#sprace microfic

[bri-cheeses]

| Sprace microfic | Word count: 960 | Shoutout to Hotshot (my queen) |

-

Spot Conlon was sitting on a fire escape, and he had a secret.

Technically speaking, he had many secrets, a good deal of which were much more sinister than this one. But this, he thought, was one that couldn’t get out. Ever.

“Hey, boss,” Hotshot said from behind him, lowering herself onto the step next to Spot. The sudden break in the serene atmosphere caused Spot’s pulse to jump, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he simply flicked the ash from the cigar he was holding and shifted over to make room for his friend. He wasn’t sure why his second in command felt the need to interrupt his alone time, but he wouldn’t mind so long as she didn’t say anything.

“So,” Hotshot started, and Spot mentally cursed at his luck, “I thought I’d let you know that the guys have been talking.”

The guys.

Have been talking.

A glower overtook his face. He had a feeling he already knew what this was about, but he had to be sure before saying anything.

“Talking about what?” he asked.

A beat of silence, then a hesitant: “They say you’ve been spending a lot of time at Sheepshead lately.”

“And what’s it to them?” Spot knew his tone was becoming more and more threatening, an undercurrent of danger lurking beneath his words, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. This was something good that he had. Something actually, truly good. He wouldn’t give it up without a fight.

“They say,” Hotshot said, continuing on even though Spot refused to look at her, “that you’ve been spending more and more time there since a couple a’ months ago.”

He let out a frustrated huff of breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His tone was biting, and his grip on the cigar in his hand tightened. Hotshot said nothing.

When Spot finally dared a glance at her, he found that she was already looking at him, her expression assessing. He felt his mask harden in response to the scrutiny. If Hotshot wanted to play this game, he could show her that he knew how to play, too—and knew how to play it well.

“Spot,” Hotshot finally said, and her voice was slow and measured as she asked, “Where’d you get that cigar?”

Apparently, she could play it well, too.

“It ain’t your business.” His tone was hard, no room for discussion or argument. Because Hotshot wasn’t supposed to know. No one was, except for himself and, well, the reason he’d been spending so much time at the tracks recently. But Hotshot had guessed anyways.

He looked down at the cigar. He should’ve been more careful—this wasn’t something that he wanted to get out. Not because he was ashamed of it, but because this was his thing. It was something he had that was special, and so what if he wanted to keep it to himself for just a bit longer? He did everything for the Brooklyn newsies. Everything. He deserved to have this one thing, right?

Hotshot sighed. “You know I won’t judge you, even if— even if he is Manhattan.”

“Who said anything about anyone?” Spot said flatly. His hands itched to push himself up off the stair, to stand and leave and avoid this conversation.

“I ain’t blind, Spot. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you tense whenever someone says his name, or the guarded expression you have when you say you’re going to the tracks, or the brand of the cigar in your hand. There’s only one newsie you interact with who would blow his money on a box of Coronas. So like I said, I ain’t blind, and I sure ain’t stupid, either.”

Spot had to huff a mirthful laugh at that, because maybe she wasn’t, but he certainly felt like he was. At least, he felt stupid in some capacity, to have thought that no one would put the pieces together, that no one would pay attention and figure it out and approach him to ask about it.

And so Spot didn’t utter a word. He could flat out lie to Hotshot, but he doubted she would believe him. He could leave, but she’d just ask him again and again until he had no choice but to tell her. And he could tell her to forget all about it, but Hotshot was his friend and he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. He didn’t look at her.

“Fine. You want me to say it? I like him. I like Race. That’s the reason I’ve been spending time at the tracks, that’s while I have a cigar in my hand, that’s why I’m wary when people say his name or mention Manhattan.” He took a deep breath. “And now you’ve gotten what you wanted, so I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone now. And don’t even think of mentioning this to anyone else. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Usually when Spot threatened people, they didn’t laugh. But that’s what Hotshot did, loudly and heartily before saying, “And that’s the classic Spot I know, always making things more difficult than they have to be. Seriously, was that so hard?”

He didn’t respond.

“But really,” she said quietly, the metal of the fire escape creaking as she stood, “I’m happy for you.”

Then the moment was broken as she laughed again, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Now I’m going inside before you throw me off the fire escape.”

When he didn’t answer, she turned and made her way up the rickety stairs. The sound of a window shutting alerted him to her departure, and he closed his eyes.

What had he gotten himself into?

-

[goblinmatriarch]

Getting to know you

Thanks for the tag @mallstars ! You can see their response here.

Three ships: drarry, Merthur, tedependent

First ship: sprace, newsies

Last song: "No Body, No Crime" by Taylor swift and HAIM - as part of my "Angry Women who Warned You" playlist

Last movie: Girls' Trip

Currently reading: Anne of Green Gables reread. I haven't read it as an adult and wow is it a different book from this perspective. Also the prose holds tf up.

Last thing I wrote: drarry microfic prompt: raven

Currently writing: secret fest fic

Are you named after anyone? No but I desperately wanted to be in my youth

Favourite subject in school: English, probably? I generally liked most subjects though, just some free guided learning? Sign me up!

Do you have kids? Yep, two kids, both quite small (under 7)

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Mmmm less now that I have kids because they don't get it.

What sports do you play/have you played? I just run. I have no hand-eye coordination and don't understand team sports.

What's the first thing you notice about people? Their.....hair? Idk, I've never considered this before! Will spend a week or so checking and get back to you.

Any special talents: I am so good at charming a room full of loose acquaintances. Weddings are my natural habitat, just a bunch of sort-of strangers ready to chitchat and have fun for a night.

Where were you born? New Orleans

What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, lots of walks

Height: 5'6" or 167cm

Dream job: to paraphrase someone else, I don't dream of having a job. I guess communal living?

No-pressure tagging @elskanellis @wqtson @basiatlu

[bri-cheeses]

| Sprace microfic | Word count: 1,054 | This is my make-up post for having forgotten to post tomorrow lol |

-

The rain that had just been pouring down in Brooklyn was borderline dangerous, having come and gone with all the ferocity of a small hurricane. Not even the awning of the little street store that Spot and Race had taken cover under had been enough to keep them from getting wet.

“Ugh,” Race muttered under his breath, having just pinched the fabric of his shirt between his fingers to find it heavy with the distinct weight of rain-soaked clothes. “I’m going to have to wear this all the way home.”

It was the downcast way he said it, along with the wary glance he threw out to the street where cart vendors and civilians alike scurried from place to place, looking up at the gray sky all the while, that had Spot making his decision.

“C’mon,” he said, not giving Race a chance to respond before Spot was grabbing his hand and leading him out from under the overhang.

“What are you doing?” Race asked from behind him. He sounded confused, but Spot didn’t turn around.

“You’ll see,” he responded instead, and kept walking until he reached the door of the Brooklyn Lodging house.

Race’s small noise of incredulity made Spot tighten his hold on the other boy’s hand in order to better drag him up the stairs to his bedroom. Sure, he hardly ever brought Race in here during the day, but it really shouldn’t have been all that surprising that he was taking him here now. After all, Spot had made countless exceptions for Racetrack ever since they first met. Race just had that kind of effect upon him.

Race’s shock didn’t stop him from waggling his eyebrows suggestively, however, once they were in the privacy of Spot’s small room.

Spot rolled his eyes, albeit somewhat fondly.

“You’ve still got to get home before the sun sets,” he reminded Race, not looking at him as he went to his stack of clothes. He knew that if he so much as looked at Race, his resolve might crumble—because Race had that kind of effect upon him, too.

“Besides,” Spot said, rifling through his shirts, “you’re just here so I can give you this.”

He tossed the shirt he had been looking for towards Race, who just barely caught it against his chest. He looked down at what Soot had thrown at him and his brow furrowed for a second or two before realizing what he was holding. Once he had, however, Race clutched at the garment, his mouth slightly agape as he looked up at Spot.

“Might want to close that, or you’re going to catch flies.” Spot nodded towards Race’s mouth, which snapped close.

“I— you want me to wear this?” Race sounded faint.

Spot frowned, not sure what the problem was. “Yes?”

But from the way Race tentatively held up the shirt, showing it off in the dim light of the room, he was definitely unsure of something.

“What?” Spot prompted.

Race lowered the shirt a little so he could look at Spot. He still looked a little confused.

“Well, it’s yours, for one.”

Spot shrugged. “You can plan on giving it back to me tomorrow if that makes you feel better.” He hadn’t really planned on actually gifting the shirt to Race—after all, he was still dirt poor and hardly able to afford food, much less new clothes. But he had known that Race probably wouldn’t feel comfortable fully taking it anyhow, and so Spot was fine with him borrowing it for a night or two.

Besides, he really wanted to see Race wearing his clothes and walking back to Manhattan smelling of him.

Not that he’d ever admit that.

Race’s teeth worried his bottom lip. “I mean, yeah, that sounds good, but also…” Race trailed off, his eyes flicking back down to the material in his hands. “It’s red.”

And suddenly, Spot understood the reason for his hesitation. Amongst the newsies, it was common for those who lived in Brooklyn to wear red if they could find it, and the same was true for Manhattan and blue. If Race went back to his lodging house wearing red, he’d stuck out like a sore thumb. Not to mention all the questions he’d undoubtedly get, along with the assumptions that’d be made.

Still, Spot couldn’t help the words from spilling out of his mouth.

“I think it’d look good on you.”

Race’s head jerked up. A blush worked its way into his cheeks, resulting in a pretty flush. Spot wanted to kiss him.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said. He’d meant it. “Let them ask questions, let them wonder where you got it. You and I are the only ones who actually know anyhow.”

Which was certainly true enough, he thought as Race turned over the shirt, considering it. Spot could see the exact moment he made his decision, with the mischievous glint that formed in his eyes and the way he clutched the garment tighter.

“Well, I always have been a bit of a man of mystery,” Race said, a grin spreading over his face. “What's the harm in confusing people just a little more?”

And then he was changing out of his soaked shirt and exchanging it for Spot’s, turning toward him when he was finally done.

“Look good?” he asked, just a bit cheekily.

Spot swallowed, mouth suddenly quite dry. “Yeah.”

The resulting grin Race threw him had his heart thumping in his chest, but Race just pecked him on the mouth before he was at the door, about to the turn the handle.

“See you tomorrow, Spotty,” he said. “And thanks for the shirt.”

And with a parting wink, he was gone, having slipped out the door.

Spot stared at the space Race had just occupied. He could easily imagine Race’s walk home in that red shirt, the stares he’d get once he’d cross the bridge. The questions that would be asked, the way Race would deflect each and every one, and how he’d return tomorrow with a cheerful grin oh his face as he returned the shirt.

But most importantly, Spot could still see Race in his mind, wearing his city’s colors, wearing his shirt, and not even fully aware of the effect he had upon Spot.

Spot groaned. Just what had he gotten himself into?

-

[bri-cheeses]

Intro Post:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi! Here’s some basic info about me:

- My name is Bri

- I write microfics (my AO3 is @bri_cheeses)

- My three biggest fandoms (in order) are:

- Marauders

- Newsies

- All For The Game

- I’m Christian

- If you ever need or want someone to talk to, please believe me when I say that I’m more than happy to listen and talk to you! It can be anything, and whatever it is, I’m here for you :)

- I will not tolerate hate on my blog. Keep it all kind and pleasant, please!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Links to help you navigate my blog:

-

Rosekiller Content:

Rosekiller microfics

Rosekiller headcanons

Rosekiller Soulmate AU Series

-

Newises Content:

Sprace microfics

-

Other Marauders Content:

Wolfstar microfics

-

General Content:

All of my microfics

My asks

-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What’s my posting schedule?

- I take Sundays and the occasional Wednesday off

- Sometimes I post Sprace (Spot Conlon x Racetrack Higgins) on Saturdays

- Every other day is typically something Marauders related, most often Rosekiller (Barty Crouch Jr x Evan Rosier)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do I take writing requests?

Yes, I do! Send me a prompt, it can be anything—one word, a specific pairing, an extremely detailed scene—literally anything!

(Things I will not write include: NSFW, incest, pedophilic relationships, or anything sacrilegious.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus info about me:

- I love Dead Poets Society, The Song of Achilles, Percy Jackson, and Six of Crows

- I love Disney! (my favorite movie is Luca)

- I’m learning Italian and Spanish

- I listen to Taylor Swift, Billy Joel, Queen, Mahmoud, Chappell Roan, Noah Kahan, ABBA, The Last Dinner Party, Michele Bravi, Olivia Rodrigo, Phil Wickham, and Casting Crowns

- I ski, run cross country, play soccer on a club team, and did gymnastics for seven-ish years

- I love American Football and will gladly take any excuse to talk about it

- I am way too obsessed with Formula 1 to be healthy

- I hope you have a good day! Remember to eat and drink something, and smile! You’re doing great <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[goblinmatriarch]

Thanks for the tags @saintgarbanzo @moonmanateee

Three ships: drarry my beloved the heart of my soul the love of my life. Merthur, I am such a sucker for the king and lionheart trope, truly my catnip. Trent/Ted Lasso, my first written fanfic in decades

First ship: sprace, spot/race from Newsies. I was a newsies girl all the way in my youth.

Last song: oh La La by Janelle Monae

Last movie: Sister Act, and y'all it holds up go watch it now.

Currently reading: Save the Date by Mallstars

Currently watching: Shameless, and I would die for Fiona

Last thing I wrote: My bodiceripper fic! Also I've been doing microfics. In terms of current writing, working on a gift exchange fest fic.

No pressure tagging @basiatlu @tackytigerfic @elskanellis