#spraced out

[reineydraws]

spot just likes to be tall :') not that he'll ever admit it lol.

[faefox9]

I'm indecisive so..

I'll probably try to write all of these at some point, but which one should I start first?

[chaosfairy18]

Somehow my mind is just on Spot Conlon with rabbits/bunnies rn

No matter how annoyed he is, someone hands him a bunny and he will just stroke it like an evil supervillain but will also calm down

He also lets the rabbits vibe-check people so if the rabbit bites you beware

Yes Race does know how to abuse the fact that bunnies calm an annoyed or angry Spot down

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Race likes knitting sweaters but hates knitting sleeves so Spot's wardrobe ends up being like 50% hand-knitted tank tops

[toffyrats]

listen okay. having a favorite character means inflicting on them as much pain and trauma you possibly can.

that being said, unrequited ralbert and then after that unrequited redfinch

[joeythefrog]

It feels less cold when cuddled up in a tiny bed with body heat for warmth.

Brooklyn feels warmer. Sweltering summers, hot stuffy speakeasy rooms with men in less clothes than is necessary to fight the heat. Suffocating heat in small rooms with smaller beds in the attic of the brooklyn lodge. They've done this a million times, made their own heat in the cooler winter nights, trying to melt the snow off the window by pressing an overheating body against it while they pray that if it melts it fogs up lest they be revealed to anyone below. It's a small chance but one neither man can afford.

In autum they celebrate the surviving men through harsh hands. Staying under blankets to conserve warmth as their hesitance grows. There's less excuse now. There never really was. But the heady hot nights of winter are gone. Now they brush up against each other under blankets. Not growing bold enough to look under the blankets and refusing eye contact as they silence any noises.

Spring comes, the leaves regrow and replenish. Spring is new. In spring they're slow. It's sickeningly romantic. Harsh hands turn to slow soft cups and kisses peppered across skin. It brings a hope that slowly fills them and spurs them to push into new territory. They kiss now -they've never kissed like this before. Slow and chaste, a tentive exploration.

Summer arrives as it always does. Days drag on slowly like molasses, gunked up by sweat and sticky- well you know what it is. If they could afford iceblocks they would deepthroat them in public to tease. But summer is soft. They lie above the old threadbare blankets occasionally touching themselves or the other because they're too sweaty and tired to do anything else in the small sweltering room that traps heat.

In summer, while draped across the moth eaten sheets stained with evidence of their year and sealed with sweat from the recent hot months that he dares to speak "Spot, I love you" He murmurs into the hot night, and he knows it to be true. It hangs in the air for a few minutes as the dank swampy heat does before it turns icy cool "it'll pass" comes the reply. Soft and accepting as he had thought spring had been. Laced with hesitancy and regret from autum. All he feels is the stinging numbness from winter and how fucking cold he felt. How his fingers would seize and flush without a place to be held. A place Spot provided.

it was never really about the heat, and any he thought he felt was imagined. But this cool would pass. it always does. like the seasons it'll leave and he'll find a way to push back into the nights lit only by desire and the fire inside him that he thought was mutual. it'll pass

[chimeofthecomet]

art of @noxexistant ‘s oc ida, happy birthday :D !!

[agentsnickers]

another sneak peek of the week (because i got distracted and started another fic...):

“Have you considered ‘Jack, I don’t want to help you with another harebrained, stupid as shit plan?’” Spot offers. “Funnily enough, I have,” says Race. “Unfortunately, as Jack very well knows, I have a passion for harebrained, stupid as shit plans, and he will not believe me.”

[hey-op-just-kill-me]

Spot: you can’t make everyone like you

Spot: you aren’t Race

Jack: not everyone likes Racetrack

Spot: who?

Jack: what?

Spot: give me names who doesn’t like them?

[unofficially-racetrack]

OMG MY FRIEND JUST TOLD ME THAT SHIP NAMES ARE-

THE FIRST NAME IS WHOSE ON TOP DURING… yk… 😏

Sprace.

That’s the real reason I’m freaking out.

[the-son-of-pluto]

Race is the type of guy to create a detailed guide of how he’s going to cheat on a test. Like he goes through the course syllabus and specifically picks out the topic they’re currently learning about, then looks at the course textbook and memorizes all the important events, dates and vocabulary. He writes them down in his notebook, adds annotations, jots down the causes & effects of each event and looks over everything the night before. Then when Test Day comes, he’ll know all the answers and the teacher won’t be any the wiser!

then race recites his entire cheating plan to spot and spots like: Race that’s just Studying .

[violetwolfraven]

I think Spot needs to be a little more chaotic than I’ve written him in the past, actually. I think he needs to be this little shit who knows every damn rumor there is about him and discourages exactly none of them. He’d use those rumors to threaten his friends’ partners and then later when they prove they’re trustworthy he’d be like ‘oh lmao I was just messing with you.’ He’d be this cocky motherfucker in a fight, because he’s good at hand-to-hand and he knows it. He’d make sure to leave time in there before he ends it for his opponents to feel ridiculous about getting their asses beat by a 5’3 teenage gremlin. He’d tell Jack he tap dances because he knows it’ll drive Cowboy absolutely crazy that it’s not a rumor anyone would believe. Is it even true? Who knows? He just likes messing with Jack. He likes messing with most people.

I think Spot needs to be able to match Race in chaos, actually, it’s just that he’s a leader and he’s really fucking good at being a leader so people forget he’s chaotic sometimes.

[the-realest-spot-conlon]

Them Brooklyn Boys Is Big

A sprace fic nobody asked for but here we are.

When it comes down to the love of your life and the kids you take care of, what do you choose?

Spot waited eagerly (although his face said otherwise, as usual) for Race to knock. He was supposed to come over and play poker with Spot and a few other Brooklyn boys, and Spot could barely contain his excitement. It had been three whole days since the two had seen each other, so they were long overdue for under-the-table hand holding during poker.

Spot checked the clock, 5:30. Race should have showed up by now, Spot thought to himself. Another hour passed, and there was still no sight of him. Spot started to grow worried. Race was always late, but never this late.

"Hotshot, I'm going to Manhattan," Spot yelled at his second in command.

"Alright!" Hotshot yelled back, through the walls of the poker room, as Spot went out the front door, not caring enough to grab a jacket, even though it was winter and he was wearing a sleeveless T and it was winter.

He ran down the sketchy streets of Brooklyn, passing alley through alley, running so fast his lungs burned, but he didn't stop. He ran through the final alley, the Brooklyn Bridge in sight, when all of a suddenly was grabbed roughly by the arm. He felt himself being shoved around, no doubtedly into a room somewhere.

"What's going o-" He started to say, but his mouth was soon muffled by what he assumed was tape.

Growing up in Brooklyn, Spot had been forced to be aware of his surroundings, for you never knew what could happen. Dark, I'm muffled, there's at least three guys, probably more, He assessed in his head.

he heard the rattle of a chain, and soon enough a singular light bulb turned on above their heads. He quickly looked around, noting that there were five guys, in sight, there could be more hiding, he reminded himself. They were all wearing black masks, faces unrecognizable.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," One of them said. "Let me put it this way. You're gonna be our bait, and we're gonna make your Manhattan friends our pawns," He added.

One of the boys holding Spot ripped off the tape, and quickly, Spot said, "You're the old Manhattan newsie leader, aren't you? YOu're gonna use me as leverage over Jack and race, so you can get your leadership back, right?" Spot asked. This wasn't his first rodeo. Or kidnapping.

"Spot on," he replied. "Pun intended," He added with a low, unsettling chuckle that caused the hairs on Spot's arms to stand up. As Spot began to take in his surroundings better, he realized he was in a concrete room, no windows, a wooden door to the left, and a discreet stench of mildew.

"Make it hurt, boys," The leader said before exiting the room. Spot knew he was done for.

pt. 2 coming soon, I'll tag it down below when it's posted.

here it is pt. 2

[butmemostly]

there is not enough 92sies sprace. i know what you all are doing. 92sies fans did not get on their knees and pick up crumbs to ship spot and race for the rest of us to run off with it and apply it to livesies where not only do they not even directly interact, but fanon prefers because they find the actors more attractive, and then proceed to boil their characters down to 1-2 traits each and ship them in a weird almost f/tishy "dumb feminine man x angry masculine man" way. guys this is a class war not the yaoi war.

[incorrectuksies]

race: hello, i am race, bringer of gifts.

spot: what gifts did you bring?

race: me. i am the gift.

spot: of course *sigh*

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Dance disaster for the ask game?

(From the WIP ask game!)

Thanks for sending this! You are the first person to hit on something that actually has something written beyond planning notes.

Anyway, there is a video floating around of these two guys swing dancing to a Todrick Hall song that made me immediately think "hmm this would be a good Spot/Race meet cute," and that's what this fic is! I don't have a ton written, but I chip away at it occasionally. Basically, Spot and Race are at a swing dance convention with their respective swing dance groups and get paired randomly for a competition. Spot (following) knows the song, Race (leading) doesn't, but the crowd loves them and they probably end up winning the competition (I have a really good joke prepared for that based on the lyrics of the song they dance to). Excerpt under the cut:

He was there with his school’s swing dance club, so he watched as some of them got picked to participate–Katherine, the club president, was called up alongside a tall girl wearing a light brown skirt that spun out whenever she turned, and when Katherine returned to her seat, she seemed far more breathless than she should’ve been.

“Shut up,” she mumbled when Race elbowed her.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to; you’re not subtle.” Jack spoke up from Katherine’s other side.

“Subtle is my middle name.” Race grinned and leaned back in his seat. He knew they were coming up on the end of the competition, and he still hadn’t been chosen. Maybe I’m off the–

“Alright, time for the last pair of dancers!” the emcee said. “We have–” He spun a wheel– “Last but not least, Anthony Higgins and Sean Conlon! Where are they?”

Race froze.

“Hey.” Katherine waved a hand in front of his face. “That’s you.” Across the room, someone–presumably Sean–was making his way to the center of the room.