as Race attempted to shovel pancakes in his mouth without getting syrup everywhere. They continued their question game as they ate, with questions such as âHow would you rob a bank?â and âWhat unsuspecting animal would you raise an army of and why?â They got through most of the questions. By question nineteen, their plates had long been abandoned. Spot had relaxed a lot more, laughing more often at Raceâs jokes and smiling more, feeling more comfortable with Race. And Race, well, he had fallen just a bit more in love with Spot, at his deadpan and weird answers, his beautiful laugh, and when Spot took off his jacket, he re-fell in love with his arms. Before Race could ask the last question, something interrupted him.
Race had frozen at the table. Spot furrowed his eyebrows, concerned about Raceâs strange change in mood.
âYou okay Racer?â He asked. But Race wasnât listening. At least, not to Spot. Race stood up out of his seat quickly and suddenly shouted:
âDO YOU REMEMBER! THE 21ST NIGHT OF SEPTEMBER!â
And off he went. Race began dancing next to the table, as Spot realized what was going on. It was 10 at night and the IHOP employees had decided to play September by Earth, Wind, and Fire. Of course, Race naturally had to get up and sing along.
Race belted the lyrics, dancing in a way that was just so Racetrack that Spot couldnât help the smile overtaking his face. It was sloppily elegant, looking like if he wanted to he could dance some fancy piece, but that the song playing deserved better. He moved to the music with his eyes closed, waving his arms around and jumping in circles. It was stupid and adorable and endearing and absolutely the most beautiful thing Spot had ever seen. Raceâs closed eyes were crinkled with the smile on his face, and his curls bounced along to the dance. He didnât care who was watching or that it was an IHOP. He just did it, as he did everything, like asking out the toughest guy in Brooklyn and beating him in poker all in one swoop. Heâs amazing, Spot thought. And along with that, another though overtook his mind.
I think this is what falling in love feels like.
The thought scared Spot. This was their first date! He knew he wasnât head over heels, but it didnât feel like nothing either. It wasnât huge, it wasnât magical, it was just the smallest bit of love had broken into Spotâs heart as he watched Race dance his heart out in IHOP. However, the fear all melted away as Race opened his eyes, looked at Spot, and held out a hand.
Spot refused at first, giving Race a look that said Really? But Race didnât care, and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of his chair. He linked their hands together and started to push them back and forth, finding a rhythm in the song as the chorus hit.
âHey hey hey! Aaa eee yaaa! Say do you remember! Aaa eee yaaa! Dancing in September! Aaa eee yaa!â Race looked expectantly at Spot, whoâs frown at being pulled up to dance was beginning to fade into a smile.
âNever was a cloudy day,â He finished the line. Race cheered and they continued their dance, Race pulling Spot closer as the song continued, until they were close enough to kiss. Race looked into Spotâs eyes, melting under his gaze. He really loved Spotâs dark brown eyes. And his smile. And his freckles. And his laugh. And his arms. His everything.
So there they were, two dorks in the middle of IHOP, swinging back and forth and laughing as the music played, slowly falling in love, just a little bit.
-------------------------------------------------
After they paid, Race and Spot left the IHOP and returned to the motorcycle, still having an easy conversation. Race was complaining about how he couldnât have a lollipop with the motorcycle helmet, Spot was laughing at his plight. As they sped through the New York City streets once again, Race rested his head against Spotâs back and closed his eyes, holding him close.
When they reached Raceâs apartment, Spot got off his motorcycle and offered to walk him to the door. Race pulled a lollipop out of his pocket, sticking it in his mouth as Spot rolled his eyes. They walked slowly to the door, holding hands, not wanting the night to end.
âSpotty! I just remembered, I never asked my final question!â Race said.
âFire away Racer,â Spot replied.
âWhat is your favorite flavor of lollipop?â Race asked. Spot grinned at the question.
âWhich ever one youâre having,â he replied.
âWhyâs that?â Race said, taking the sucker out of his mouth to speak. Before he could put it back, Spot had pulled him down for a kiss.
This was different from the quick kiss in the parking lot at their first meeting. This one was slow and sweet and made Race absolutely positively melt. Race cupped Spotâs face in his hands and Spot tangled Raceâs blond curls in his fingers. After an amount of time that neither boy bother to count, they pulled away, breathing slightly heavier.
âCherry again,â Spot said. Race didnât reply, but he smiled. âI know it was twenty question and not twenty-one questions, but I have one more.â
âOkay rule-breaker, ask away,â Race said.
âCan we go out again? Maybe a movie or something?â Spot asked. Race pulled him in for a quick kiss on the lips, laughing slightly.
âYou didnât even need to ask, of course! Maybe the movie theater will have better cuisine that IHOP,â Race joked.
âI doubt it, those pancakes were pretty good, plus you canât beat the soundtrack theyâve got going,â Spot said back. Race laughed again at that.
âI should probably go inside,â He said, a little sadly.
âOf course, I should get going too. But Iâll text you?â
âNot if I text you first!â Spot laughed at that as he gave Race one more quick kiss.
âGoodnight!â He called, walking back to his bike.
âNight Spotty!â Race yelled back. He watched Spot drive away into the night and sighed with a soft smile on his face. He opened the door in a dreamy state, falling into the living room. He wouldâve stayed like that all night if some redhead wasnât sitting on his couch.
âWhat the- Albert? What the hell are you still doing in my house?â Race asked. Albert didnât even look up from the TV, mashing buttons on his controller.
âYou have a bigger TV plus your controller is so much better, the A button on mine is stuck. Your parents are asleep, so are the younger ones. Who knows about your older siblings. Anyway, how was the date? I see youâre still alive, so thatâs good,â Albert said. Race flopped down on the couch next to him. The lovestruck look returned to Raceâs face.
âWe danced around in the middle of IHOP. It was amazing,â He said. Albert hit a wrong button as he reacted to Raceâs statement.
âYou danced around IHOP with Spot freakinâ Conlo- OH COME ON SARAH!â Albert yelled at the screen. Race just laughed and closed his eyes, dreaming about pancakes and Spot.
Crutchie leaned against the counter as the tea kettle slowly heated up. Crutchie loved mornings, he did, there was nothing like watching the sun rise over the buildings as the city woke up, but if he was going to keep this up, heâd have to stop pulling late nights. He snorted under his breath as the kettle finally let out a whistle and he could pour himself a mug. As if that was going to happen.
He tilted his head in interest as he added a tea bag to the water, dunking it in a futile attempt to make it steep faster, the water slowly turning dark. His shoulders sagged a little as he realized what he was picking up on. Oh, poor Jack. He hadnât felt that much panic from his brother in a while. Not since the first time Race got high and became convinced his âluckâ meant if he jumped off a roof, heâd be able to fly. Theyâd tried to tell him that that wasnât how drugs or powers worked, but he was insistent. The fact that Finch was floating just below the ceiling, bobbing up and down and giggling at the ceiling lamp hadnât helped. That hadnât been a fun night for anyone involved. Well, except Finch really.
It must have been a bad one, then.
ButâŠno. Not too bad, Crutchie thought as the telltale sounds of stirring came from the direction of Jackâs room. Crutchie flicked on the coffee maker, filled up last night, and left a mug on the counter before carefully making his way from the kitchen to the chairs by the windows. Heâd had plenty of practice walking with a drink in his hand while using his crutch, but every now and again something happened, and heâd spill the whole thing. His morning tea was too precious to risk that with.
The sun had made its way above the furthest rooftops and Crutchie was halfway through his tea when Jack settled into the other chair to his left, coffee mug clutched in his hand.
âThanks, Crutch,â he said, voice still hoarse from sleep.
âDonât mention it,â Crutchie replied, not turning away from the window. He knew Jack well enough by now to know he didnât want to talk about it. Living together for nearly fifteen years would do that. Crutchie counted it as a win that Jack came out to sit with him at all. Back when theyâd been younger, before they knew each other, before they knew they could trust each other, and why they could trust each other, it wasnât like this. Jack used to climb out onto the fire escape outside his room and stare at the city, pretending he wasnât crying.
He might not have come to Crutchie back then, but Crutchie hadnât yet learned to block other peopleâs emotions out and couldnât help knowing what was going on with his brothersâ, especially when they went wild. He was still tuned into the emotions of the people he cared about, but now it was on purpose.
They drank their respective drinks in silence as the sun continued to rise, painting the city gold in the brief moments when it was neither really night or day. Crutchieâs favorite time. He wasnât surprised when Jack leaned back in his chair after only one cup of coffee. His nightmares were always worse when he hadnât gone out the night before, wearing himself out with patrols and fights and adrenaline. It worried Crutchie, it always did. But then, he was always at least a little worried about his brother. Both of them, actually, though for very different reasons.
It wasnât surprising that Crutchie was the most emotionally mature of the three of them, but it really was frustrating for him. Medda always said they would catch up as they got older, that Crutchie was just a little ahead, but Crutchie thought she had wildly underestimated how stubborn Jack and Spot could be.
âI should paint that, someday.â Jack surprised Crutchie out of his reflections, gesturing widely at the city before them, waking up for the new day.
âYeah, you should,â Crutchie agreed, âgive yourself a break from all those mountains.â
âHey!â Jack cried indignantly, lowering his voice at Crutchieâs reprimanding look. Romeo was still asleep. âI happen to like those mountains, ya know.â
âYeah, you sure made enough backdrops with âem. I think halfâa New York knows.â
âAh shaddup,â Jack groused, but there was a smile on his face, and it was small but not fake, so Crutchie counted it as a win.
They sat in silence for a bit longer, the noises of the city finally starting to pick up. Crutchie tossed back the rest of his tea, before pushing out of his chair. âCome on, gotta get a move on.â
Jack groaned, sprawling out in his chair dramatically to follow Crutchieâs progress back to the kitchen. âDo we gotta though?â
Crutchie shook his head. âGo wake up Romeo, Jack. Quiet timeâs over.â
âWhy canât you ever wake up Romeo, huh?â
Crutchie shook his head, examining what they had in the fridge. âHeâs your roommate. Sides, I make breakfast.â Toast and bacon, it was, then. Theyâd need to get some actual fruit and vegetables soon.
âI could make breakfast,â Jack grumbled, but he got up and walked back to his and Romeoâs room anyway, still clutching his coffee mug. Crutchie bet heâd forgotten it was empty.
âWhen we want to eat burned pancakes, you can make breakfast and Iâll wake Romeo up.â Crutchie called from the kitchen, knowing Jack heard him by the spike of annoyance that followed his words. Romeo was still unconscious.
âIt was one time!â Jack yelled back from the other side of the apartment.
Well. He wasnât unconscious anymore.
Crutchie laughed under his breath, heating up the skillet for the bacon as his roommates grumbled at each other in the background. Pretty soon, Romeo and Jack would be arguing over the shower, an argument Jack would win, because Romeo hated using his powers on his friends. Romeo would stumble blindly into the kitchen for coffee, his hair still a mess without any styling gel. Crutchie would put him to work making the toast and make sure he got bacon before Jack in return for his help. Jack would complain, but only a little, and they would ultimately leave the apartment five to ten minutes later than they had actually meant to.
Honestly? Iâve seen multiple modern newsies fanfiction aus where Davey is an ap student (and I love this headcanon too) but like??? those people are probably not ap students because they write him as a Good Studentâąïž and ask any ap student and literally all of them are like this:
have downed at least 7 cups of coffee/energy drinks in the past five minutes
âgive me your homework i was too busy last nightâ âdoing whatâ ânot caring
âwhats 15?â âi was going to ask you that?â âfuckâ
*frantically doing calc homework during lunch*
âfuck it the answer is fiveâ âthats asking you for a pair of coordinates not one answer?â âfiveâ
âi would do my homework now and get it out of the way but i dont careâ
*crawls under desk and cries*
âwhats the answer?â âidk, google it/slader itâ
âhow do you solve this?â âfuck if i knowâ
honestly theres so many things you can do with this? ap students are literal disasters, as i am one myself
