Latest Posts by thehyperfixationsaretakingover - Page 3

Spot owns a pair of these brass knuckles, but gave one of them to Race to always have with him.

Best part is that he stole them from a cop

Hey! I'm doing a thing now cause I'm bored! If you have a character that you love and obsess over,

Or watch videos or read fanfiction while there's a light drizzle in your area. You could be nearing the end of your 100,000 fanfiction of the most indescribable things and one of your characters is going through their emotions whether they are good, bad, welcome, or uninvited and you wonder what its like to be in their shoes or to be a character near them....)

I am now doing song/playlist commissions!

You can send me a character that you like, and I can try to find as many songs as I can, you can also have to to be what situation that character is in physically or mentally, or it could just be about their character! I will try to respond as quickly as I can and give you a list of songs.

But I do need to warn you... My song preferences tend to lean towards AJR or Marina, stuff like that, but I still listen to everything. So, if you have a song preference, let me know, and I can try to accommodate that need. You can also send me fanfiction of your character, and I can try to make a playlist about that specific fic!

Fandoms

911, (not lonestar sadly :(

Hazbin Hotel

Httyd

Country humans

Sandersides

Newsies

South park

Youtubers(pretty much only smii7y or his close gang ((kryoz, puffer, blarg, grizzy, Droid, ect)) )

I also do all types of ships! ( kinda)

here’s a picture of jeremy jordan that you haven’t seen before because i took it TONIGHT. because i saw him LIVE.

Spot: *processed to jump swiftly like a cat onto several different objects to reach the highest shelf, then slams it open.*

Race:

Spot: You were saying?

Spot: there's nothing I can't do

Race: except reach the top shelf

Spot:

Race: you can't do that

This is the best feature this website ever added I wish it showed up everywhere your mutuals did. What a beautiful symbol. I love you besties

JoJo's nightly prayer was usually a comforting sound to Elmer. He may not be religious himself, but the soft murmur of his best friend's voice as he prayed lulled him to sleep most nights.

Not tonight, though. Tonight the sound distressed him.

Jack wasn't on the roof, even he had enough sense to sleep inside when it was cold. So Elmer slipped down from his bunk and crept over to the window, scuttling up the ladder. He wasn't allowed on the roof without one of the older boys, according to Jack, but right now Elmer didn't care what Jack did or didn't allow.

"Um... hullo, God. Or Jesus. Whichever of you are listening." He didn't kneel, or clasp his hands, but he did lift his head to stare up at the big white moon, faintly through the wispy clouds.

"I know JoJo's praying at the moment, and you should listen to him, but I hope one'a you can listen to me." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Romeo's dad came by again today. He scares me- not as much as he scares Romeo, 'course. Mush scared him off 'fore Kloppman even got to the door though. An' Sniper's dad came by yesterday. I dunno why Sniper keeps going home when he hurts him like that. That's what I wanted to ask you; why d'you let people hurt other people?"

A particularly sharp gust of wind bit at his bare arms. JoJo would probably say it was a Sign, that he was asking questions he shouldn't, but Elmer was tired of the questions building up inside him.

"Why- why did you let Mr. Wiesel an' the Delanceys and the police hurt us during the strike? Why did you let Mr. Pulitzer and Hearst raise their prices, when you must know how we live?" His voice was trembling now, increasing in volume unintentionally, "Why'd JoJo get sent on a ship here alone over a war that never even happened- n-not that I'm not happy he's here, but he doesn't know how to find his parents! Half my friends can't be with their family for one reason or 'nother, an' the other half are terrified of them! Why d'you let that happen? Why did you let my mama send me away? I don't know what I did wrong!"

Elmer was shouting now, his cheeks damp and vision blurred with tears. He didn't even realise. Someone was speaking to him, although he couldn't make out what they were saying. He felt warm, safe arms suddenly wrap around him, pulling him close against someone's chest and turning his face away from the moon.

The moon gave no answer to his questions, and neither did anyone else.

reblog to slowblink at your mutuals

Jack (First chair trumpet) : Hey! don't talk to him like that!

Spot: (walks over and slaps the shit out of Jack)

Newsies as a conversation first chair flute and second chair flute had with the band director the other day.

Spot (Band director): *points to first chair flute* What would happen if I run you over with my minivan because you won't stop PLAYING IT LEGATO

Race (Second chair flute) : No, Don't she's the only one who can do anything around here.

Davey (First chair flute) : Finally, the appreciation I deserve.

Spot: You deserve nothing.

Davey: Wait. Where's Jack? He loves this game.

Crutchie: I thought Albert invited him.

Race: I thought Finch invited him.

Finch: I thought Spot invited him.

Spot: I never invite him.

Spot loves yet hates where he is. In life, at least. He loves the fact that he is the king of Brooklyn and can tell anyone what to do. He loves the constant attention on him and how he is praised for being the toughest newsies in all of New York. But he hates it all at the same time, too. He hates how one small mistake can ruin his standing of where he is. He hates being judged by many people, which he can barely remember the names of. He hates that he is barely seen as a person anymore and more or less a symbol. He wants to make friends and talk to people, but he can't. He wonders what it got him to this standpoint whether it but by lucky chance or unfortunate mistake.

Spot loves and hates New York. He loves how alive it feels and the way it speaks. He loves the feeling of home it gives. But he hates it all the more. He hates how much it is. How it can feel so overwhelming you might as well slip of an edge and everyone would forget you in a bat of an eye.

Spot loves and hates his "friends." If you can call them that at least. He loves the feeling of it. The way if you're sad, happy, or angry, you can always tell them to them and talk with them. He loves being vulnerable after putting up the charade of being as tough as stone. But he hates it for that reason, too. He hates that after years and years of putting up these walls around his heart, determined to not let anyone in, they somehow do. Some made it past the first or second walls, which was already too far, but one had managed to get all the way through to the center of his heart. He hated them and loved them the same.

You can say Spot loves many things. But the one thing he hats the most is himself.

manhattan, west virginia davey and kazimiera the skvader for @pigeonwit !!

You could barely see a thing. Newsies boys throwing punches and scabs swepping legs. Right now, it was war. Race was entagled in another big looking scab who definitely had too much of an ego, if anything by the way his smirk grew with every punch he landed. He pushed Race backward, scraping his back on the top of the building. He recovered by kicking him in the balls, obviously. As the scab fell down with a grunt, making no move to hop back up, Race frantically looked around for other newsies to help.

Mush and Blink were killing everyone in sight (mostly Blink), Davey was holding his own with some assistance from Jack, and Finch and Albert were gathering all the young Brooklyn Newsies and driving them away, but it looked like Romeo was in trouble. He was backed into a wall and Race's heart dropped when he caught sight of a flash of metal coming from the scabs hand. Immediately pushing of the ground, Race ran over and stepped in from of Albert, before kicking him the chest, sending him flying a few feet away. A second later, a Brooklyn newsies he didnt recognize came swinging in with a baseball bat, connecting with the scabs head. All three of them connected eyes as the Brooklyn newsies let out a breath of air, and Albert gave a twisted grin. Race himself copying Albert, he lifts his head high looking for another fight.

He partly wished they hadn't come, but there was no chance they wouldn't have. After all, if you get word that all the scabs in and near Brooklyn were going to jump the Brooklyn boys, even with Brooklyn's reputation, they needed all the help they could get. Thankfully they arrived early, and by now, it looked like they were going to win by the second. Now all Race needs to do is-

BANG.

Everything went silent. Everyone stopped moving. Soft breaths of air was the only thing Race heard, besides the ringing in his ears. It can't be. Almost everyone had a weapon, but- that sounded way too similar to a gun.

Race whipped his head around and saw one of the scabs. The boy was facing outwards with his arm stretched out, his knuckles white, holding- a gun. He was smaller, and had less muscle than the other scabs did, but his teeth were clenched in a scowl, and you could see the anger and fear in his eyes, if you couldn't tell by the shaking of his body.

Race slowly followed the trail where the bullet wouldv'e traveled and his eyes landed on a boy standing near the ledge.

A short boy. A boy with a big temper and ego. A boy with calm, dirty blonde hair, who like to grease it in the mornings, and often yelled whenever anyone were to touch it. A boy with a pimp cane that he wore at his side, that was now broken and scattered across the roof. A boy that had a stern look but a soft smile. A boy that was clutching his shoulder with blood spilling through his fingers. A boy that had the temper of a mad man, but would never get mad at Race, no matter how much Race tried to annoy or irritate him. A boy that Race loved. A boy who closed his eyes for the last time and fell off the roof.

"Please, Spotty!!" Race begged. Spot went blank. 'Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Did he just call me Spotty?' Spots mind raced with thoughts, but his expression showed no emotion despite the growing red flush on his face. "Hey, you good?" Race asked after a beat, not fully snapping Spot out of his trance but enough to speak. "Yeah, jus' thinkin'." " Well ya done thinkin'? We gotta go." Spots heart speed up. "Sure." He said. Race instantly grabbed his arm and tugged him to Medda's theater. But Spot wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking of the long walk back to Brooklyn. He wasn't considering how fast the night was approaching. He didn't remember the few moments before the interaction and how he yawn three times in the past minute. But how could he? Race called him Spotty.

Janus: Alright, so Google maps says that it'll take 1 hour to get there and-

Remus: Only I'd you actually listen to laws. I can make it in 10 minutes!!

Janus: ....

Janus: No.

Spot: *Sneezes*

Jack: Hey, Spot sneezes like a girl!

Spot: And how 'bout I pound you like a boy, that didn't come out right..

This is amazing

throwback to when i made these sick ass newsies shoes in middle school

A Southpark thing I did.

Romeo: Why aren't there friend pick up lines? Pick up lines to make friends like-

Romeo to Davey: Hey, that's a cute outfit. You know where it would look better? On nobody else, because you're a beautiful individual.

Spot, to Race: Be my friend or I'll set your entire family on fire.

Jack: There are two types of people.

Jack, tearing up the room: Where are they?

Jack, looking under a pillow: Who moved them? Who moved my children?

Jack: Somebody moved my M&M's, and now I am going to start killing.

Spot: I always hate it when people pronounce my name as Sean instead of Sean, only because it looks like Sean but everyone always forget that you actually pronounce it as Sean.

Hotshot:

Hotshot: What?