#im a higgins appreciation blog for real

[lunar-years]

omg your last tag made me realize higgins is like the cassandra of tl. saying jane wasn't good for beard! suggesting it might be time to let ted go! he was the only one who voted to bring jamie back! him calling out rebecca in s1! if everyone would just listen to higgins, everyones life would have been so much better

Higgins is so underrated I love that man with my whole soul. and add to the list his advice to Keeley that made her feel confident enough to leave Richmond <3 he's always speaking facts!!

[all-hail-the-witcher]

hello, this is your fbi agent

okay so i have no explanation for this im sorry

____

ship: ralbert

genre: crack with memes

warnings: first person (????), memes, more memes, this is not related to spies, the worst crack and even worse writing, idk fam

editing: ha

words: 1099

____

*record scratch*

*freeze frame*

Yes, that’s me, Albert Dasilva, sitting behind a desk, spying on someone through their phone camera for the FBI. You��re probably wondering how i ended up in this situation. Well, frankly, I am too. I always knew that I was a walking meme, but I never thought that I would actually become one.

See, I had just finished college and, like most college graduates, was looking for a job. One of my friends who asked to remain nameless *ahem* jAcK keLLy, told me to apply to work at the FBI because apparently you only need a college degree to do that. And me, being the dumbass that I am, decided to do it as a joke cause fuck it, why would they ever hire someone who had been arrested for stealing oats and cream cheese from Target when they were 14? (Alright fine, I technically wasn't arrested, the cop was clearly caffeine deprived and let us off with a warning. Although they didn't catch us the one time Jack and I stole one of the Target balls in broad fucking daylight. Wait. Forget I said that. I’m a good wholesome Christian child and have never stolen anything, anything I may or may not have told you was a blatant lie.)

Plot twist, they fucking hired me.

(Jack got a real kick out of that, believe me.)

And, as part of my intern training, I had to do only the most memey job on the whole internet:

Watch people through their phone cameras.

Yes! We actually exist! This is not just some dumb meme that the internet made up! And I would know, because the idiot I’m assigned to watch doesn’t sleep so therefore I don't sleep and I have the dark undereye circles to prove it!

God, I want a fucking nap.

But no, instead I’m watching an idiot look up fucking lazytown quotes at two in the fucking morning.

*muffled shouting* Oh, and he’s hot. Thanks for reminding me, Jack. Not like that's WHY IM WRITING THIS YOU ASSHOLE!

*deep breath* Okay, anyway. Back to the story.

Why am I doing this?

Right. Cause I hate myself, that’s why.

Anyway. The kid that I have to watch through his phone camera. His name is Race. And no, before you ask, I do not know why he goes by Race. It’s not my business. I only watch his every move on the Internet, I don't know his whole life story! What kind of organization do you think the FBI is, huh?

Just kidding, we definitely know your whole life story and its definitely recorded in three different places, one of which is a vault hidden under Argentina. But you didn't hear that from me.

*more muffled shouting*

Jack is telling me that I’m “beating around the bush too much and need to get to the point.” Fine. I know that’s what you came here for anyway.

In short, it was a stormy night and the power had gone out, but I, a dedicated FBI intern who did not want to lose my only source of income, was using my rapidly dying iPhone to watch my assigned civilian through his phone camera. That night, the man had looked especially enchanting, the light from his phone illuminating his luscious blonde curls and accentuating his deep blue eyes, making it seem as though I could drown in their-

Okay this just sounds like shitty Wattpad fanfic. Is tHAT WHAT YOU WANTED JACK?! Also I don't know what Wattpad fanfic is like because I’ve personally read any. I spy on people through their phone cameras alright, I’ve seen a whole lot of weird shit.

Essentially, what happened was I caught some feelings. And, my supervisor figured this out by reading my weekly reports and told me essentially to “tell him you like him so you can go on a date and I can reassign you so that I don't have to keep reading these lovey dovey reports because they make my brain turn to mush.”

Thanks for that Katherine. Love you too.

And now, here I am, having this fan tas tic  monologue while trying to figure out how to compose a text message.

(Before you ask how I have Race’s phone number, I work for the FBI. There’s a lot of information I have that any normal citizen would want. Like what is actually kept in Area 51 (baby iPhones), if mothman is real (he is and secretly is the president of the United States), and if Canada is real (its not). But you shouldn’t trust any of this information because I work for the FBI and I could be lying to you.)

Here’s what I have so far:

Hi Race. My name is Albert and you might not believe this but I am actually the FBI agent in your phone...yes, we exist. I’ve spent the last 5 months watching you and I think you're kinda cool and pretty cute and was wondering if you would like to meet up some time. (Also stop looking up lazy town quotes at 2 am, I now have the whole show memorized because of you.)

Overall, it’s not bad, but there’s some things that I think could be improved and- wait, Jack, nO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP GIVE THAT BACK I’M NOT FINISHED!!

*10 minutes later*

He sent it. Jack sent my fucking message before it was fuking finished and now Race isn’t going to fucking respond and I’m going to be alone forever and Katherine is going to reassign me and I’m never going to see Race’s angelic face ever again and-

Oh.

He responded?

What the hell?

Honestly, I guess I should have seen that coming. Race has no common sense.

What? I’m allowed to say that! I spend my days looking at what he googles, alright!

Anyway, I’m sure you're dying to know what he said, so here it is:

Hi Albert! You better not be trolling me because this has been the biggest and I oop moment I’ve ever had. Please tell me that you haven’t exposed my two am lazy town search sessions to the public. No one is supposed to know about that. And yes, I would love to meet up with you. Mostly to apologize for my google search history and for the memes (hehe) but also because anyone who can spy on me for 5 months without going to therapy than maybe you can actually put up with my craziness! Xx Race.

Huh.

Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all...

____

im so sorry please dont unfollow me

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@writing-makes-me-antsy

[all-hail-the-witcher]

Angsty Canon Era Sprace Please And Thank You

so this is more hurt comfort than angst but I guess it’s kinda angsty________

ship: spracegenre: angst with some comfortwarnings: descriptive drowning although no one actually drowns, sort of implied/described panic attack, feeling unloved, albert smokes and is an idiotwords: 741editing: nah________

Spot was drowning.

All around him swirled the murky waters of the East River. He struggled against the weight pressing down on him, but try as he might he was powerless against it. His muscles aches from fighting toward the surface, but at this point he wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore. For all he knew he was just plunging himself deeper and deeper.

His lungs ached for one more breath of polluted Brooklyn air, but when he breathed in all he got was the unpleasant feeling of water running up his nose. He tried to cough the water out but only succeeded in breathing more in. It felt like his lungs were filling with the stuff and all of a sudden he was overcome with the urge to sleep.

He allowed himself to close his eyes and let his arms take a break from trying to fight their way to the surface. He felt safe there in the water and he let it wrap around him comfortingly. He would be okay, he just needed a minute to rest. He would be okay...he would….be…….

•••

Race woke up with a start.

Groggily, he rubbed his eyes trying to discern what had pulled him out of his peaceful slumber when he heard it again: a frantic tapping coming from the window next to his bunk.

Thinking it was Albert who had gotten locked out again while smoking, he threw open the window without so much as a second glance, still very eager to go back to sleep.

“Ge’ in ‘ere ya dum’ss,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Tony?”

Race sat straight up, suddenly very much more awake. That was definitely not Albert…

“Spot?”

Race crawled to the window where, sure enough, there stood Spot, shaking like a leaf and digging his nails into the outsides of his forearms. He forgot all about sleep, suddenly overcome with worry.

“Spot? Whatcha doin here? Did something happen?” He pushed open the window further so that Spot could crawl through and to his surprise he fell almost immediately into Race’s side, silent sobs wracking his body.

Completely taken aback, Race began to calmly stroke Spots hair, letting him sob seemingly endlessly while he whispered words of comfort to him.

“It’s okay Spottie, everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe with me, I’m keeping you safe. I ain’t gonna let nothin happen to you as long as I’m here. I love you so much, you’re safe and loved here with me. I got you, I promise.”

Race’s hands moved from Spots hair to his back as his sobs lessened to painful sounding shudders, all the while Race continued to whisper how much he loved him over and over.

Finally, Spots voice cracked through Race’s ears painfully.

“I’m safe right?”

“So safe,” race responded immediately. “I’m here, nothing can happen to you. I’m keeping you safe.”

Spot took another shuddering breath. “I dreamed- there was so much water Tony. Everywhere. All I could see all I could breathe. I don’t- I can’t- I… It still feels like I’m- like I’m breathing it.”

“No, hey,” Race soothed. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe now, I got you and I love you and I won’t let anything happen to you. It wasn’t real, I promise.”

Suddenly, Spot pulled back slightly from Race’s hold on him. “Stop that.”

“Stop what honey?” Race asked gently, pushing the hair out of Spots eyes.

“Caring for me. I don’t deserve it.”

Race swore that in that moment his heart broke.

“I’m just acting dumb,” Spot continued. “This shouldn’t bother me, I don’t know, it was dumb to come here. I’ll go.”

“No, no please,” Race begged, pulling his arms back around Spot to prevent him from climbing back through the window. “Please believe me when I say that you deserve this. Everyone deserves the chance to receive comfort, and if you find comfort with me, then I’m more than happy to help you. It absolutely breaks my heart to think that you don’t understand that you’re worth this Sean. I love you, I love you so much, and I’ll do anything to make you happy because you deserve at least that.”

Spot was quiet for a moment before whispering a quiet “okay.”

Race smiled softly, pulling his boyfriend closer as they settled in for the night.

______

the ending is trash sorry yike

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list@fairly-awkward-trashcan@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@ughwaitwhat@aw-jus-let-em-try@the-woild-is-my-what-now@tommy-s-s0cks@voice-foundshoe-lost@stopthe-presses@ridin-in-style@pinecovewoods@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing@bencookisagod@be-more-chill-evan-hansen@stellar-alpaca@saxoph-ella@smolcanadiankid@disney-princess-sized@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog@insane-tomato@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn@have-we-got-news-for-you@thatfancyclam@myidkwhatmynameisblog@legoflambwrites@not-a-scab@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad@entschuldigung-bitches@thebroadwayaesthetic@tea-and-theater@seasickdolphin@auspicioustarantula@newsies-of-ny@mrs-higgins@sunshine-e-cigarettes @spot-me50-papes @papesdontsellthemselves@deathcast-s@the-poodles-of-pulitzer@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters@humanracoon@irondad-spiderson-duo@albert-eats-cookie-cake

[all-hail-the-witcher]

blaze it bitches

in honor of weed day have this mess ______

ship: ralbertxweed

genre: the biggest load of crack to ever crack

warnings: weed juice, panera, there’s a shane madej quote, t h r e e quotes by Mr Michael Himself, uhhh, cowboys, oh mothman, general idiocy, and all credit for fruity pebbles to my good nugget mikey

words: 1041 it’s baddd yalll

editing: nope

_________

Race idly spun a pen on the counter, waiting for the clock to hit 10 so he could begin to close. He wasn't sure why he had chosen to work the closing shift at Panera. Pretty much no one came in after 9, especially on a Monday. Currently the only patrons were a group of annoying teenage girls more interested in taking snapchats than talking to each other, an elderly couple eating soup in the corner, and a high school age girl and boy sitting in a booth, eating nothing but bread and sweet tea, having an intense discussion about whales.

In essence, Race was bored out of his mind.

Until exactly 9:48 when Albert walked through the door, waving around two to go cups from starbucks. “Raaaaceeerrrrrrrr!” he sang awkwardly, tripping over his own feat and spilling a few drops of what looked like tea on the floor.

“Al get your high ass outta here,” Race sighed. “I’m workin and you’re just gonna bother me.”

“Butttt cupcakkkeeeee,” Albert whined. “I know how to get mothman!”

“Mothman ain’t real and neither am I,” Race muttered, taking the rag and wiping down the counter. “Now get outta here before Jack makes you.”

Albert sighed. “Least drink the tea I brought you?”

Race sighed, just wanting Albert to not get him fired for once. “Fine.”

Albert smirked.

“But then you have to go, alright?” Race said, holding the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

Albert plunged his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a handful of fruity pebbles, dropping several on the floor. “O-kayyy.”

Race made a face. “What's in this tea Al? It don't taste like nothin from starbucks.”

Al gave him a half smirk. “You like my weed juice?”

“Weed juice? Is this- you made tea out of weed?” Race looked at the paper cup first in shock and then in awe. “Wait, this is brilliant.”

“Course it is,” Albert proclaimed. “I invented it.” He reached his hand back into his pocket for more fruity pebbles. “Want some munchies?”

“Sure why not.” Race could slowly feel the affectionately named “weed juice” taking affect. Hopefully he wouldn’t break too many things while he was closing.

“Racer can you go kick out those teen- wait a second, what are you doing here Al?” Jack looked at Albert skeptically before wrinkling his nose up in disgust. “Alright I don't know which of you brought the grass but I can smell it and I’m not dealing with this tonight so I suggest you two get outta here before you accidentally explode the place.”

Albert’s eyes widened in excitement. “We can go hunting for mothman!” he exclaimed, looking at Race expectantly.

Well, he wasn't gonna remember this in the morning anyway so might as well. “Yeah!” Race agreed, throwing off his apron and hat and wailing them at Jack.

“Try not to get arrested!” Jack called after them, shaking his head.

Once outside, Albert led Race to his car and opened the trunk. “Okay so I figured it out! Mothman wont show us to himself cause we don't look like him so we gotta dress in his truest form.” He handed Race a cheap cowboy costume and a hat.

“Mothman’s a cowboy?”

“Duhhhhh,” Albert rolled his eyes. “Cowboys are the most most cryptic, and sos mothman! It’s how’s he’s stayed hidden all these years.”

Race nodded solemnly in agreement, hastily pulling the costume on over his clothes and jamming the hat on his head.

“Oh I only have one pair of boots though,” Albert frowned. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Race frowned in agreement. “Oh!” he perked up. “I’ll wear one of your boots and you can wear one of my vans!”

“Yes!” Albert pulled one of Races shoes off of his foot, knocking him backwards. “Now we just gotta go to the spot!”

•••

“The spot” turned out to be behind a bush in a kids playground.

“Are you sure we’ll find mothman here?” Race asked, peeking through his dollar store binoculars at his dark surroundings.

“My sources say yes.”

“You have sources?” Race asked skeptically.

“Course.” Albert took a swig from his to go mug.

“Are you still drinkin that weed juice?”

“Nah.” Albert looked at the cup fondly. “It’s my munchies. I can taste the colors.”

Race leaned over. Munchies sounded good right now. “Can I have some?”

“No! My munchies!” Albert wrapped the cup protectively in his arms.

“I want!”

“No!”

“Give!”

“Quiet you’re gonna scare away mothman!”

Race shut up immediately. He didn’t want to scare away his cryptid friend. He had to film a tik tok video with him and become famous!

After ten minutes though, he couldn’t be silent any longer.

“I’m tired,” he whispered loudly. “When is mothman gonna get here?”

Albert knit his eyebrows together, considering while he chewed on a few red fruity pebbles. “Oh I know!” he exclaimed. “Let’s talk about stuff mothman would like so he knows we’re friends.”

Race was intrigued. “Like what?”

“Hmmm,” Albert pondered for a few minutes before beginning to rant. “Crickets are scary but rubbing your legs together under a blanket as such is nice so crickets made some points i guess.”

Race nodded in agreement. “And like,” he thought for a second. “Ok so whales slap. But also they’re big and they don’t need to be.”

“Whales are very cryptic,” Albert yawned. “And I guess no offense to anyone who actually likes them but kiwi birds are weird and why did they need a fruit named after them and why are they fuzzy and who gave the Fruits the right to be fuzzy like what the fuck- WAIT WHICH CAME FIRST THE BIRD OR THE FRUIT- god they’re as cryptic as whales.”

“That’s a good point.” Race laid back in the grass. “Maybe if we go to sleep mothman will show up to kiss us goodnight.”

“You’re so right!” Albert quickly joined Race in the grass. “I’m tired anyway. So this is like,” he pressed his lips together, thinking hard, “killing two birds with one egg.”

“Birds work for the government,” race muttered. “Night Albie.”

“Night racer.”

Race dozed off, dreaming of yodeling with mothman and getting verified on tik tok.

__________

okay look idk either if you wanna read actual good high ralbert shit go to @papesdontsellthemselves cause I basically just stole his brand (and his quotes) for this fic so

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list @fairly-awkward-trashcan @well-the-kids-do-too @racetrackcook @ughwaitwhat @aw-jus-let-em-try @tommy-s-s0cks @voice-foundshoe-lost @stopthe-presses @ridin-in-style @pinecovewoods @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @bencookisagod @be-more-chill-evan-hansen @stellar-alpaca @saxoph-ella @smolcanadiankid @disney-princess-sized @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @insane-tomato @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @have-we-got-news-for-you @thatfancyclam @myidkwhatmynameisblog @legoflambwrites @not-a-scam @albertdasillvaprotectionsquad @entschuldigung-bitches @thebroaaesthetic @tea-and-theater @seasickdolphin @auspicioustarantula @newsies-of-ny @mrs-higgins @sunshine-e-cigarettes  @spot-me50-papes @papesdontsellthemselves @deathcast-s @the-poodles-of-pulitzer

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[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies chapter 10

ANY AND ALL PREVIOUS PARTS ON THE MASTERLIST ORRRR UNDER #SPY BOYS __________ ship: eventual sprace, the great spelmer bromance

warnings: pineapple pizza, very minor injuries like bruises and dried blood. also liquid cats

editing: ehhhh

words: like 1000 not very many tonight welp _________

Spot slammed open the door of the apartment and fell onto the floor in a heap of hopeless romanticness.

“Oh hey Spot,” Elmer called from the kitchen. “How was it?”

“Terrible,” Spot moaned from his position on the floor. He felt like one of those cats that had turned into liquid. Actually maybe he was a cat. That would make this whole thing better anyway. That way he wouldn’t have to look at Phillip’s stupid face again.

There was the sound of Elmer’s footsteps walking into the entryway. Then they stopped. “What the hell happened to you?” Elmer laughed.

Spot groaned loudly. “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

“You know, I’m not an expert in this category, but if you get off the floor I may be able to help.”

Spot sighed and hauled himself up off the floor.

“Okay, change of plans,” Elmer said, taking in Spot’s appearance. “You tell me what happened while I clean you up.”

“But I’m fiiiiiiiine!”

“That may be so,” Elmer paused to grab a roll of paper towels, “but we can’t have you bleeding all over the carpets.”

“We only have one carpet? And also there isn’t that much blood.”

Elmer rolled his eyes and nuged Spot forwards. “C’mon, tough guy. No first aid, no therapy session. Those are the rules.”

Spot considered. “Can the therapy session include the therapist ordering a vegetable pizza?”

“Only if half of it has pineapple on it.”

Spot wrinkled up his face. “Ew, no. I’m not contaminating my yummy pizza goodness with your gross pineapple. You’re going to have to order your own.”

“Well then I’m not gonna let you rant to me about your boyfriend.”

“Well then I won’t let you clean me up and I’ll track blood all over the apartment.”

Elmer narrowed his eyes, finally breaking. “Fine. But this better be a good story.”

Spot shrugged as he drifted towards the bathroom while Elmer made his way to the kitchen to order the pizza.

In a few minutes Elmer reappeared, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink and tapping the spot on the counter.

Spot sighed and hopped onto the counter, still slightly salty that Elmer insisted on fixing him up. He tore off his shirt and threw it forcefully on the ground.

“So,” Elmer began, dabbing at the dried blood around Spot’s nose. “Tell me about this Prince Charming.”

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

“Is that his name? Pain In The Ass?”

Spot slapped Elmer lightly. “No you shit. I….actually don’t know his real name for safety reasons but he goes by Phillip.”

“Mmmm and what does he look like?”

Spot closed his eyes. “Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes. Really strong, but kinda skinnyish. Taller than me.”

“There are children taller than you.”

“Rude.” Spot leaned away from Elmer’s hold to glare at him. “He would have gotten along great with Alex. They’re practically the same person. His code name is freaking Rapunzel!”

“Is it now?” Elmer began cleaning Spot’s busted knuckles. “I hope you call him blondie.”

“I do, actually.”

“Really?” Elmer looked at him skeptically.

“Yeah,” Spot laughed. “I can’t tell if he likes it or hates it though.”

“Well, you don’t know how to flirt so I’m gonna assume he must hate it.”

Spot gave Elmer a long look. “You really do suck at this.”

“I’m trying my best!”

“Uh huhhhh.”

Elmer reached for a roll of gauze. “Well then, I don’t know, tell me what he did tonight to make you a pile of melted goop.”

Spot crossed his arms. “I am not a pile of melted goop.”

“You are too, you literally melted into a pile of lovesick goop as soon as you entered the apartment,” Elmer said forcefully. “He must have don’t something to make the emotionless Sean Conlon feel something.”

Spot groaned, despite himself. “Well, he was making these terrible snow puns. They were gross and sexual and yet somehow funny?”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing you would find funny.”

“Would you shut up?” Spot spat. “I don’t really know, it’s just the way he says things, he’s got this way of...talking that makes you look at him and listen to what he has to say. Even if it’s a dirty joke about snowmen.” Spot paused. “And, we almost got caught. A security guard was chasing after us and I was behind him so I ended up fighting him while he ran and I was thinking the whole time that I had to take that guy down so that he didn’t hurt him. And when I got down off the roof and caught up with him he had still managed to injure himself. So I put my arm around him and made sure he made it back to his partner okay. But when I was touching him, I don’t know, it just felt so right. Like there was this spark and I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Elmer smiled at him. “Awwwww,” he said finally after putting away the first aid kit. “Spottie’s in looooooove.”

Spot jumped down off the counter. “I am not!”

“Are too!” Elmer squealed as Spot began to chase him through the apartment. “You liiiiiike him!”

“Maybe I do, but I don’t love him!”

Their chase was rudely interrupted by the doorbell ringing with their pizza delivery. Elmer went to open the door as Spot grabbed them plates from the kitchen.

“Okay so maybe you don’t love him yet, but you’re definitely far gone for him,” Elmer said as he placed the box on the table.

“I know,” Spot sighed. “I’m not even supposed to like him. He’s supposed to be the person I should be against. And I’m not….” he trailed off, looking at the pizza box on the table. “Weren’t you ordering two?”

Elmer looked at him sheepishly. “I maaaaayyyy have ordered halfsies….?”

“If there is one piece of pineapple touching my veggies, Elmer Kasprzak, I’m feeding you to the wolves.” Spot said threateningly.

“But there are no wolves in Brooklyn…?”

“The homeless, then.”

_________

Spot is in loooooove

also Elmer is an emt in case you forgot and they co own a tattoo place, a longer post about their tattoos is coming in the future.

buckle up y’all, cause 11 is a r i d e please don’t kill me

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list @fairly-awkward-trashcan @well-the-kids-do-too @racetrackcook @bouncyscreamingnewsboys @ughwaitwhat @aw-jus-let-em-try @ben-cook-can-cook @the-woild-is-my-what-now @tommy-s-s0cks @voice-foundshoe-lost @galaxy-trees13 @stopthe-presses @ridin-in-style @pinecovewoods @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @bencookisagod @be-more-chill-evan-hansen @hellasoulless @stellar-alpaca @saxoph-ella @smolcanadiankid @disney-princess-sized @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @insane-tomato @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @have-we-got-news-for-you @thatfancyclam @myidkwhatmynameisblog @legoflambwrites @that-one-newskid @not-a-scab @albertdasillva @entschuldigung-bitches @thebroadwayaesthetic @tea-and-theater @thomasbeingthomas @seasickdolphin @auspicioustarantula @newsies-of-nyc @mrs-higgins @sunshine-e-cigarettes @spot-me50-papes @satafe-cafe @papesdontsellthemselves

[all-hail-the-witcher]

oh id adore a part two to that fic, even if the ending isn't happy

ah yes, the one request I didnt send fizz

here is part one

also hi fizz, babe, this is your other christmas present ;       )

_________

am I just a monster in a cage?

ship: I guess ralbert

genre: angst with no happy ending

warnings: implied past sex and abuse and prostitution, going insane, mental breakdown, very raw emotions

editing: minimal

words: 479

_________

Race sobbed into the deafening quiet, overwhelmed and upset with his actions. 

Why was he like this?

No.

Why was he still like this?

Why did this matter to him?

Why did he look for approval in other people?

Why did he still have to feel things?

Why couldn’t be just learn to control his damn emotions already?

Why had his inner monster been unleashed?

Another sob ripped through Race’s throat, sounding like a caged animal, yearning for freedom.

Ah, yes, freedom: The thing that was always one foot above ground when he was buried six feet under.

Freedom was a trick, a deception of the mond: as soon as you thought you had it, it was gone, disappearing through the cracks of your fingers and into the life of the next longing person.

Why did freedom still choose to fight him?

Why?

Why?

He was supposed to be better now, unbroken and tough, hardened by his experiences; yet, one person had the capability of breaking through all his carefully constructed walls in one fateful night.

In the spur of the moment he had given him everything he had: himself.

Hell, he could still see his shining eyes, feel his thick red hair, hear his cute little moans, taste the salt on his skin, smell his drugstore cologne.

And what had it been worth?

A mere few fleeting moments of happiness had cost him his sanity.

The storm was awake now.

The fear was alive.

The only thing he could feel now.

Race looked at his bruised wrist, bathing in a soothing bath of his own tears.

The pain had faded hours ago, but the feeling, the contact, the loud smack! still rang in his ears.

The confusion in his eyes.

How did he not see that he was hurting him?

The very person who, mere minutes before, was holding him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

The very person who, mere minutes before, had told him he was the most beautiful thing in the world in the most luxurious, deeply captivating voice he’d ever heard.

And then his lips were on someone else’s.

And someone else was calling him baby.

He was supposed to be kissing him.

He was supposed to be calling him baby.

And what did he get instead?

A smack.

A harsh voice.

A flashback.

A head full of regret.

A frozen heart.

A monster trapped inside himself.

The monster screamed.

Race felt his throat tear in half.

His tears soaked his newly sprouted mane.

His mind fought with what was real and what was fake.

He covered his ears.

The monster was no longer trapped in a cage.

He was the monster.

Hardened by his experiences.

Emotionless from feeling too much emotion.

Raging like the beast inside him.

Why was he like this?

No.

Why was he still like this?

_________

okay so thats what happened to race

also this took me months to plan ahhhh

and yet I wrote it in an hour

fizz I hope you liked eeeeee merry belated christmas baby

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist and If you rb make sure you comment

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@king-of-new-yoirk

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

[all-hail-the-witcher]

“ They told me you passed out, how do you feel?” With any ship idc

this is also based on this post http://crystallizedtwilight.tumblr.com/post/170999381713/race-got-really-sick-and-passed-out-on-the-street aka my favorite Newsies art ever by @crystallizedtwilight I hope you don’t mind I turned it into a fic

____________

Don’t Worry Me

ship: sprace

genre: hurt comfort/ sickfic

warnings: passing out, general sickness

word count: 1383

editing: none

____________

In hindsight, Race probably should have stayed at the lodge. His head felt like it was going to crack in half, his voice and throat were sore, he was cold despite the extra shirt he had put on and his stomach hurt.

Race placed a hand on the lamppost next to him as he was overcome by other wave of dizziness. He just had to last for another hour or so until he finished selling and then he could go meet up with Spot. The prospect of seeing Spot was the only thing keeping Race out and selling right now. He very much wanted to see him right now, but he had to finish selling first.

“Hey, Race!”

Race’s head snapped up a little too quickly to see who was calling him. His vision went out of focus and he barely had time to register Albert running toward him before his legs gave out and he toppled into darkness.

•••

Race let out a groan and opened his eyes slowly. His head and stomach still hurt and his clogged nose was making it difficult to breathe.

After a few seconds of blinking, Race registered the fact that he was no longer out on the street selling but laying in his bunk at the lodging house. The room was dark, indicating that it was nighttime. Race’s stomach dropped. He had missed meeting up with Spot, the one thing he had been looking forward to. Hopefully he wasn’t too worried. Race had no way of contacting him to let him know that he was okay, their relationship, if it could even be called that, was a secret after all.

All of this was too much for Races brain to handle in his sick state and he let out a loud groan.

Within seconds there was rustling from the bunk above him and the bed shook as Albert climbed down and sat on the edge of his friend’s bed.

“Hey Racer,” Albert whispered, placing a hand to his forehead to take his temperature, wincing when it came away hotter than he would have liked. “How are ya feelin?”

“Like shit,” Race mumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows.

Albert smirked at him. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Ya passed out in the middle of the street. Lucky I was there to bring you back.”

Race closed his eyes, thinking about how unlucky he was because he hadn’t been able to see Spot. “Mmhm, real lucky.”

Albert stood up to go back to his bed. “You sleep, okay? Mush already said ya ain’t sellin tomorrow so don’t try to get up early, okay?”

Race let out a groan in response. Another day without seeing Spot? Hopefully this sickness didn’t last too long.

Albert laughed quietly at Race’s seeming disappointment. “Night Racer,” he said as he climbed back up onto his bunk.

Race rolled over and tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. If he was going to be stuck at the lodge, he might as well sleep.

•••

Race was awoken at what he assumed was lunchtime the next day due the loud voices downstairs from the boys who chose to come back to the lodge for food. Their noise was not doing anything for Race’s still present headache and he sighed in defeat, knowing that he would just have to wait for them to leave to sleep again.

Suddenly, the noise died down and a gruff sounding voice came from downstairs followed by murmurs and sounds of confusion. Race strained his ears, but couldn’t make out any of the conversation. A few minutes of discussion later there came the sound of someone climbing the stairs to the bunk room.

A few seconds later, none other than Spot Conlon entered the bunk room, concern clouding his features as his eyes landed on Race.

“They told me you passed out while selling yesterday,” Spot said, walking toward Race’s bunk and sitting down on it. “Are you okay?”

Race sat up, meeting Spots worried gaze. What was Spot even doing here? Was he that invested in their relationship that he had to schlep all the way to Manhattan when Race didn’t show up for a meeting? Maybe he cared more about Race than he let on…

“It’s no big deal,” Race sighed. “I’ll be up an’ runnin soon enough.”

Spot scoffed and rolled his eyes, pretending to be very interested in Race’s blanket. He had never been particularly good at offering comfort.

“I’m going to get you some soup,” he said after a minute, turning to leave.

Race hadn’t eaten anything in at least a day - he was too out of it to ingest anything besides water - but he protested Spot’s offer. “Don’t!” He said as forcefully as he could muster. “i ain’t spending your money!”

Spot brushed off his concerns. “You can pay me back later.”

Race sighed, catching Spots shoulder with his hand as he got off his bed. “It’s not about that,” he mumbled. “Time you waste here - with me - is time you ain’t out sellin papes. I ain’t costing you a days work, Spottie.”

Spot whirled around, and Race’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the, what was that?Disappointment? Worry? Concern? in spots eyes.

“Dammit Race,” Spot spat, although he didn’t sound angry. “I lost a weeks pay on the strike and you can bet your ass I’d lose another for you.” Spots eyes softened and he placed a hand on Race’s chest gently. “So will you just shut it and rest? I need you to get better and if that means sittin here until you do, I’m gonna do it.”

Spot pressed a quick kiss to Race’s scorching temple before exiting the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Race flopped backwards, trying to work out what had actually just happened. Did Spot really care about him that much? Did he love him?

Before Race could come to a conclusion there was the sound of several pairs of feet pounding upstairs. Race threw his forearm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise.

The footsteps paused outside the door to the bunk room and Race peeped out from under his arm to see Albert, Specs, Mush, JoJo, Elmer, Buttons and Finch standing in the doorway.

“YOU'RE FUCKING SPOT CONLON?!” Albert whisper screamed.

Race groaned, of course they had to find out about this now. Damn Spot and his worry about him. “Can we not talk about this right now?” Race sighed.

Although he hadn’t answered the question, per se, he did not deny it, so the boys took this as an invitation to whoop and holler and whistle.

“Alriiiiiiight,” Race drawled, the noise was becoming too much for his headache. “Get out of here you dogs, I don’t need you disturbing my time with Prince Charming.”

Someone - probably Albert - let out one more quiet whistle before the boys descended back down the steps.

Race had almost fallen back asleep when he felt someone brush his hair off his forehead gently. He cracked open his eyes to see Spot sitting next to him holding a bowl of soup. Race gave him a lopsided smile as he sat up.

“Did the boys whoop and hollah at you too?” He asked, graciously accepting the soup from Spot.

Spot laughed. “I guess they think we’re a thing.”

“Are we?” Race asked. They had never quite established what they were. Their relationship didn’t have a label, it just consisted of stolen kisses in alleyways and occasional nights together.

A smile tugged at the corner of Spots mouth. “Antonio Higgins, would you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?”

Race laughed, reaching over to take Spots hand. “I would be honored, Sean Conlon.”

Since the two of them were officially out to the rest of the boys, no one objected to Spot spending the night to take care of Race. However, Race did object because Spot was the king of Brooklyn, and surely he had better things to be doing.

Thankfully, Spot didn’t listen to Race’s protests and spent the night holding his weak boyfriend and comforting him when he woke up from fever dreams.

And, if Spot refused to let Race out of his sight for a week after, well, that was between them.

_____________

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

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