sk1ttery

[sk1ttery]

Of older brothers

So this was supposed to just be on Flipper and hair and everything with Bumlets but it turned into more of character backstory but I still got the idea because of @sarahjacobskelly's post about Bumlets headcanons and @bumlets-appreciation-blog's additions with little Flipper so yeah enjoy!

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

It was getting dark as he snuck out, not only due to the time of day, but also because storm clouds were closing in.

With it being closer to dinner time than not, he had enough time to pack a few random things while his mother was busy cooking, and his father wasn’t yet home. He just couldn’t stand it anymore.

Not because of his parents, they were okay, it was all okay, but every single second he spent in his bed, now only his and his alone, every second he spent in the corner of their little apartment that had been his and his brother’s since he could think, he saw him. Saw him lying on his back on the bed while their mother tried to get him to get up, get him at least to clean his face up, the dust from all the construction work off.

Every night he still heard his snores, or in the morning his laments on how annoying some of his coworkers were. And every time Fillip woke up he thought he’d turn around and find Fynn there, ready to chase his nightmares away like only his big brother could.

But he wasn’t.

And he’d never be again, the only thing left of him an article in the paper about a construction accident and ashes.

Not that Fillip hated his parents or his family, but he hated the memories, the house, everything he’d always only known with Fynn. He was too young to remember Denmark, he only knew this little apartment in Manhattan, the only thing he’d ever seen, and it was always with his big brother.

And so he knew he’d just have to leave and go somewhere he didn’t think of him. Other kids did it all the time, he saw them shining shoes and hawking papes and hauling luggage or crates, there was more than enough to do, he’d get the hang of it.

With his little bag, Fillip ran down the streets to where he knew a lodging house was – he’d looked around on his way to school – holding a rag over his head as it started to pour like someone was emptying buckets over their heads. At least no one would see him run like this.

Dripping like he had taken a spontaneous bath in the east river, Fillip knocked on the door to Duane Street’s lodging house, a boy maybe a few years older than him opening. Younger than Fynn, shorter than Fynn, but somehow similar.

“Hello, chiquito. Come in, come in, it’s pouring out there.” The black-haired boy ushered him in, keeping him to the rug in the entrance area and yelling for a ‘Mr. Kloppman’. That turned out to be the superintendent, an old man that slurred his words, but was certainly kinder than the old men that had lived in his tenement building, always complaining, always yelling at the kids playing.

While he asked Fillip things like how long he thought he’d stay, if he had money to pay for the night, if he’d worked before, the boy had run upstairs. He only returned when they were finished, carrying two worn but clean towels.

“Come on, chiquito, let’s get you dried up before you catch a cold. Will be a while until the others come back after sellin’. Or at least after trying to not drown in that rain.” With an amused glint in his eyes, the boy took Fillip’s bag and led him upstairs after he’d dried him enough to not drip everywhere. He led him to a closet with lots and lots of clothes, all looking worn but neatly organized.

Squatting down and running his hand through his ink black hair, the boy picked out some things seemingly at random, at least for Fillip. “Wear that. Can’t be good to stay in that wet stuff.”

“I have more clothes.”, Fillip murmured, pointing to his bag. He didn’t need that, he didn’t need help like this, he was prepared.

The boy just raised an eyebrow, opening it and revealing everything inside was at least damp. “I don’t think so. Just get changed. Then sit down on the counter.”

Fillip startled at the last sentence, ignoring the onslaught of memories of Fynn telling him the same thing when he’d scraped his knee, or he had trouble properly tying a shoe. This wasn’t the same, he was just new, and the boy wanted to be helpful.

Dry clothes on that fit better than he’d thought, he sat on the middle counters, swinging his legs. It didn’t take long until the boy stood in front of him, another towel and comb at the ready. “I’m Bumlets by the way. And you chiquito?”, he asked, towelling off his blond hair, motions clearly practiced. He wondered if he had siblings or if this was just a thing here.

“Fillip.”

Bumlets smiled at him, ruffling his hair as he put the now wet towel to the side. “Nice to meet you, Fillip.”

Not able to stop himself from pouting just like he’d always done when Fynn had done the same, Fillip flicked his hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, the motion making Bumlets chuckle.

“No need to flip it away, I wasn’t done.”

And he really wasn’t, pushing him down as he tried to get up from the counter and going through Fillip’s blond hair with a comb and something he didn’t quite know what it was.

“Why’re you doing this?”

“Would you rather sit downstairs, dripping everywhere?”

Fillip looked down. “No.”

“See? I just want to help you get settled right. Not fun getting somewhere where you don’t know anyone.” With one last brushstroke he let go of Fillip, who went to the next mirror to make sure the older boy hadn’t done anything weird with his hair – his brother would have probably used the chance.

It looked neat, a bit similar to Bumlets’ own and definitely not like Fillip had worn it before. Or like Fynn had.

Looking back to the Spanish boy, Fillip noted that while Bumlets also had a very brotherly nature, he wasn’t like Fynn, not painfully reminding him like so many other things Fillip had seen the last few months had. Hair black where Fynn’s had been even more golden than Fillip’s own, though it had always been dusty from the construction work, no matter how often he cleaned up, just like his face. In contrary to Bumlets whose fingers were even scrubbed clean of ink though he knew that newsies got that on their skin and clothes all the time.

So while there were similarities, there weren’t enough to hurt, but just enough to be comforting.

As Bumlets showed him to a free bed, Fillip decided he liked the other boy. That he wanted to learn things from him and stick close. “Can you tell me some things about selling papes?”

“Claro. I can…”, he turned to the door, sounds of doors and rumbling heard from downstairs, “I think the others are back, though. It’s almost dinner time, I’ll introduce you to some people, Flipper.”

“Flipper?” He skipped forward to even keep pace with the taller boy, not as nervous about meeting more people as he was confused about the name.

But Bumlets just grinned, ruffling his hair and sliding down the stairs.

[sk1ttery]

LAST ONE ISTG but a friend of mine @sk1ttery said Bumlets also talk right before they sell "Look at the angel"

[sk1ttery]

HELP good for him.

Out of interest:

Who would be interested in a Sprace fantasy/medieval setting fake marriage AU?

Art for that out in a bit because I had to draw my Vision.

Meaning Race who is in Spot's kingdom (he recently overthrew the government, as one does) as an ambassador is bored and goes to steal things and then runs into Spot. But also he heard some stuff that was whispered in the palace and they make a deal

[sk1ttery]

love that he just CASUALLY overthrew the government

Out of interest:

Who would be interested in a Sprace fantasy/medieval setting fake marriage AU?

Art for that out in a bit because I had to draw my Vision.

Meaning Race who is in Spot's kingdom (he recently overthrew the government, as one does) as an ambassador is bored and goes to steal things and then runs into Spot. But also he heard some stuff that was whispered in the palace and they make a deal

[sk1ttery]

And every time he felt a fear inside him, a fear of them getting caught and taken away from him.

A little short-story from Bumlets' pov about him being worried whenever Skittery and Swifty steal something. Info: Skittery = Michael, Bumlets = Dominic, Swifty = Vincent when any 'real' names are used. Enjoy! Length: ca. 1.6k (and thanks @thatoneandlonelyemo2005 because we kinda rp-ed most of the dialogue)

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

It would have been like any other day selling with Skittery and Swifty if he hadn’t seen Skittery grab a pack of cigarettes from a stand and only avoid getting caught because Swifty started offering the man a pape as he’d started to look in Skittery’s direction. Bumlets had been too far away to do or say anything but this was far from the first instance of stealing he’d seen from them. And every time he felt a fear inside him, a fear of them getting caught and taken away from him.

“Michael, you need to stop doing that! You’re going to end up in the refuge.”, he hissed to his partner at the next streetcorner. He knew that cigarettes weren’t something cheap to come by, but with every close call he just thought about Skittery in the refuge and the last time that happened… it hadn’t been pretty. They weren’t together yet and he hadn’t been able to help nearly as much as he liked afterwards, but especially now he didn’t want to see it again.

“So what if I do, not like I ain’t been there before.”, Skittery just scoffed, putting his last few papes on a crate and leaning next to it, arms crossed, already defensive.

“Yeah. And you know how you were the last time you got out. I’m worrying about you when you’re in there, Michael. I know we weren’t together yet, but even though you never talk about it I don’t know you’re going through things there. Just…please, dear.”

As Skittery rolled his eyes he knew the argument wasn’t so easily won. “Then Vince has to stop too, it ain’t fair if I gotta but he doesn’t.”

Swifty, who up until then had only listened, poked Skittery into the side with his elbow. “Well unlike you I ain’t ever been caught-“

“Oh sure, your undershirt ripped by itself, not because someone caught ya and grabbed you-“

“Never been to the refuge though-“

They’d truly be the death of him. “Boys. Vince, Mica, stop. I’m just… I can’t help but worry, okay? When either of you steal.”

That shut them up, at least for a few moments.

“Dom, you don’t have to worry, the others also don’t-“

“But you aren’t the others. You’re different, to me. Can’t I care about the two boys I love? What would you do if I went to the refuge?”

“Dominic don’t say that.”, whispered Swifty, looking to the ground, picking at his nails like he did when he was nervous. At least he seemed to get more of his perspective now.

“I’ll do what I can to make you boys understand how I feel.”

“You wouldn’t end up in the refuge though.”, he tried to argue. And sure, Bumlets didn’t steal but there were plenty of other reasons, most of all that they even were in a relationship in the first place.

“Yeah?” He looked right at Swifty, Skittery clearly listened but looked somewhere to the side. “I could get arrested for loitering, someone didn’t like my face and called the bulls, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to someone like us. What would you do then?”

While the message finally seemed to have gotten to Swifty, Skittery just scoffed. “Should I cry about it? What the hell do you want me to say?”

“Skitts, don’t say it like that.” Swifty tried to grab his arm but Skittery ripped it away.

“I don’t care, Vince. What do you want us to do, Dom? Want us to cry and not eat or-“

Bumlets closed his eyes for a moment, before he’d get angry as well. He knew Skittery tended to get angry and defensive when he knew he was losing an argument but didn’t want to admit it or when he didn’t want to show emotions, he knew it. But it still hurt to hear it. Pushing his nails into his arm hard enough that it slightly hurt he tried to ground himself and think of how to really explain it to him so the argument wouldn’t be longer than necessary.

“Skittery, you’re gettin’ angry for no reason, just shut up.”

Skittery uncrossed his arms and waved a fist in Swifty’s direction. “I can get angry if I want, I don’t gotta cry or-“

“You’re saying this as if I don’t do all of that, Skitts.”, he interrupted his boyfriend, seeing how he flinched back the smallest bit. He tried to keep his voice level as he continued: “I cry when you’re in there because I know Snyder gets to you and when any of you don’t come home until far too late I worry about you getting injured or caught. I think about these things all the time becauseyou’re important to me and I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t help but think about all that. My smile’s fake when I’m out selling because I can’t stop thinking about what you might go through. And it’s okay if you don’t do that, but I do. I love you and I don’t know what I’d do without any of you.”

That seemed to have finally gotten to Skittery, the other once more having crossed his arms, this time more curled in on himself, clearly ashamed. It wasn’t really what Bumlets had wanted, but it was better than the yelling from before.

“Dominic, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine. Let’s not talk about it for a bit, okay doll? I’ll see you at the lodge.”

With a tight feeling in his chest, he turned around without even looking at their reaction and walked in the other direction, just wanting to get his last papes away after taking a few grounding breaths in an alleyway. He hated arguing with them, it always felt like he’d failed in some way, failed to hold them together. But he also hated worrying about them, he had to say something.

Tomorrow. He’d have clearer thoughts tomorrow.

It was late at night, everyone already sleeping – or trying to anyways – when Bumlets just kept turning from one side to the other, thoughts replaying the argument from earlier. They had only talked briefly in the evening, mostly Swifty apologizing but not promising to stop stealing altogether, though he promised to be careful. Skittery hadn’t said anything, though he sat with them at dinner.

Bumlets felt so bad, he shouldn’t have gone when he did, he had seen that Skittery had been impacted by his words and he really shouldn’t have gone, he should have reassured him that he still loved him. He knew better than this, he knew Skittery easily got into thinking that they didn’t really love him, his mind convincing him it was all just a joke in some way. Why had he been so-

Before he could finish the thought something was climbing up the ladder to his bunk, carefully sitting next to him before lying down. It was dark, but he could still recognize Skittery.

“I’m sorry.”, he whispered, looking at the ceiling instead of to Bumlets.

“I’m sorry too.”

He grabbed Skittery’s hand, squeezing it and rubbing circles on the back of it, wondering if he wanted to say more. He knew it was no use pulling the words from him, he’d either say them or he wouldn’t, no matter how much he probed and asked.

“I just…”, Skittery started, turning to him, finally. “I thought if you knew how I’d… that if you knew what I’d do if you were… I thought you’d laugh. If I said that I’d break me if you were in there.”

Before he answered he put his blanket over the two of them, kissing the back of Skittery’s hand. “Oh mi amor. I’m also sorry, made it sound like you don’t care enough with what I said. I know we all care differently.” He leant forward and kissed Skittery’s forehead, loving how he scrunched up his face but smiled just the faintest bit afterwards.

“So it’s all good now?”

Bumlets hummed, but wanted to say one more thing where they could talk a bit louder without disturbing the others, so he sat up and motioned for Skittery to follow him to the washroom.

Now able to properly look at his partner, he saw that he had a chewed open lip and red eyes. No matter if they were already making up, it would never hurt to say more affirmations, so he took Skittery’s face in his hands, leaning up.

“Thanks for coming to me, I promise I was never thinking you didn’t care enough, and I shouldn’t have left, I was also just overwhelmed.”

He kissed him and was glad to see Skittery lean into his touch. “Sorry for worryin’ you. Never thought that you’d worry that much, everyone does it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to. Just be careful, Michael.”

Someone came from the entrance to the bunk room and they sprang apart, pretending they had just gotten up to wash their face or take some fresh air, but luckily it was just Swifty, rubbing his eyes, walking as quiet as always over to them and hugging them close, leaning what felt like all of his weight into the hug.

“’m sorry too but you need ta sleep now.”

“Did we wake you?”

“Just saw your bunks empty. You’ll be tired tomorrow, go sleep” He yawned again and pressed kisses to both of their hair before starting to pull them back into the bunkroom, taking no complaints. Well, they really should sleep. And at least they had made up.

Skittery still crawled into Bumlets’ bed again, and he held his boy close to his chest, stroking his hair until he felt him fall asleep before relaxing himself.

As much as he hated it if arguments happened, at least they had been able to make up, and maybe that was just part of it all. Finding a middle ground and talking to each other.

[sk1ttery]

Three little words pt. 1

A kind of 5+1 scenario thing focusing on Bumlets/Skittery/Swifty because I have an obsession and I need to let it thrive. For a start we have Skittery/Swifty and their first "I love you"

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

The moment he’d opened his eyes in the morning with Kloppman banging on the bunks to wake them Skittery knew this would be a long day. He had barely slept, if at all, even though he must have passed out sometime in the night because he couldn’t remember seeing the sun rise. After the morning edition – which felt like even more of a chore than usual – he walked back to the lodge, left Tumbler with the other littles, and intended to go back to his bunk and at least get some more rest, hopefully. Even if he knew it would most likely get loud in here soon, the others returning after their own selling, but it was his only option for now.

The bunk room was actually empty, and he was relieved to find it so, hurrying to get off his pants and shoes so he could lie down. The room didn’t even stay vacated until he had done that though, as he suddenly found Swifty next to him, a little notebook in his hands that he must have just picked up from his bunk. A while ago he would have startled, but he was more than used to the other’s quiet steps by now.

“Are you okay Skitts? Not feeling good?”

“’M okay, just tired. Trying to take a nap.” He knew that Swifty wouldn’t keep him from it if he’d known, and that he would cut the conversation short.

They both turned their heads to the door as they heard a commotion from downstairs, more boys returning from work.

“I can make sure they won’t be loud in here. Watch over you for a while.”, offered Swifty, a small smile on his face.

Skittery had gotten better at accepting help, but he still didn’t want to force the other into doing anything for him, especially as he couldn’t go out and do anything worthwhile while looking over him and shushing the others but… he really needed sleep.

“Fine. But only if it ain’t any trouble.”

Swifty kissed him in the cheek and then sat down on the neighbouring bunk. “It never is for you.”

Skittery didn’t know when he woke, but he must have slept since he couldn’t hear as many noises from downstairs and he felt like he’d lost a bit of time. Just opening his eyes a fraction, he found the sun lower outside the windows as well and Swifty still sitting on the top bunk opposing his own, fixated on his notebook. The sun was shining softly into his face, his hair was ruffled, and his tongue stuck slightly out in concentration. Even in his still fuzzy mind after his sleep he knew one thing.

He was beautiful.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t much more than a whisper, but in the quiet room everything would have been heard. Swifty startled up and almost let his notebook – and pencil he had held in his other hand – fall to the floor.

Blushing, he looked to Skittery and blinked a few times, clearly not having expected to see him awake, much less say this out of the blue. “I- Damn, Skitts, that’s… I love you too. Just don’t scare me like that again.”

Skittery murmured something about payback for all the times the other had snuck up on him and Swifty laughed, jumping down to the ground and going up to him to kiss his curls.

While he was distracted with that, Skittery grabbed the notebook he only held loosely in his hand, finding what he’d been doing for the last hours.

It was a drawing of him, sleeping, sun shining in his hair.

[sk1ttery]

eating your art

Some less-known Newsies today! We have (from left to right) Swifty, Bumlets and Skittery from 92sies based on a very cute couple photo my friend sent me. (Most likely Bumlets is standing like that so he can feel taller next to his tall boyfriends for once :3) (Also btw their ship-name is Bumswiftery and they are so underrated)

[sk1ttery]

I felt the absolute need to ramble about the problems my boys have so yeah this is certainly a deep dive into how I think of these characters, in a way, so... buckle up. I will try not to go completely crazy here (also it is kinda Pirate AU specifically but also applies to most versions of these characters for me)

First Spot. He obviously feels the need to be strong, to protect his people, he spreads rumors, makes himself larger than life, there is no room for mistakes, he needs to be perfect to keep everyone safe, no matter the cost for himself. It is suffocating him, but if anyone sees the cracks Brooklyn (either the borough or the ship in my AU) could be attacked, they wouldn't fear him anymore, they would dare to go against him. Specifically in pirates where we meet him in "Toss a Coin to your Pirate" he is worn thin by this, he has had to be perfect, not mess up, not do anything wrong ever for years at that point and it worked, he's respected, he's feared. But also lonely. He has Hotshot and his crew, but he is always just a bit detached, thinks he isn't allowed to get closer, even if no one would mind. And then he meets Race and it just gets a bit better.

Speaking of which: Race feels the need to be perfect too. Or felt, rather. In this AU I thought of him being the son of a rich Sicilian merchant who came to what is in the AU kinda where America is but... mostly Islands (I have played a lot of Anno as a kid okay). His father's only goal is to bring the family upwards, go from having almost nothing to basically royalty, meaning there can be no screw ups, no mistakes, no tardiness, only perfection in everything. Always smiling at social gatherings, charming people, bringing your skills to perfection however you can. He found it suffocating and got out, naturally, but while he would say he's stopped being like this he hasn't in a way. He still feels like when he doesn't do enough, makes too many mistakes, he'll get left behind by the others, he knows he needs to do more jobs then them - and why shouldn't he, he's good at them, might as well do it - working himself to the ground. It gets better, he has about a decade on Jack's ship to realize he doesn't have to do things perfectly to have people like him, enjoy being around him. But any reminder of his family could bring that crashing down. Make him fall back to previous habits.

That's why they also in some ways fit together. They have smiliar issues but not and they know what to do, what to say, when not to say something.

Buuuut they aren't the only ones with this issue of everything needing to be perfect. Which is why I thought of doing this post in the first place.

Bumlets wants control over what is happening to him and the people he loves, he knows if he doesn't have it he'll worry all the time. He does his best to help everyone, to do anything for them, to plan ahead, to take control where he couldn't before because his life belonged to someone else. But this also means the moment something goes wrong, there is an argument he takes it as a mistake he did. He knows he isn't doing enough, not enough for the people he loves, they're suffering because he didn't think of everything, because the choices he made weren't the right ones. Most days no one would know, but sometimes he just has days where he curls up, asking himself how he could do this, how he can't keep everything together, how he didn't do enough and give everyone a perfect life, murmuring apologies to everyone who is there.

Going away from being perfect but keeping close to Bumlets we get to Swifty. His problems are with his own image in a way, he knows he enjoys sewing and crafting and embroidery and before he hadn't really thought anything about it, he can also fight, but eventually he also thinks about what it means that he likes to wear skirts. They're easy to make and he can design them as he wants, but what does it mean? He doesn't feel like a girl or a woman, but maybe he should as he likes wearing these types of clothes too. And then he thinks about all of his hobbies taken together, are his boyfriends maybe only with him because he is more societally feminine in some ways? Not even his looks, but how he acts. If they don't even want him for who he actually is, if they're with him because it was convenient too. It ends in a loud argument and accusations, but at least after he learns it wasn't as he thought.

Last but not least Skittery who in every cannon has problems with schizophrenia-esque symptoms in the way he always feels watched, feels like nothing could ever go truly right in his life, people are whispering behind his back, only taking him in because of pity. That they would get tired of caring for him - especially in episodes (which aren't frequent but they happen) - and leave him behind. That no one could really love him at all, not like he is, that he isn't good enough for that. And later, that he is also different in more ways (I am generously taking Blood Drips lore for this one) meaning he almost can't get injured or is somehow just different and he doesn't know why. That he'll get taken away or go off the rails and not be able to be there for his brother, for the people he loves.

Honestly this is a depressing note to end this at but that's just mostly my rambles that I had to get out and they are all so sad. Similar but different problems and while Spot and Race were kind of Pirate specific Bumlets, Swifty and Skittery are too but also more broadly in a way. Hope someone read this to the end :) Imagine them all talking about their issues and resolving them <;3 Or arguing and causing lots of Angst

[sk1ttery]

MY BOYS GONNA EXPLODE INLOVE THEM SM LOOK AT THEM

WE FOUND EVIDENCE OF THE BOYFRIENDS IN THE MOVIE TODAY! Ignore Bumlets okay. I'm so sorry for him. I could not get him to look like he was leaning forward properly. Anyways, the reference (KONY):

Swifty and Skittery look good. And then there is Bumlets lurking like the Meme of Aquaman sneaking up on Superman you know. But it's fine. I mean I drew this in like. Two hours tops with sketching.

Dominic Lucero I am so sorry I swear you're one of my favourites I am so sorry for drawing you like this 😭

Be happy Tumblr, I was so close to just cutting him out because of my shame of not being able to draw this pose while tracing

[sk1ttery]

Kidnapper: I have one of you children.

Jack: Which one? I have sixty

Kidnapper: The loud, annoying one.

Jack: Which one? I have sixty.

[sk1ttery]

Not to sound preachy but truly the Sexism surrounding the female characters in newsies is never ending.

These characters canonically have depth, and if you can’t find that, you clearly haven’t cared to look

and adding female characters, especially an independent, complex female character to the stage production was very important

Making the Brooklyn newsies girls was important

it is historically relevant, Annie the brick of all women and most faithful of the strikers, and Nellie Bly and a litany of other real women of that era who impacted things are So Important and Should Have Space in the historical fiction that surrounds their time and events

That is all, thank you

[sk1ttery]

why is bro so eepy

[sk1ttery]

Fascinated by the idea that Oscar might say “alright. back off” to Morris when Morris is mocking or intimidating someone

also fascinated by what it would take for Oscar to tell Morris to back off

cw: violence, emetaphobia

“What?” Morris leant back casually against the wall of the alleyway as he turned the cigar over in his hand before bringing it to his lips and sucking in a mouthful of smoke and blowing it out again into Race’s face. His eyes twitched from the burn of it as he tried to pull away but Oscar had his arms held tightly behind him, lazily tightening his grip on and off, just enough to hurt. “Got nothing to say Racer?”

Race grits his teeth and tries once more to break out of Oscar’s grip but his fingers are digging into his upper arm so hard he knows he’ll have bruises in the next few hours.

Instead he met Morris’s gaze head on, knowing that saying anything will be a bad idea but if they were going to beat the shit out of him he should at least make it worth it.

“Nah. Nothing you or your brother would understand anyway.”

Something in Morris’s eyes darkens but his lips pull up a little at the corner as he seems to look through Race, as if he’s not even there, to address Oscar.

“You hear that Oscar?” He takes another drag of Race’s cigar, and taps out the ash. “He thinks we won’t understand.”

Oscar’s grip tightens sending a sharp ache through his shoulders as they’re wretched back.

“I don’t know, Race.” Race can practically feel his breath on his ear as he speaks, low and close and dangerous, almost a whisper he can’t pull away from, one he can barely hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. “See what I’m understandin’ is that Kelly ain’t here to take the fall for you like he always does an’ you talk a lot of shit for someone who ain’t in no position to fight back right now.”

Race swallows hard and tries once more to dislodge Oscar’s grip but Morris just laughs, something cruel and mocking, and steps closer, shaking out his hand before he lodges his fist in Race’s stomach.

It lands just below his ribs, hard enough knock the air out of him and have him taste bile in his throat and he would’ve doubled over if Oscar weren’t still holding him upright. Instead he sputters and watches as Morris takes another drag of his cigar, blowing the smoke back at him and through the breathless haze he can’t help but choke on it, shoulder sockets aching as every cough shifts his body roughly against Oscar’s hold.

“No fuckin’ wonder your da didn’t take care a’ you.” He spits and he knows he’s being stupid as he says it but he forces the words out between wheezing breaths anyway. Enjoys the way Morris’s jaw tenses and his face darkens as he keeps going, knowing he’s hitting a nerve. Knowing he’s going to regret saying anything at all. “Surprised he didn’t drown you like fuckin’ kittens when you were kids. You lived on a farm right?”

He can’t quite remember where he picked up the information but he knows he’s right. He’s always listening in, ever the eavesdropper, and Oscar’s accent holds a little something out that way, something slightly southern when he says certain words.

Morris moves slow and casual in a way that has Race’s skin prickling, has his heart beat a mile a minute in his chest, and Oscar’s grip has shifted to something tighter, arms almost pulled out of their sockets. He doesn’t think something’s dislocated, not yet. But it’s coming close.

Morris runs his tongue over the top of his teeth and nods slowly, as if he’s processing Race’s words, but Race is more aware of the way his free hand clenches and unclenches into a fist at his side.

“Christ Race.” He says, and his voice is dangerous in a way Race hasn’t heard before. “I didn’t think you were so fuckin’ dumb but you’re always lookin’ a fight ain’t you?”

Race inhales deep as Morris takes another drag of the cigar and holds it between his teeth for a second before holding it up to his face and studying the paper label. Every movement slow and deliberate

“You think it would scar like Snyder’s cigarettes Os?”

And Race’s stomach drops.

He can feel Oscar shrug behind him. “Might as well find out.”

Morris meets eyes with him again, face hard and unreadable and Race is all too aware of the cigar held between his fingers. He struggles harder but knows it’s pointless. Oscar is better at this, stronger than him too.

“What do you think?” Morris says, and his voice sounds no different than it does every morning at the distribution gate. “You can go home and compare em’ with Kelly’s.”

He tries to pull away again, harsh and rough and he can hear the thump of blood in his ears- a sound that becomes muffled as he feels his left shoulder yanked out of placed and his eyes darkening at the edges at the pain that ricochets through his body. He grits out a groan between a tensed jaw which only turns into a yell and heaved breaths when Morris hits him again, sending him slumping forward.

Oscar’s hold let’s up, only for second, only so he can grab the collar of Race’s shirt from behind and pull it away from his neck, opening up the empty skin of his collarbone and shoulder.

He doesn’t know if he screams when Morris presses his cigar to his skin, holding it there. If he does it’s distant and out of body and not something he can claim as his own as his vision becomes blurred and spotted, and heat spreads from the circle of bubbling red just above his collarbone.

He can’t pull in a full breath, from the hit or from pain or from panic he’s not sure, and he’s not sure when Oscar lets him go either but he’s on the ground now trying to fill his lungs, arm at an awkward angle at his side and both Delancey’s stood above him-

Through blurred eyes he sees Morris pass the cigar to Oscar who tosses it on the ground in front of Race.

“What?” He says, and his voice is cold. “You don’t want it no more?”

Race doesn’t even have the chance to answer before someone’s foot- he doesn’t know whose anymore embeds itself in his gut.

This time he coughs up bile, sputteres it onto the cobble stones. The next kick catches his jaw and then there’s a hand in hair pulling his head up, sharp and sore, and the hit lands and he can taste blood on his teeth and in the back of his throat and he needs to throw up but he can’t, has to catch himself to breathe as another blow hits chest-

once and he’s choking-

twice and he’s on the ground and everything’s spinning and he can’t fuckin’ move or inhale and his whole body is hot radiating from the burn on his collar that feels like a gunshot and he’s burnt himself before but nothing like this, not embedded with ash or paired with the different burn of a dislocated shoulder-

and the third hit has him vomiting foam, the kind that comes up when someone has nothing thing else to be sick with.

His vision is black at the edges and his hearing is high pitched and muffled but just as he thinks another hit’s about to land, he makes out Oscar’s voice, he thinks it’s Oscar’s, he doesn’t know, the only reason he knows a lot of the hits weren’t his is because they were bare fisted and not brass knuckled.

“Alright, Morris. Back off ‘fore you kill ‘im.”

He hears the scoff, something that sounds like Morris shoving Oscar away, something that sounds like him kicking the pile of newspapers Race had got knocked out of his hands when he was stood outside the mouth of the alley.

Eventually, both footsteps fade.

The cigar is still smouldering somehow, just a little, a foot or so away from Race’s face.

The smell makes him feel sick.

[sk1ttery]

uhhh I think 3 is th lie

1) I have eaten sand before.

2) I used to play basletball at school.

3) I have never broken a bone

(sorry if anyones already been tagged, no pressure to do it)

@specsbeloved @whistlingstarlight @wildhorsewolf

NEW TAG GAME!

if you're tagged, reblog with two truths and a lie, guess what prev's lie is and reblog with your current favourite song!

i'll go first:

I play netball

I failed math once

I have cheated on a test

yes its the fyolai song i know

@mike-queerler @elsbianism @cultofsheep @yakkos-warners @your-friendly-neighbourh00d-fag @red-in-revenge @aroacesigma @the-beard-of-edward-teach @runninguplenorahills @silversoulstardust @lookingforgalaxies <3

[sk1ttery]

I meant to do this AGES ago but my old lockscreen was a different person who I didn’t wanna post on here but I’ve since changed it-

Lockscreen is Mukeni and I, and wallpaper is my two best friends and I in Minecraft ! I’m the fox :)) @specsbeloved if the person on the right :)) (If you wanna do this im tagging youc no pressure)

RULE : post your phone's homescreen and lockscreen then tag at least 5 people

here are mine :

I tag @michaelmandog @amarocit @girlpetrarca @kylivier @eyeldritch and anyone else who wants to do it !

[sk1ttery]

some au designs

First three characters

Wirt-Jack

Greg-Race

Beatrice-Spot

[sk1ttery]

i reblogged on the wrong account

Do you have any name ideas for this cutie? He’s another little newsie that hangs around the other youngster newsies. His actor is Josh Keaton (Joshua Weiner).

I'm going to name him Stick! Because he's thin and because of this part: