clothes on a clothesline

YO

Okay, okay, so, let’s break this down.  The water tower has been moved to fill the hole Peridot smashed in the side of the barn.  It’s now hooked up not only to the pool, which has a pool ladder in it, but to something inside, and is also being used to dry clothes which means they’ve been putting on clothes

the other end of the clothesline is attached to some…strange monstrosity (seriously what are those wings made of and why is it topped with a scythe).  On the roof is a cushion for chilling out.  On the ground is a tent with a Camp Pining Hearts flag, presumably because Peridot wanted to try out that whole camping thing, and I’m not sure whether my favorite bit is that Peridot put the alien plush head on the wall with a pair of antlers or the currently in-use TV-watching nook where they’re watching TV together

2

“(y/n).” You turn around at the sound of Jack’s familiar voice, immediately putting the clothes you were hanging on the clothesline back into their basket.

“Hi, Jack,” you smile. “Romeo, Crutchie.” You nod to each in turn. “What can I do for you?”

Romeo grins and steps closer to you. “The question is: What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes and reach down, picking up the clothes basket. Then you shove it into the younger boy’s arms. “You can finish hanging these clothes.” The flirt’s smile falls, but yours doesn’t. “Thank you, Romeo.”

Jack and Crutchie snicker as their brother gets to work. “Seriously though, what are you doing here? Boys aren’t allowed here after dark, and it’s nearly dusk.”

“We’s organizing a strike!” Crutchie exclaims, rocking on his good foot as he grins.

Your face falls. “You’re what?”

Jack catches sight of your worried expression, and he taps his friends shoulder. “Hey, Crutch, why don’t you go help Romeo for a second, huh?”

The boy goes without a complaint, and you smile. Crutchie has a heart of gold. Jack pulls you slightly away so you’re just out of earshot of the two other Newsies.

“Pulitzer raised the price of papes,” Jack starts.

“Yeah, I know, I heard,” you reply. “But are you sure this is something to go on Strike for? Did you try to-”

“Reason with him?” Jack finishes for you. “Yeah, we did. Old man wouldn’t even see us. So yes, we’re going on Strike.”

Despite your worry, you nod. “Alright. So why are you here?”

Jack grins. “What, I need to have a reason to see my best girl?”

You blush. “No, but you do need a reason to bring your friends.”

He nods. “Alright, ya got me there.”

You brush your hand against his, but don’t take it. As much as you’d like to. If one of the other girls saw you, you’d be kicked out of the factory’s lodging house and onto the street. “So what is it?”

He takes off his hat like he does when he’s nervous, and blows on his hands. “I need to know you and the other factory girls are with us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This Strike goes beyond just us newsies. This is about all of us; about all da kids that gotta work for a living too young, and never even got a chance ta do anything else. Especially when their work isn’t even fair.” He takes a step closer. “So, if it comes down to it, I need to know that you’re with us.”

“Well, you know him with you.” You smile, and he smiles back. “And I know some other workers that will be, and that will be able to talk others up. I’ll go around to some other factories too.”

Jack takes your hand, and you let him. “You know you’re amazing, right?”

You smile. “I try.”

“Laundry’s done!” Romeo yells, and Jack lets go of your hand quickly. He and Crutchie walk back up to the both of you. “We got an answer?”

You nod at him. “I’m with you. And I’ll do my best to make sure others are too.”

They all smile. “Let’s go, then! We still gotta go ta Brooklyn,” Crutchie smiles and hobbles quickly back to the main street.

Your eyes widen and you ask: “Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, rubbing the back of his neck. “We gotta see what Spot Conlon says.”

“Yay…” Romeo growls, trailing after Crutchie slowly.

You take Jack’s arm. “Brooklyn ain’t a good place, Jack.”

“I know, but luckily the King of Brooklyn and I are buddies. I’ll be fine.”

You sigh. “Alright. Now get going, so you’re home at a good time.”

Romeo grins. “Yes, mom.” Ignoring him, you wrap your arms around yourself as they leave.

“Boys!” They all turn around, and you wave half-heartedly. “Be careful tomorrow.”

You have so many black clothes, it makes the clothesline look like a burial ground for a covern
—  my mum after hanging out the washing (via teletubbie-at-heart)
One day, one rhyme- Day 651

Pants floating past up in the sky,
Whilst alongside them, two socks fly.
Bright colours against backing blue,
Towels, singlets and pajamas too
Flapping in a setting that’s airy.
Just two things are stationary-
Me, and the yellow clothes-peg cup:
Under the clothesline, looking up.

Peering around the corner of a building, Jean Havoc made sure to keep himself hidden in the shadows as several people ran by. He had been on the loose for a few week now after escaping from the neighboring mental institution from the next town and a combination of military personal and available institution guards were on his tail. 

It still wasn’t safe due to the mass collecting in the deserted street. The blond snorted softly and moved quietly down the dark alley, a hand pressed against a slowly bleeding wound to his thigh he received four days before. It was hot to the touch now and he knew it was infected, wincing with every step he took.

He needed to get it cleaned out, but walking into a hospital was out of the question. He would be arrested and tossed into solitary confinement again. It was the same pattern with each escape he made. Stolen clothes from a nearby clothesline made him look less like an escaped nutcase with a leg wound and more like a nervous and scowling man with a leg wound. 

Havoc neared an empty road and peered cautiously down the road, turning his head both ways. It was barren and a smirk came over his face. Thanks to other inmates at the institution, he had learned of a doctor who took care of injuries without question months before he made this planned break-out. With the injury, he needed it tended to without question and then he could move on to the next country. 

With one more glance down the road, Jean moved quickly across the deserted road and gave a small knock on the door.

War Scars

The hunched figure limped slowly across the distance of the room. His shoulders hung like clothes set out to dry on a clothesline. Tattered scared litter his face causing light to contrast against the dark patches of stubble of his cheeks and jaw. Everyone in the room fell silent as if the noise was sucked into the man’s chest and held there. It was a teetering moment before another man came into the room. All eyes fell on this new man walking in. He was flawlessly beautiful. There were few lines of age marring his face. A glow seemed to seep from his pours and set everyone at ease. No one knew who to look at, the battered man or the unmarred one.

Just as they were about to be seated at their table, the dark haired man leaned forward to help his guest into his chair. Sensing the quietness of the resturaunt, the man covered in scars raised his eyes and swept over the place in mere seconds. A look of almost distasteful embarrassment littered his features.

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