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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

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I can’t write for shit but I know you are really talented ,so what about an angst about Spot going to war and he doesn’t make it back and Race and their 1 year old son go to visit his grave and talk to him? Idk you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to but I thought it was a really cool idea

hi! so this is a pretty on brand prompt (especially for a certain upcoming Thing, but...,,.,) but anyway yeah here’s a fic. hope i did your idea some justice!

warnings: lots of talk of death, but nothing graphic. my shitty, caffeine muddled writing (truly, not my best work, sorry)

ship: sprace

word count: 1529

editing: nein

Just Out of Reach

“Aye, Sergeant, need some water up there?”

“Yeah, thanks man.”

A water bottle is passed up to Spot, and he takes it, taking one hand off the M2 machine gun that’s deadbolted down in front of him and using his teeth to unscrew the cap. He hadn’t realized how goddamn thirsty he’d been, but it’s fairly easy and not at all uncommon to lose touch with yourself during the methodical cycle of a mission.

Really, it’s just reconnaissance. Mapping out the desolate land that surrounds base- cataloguing the unknowns and the possible threats. It’s the simple stuff. The required bits that make the more strategic missions possible. But they still take long as hell and Spot’s willing to bet that he’s sweat through his fatigues by now as he bakes in the desert sun. His helmet is scratchy and the army-issued goggles are digging into his skull, squeezing his brain and making his head throb. The water helps a bit.

His vehicle is at the front of the convoy, and somehow, he found himself perched in the turret, calculating gaze scanning around for anything amiss. They near an Iraqi village, vacated looking buildings lining either side of the sandy, dirt road.

Spot thinks he sees a few windows shutter closed and when he looks to his left, there’s a little girl (she can’t be more than five. Christ) sitting on her stoop, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s staring at the convoy, eyes wide and fearful and fingers plugged into her ears. Spot feels a pang of...of something. Guilt, maybe. Sympathy.

Really, none of these people asked for this. They never wanted big, scary men in big, scary vehicles shouting out foreign remarks and invading their space- their homes.

Spot forces his gaze back to the front, willing himself to focus back on the task at hand. But he can’t help his mind wandering back to that little girl. There was something about her. The innocence, maybe. The simplistic look of discernable fear in the face of something scary.

He thinks of Teddy.

His son’s own wide, brown eyes and chubby, five year old cheeks. Really, they’re not so different- that girl and Teddy. They’re lives are so drastically diverse from one another, but they share that same, innate naivete. The all prevailing look of curiosity that only kids can convey.

Spot misses Teddy.

Granted, he always misses him and Race. The feeling isn’t mutually exclusive to any one moment, but sometimes the ache will grow into more of a pain, gripping his chest with longing to kiss his husband and hug his son. Maybe dig his fingers into Teddy’s sides as he picks him up and swings him, planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. It’s a foolproof way to make him laugh. And if Race is there, he’ll laugh too. There are some things in life he can count on to be constant, and his family is one of them.

He comes back to himself as he nears a stoplight and suddenly, something in the world seems wrong. He’s just about to secure himself around the gun when there’s a shout from down below and then the humvee is jerkily rolling to a stop and that’s when Spot sees the wire and that can only mean someone’s going to die if they don’t fucking stop right fucking now and--

Nothing.

“Papa, can we go see Daddy today?”

Race freezes halfway through screwing the cap off a carton of milk. He turns to look at his son and finds him staring at him in all his six and a half year old glory. His hair is a mess of bedhead and sleep and even though Race had gotten him up and dressed in a decent amount of time for a Saturday, he still looks rumpled. But that’s just how kids are, Race guesses.

It had been a year since Race’s life took a tumble into the realm of his worst nightmare. A year since Lieutenant Kelly and Sergeant Jacobs had shown up on his doorstep, clad in Army Service Uniforms and wearing twin, somber looks.

It hadn’t taken long for Race to piece together why they were there.

That day was still hazy, a jumbled mix of numb shock and things like, “we regret to inform you” and “killed in action” and then there was Teddy pulling at his pant leg and asking him with those wide goddamn eyes why “guys dressed like Daddy” were there and Race didn’t know how to tell him that Daddy’s gone, because how the hell do you explain that to a five year old and he wasn’t equipped to deal with something like this and he still isn’t and-

Yeah. A nightmare.

Race still isn’t sure if Teddy knows exactly what happened. He seems to understand that Spot is gone and that fundamentally, he isn’t coming back, but he doesn’t think Teddy understands death yet. The finality of it- the weight behind the concept.

It was inexplicably haunting to see Teddy not crying at Spot’s funeral. Race was crying. Hell, Race was a mess. It was so bad that Albert had to take over his eulogy and Jojo had to watch Teddy for a few minutes while he lost his shit in the bathroom.

But Teddy hadn’t cried. He’d just clung to Race with a tight grip and wide, bewildered eyes, not saying a word.

“Sure, bud,” Race says, shaking himself and pouring the milk into Teddy’s bowl of Lucky Charms, “we can go see Daddy.”

He takes Teddy along to Spot’s grave fairly often, but he never really knows how much of it he processes. Like at the funeral, he’s always quiet and subdued when they go, never really saying anything. Just sitting in Race’s lap, head bent into the crook of his neck as he stares at the headstone.

“Yay!” Teddy bounces a little in his seat, grinning as Race sets his breakfast in front of him, “I want to tell him about my dance recital!”

Something in Race’s chest cracks open, making him feel simultaneously warm and cold and entirely overwhelmed.

On their way to the cemetery later, they pass a man selling custom bouquets on the street. Brilliant mixes of orchids and roses, gardenias and anemones, bleeding color into the cold grey of winter, and when Teddy sees them and turns that pleading look on Race, well, who is he to say no?

“Hi, Daddy!”

For once, Race stays a little off to the side, watching his son sit cross legged in front of Spot’s grave. He’s talking, words spilling out at about a mile a minute, but Race tunes them out. This is their private moment and he doesn’t want to get in the way of that.

“I kinda wish you coulda seen it, but…” Teddy shrugs, mouth grimacing in a way that’s so strikingly Spot that Race has to close his eyes for a moment, “That’s okay. I know you woulda come if you coulda.”

And, well, ouch.

“Anyway, I brought my scarf for you, Daddy,” Race opens his eyes to see Teddy carefully wrapping his little Thomas the Tank Engine scarf around the headstone, just over where he’d placed the flowers they picked up earlier, “‘Cause it’s getting cold and Papa always tells me that scarves help make you super warm.”

Race has to bite his lip to keep from crying or doing something stupid to ruin his son’s moment and, like, breakdown in front of him.

“Anyway, I’ll let you talk to Papa now, ‘cause I know he always likes to talk to you a little,” He smacks a kiss onto his palm and presses it to Spot’s engraved name, “Bye bye, Daddy, I love you.”

When he turns to look at Race, he’s smiling. It’s big and unyielding and Race fucking melts, because this is all he really wants. Sure, when Teddy gets older, Spot’s absence will ring loud and daunting, but hell, if he can have any ounce of peace with it then, well, Race...Race is fucking ecstatic. He can handle this.

“Your turn, Papa!” Teddy says, beckoning Race to sit down and climbing into his lap when he does.

“Thanks, little man,” Race hugs Teddy close, “Did you have a good time talking to Daddy?”

“Uh huh,” Teddy says, squirming a little in Race’s tight hold, “I know he was listening super good, I could feel it.”

Race swallows, “Oh yeah?” Teddy nods, “I’m super glad, Teds.”

And maybe, really, that’s what this is about. Spot’s death was a curveball thrown with the wrong hand, jarring a perceived reality and shifting everything Race had known a little too far to the left. And no, it isn’t okay. Maybe it’ll never be okay, but it doesn’t have to be. Spot’s still there, lingering somewhere in their hearts and made real by his memory- their memories of him. He’s still palpable, still reachable, and if Teddy can feel it, maybe Race can too.

Race takes a breath, fortifying and fond, then smiles. It doesn’t feel so strained and Race feels just that much lighter when he clears his throat.

“Hey, Spottie…”

it wasn’t very good don’t clown me please my brain said ‘sorry bud’ today

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #racetrack higgins #newsies fic #spot conlon #sprace #oof

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usuallyrics-blog · 5 years

Text

Light Up (Rikers Remix)

New Lyrics has been published on usuallyrics.com https://usuallyrics.com/lyrics/light-up-rikers-remix/

Light Up (Rikers Remix)

[Verse 1: Drake] Ive been up for 4 days Getting money both ways Dirty and clean, I could use a glass of cold spades Rolex’s, chauffeurs, and low fades I keep thinking how young can you die from old age The always tell me no one is working as hard as you And even though I laugh it off man its probably true Cuz while all of my closest friends out partying I’m just here making all the music that they party too But party on, party on, all night nigga I got these new rappers nervous prom night nigga I grow tired of these fucking grown man liars Story tellers, they aint even need a camp fire Uhh, but I just wanna tell the truth Before one of these haters load a couple shells and shoot This sh-t feel like when fredro star was a sunset park stunting hard in his yellow goose Ya, and I’ma motherfucking missed target But a target none the less, and I just started Was that directed at Moi? Cant be, they must be talking to themselves Hov, hands free Yeah, and I’m just filling up this daily planner Getting busy cuz I’m a star, no spangled banner Jealous dudes get to talking in their music And I just say I wrote it for yo girlfriends Kelsey Grammar Yah, that’s what life becomes when you doing you Welcome to Hollywood don’t let this town ruin you And if you pillow talking with the women that are screwing you Just know that she gon tell another nigga when she through with you Don’t get impatient when it takes to long And drink it all even when it taste too strong yeah I gotta feel alive, even if it kills me Promise to always give you me, the real me

[Chorus] Who would have thought I’d be caught in this life? Let’s celebrate with a toast And get lost in tonight And make it all light up (Hey, Guru, tell homegirl to go to open that Ace right there), Wait until the sun goes down We gon’ make this bitch light up Even when the sun goes down I’m gon’ make this go

[Verse 2: Jay-Z] OWWWWWWW, Hov turning heads like OWLSSSSS Im the man of the hour Triple entendre don’t even ask me how Con-Edison Flo I’m connected to a high power Bright lights will make your whole city light up A trillion watt light bulb when I’m in the night club I just landed in that G-450, caught the mayweather fight cuz his satellite was crispy Uhh, yall can miss me with the money talk The smart moneys on Hov, f-ck what the dummys talk I don’t do to much blogging, I just run the town, I don’t do to much jogging I aint gotta scar yet, you fucking round with me and my dogs is far fetched Drake, heres how they gon come at you With silly rap feuds trying to distract you In disguise in the form of a favor The Barzini meeting, watch for the traitors Uhh, and I’ve seen it all done it all That’s why none of these dum dums could done him off The summers ours, the winter too Top down in the winter, that’s what winners do And to these niggas I’m like windows 7 You let em tell it they swear that they invented you And since no good deed go unpunished I’m not as cool with niggas as I once was I once was, cool as the fonz was, But these bright lights turned me to a monster Sorry mama I’m promised they wouldn’t change me, But I woulda went insane, had I remain the same ME Fuck niggas, bitches too All I got is this money, this will do

[Chorus] Who would have thought I’d be caught in this life? Let’s celebrate with a toast And get lost in tonight And make it all light up (Hey, Guru, tell hom’ to go to open that Ace right there), Wait until the sun goes down We gon’ make this bitch light up Even when the sun goes down I’m gon’ make this go

[Lil Wayne] Hate is temporary love is necessary I went from eatin pussy to eatin commissary Damn I am? the sickest I need therapy You can buy the answers but you cant afford to question me First off I dont need you second guessin me Jail is like third base I’m comin? home eventually Still got shooters like hot tubs Mayne I’m anemic still got bloods I’m in my cell readin fan mail wish I was Amsterdam sippin amstel Thinking bout all of that pussy I cant smell Mayne they did me wrong I feel like nelson mandel ugh I shine too hard and my lamp is shelved But my name still ringin, alexander grahm bells I know you? met damn cause you know damn well that I still got you open open like a clam shell Yeahh still fly on my hawk shit, my conversation stinks cause I talk shit Stay in your lane you on that double park shit We eatin at the top get a spoon and a fork lift I got raps wrapped up like a gift And id be over if it was a spliff ?I’m feelin like elvis jailhouse rock I’m not tupac I’m the new pac Behind bars but the bars dont stop Recordin over the phone hope the call dont drop Drizzy dot the ball I know the ball wont drop And I pray none of my kids ever wanna be cops Young money get em young money got em The boss got his feet up vacation on a island Yea and tell yah girl to send a kite up Cuz even if you dont smoke muhfucka you gone have to light up

[Lil Wayne talking] Nigga… nigga… nigga… nigga Eh ha ha haaa (you got that shit) Three uppa Yeahehh You need me to do it again or sumn or you got me mayne (mayne nigga got that blood) You got that alright bet bet bet bet bet bet bet bet bet bet when I when I can expect to hear that mayne??

Who is Drake

Aubrey Drake Graham – Canadian actor and musician. Degrassi: Jimmy Brooks from the next generation. As a rapper, Drake uses his stage name.

#Drake - Light Up (Rikers Remix) Lyrics #Drake Lyrics #Drake Other Songs AlbumArray

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