Pony: It's pretty cold outside.. wanna hold hands? We should stay close.
Johnny, blushing: Okay.
Dally: It's fucking summer.
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.
You guys know what I donβt understand? Why did Steve follow sodapop (who mind mind you, wasnβt wearing any clothes.) into the room with him only for there to be the βracket of a pillow fightβ the second he went in? π
Either Steve and Soda are just weird and randomly have pillow fights, or Ponyboy misinterpreted what they were doing.
Sis: hey! Do you know wher-w, what are you reading?
Me: the outsiders.
Sis: what are you watching?
Me: the outsiders.
Sis: what are you listening to?
Me: ...the outsiders.
reblog to pet the sad cat γγγγγγ οΌΏοΌΏ γγγγγοΌοΌγγγ γγγγγ| Β γ_γ _ l γ γγγοΌ` γοΌΏxγ γγ γ /γγγ γ | γγγ /γ γ½γγ οΎ γ γ βγγ|γ|γ| γοΌοΏ£|γγ |γ|γ| γ| (οΏ£γ½οΌΏ_γ½_)__) γοΌΌδΊγ€
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.
Got me with the jonatello, caught me with zed and wyatt
my growing collection of characters who were on opposing sides of a love triangle when they should have just dated each other:
I eagerly welcome any suggestions for expansion
67': Tulsa'd
Got a hold: Greased
Family: Runs
Expectations: Great
Tulsa: Far away
Letter: Soda
Brother: Gold
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..
*goes on stage* "Fuck." *exits stage* -Hamlet, Shakespeare
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