#loudnclearspot

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

Waking to find the spot in the bed beside him empty, Race had frowned a little, at least until the smell had hit his nostrils. For a moment he lies there, a sleepy smile on his face, before pushing himself to his feet and sloping into their little kitchen, arms wrapping around Spot from behind as he hooks his chin over her shoulder, one hand coming to rest on her bump. That's their baby. The thought still sends a thrill of excitement through him that he can't quite control, nor does he want to. They're having a baby!

"Morning," he murmurs, reciprocating her kiss to his cheek with one to hers, nuzzling affectionately. There's a little bit of scruff on his chin, he needs to shave, but he'll do that once he's a little more awake. For now instead, he turns her just a little bit in his arms so he can drop to his knees and press a kiss to the curve of her bump with a fond smile, "And good morning to you too."

[orchestrahearts]

send ⚠ to pick up/carry my muse (loudnclearspot to Ivy)

aforementioned meme — @loudnclearspot

Ivy squealed, grinning when Spot picked her up. “What are you doing? Are we going somewhere?”

[insidefantasy]

continued from THIS @loudnclearspot

there's an unholy noise that escapes between her parted lips as she feels the other female so close and yet--so far away. she wants to whine: whine about not getting what she wants, whine about how she's not kissing her, about how she's not allowing her the pleasure of feeling her lips pressed against hers. but she can't even do that, breathe hitched in her throat preventing her from even defending herself against the teasing or...she wonders if maybe it was just preventing her from embarrassing herself, preventing her from begging for spot's kiss. instead, she lets her gaze do the talking for her, allowing it to roam until it lands on spot's lips.

[betterto-die-thanto-crawl]

Send ✂️ for your muse to give mine a haircut (loudnclearspot to Ben)

Of course when Ben sawed off his hair before he escaped the Refuge, the results were... less than ideal... It didn't look good at all, but it worked in a pinch. In the pinch. Donning men's clothes stolen from the employee dressing room (as he hadn't wanted to steal from the inmates children) and with a "borrowed" hat pulled low over his face, he was able to sneak out without being questioned, either for his activities or for the questionable cut of his hair.

Now he was settled in Brooklyn, and so many things had been made clear to him, including that, of all people, Spot Conlon did the haircuts around the Brooklyn lodging house. Now, only several days into living at the lodging house, she had made it clear that she was going to fix his hair, and so he nervously sat before her, back towards her as he twisted and wrang his hands, trying his best to be both still and patient.

@loudnclearspot

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | plotted starter

Race has never made the journey from Manhattan to Brooklyn in quite so little time. It's impressive, even if for no other reason than that he's sporting quite a limp and half the visible skin he's got is painted a mottled black and blue with bruising. There's a copy of the New York Sun clutched tight in his fist, and his cap is shoved into his back pocket. There's a fierce expression on his face, and a fire in his step, enough that he doesn't even get questioned as he steps off the bridge and into Brooklyn proper, nor as he clears the ground to the lodging house. He's being followed, he's aware, though he's not sure which of Spot's kids it is, but he doesn't care.

He throws the door of the lodging house open, uncaring that it clatters off the wall and that several heads are turning to look at him. He can see Mac stand, but all he says is "I'se here to see Spot" and there must be something in his eyes that has her nodding and gesturing towards the private room at the other end that he knows Spot sometimes commandeers. Several strides has him across the bunk room and into the private room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He and Spot have a bit of a friendship going on, or so he's always thought, though they largely keep it to themselves. It's why he's allowed to sell at Sheepshead, when any other Manhattan would risk getting soaked just by crossing the bridge, and why he always keeps the red pocket square tucked in his waistcoat, a signifier that he's under Brooklyn's protection. Except he doesn't feel very protected right now. And sure, he hadn't volunteered to come ask Brooklyn in the first place, but he hadn't wanted to make it seem like he was trying to use their friendship as leverage for a favour.

"Never woulda taken you for a coward, Spottie." He's angry and he's upset, and he's got more kids than he can count laid up back in their own lodge house barely able to stand. Crutchie's in the refuge, Jack is still missing in action, and they're all looking to him to lead. Davey and Katherine have talked about a rally. So it's up to him now to make sure this doesn't go to shit as well. So maybe he's running his mouth. So be it.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

When she'd first come down with a bit of a cough, a bit of a sniffle, Smalls hadn't even thought twice. The winter was drawing in, after all, and she couldn't remember a single year where she hadn't come down with some sort of cold or flu. If there was anyone in the lodge house going to catch a cold, it would invariably be Smalls, and she'd just learned to get on with it, grumble a bit, take the bed rest when it was forced, and then move on.

This time though, within a few days it had become clear that this wasn't a cold. The rash told them that, and the young girl had quickly become bed bound, drifting in and out of consciousness as the fever raged. What has happened in that time, Smalls can't say, only that as she manages to crack her eyes open, Spot is sitting beside her, holding her hand. A wet cough makes the younger girl's frail form shake, a grimace of pain flickering across her expressions before she settles back into the sheets a little.

"Wha's...wha's happenin'?" she manages to mumble, head lolling weakly. Everything hurts, it hurts to breathe, she feels cold but she can feel sweat trickling across her forehead, her very joints ache. She's not sure she's ever been this sick before.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

"I'm just tired." Smalls scowls a little, batting the hand away from her forehead and scooting a little further along her bunk, knees pulled up to her chest. Alright, so maybe she isn't feeling entirely on top of her game, but she's not likely to admit that. It seems like she's always one of the first to catch whatever colds are going around, and it's something which frustrates her. She'll be fine, she just needs to push through, that's all.

But it's Spot's concern that rankles at her, and it takes every part of her self control to not snap at the Brooklyn leader. It's stupid, she knows, she's absolutely not jealous of a five year old at all. But it doesn't change the fact that everyone's attention seems to be constantly on little Shadow, and Smalls can't quite help but feel a little...pushed aside. Like how just a few nights ago, she'd shuffled across the lodge house, unable to sleep, to see if she could join Spot, only to find Shadow already tucked in next to her. And ok, maybe she's not a little anymore, and she shouldn't care about that...but it stings.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

@loudnclearspot | continued

"No soaking, well, not 'less you count scuffling with Morris on Tuesday but that ain't anything special." Getting into a fight with one of the Delanceys was practically a tradition at this point and far from new. 'Sides, he'd walked away from it with just a bruise or two this time, so by all means he's pretty sure he can say that he won that one, if nothing else. He's actually been remarkably well-behaved, all things considered.

Except right now, he just feels downright lousy. He'd had to drag himself out of bed, but he'd just put it down to being tired and hadn't questioned it. Now though he feels vaguely like someone's run him over with a trolley. It's certainly not the most pleasant of feelings, he's gotta say. He's always hated getting sick. "Feelin' kinda woozy. Maybe...might sit down a bit..."