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the1975attheirverybest · 6 months ago

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July Forever / Take Off All Of Your Clothes

A/N: loosely inspired by “Lust For Life” by Lana Del Rey featuring The Weeknd.

It’s a bit short. I’m still rusty and trying to get back into writing.

For day 1 of @abiiors ‘s summer75 prompts.

Prompt: melted ice.

Happy July!

Warnings: smut.

The folding chair rocked, precariously, underneath her as she crossed her legs. She sighed and popped open the cooler that she’d used as a makeshift picnic basket, scooping out some ice for her glass. It began to occur to her that she was going to be here a while. She might as well have drink.

The waning crescent light above her was dull. She pressed the ice-cold glass to her hot cheek, sighing at the minor relief it gave her. Where is he? Had she given him the wrong date in her letter? The wrong time, maybe? Why did it have to be a letter? It all felt exciting in the moment. The sexy postcards they’d send back and forth from around the globe. She got caught up in it. Now, she wished they’d sexted like normal people.

The ice in her glass had begun to collect water in the crevices. It rattled in her hand as she switched to the other cheek. Maybe she should’ve kept copies of her responses. Matty would’ve objected though. No doubt. He would’ve said something about the ephemeral and intimate nature of letter-writing. Permanent record keeping would ruin the romance. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. The stuffy humidity was beginning to undo her previously sleek hair and melt off her makeup. Soon, she’d have to take off her cardigan.

She had no idea what time it was, but the ice in her glass had completely melted into a layer of water by the time that she saw the flashing lights of a motorcycle and heard the rev of the engine.

“You’re late.” She said over the loud humming noise as she stood up, watching him dismount.

Matty took off his helmet and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, checking his own reflection in the side mirror. That is why he was always worth the wait.

“Hello, love.” He smiled, self assured, and leaned in to kiss her. His lips tasted of cigarettes.

He clawed the damp, slipper glass out of her grasp, eying it with disappointment. “Your drink looks dead.” With one swift motion, he splashed the contents of her beverage far into the distance. She heard it splatter somewhere. “Pack up. Let’s go for a ride.”

***

the hot wind blowing through her hair provided minimal relief from the heat. She gripped Matty’s torso tighter as the motorcycle tilted at the curve of the street. The Hollywood hills were behind them now. She couldn’t help but note the way that, even under his clothes, his muscles felt firm to the touch.

Matty killed the engine and turned to face her. A smile dangled from his lips. He looked through his pockets for a blunt and a lighter, and, after a couple of drags, he placed it between her lips. His lips, on the other hand, found something else to suck on: the exposed skin of her shoulder. “Get me a drink out of your cooler thing, would you ?”

“since when do you drive motorbikes, anyway?” She asked as she handed him a glass. “what? You don’t like it?”

“oh, I love it. Just..”

Matty’s eyebrow raised. “just not sure you’re cool enough to pull it off.”

“you’re saying you don’t think I look cool right now?”

she took a big swig of her drink to wet her dry mouth. “If I touched you right now, you’re saying you’re not gonna already be wet for me?”

she looked away, instantly, to hide her blushing cheeks. She ran her fingers through her hair and collected it into a ponytail, sighing softly at the feeling of air against her neck. Matty’s gaze followed her. “What? What is it?” The playfulness in his tone told her that he already knew the answer. “N-nothing. Just hot that’s all.”

“Hmm.”

she watched him reach into his drink and fish out one of the ice cubes. He stuck it into his mouth, then, effortlessly took his wet fingers and pressed them to her lips. He felt cool to the touch. Obediently, she parted her lips, taking his fingers in and sucking on them like a cold popsicle. Grinning, he listened for the wet pop as he pulled his fingers out of her mouth. She felt his fingers, wet and sticky, against her cheek when he cupped her face and leaned in for a kiss. their teeth crashed against the remnants of the ice between his lips. She giggled as it fell out of his mouth and landed somewhere on their clothes. “what- what was that?” She chuckled. Matty shrugged. “I was trying something, alright?” He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her eyes sparkle like stars in the sky above. “It was a lot sexier in my head.”

“Don’t worry. still sexy.” She mumbled, kissing him. “Would be even sexier if you took off all of your clothes. Too bad we’re in public.”

matty looked to his right, then to his left, “I mean…”

“matty!”

“It’s the dead of the night.” he shrugged. “Nobody would see.”

“there’s a security camera right over there.” She pointed down the street. Hesitantly, he untangled himself from her and walked closer towards the camera. A sign right below it read “LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT.” He stood there, thinking, for a moment, before he took off his jacket and draped the camera with it, obscuring its view. “oh. My god. What are you-“

“Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing. Just follow my lead.” He took her hand in his and pulled her towards the grass. *** “You sure about this?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.” He said, staring into her eyes. “With you on top, you can keep your dress on just in case.”

any more objections that she might have had evaporated from her mind as she watched him get undressed. She hiked up the skirt of her dress to straddle him, struggling to keep her eyes open and she began to sink down on him. Under the dark cover of night, she couldn’t see his bare chest too clearly. She would have to rely on her other senses. not that it was a problem. She delighted in tasting the salty sweat on his skin as she peppered him with kisses. Her nails took to scratching up and down his back as their bodies met needing. Her scent was unmissable to him as he crashed his lips against her, repeatedly, moaning into her mouth. “waited for this all summer.” He whispered hotly into her ear, thrusting upwards to meet her hips. “fuck- oh- matty!”

“Yeah, baby, call out my name. Let me hear you.”

he watched her face scrunch and her eyes squeeze shut. Swiftly, he reached for the half molten ice in his glass, this time, dropping it in between her breasts and delighting in her help. “Fuck you!” She yelled. “yes, please, darling:” he laughed, taking her in his arms and turning them both around to reverse his position. “Please do fuck me.”

#summer75 #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you

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infernalodie · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 || 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐳

Inspo: Emile Mosseri - Jacob and the Stone

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Gn!reader

Summary: The stone that stood tall and would never full leave her memory...

Warnings: Angst throughout with mentions of suicide.

Words: 1770

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

There was this stone Maddy used to go to.

Somewhere in the density of a forest right outside of Highland. Practically resting near the long breaks of the open countryside, this place resided.

It’d been a complete chance that she came to this location. Her car broke down with her friends and their goal to live the night up was still on the list of plans. So, they ventured into this forest and found this large stone.

She remembers Cassie being a ruckus and being the emotional drunk she was. Lexi was reserved and just talked with Kat. Rue and Jules were holding one another. But Maddy found you staring at this stone, perplexed or fascinated by it.

Maddy remembers you dragging your hand across the texture of the rock. Lips twitched faintly as the tips of your fingers gently caught the grooves; scars of its past and present. And something about it made you say, “It’s beautiful.”

Everyone knew you found beauty in the strangest of places. If it is some random obscured painting or one of those poems you would write in your free time–there was nothing you couldn’t find positives in. It had been what made Maddy fall in love with you in the first place.

And she remembers how you looked back at her. A look in your eye that was almost contentful. Like something had been decided the moment you saw this large stone. You had said, “If I ever die, I want to be buried here. I’ll even write it in my will.”

She punched your arm for saying something like that. Warning you that she would be the one to do the job if you brought something like that up. You smiled and laughed. And she remembers your arms curling around her and holding her against your chest tightly. Your face tucked in her hair where you pressed gentle kisses.

That had only been a week before everything happened. That was the last memory she had of you before you were gone. Swept up and taken wherever was after this life. And now, even after all these years, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back to that forest–to relive that moment all over again in a place that she imagine still had your lingering presence.

Today, it was the anniversary of your death. So, with the urging encouragement of Lexi and Rue, she drove up to the forest. She walked amongst the trees that the further she got, blocked out the sun that had been beating down on her since she got back from Highland. It left a massive veil between her and the outside world that hoped hadn’t desecrated this sacred land.

Then she finally arrived at the stone. It stood tall- maybe even taller than she had once realized. Its exterior was jaded–chips having fallen off from years of weather conditioning. And in a traditional fashion, your initials were etched into its face. Your name, your birthday and the day of your passing. Each letter and number is rough around the edges, but perfect as its own; much like you.

Flowers were scattered around the marked grave. Much of them came from friends that had specifically come down to visit and pay respects to you. There were postcards from Jules; she believed that in some way, they might make it to you somehow. There were stuffies from Rue who knew of your unhealthy obsession with said items. Lexi left some of your favourite books from your guys’ friendship being built from that.

But Maddy had nothing to offer. Perhaps she thought her visit was enough considering the time she’d pushed to avoid the inevitable.

Exhaling heavily, she forced a smile. “Hey, baby.”

She sat beside the grave with the faint outline of where it had been dug. She clasped her hands together, saying, “I would ask you how you were doing, but I think we both know that would just be stupid of me.”

Painful silence. She didn’t know what to say. What was there to honestly say? You had given up. Maybe you lost sight of the beauty in this world. Lost all hope for society and decided to clock out before you saw anything get worse. Or maybe you had been depressed the whole time but she was too blind to see it. People wore masks–some of who no one would expect. Maybe you were a part of that few.

But since you left, she tried to keep to what she had been before you left–be the person that you loved. So, she wasn’t going to try and beat around the bush with any fruitless questions or statements. “I want to say you left because you couldn’t handle living anymore. But somehow-” she laughed, shaking her head. “-something tells me your sick mind thought that becoming one with the earth was beautiful, huh? I mean, we both know that’s how your mind worked.”

In some way, with your passing, she felt like she had finally grown as close as she could get to you. With your family left in shambles from your death, Maddy had taken it upon herself to be the one to pack your belongings up. Place your clothes in boxes, trinkets in boxes, and all the little handwritten notes that lined your walls. And on the final day, there was only one poem left and she just sat in the center of your room and stared at it. Then she cried. Harder than she ever thought she could. She screamed and fought against the harsh grasp of reality that was; once she took that final paper, you were officially gone. You would be gone from her life forever.

But from time to time, when she came down to Highland to visit her parents, she stopped by your family’s house. She had dinner with them, talked about life, made plans for future holidays and then she would ask to look at the boxes.

There would always be a silence that fell over the kitchen. The uneven breaths from your mother who would purse her lips, forcing a broken smile that could crack as she grabbed Maddy’s hands and hold them tightly. Which would always be contradictory because of the tears in her eyes. And your mom would always say, “Honey, don’t ever feel like you need to ask.”

And your dad would sit there quietly, avoiding eye contact that could betray the tough exterior he had to keep. When, in fact, the wound of your passing was still fresh and it would always stay that way. No child is supposed to go before their parents.

But you did. You defied every expectation; good and bad. You believed in most people who didn’t deserve it. You found lessons in situations you had labelled, “misconstrued control”. Each of those lessons made you grow and in any way you could, you tried to pass this knowledge on to others. But you gave up and in Maddy’s mind and that substituted everything else out. Your action to leave so soon was unforgivable to her.

You gave up when things were getting good for the two of you. When your guys’ story was starting to pick up make things interesting.

“I started reading some of those poems you had taped up on your walls.” A faint smile twitched on her lips. “They almost looked like etchings of thoughts you never said to me.” Maddy’s lips trembled. She remembered clearing out your room and spending hours sitting in the center of that room. Unable to take her eyes off of all the deep and meaningful quotes that you were so infatuated with. If she’d known that she returned to your house in her dreams, finding you standing and staring at each poem with a smile, she would’ve never laid a foot inside that room.

Bowing her head slightly as she swayed. Sniffling harshly, she said, “If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps around your body.” Her tearful eyes lifted to the inscription of your name carved meaningfully into the boulder. Face twisting with her voice giving way. “And I fucking miss you, Y/n. I hate knowing something else will give you warmth when I could’ve filled that spot for you.”

Her voice cracked. A sob fell from her lips. “I shouldn’t be sad. You fucking left me!” She fell to her hands, slowly lowering herself where blades of grass brushed across her rosy cheeks that kissed the earth. Her body trembled as she sought the feeling of your arms once more. Fingers delving into the dirt, hoping to find your hands interlocking with hers the further she reached. “But I want you here. Even in my dreams, I just want one more day with you.”

It was a distant and unforgeable wish, she knew that. But she was desperate. She had to wake up most nights and cry herself back to sleep because that would be the only way to reunite with you once more. Through the pain, she was healed by your smile. And she trying to find a middle ground between acceptance and refusal.

But that was the thing–no one can have both. When someone is gone, we can’t do anything to bring them back. And with time, we will heal. It’ll hurt like hell and it’ll feel like that wound will always be open, but that’s what comes with acceptance. And when we least expect it, when we find someone that makes our hearts skip a beat like the person before once did, we’ll realize how far we’ve come. How much pain we were able to take and keep moving forward.

It's a sign to try again.

And it hurt Maddy to admit it, but she wanted to keep going. Keep you close to her heart, but far enough that she was allowed to think about the good times instead of the worst.

And what helped was for her to think about how your mind worked–your beliefs that she never could wrap her head around. With time, she learned more about herself and where she stood on the unappreciated qualities of life and the world she lived in. Maddy believed that in some alternate reality, the both of you were still together and thriving. And acknowledging that was beautiful in its own way because she got to experience it for some time–a small sliver compared to a counterpart, but still a gift. But a different version of her would feel it until her last breath.

Something like that was poetic, wasn’t it?

#maddy perez euphoria #alexa demie #maddy perez x gn!reader #maddy perez x gn reader #maddy perez imagine #maddy perez fanfiction #maddy perez angst #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez #euphoria #euphoria fanfiction #euphoria imagine #euphoria maddy perez #x gender neutral reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x reader

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duckprintspress · 1 year ago

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You find a store that has the most YOU aesthetic you've ever imagined, like, you'd happily buy anything in the entire place. They have stickers, bags, cups, shirts, pins, key chains, so many different categories of Thing In A Style You Adore. AND. The owner says everything costs the same amount, and you can afford it! BUT! You can only get ONE THING. OH NO WHAT DO?

There are so many more than 11 categories of THING, so if you vote others, tell us what your OTHER is in the tags or comments! <3

(and before anyone asks, I left "book" off on purpose, cause this is about aesthetic/looks, so like, that doesn't really apply to books...)

#poll #polls for merch lovers #i'm gonna try to start posting polls once a week #cause polls are fun y'all #and i'm always curious what merch people love #for me it's probably sticker

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pumpkinsy0 · 6 months ago

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Can we get more hc's of curly helping pony with his seasonal depression? I love these two so much and your headcanons give me LIFE

WOOOOO HURT/COMFORT YEAAAAA RAHHHHHH

•ponys seasonal depression is like, whatever time was where his parents died, and i say that time and not where johnny and dally died bc generally speaking, ponys healing from their deaths, however id say when it comes to his parents deaths, he never rlly talks about it that much and kinda sweeps it under these other things???idk how to explain it

•BUT id say that pony never actually took the time to heal from his parents dying bc sm happened and at some point it kinda just hit him hard

NOW ONTO CURLY HELPING WOOO

•he did notice some differences in pony around the time but he thought that it would pass, and it did, but it always came back, he noticed that pattern

•as much as curly would love to go outside and fuck around to make pony happy, idk i think he’d respect that he just doesnt wanna go outside constantly, sometimes pony just wants to lay down and who is he to hate on that

•even when they go outside its nothing too crazy, its to just take a walk or sit in the porch or somethin, gotta get pony some air, cant stay in that stuffy room forever

•curly WILL be taking pony to visit his parents grave, its the least he can do for the grieving guy

•took pony to get some flowers and whatever else he wanted to get to decorate their grave, no jokes or nothin, he really didnt even know what to say to pony to cheer him up

•curly didnt go to the curtis parents’ funeral and therefore didnt rlly get to say his final words to em, so to like to imagine that to help pony in whatever way it does that he talks to em and get what he has to say out, maybe it was to encourage pony to do the same

•he brings pony lil gifts like a cool postcard he stole or a lil trinket

•he lets pony talk about the small things his parents used to do w him, he wasnt that close to them like darry and soda was, but he did have his moments

•ponys mom had a recipe book on top of the cupboard and curly would try to make some of the foods, key word try, he somehow burnt em a lil but its the thought that counts

•pony would mention to curly how he was kind of starting to forget small things about his parents, like how they laughed, how they smelled, that sorta thing, and so curly would VENTURE out to find small things that could remind pony about his parents

•he also got pony to draw his parents for the first time in a while, so he wouldnt forget more what they looked like and he can look back on it

•ALSO YES, he is making sure pony eats something, but its not rlly like a full dinner, maybe something like mac and cheese, something small and simple

UNRELATED, but hc that darrys room is actually just his parents room, darrys barely redecorated it himself bc hes actually so distraught over them still and that room is like a time capsule, thats kinda why nobody ever rlly goes into darrys room, especially pony, they dont wanna be reminded of who used to be there

#curly shepard #ponyboy curtis #purly #PaperCut ship

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mywingsareonwheels · 1 year ago

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1974.

Morse is interviewing witnesses to a murder at one of the colleges, and one of them is strikingly familiar. He's a man in his early twenties, a recent medical graduate back visiting friends before heading off to move into a totally different career. He has a posh accent, a friendly smile, warm brown eyes.

Oh he's truly, desperately familiar, and Morse isn't looking too hard into his own motives when he lets the younger man talk him into a drink out, and then a one-night stand, and then something rather more like a friendship played out over Scotch and crosswords and literary quotations.

[More behind the cut....]

He does mention, briefly, that his new friend reminded him of someone else on first meeting. And somehow that turns into a discussion of ancestry, and the young man discusses with some glee the skeleton in his family cupboard: the fact that his paternal grandmother when barely eighteen had a dalliance with a working-class ruffian of the same age from Mile End, of all places. That she'd got pregnant, but her parents wouldn't let her tell the lad, but instead got her engaged to a somewhat stuffy friend of theirs called Richardson.

"Dad hates to talk about it," says Morse's friend, "he's rather a stuffed shirt, especially for a surgeon. But Granny used to love telling me stories. She did come to love my Granddad, I think, but she missed that boy from Mile End all her life." He chuckles, but a little shakily, because he has yet to learn the effortless-seeming confidence he'll spread before him one day. "I'd give anything to meet him."

Morse swallows, heart suddenly in his mouth. And something in his face makes the young man carry on, more intensely.

"Granny told me that she named Dad after him, though he doesn't know. So that's what I have: Frederick, from Mile End. Fathered a child around 1930 when he was just a lad and doesn't even know he did." He laughs, wryly. "Not much to go on, is it."

"Douglas," says Morse, and his voice is shaking but there's a smile in his eyes. "I... I'll need to look into this, but I think. I mean. I think I can help."

The postcard is of York Minster, which is only a half hour drive from where three exiles from Oxford have settled. On the back it reads just:

"Sir,

Un bel di, please could we talk? There's someone I think you should meet. Bring 2 rounds ham and tomato sandwiches. --"

At the day and time thus ordered, Fred Thursday finds Morse standing admiring the rose window, and follows him out to a bench in the Minster gardens. He's torn between confusion and shame, though above all trying to hide how overjoyed he is to see the rusty curls and those haughty, sea-green eyes again. When Morse explains, and introduces the young trainee pilot with a face Fred remembers from his mirror as a long-lost grandson... well, it's good he's already sitting down, is all.

The years past, and they are gentler than they might have been.

Fred lives to see his grandson a captain, to meet his great-granddaughter. To introduce his grandson to his uncle and step-grandmother and eventually even his aunt. To become friends with Morse again, even if quietly, and for the most part only by letter. To relish that Douglas and Morse, despite occasionally enraging each other beyond reason, seem to be friends for life. (He suspects that they might once have been more than that; if they aren't going to tell him though, he's not going to point it out.) Something healed in him that day in York, and it never breaks again.

When Captain Douglas Richardson puts down the bottle, in an attempt to salvage something of his career and his relationship with his daughter, perhaps it's partly because he's still grieving for his grandfather, dead some ten years now, but most of all because he's still grieving for his friend and one-time lover, and doesn't want to die so young himself.

When First Officer Douglas Richardson meets his new captain at MJN's portacabin in Fitton, he's a little strikingly familiar too. He's shorter, and more pompous, and vastly less good at word games, but there are rusty curls and haughty sea-green eyes.

He's no relation of Morse's at all though, it turns out. This is, eventually, rather a relief.

#ficlet #itv endeavour #e morse #endeavour morse #cabin pressure #douglas richardson #fred thursday #martin crieff #well this rather ran away from me but hopefully someone else will have fun with it too ;-)#ridiculous crossover time #endeavour #roger allam #long post #tw alcoholism mention #tw canonical character deaths #tw complicated family history mention

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samwinchesterslostshoe · 9 months ago

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-Denouement-

“Was there any meaning to life or to war, that two men should sit together and jump within seconds of each other and yet never meet on the ground below?”

-David Kenyon Webster-

David Webster x Female OC

Word count: 4,7K

Notes: In the book: “Parachute Infantry” by David Webster. He tells the story of what happened after we saw him get shot in episode 5, Crossroads. How he had to walk several miles across muddy fields to find safety in a farmhouse, where he was later picked up by two soldiers from F company and brought to an aid station. The first chapter of this fic loosely ties into that. Making some small changes to fit the plot better and tie in the main character Marie.

This story is based on the tv shot Band of Brothers, and the fictional portrayal of the actors playing the characters in the show.

Part 1

The Island – Holland.

October 5th, 1944.

Kenyon.

With the shock, confusion and the rush of adrenaline slowly wearing off, Webster could feel the hurt in his leg growing. His before almost numb calf was now throbbing with pain. The blood on his pant leg, having mixed with the mud of the ditch made it hard to tell just how bad his wound was.

Blankly staring at the field that lay ahead of him, he found himself faced with two choices. Stay in the ditch, safe between the side of the small dike leading up to the road, protected from possible enemy artillery - but no medics would pick him up here. Or, make a run for it across the open field - where it would be just a matter of time before he would be spotted and shot down. Dying in a muddy field in the middle of Holland, surrounded by nothing but barbed wire fences and the remains of heavy artillery fire. But Death didn’t bother him, at least not anymore. What he wanted more than anything in the world was to get out of here. To eat something other than K rations and to sleep in a real bed again.

To some it might have even seemed selfish, not caring anymore about what happened to the men in the trench next to you who not even an our ago you were fighting alongside with. Both trying everything you had in you just to make it through another mission. But if he wanted to stay alive, ever see home again, then wasting time thinking about the others might cost it his. So a decision was made.

Limping across the open field, clutching the Kraut poncho he had come across, a piece of fabric that almost cost him his life. By God if he got back home empty handed, he could never forgive himself.

Panting heavily, he stopped for just a second in the middle of the mucky field to inspect the silhouette of a large farmhouse. Under different circumstances, the barn would have been lovely, picturesque even, with its white picket fences, stained glass windows and painted shutters. The kind you would see on postcards and bring back with you to the States, so when people asked him, “So what was Holland like?” He could show them that picture. But now the once lively home lay cold and barren. No animals grazed outside, some of the colorful windows had shattered and the shutters were now nailed shut.

To him it was nothing more than a temporary haven. Slowly stumbling up along the dirt path leading up to the house, he was met by a middle-aged Dutch farmer. The men bore a stern look on his face. Just for a second, looking the man straight in the eye, he was afraid the man might shoot him. He must have seen his allied uniform because soon, the man was next to his side, putting his arm over his shoulder and slowly carrying him into the house.

Marie.

The house was stuffy and held air filled with fear and anxiety, making it difficult to think straight. For almost a month now people had come in and out of the house seeking help and shelter. Some she knew. Some she didn’t. Not that it mattered much anymore since it was best to not get attached to these people.

Ever since the Allied forces had jumped into Eindhoven, and the battle over Island had started four days ago. There was nothing she could do anymore. Being stuck between the Lower Rhine on the north, and the Waal on the south. All contact with both her friends and her connections at the Dutch underground resistance had been lost. Leaving her completely powerless and in the dark. There was no feeling worse than knowing the people you love and care about so deeply are being unjustly taken, tortured, and murdered for the simple act of existing. Nothing more but a name you just so happened to be born into. And all those who choose to help right the wrong were met with a similar faith.

All these thoughts however quickly disappeared when the loud bangs of German artillery fire exploded close by the house. They couldn’t have been more than a few kilometers away since the old stained-glass windows dangerously rattled in their frames and dust fell from the ceiling. Still, she tried to ignore them as best she could. Explosions had been going of regularly for the past few days. She was sure it was nothing. It was strange how quickly one can become accustomed to these things. Explosions now being as common as a barking dog or Sunday’s church bells.

Awakened out of her thoughts by another string of loud thuds. The explosions seemed to slowly creep in on the farmhouse. Trying to shrug it off became harder and harder when the smaller children in the house began to yell out and run to their mothers for comfort. Her dad now bore a concerned look on his face and softly muttered something she couldn’t quite make out when another loud Bang got the whole house shaking. “Naar de kelder!” screamed her father as he urged her younger siblings, along with everyone else in the house to get into the basement. ‘Just to be safe..” he muttered.

Helping her father get smaller children and elderly get down the stairs into the danky basement first. Marie caught a glimpse of something through the window out of the corner of her eye. Just for a split second she could have sworn she saw someone walking towards the house. But just as soon he had appeared he was now gone again. Alerting her father about the possible danger seemed like the best thing to do. Except the place where he stood just a second before, the top of the stairs leading to the basement was now completely empty. “Pap?!” Marie screamed into the basement. No answer. Panic seared through her body quickly making place for concern when suddenly hushed voices and clattering could be heard coming from the kitchen.

Kenyon.

The farmer took him inside, taking in the sight of the wonderfully big, old timey kitchen. Cutlery, plates, and pans filled with food still on the table. “Enough to feed the whole platoon,” he thought. A wave of resentment washed over him. What have these people done to deserve to eat fresh, cheese and bread? While he, alongside with the rest of the men in his company must fight on nothing more than canned meats and powdered lemonade while fighting for their freedom? While deep in thought, he had failed to notice the slowly growing audience that had begun to form alongside him in the kitchen.

Most noticeably, the eyes of the young woman, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen entrance. The way she looked at him made him feel uneasy. Her pale skin and hollow cheeks showed signs of malnourishment. A wave of guilt washed over him for having resented these people just seconds before. Beneath her furrowed eyebrows lay tired green eyes that felt like they pierced right through him. He couldn’t quite make out if the look she was giving him was one of concern or one of pure hatred. Despite all these things Something about her seemed to captivate him. Feeling very unpresentable in her presence. He must have made quite the sight. His uniform was covered in a mixture of blood and caked up mud and dung. The fabric tattered and ripped, exposing the filthy skin beneath.

The elderly men who had helped him inside, who he assumed was her father, helped him into an old kitchen chair, shoving a glass of water into his hands. Giving him the opportunity to take a better look at the other people in the room with him. Some children who looked at him with big eyes, clutching to the skirts of their mothers. Young boys excited and curious as to who this filthy stranger was sitting in front of them was, and elderly couples trying to show their compassion as best they could.

He didn’t know any Dutch and the little German he had picked up didn’t prove very useful. Luckily, and to his surprise, the Dutch seemed to be very well spoken in English and communication went easy. He tried explaining to the father that he was an American paratrooper and needed help. The man nodded and spoke something in Dutch to a little boy. Who nodded, and before shooting just a quick glance at him, ran out the door. With having the important information out of the way, his attention could now be focused back to the girl. She stood with her back turned to him, ushering all the other people out of the kitchen along with her father, who scattered back into the other parts of the house with disappointed looks on their faces. Turning to him and closing the kitchen door behind her now left just the two of them in the room. The air grew thick and tense. Making his heart beat at two times a pace.

Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he had lost to much blood on the way over here causing to have irradicle thoughts. Her back was now turned to him yet again as she filled up some bowls with fresh water at the small kitchen sink. Hastily looking through various cabinets and drawers.

“What’s your name?” her voice was soft. It didn’t seem to carry any hate or annoyance, making him feel a bit more at ease. “Webster, David.”

“David...,” she repeated quietly, before giving him the chance to ask for her name she responded.

“Marie.”

“It’s Marie. Short for Marieke, but please just call me Marie.”

Marie. the name suited her well.

Marie.

David. Kneeling in front of him to put down the bowl of clean water and some torn bed sheet linen, gave her an opportunity to take a closer look at the man’s face. Icy blue eyes stood out against his unshaven and dirty skin. Despite being obviously worn out and exhausted, he looked at her with a nervous eyes that made her wonder if she might have come off as too harsh. A thing that these days seemed to happen more and more frequently. With a loud rip she tore off the fabric off his blood soak pant leg, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s alright, I am a nurse,” she reassured him, “I’m just going to have a look at your leg.” “Okay?”

“A nurse?” When she looked up at him a slight grin had appeared on his face, making it hard not to smile a little too. “Well, a nurse in training at least.”

“Oh great,” he huffed. Making her want to hit herself for saying such a stupid thing and wanting to hit him for giving her such a stupid response. Ungrateful bastard, she thought.

Having almost read her mind, he responded, “Well, I would much rather have a nurse in training then those boys back at base who stick three needles of morphine in you and call it a day,” he said while smiling.

Letting out a deep breath and focusing her attention back down at his leg, she could feel his eyes prying at her, following her every move, making it hard to stay focused and take in a proper diagnosis. The bullet had torn clean through his calf, missing the main artery thus making the bleeding non-fatal, but still being bad enough to buy the man a ticket home.

“You’re in luck,” she said looking back up at him. “It’s nothing more than a flesh wound but still bad enough to get you back to your family.”

“You call this lucky?” He grinned.

Christ, she thought. Here we have another G.I Joe who is so full of himself, thinking he is above everyone else. In her eyes, Americans were all the same; obnoxious, rude, and loud.

Even though she knew he was just joking, trying to get on her nerves a little, his sarcastic tone and manner of speaking made her stomach turn into a tight knot, making her pace quicken while still trying to clean the ripped and torn flesh to the best of her abilities.

“All Done,” she said, quickly tying of some makeshift bandages around his leg. Standing up to have a closer look at his face.

Reading people had always been one of her strong suits. Knowing what people’s true intentions were just by the way they looked at her. Knowing when someone was stressed or nervous by the way they fidgeted with objects around them. It was what made Marie one of the best nurses in her class. But with him it was different. She couldn’t make out what he was thinking, and that frustrated her. His mouth so vulgar and sarcastic, but bearing a profound sadness in his eyes. Or was it admiration?

Before she even knew it the words were out of her mouth. “Christ you look horrible.”

For a split second her heart stopped, and her face turned to stone, afraid of having offended the soldier. Did she really say that out loud? But before she even had the time to think of an apology a laugh appeared on David’s face. Suddenly all the sadness and exhaustion seemed to disappear from his body.

“I’m sure I do,” he said still laughing.

“I really didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant to say I am sure you have been through a lot,” Marie responded in a breathy voice.

“I know.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence fell between them and she found herself frantically looking around for something to focus her attention to other than David’s eyes. Finally settling on getting some more clean water and a towel.

“The other people in the house, are they all family of yours?” He asked her.

“Some of them, most of them are neighbors, some family friends. Most of their homes were taken by the Germans, the rest destroyed. I returned home as soon as I heard word that the allied forces were moving into town.”

Kenyon.

Conversation was never his strong suit, around Marie the air felt dense, and the words seemed to choke in his throat. On a happy note, however, focusing his attention on her had made him completely forget about the gaping hole that had once been his calf. Clumsily getting up from the chair to lean on the sturdy wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, he took off his helmet, raking his hands through his muddy curls. His stomach growled at the sight of what had been the family’s dinner still standing on the table. Hopefully she didn’t hear it.

“Hungry?” she asked him.

Crap. She did.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit first.” Suddenly she was standing in front of him, a wet washcloth in hand. “May I?” she asked him.

He nodded in approval. She brought the cloth up to his face and very gently began at wiping away the build up sweat, mud and blood he wasn’t even sure was his own caked on his skin. The warm water tuning out all his thoughts. This must be what heaven was like, right? Closing his eyes wishing he could stay like this forever. When he opened his eyes again, he was met by a green pair staring right back into his. A blush must have appeared on his face because the corners of her mouth had moved upward, repressing a smile. He tried to find something else to turn his attention to, away from those praying eyes of her. Settling on her dirty blond hair that before he arrived, must have been pinned up into a neat hairdo. But now hang loosely around her face.

The silence seemed to grow louder with every passing minute. Not being able to bear it anymore and wanting, craving to hear the sound of her voice again, he asked her, “Why did you become a nurse?”

Her face formed into a tense frown, and he wished he had just kept his trap shut.

“It’s allright if you don’t want to tell me,” he quickly spoke.

“No, I do,” she responded.

“It’s probably for the same reason you joined the army. The airborne is made up of volunteers, right?”

He nodded.

“How can you stand back and do nothing knowing the people you love are slowly being taken away from you. Being a nurse just seemed like the right thing to do”

He looked her straight into her eyes: “I know the feeling”

Her small hands still cupping his cheeks. No words where said. No word needed to be said.

He knew the feeling all too well.

He held her gaze, his heart racing again. Taking the time to take in the features of her face. She seemed too wonderful to be in such a filthy place, surrounded by constant death and despair. It was after all just a matter of time before she too would die.

She drew in a sharp breath, “Let’s get you something to eat,” she said in a shaky voice, abruptly breaking eye contact. She immediately went to work, grabbing some ingredients left over the family’s dinner. Whatever she was cooking up it smelled delicious. Never in his life did he remember being this starved. She could serve him moldy bread and stale cheese and he would put both his hands around her face and kiss her.

While he quietly sat and admired her work, he quickly swallowed eight sulfathiazole pills to prevent his wound from getting infected. When it would be his time to go, it would be something worth dying for. Certainly not an infection.

She brought out two big plates stacked with something resembling pancakes topped with strawberry jam.

“Pannekoeken!” she said exility, “have as much as you like.” She smiled, putting down two giant plates, along with warm milk and cups of hot coffee. Not knowing when the next time would be he would get to eat again, he made sure to finish every crump. It didn’t take long until the two plates where completely empty.

“Thank you,” he said with a mouthful of food. “I mean it”

“No need to thank me, it’s the least I am able to do. After all I am just doing my job, being a nurse and all. Remember?”

While he finished drinking up the last few drops of the bitter coffee, several small children dressed in worn overalls wearing small wooden clogs had come into the room. While remaining at a safe distance from him, they started whispering to each other about something he couldn’t make out. “They’re asking what happened to you,” Marie turned her head towards him while pointing at the children. “It’s quite alright if you don’t want to answer. I can send them away if you want?”

“It’s quite the gruesome story, I’m not sure if it is appropriate for children,” he huffed.

“They can handle it,” she said to him. “Unfortunately, they have already seen and heard much worse I am afraid.”

He told her all about the battle on the island. The German platoon they had taken out and how some of their men had been wounded by their own air support. The long and tiresome way to safety. The piece of cloth he had risked dying for and the enemy artillery he had encountered on his way. All while she translated his words to Dutch to tell the children. Their looks of fear slowly changed into those of awe.

Just before Marie was about to send the children out of the kitchen back into the living room again, he remembered the German poncho stuffed in his OD’s.

“Wait, just a moment,” he mumbled while rumbling his hands through his pockets, looking for the piece of cloth.

“Here, I want to give them something if that’s okay?” A confused look appeared on Marie’s face. “As long as it’s not a weapon,” she said sarcastically while furrowing her eyebrows.

“Ah, found it!” he pulled the poncho out of his jacked and cut the fabric in two using his trench knife. The children’s eyes widened, and a wide smile appeared on Marie’s face. It was the first time he had had seen her smile since he had come in. A real smile.

The children took the pieces of poncho excitedly, thanking him eagerly and ran out of the kitchen to show their parents their newfound treasure.

She looked at him with that smile of hers still lingering on her lips. Just as she opened her mouth to thank him, two men burst into the kitchen with a loud crash making her jump and run to wall behind him for protection.

Marie.

Her heart raced as she stood pressed firmly against the wall behind her. David seemed to show no signs of fear or anger. She took a better look at the two men now coming up to them. Upon closer inspection she saw the American flag sewn onto their jackets and a red cross armband around their arms causing her to let out a deep breath and unclench her fists.

“Oh Christ, Webster, it’s you” one of the soldiers sighed. “The little boy told us a Limey soldier was dying up here.”

David laughed, “all for nothing, isn’t it? Well, give me a hand. I suppose I have to get out of here.”

A tight pang sprung into her chest. Even though she knew not to get emotionally attached to her patients. She was afraid she might have grown attached to the soldier.

Just like that he would be gone. He wouldn’t even remember her name five minutes from now, and by the time he would be back home or on the boat to England, he would have forgotten about her all together.

“I will be right outside, give me just a minute,” David said while turning to look at her.

So he hadn’t forgotten completely after all. One of the soldiers winked at David and took the other one by the sleeve of their jacket, pulling him outside to leave just her and David alone in the kitchen again.

She managed to pull herself loose from the wall and slowly inch towards him.

Despite the many things she still wanted to ask him, tell him, her mind seemed to go completely blank, and no words came out.

“Well, I guess I will be going then. Thank you, for everything. I mean it,” he said sincerely. “And please thank your father for me as well.”

He turned around walking slowly towards the door. Was this really how their story would end? with a lousy thankyou and goodbye.

No. She couldn’t let it end like this. Too many friends were lost whose last words to her were those of lousy goodbyes. Or worse, no goodbyes at all.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins and all concept or rationality and formality seemed to disappear. She walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder tightly, making him turn around to face her. She cupped his face with both hands and pressed a firm kiss on his lips. Her heart seemed to beat out of her chest, and she could have sworn she could hear his heartbeat just as loud.

He pulled his lips from off hers and looked her deep in the eyes. For a second, she thought she may have offended him. Christ what even was she thinking? He may have a loving girlfriend waiting at home, a wife even. David leaned into the crook of her neck. “If it takes getting shot for me to get to kiss you, it has been worth everything,” he muttered.

He grabbed her waist, pulling her close. This kiss was different, hungry, desperate.

“Webster! Outside now! No time to lose,” one of the medics yelled, breaking their kiss.

“Best to make this quick,” he said, pressing a hasty kiss onto her forehead.

“Saying goodbye will never be easy, will it?” She whispered.

“I have to go.” He sounded cold. The adrenaline had worn off and the sharp pain in her chest had returned.

“I know. Go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Kenyon.

What is war without sacrifice, he thought as he sat on the back of the medic’s bike, cycling to a nearby aid station further and further away from the farmhouse, until it was completely out of sight at last. How cruel to find love only for it to be ripped away from you the second you get too close. ‘If I survive this war,’ he thought, ‘I will come back here, to this little farm in the middle of Holland. I will find you, love you, marry you. I will never have to put on a uniform for the rest of my life and you will never have to stain your fingers with blood ever again.

Thank you so so much @footprintsinthesxnd for proofreading, fixing my many, many grammatical errors, and encouraging me to keep writing:))

My taglist: @ronsparky @whollyjoly @next-autopsy @luckynumber4 @barbeygirl @dustyjumpwingz @xxluckystrike @heystovepipeboys @sweetxvanixlla @kafka-ohdear @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @iceman-kazansky @bucky32557038ww2

#band of brothers #hbo war #david webster #david kenyon webster #band of brothers fic

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harrison-abbott · 4 months ago

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Fluorescent Suspicion

You were walking along the high street, to the shoe shop at the far end. This was one of the longest streets in the UK and there were maybe three thousand other people with you, walking in different ways. You passed tourists, who always walked at a slower pace. And men in plush suits with stern faces; and disgruntled mothers with their noisy bairns; you passed the corporate shops on the side of you, with huge pictures of models advertising jewellery; and you passed the fast food chain with its gory world-famous logo. Right next to the fast food joint was a Job Centre. And in between them was a man sitting on a strip of cardboard, and you thought it must be even more awful these days, because most people didn’t use cash anymore. You moved on and you came to that famous monument that always appeared on postcards celebrating the city, with its masonry all blackened from the industrial age. You took a turn off the main street, and a bus hurtled past your body at ferocious speed: was only two yards away, and it sure would’ve killed you had you been a couple of yards to the right. There was a chain coffeeshop nearby with adults sitting outside, and a competing bar beyond that with folks getting drunk, all in the muggy summer heat. You heard the laughs and screams of the public and you didn’t know the stories, what the chat was. You passed a music record store that was somehow still surviving in the year 2024. Pigeons dabbled about on the lane with their pretty turquoise necks that twitched about. You passed a busker who was trying valiantly and he must’ve been in his early twenties and he wore a cap and you admired his trying. Finally, you reached the shoe shop. It was actually a fashion job, for discount clothes. When you walked in you passed a security guard. And he followed you with his fluorescent suspicion as you headed along the aisle. This had happened to you a few times before: security guards following you, and you wondered why you gave off a criminal vibe. You had money and you were only here to buy shoes. Just a cheap pair of trainers was all you were after. You picked a pair of trainers off the shelf that must’ve been made somewhere 5000 miles away, by some poor bastard who was being fucked over by globalisation. And you felt bad to be where you were from instead, and contributing to inequality. When you waited in the queue, the security guard from earlier was still eyeballing you. You made sure to get your receipt from the girl at the counter. And you walked past the security guard with the receipt in your hand, and you went up the escalator, and back outside again, and it was actually hotter in the street than it’d been in the store. With that stuffy tired late summer air.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #prose #spilled ink #stories #short fiction #fiction #short story

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chaotic-starlight24 · 7 months ago

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My Dear Dahlia Chapter 1

Summary: Just a little bit of background to Dally and her daily life.

This ain't my best work and the coming chapters will be better I promise :,)

Whenever Spot is rude to Race he don't really mean it, he's just acting tough

Newsies

Word Count: 2.5k (Long I know)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse but not much else

Characters mentioned are a mixture of all the newsies (musicals and movie) They also aren't completely accurate because most of them are built of headcanons and random info

Random: I'm not sure how popular this will be but I just draw and write stuff depending on how much inspiration I have

Next|Previous

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The young girl sat sobbing on her bed. The academy was worse than anything she had ever experienced. She may have lived in a poor farm in the middle of nowhere, but at least she had a family! Now she was stuck in an itchy dress in a stuffy room with a bunch of other girls she barely knew. The only thing they shared was their hatred for this dismal place. If her parents were still alive, they would have never sent her here!

Her father wasn’t very kind to her brothers, but he had shown some care for her. While her mother tried her best though she wasn’t very sane. Now her brothers are somewhere on the streets and her mother and father were 6 feet under. Dahlia wished she was working some exciting job with other kids who actually liked her! Instead here she is, getting beat for things like eating porridge the wrong way and sleeping the wrong way! One day she was going to get out of the academy. Suddenly, a guardian came in. Dahlia quickly wiped her tears so she wouldn’t get beat for crying. The woman looked at the letter in her hand and looked back up at Dahlia.

“Your aunt and uncle have sent you a letter, child.” She told her, the women's expression completely dead.

They never did have expressions. Dahlia walked towards her with her head down. Then politely grabbed it and went back to her bed. The woman left and Dahlia tore open the letter. Maybe this was her ticket out!

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My dear Dahlia,

I’m still terribly sorry we could not get back to New York for your birthday! Me and your uncle miss you so very dearly. But your uncle could not get away from his work, Chicago is a busy city. He is also being asked to travel farther out west to set his businesses up there as well! We hope the city is treating you well, we shall return next year! Remember to not get mixed up with the dirty children of the streets, the academy treats you well so you don’t have to be like them. Your brothers did not get that same chance, all because of your parents. So remember it is because of us you get this great opportunity! We know you miss your family farm, but we hope the city treats you well. We hope your 12th birthday is a grand day!

With love,

Your Auntie Lisa and Uncle Ralph

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

Dahlia, or how she liked to be called now Dally, chuckled at the letter. Then placed it under her pillow with the rest of the postcards. That was the only reason she kept the letter, for her collection. Her “so very loving” aunt and uncle had never returned for her. And it would be in vain anyways, at 16 she was living a much more exciting life. The academy may have given her a roof over her head and an education, but she was miserable there. It was basically the refuge, if the refuge had funding and a school mashed with it. Now she was going day to day, hawking papes and lighting shows. Which she much preferred. She escaped at the age of 13 and did several jobs. Working the docks and washing dishes was honest work, not what she wanted to do though. But at 14, she met the independent and strong boy, Spot Conlon. Now she was a newsie by day and a stagehand by night. And was pretty well-respected by Brooklyn newsies.

“Ey sleepin beauty! Best ya get outta bed!” A voice called, shaking her from her drowsiness.

“I’m up, I’m up!”

Dally stretched out her arms and jumped out her bunk. Several fellow girls were standing by the door, already ready. She wondered how she had slept in! Dally quickly pulled on her shirt and high-waisted pants. One of the girls started making tick-tock noises. She tucked her wavy, dark brown hair into her cap, though messy strands were haphazardly sticking out, and out the doors she went! There Spot and a couple of the gang waved her over.

“We was worried youse weren’t eva gonna wake up!” Hotshot teased, placing his hand on her head.

Dally ruffled his hair in return and then took his hat, sprinting away as she did.

“Hey! Get ya butt back here!”

“Gotta catch me first!”

Spot sighed as the two ran off in childish glee. But didn’t stop them. Dally seemed to be able to remind people that they were still kids, which was something they definitely needed. But after a while of running, she was pulled back by the back of her shirt. She laughed expecting it to be Hotshot but instead she heard a familiar voice.

“Dahlia?”

She spun around, clenching the cap. Few called her by her given name.

“It-it’s you!” Her aunt gasped as their eyes met.

The man holding her arm must have been her uncle Ralph. Spot and the gang hung back a bit, ready to fight but letting her talk to them.

“Auntie Lisa?”

“Yes, yes it’s me.” Her aunt confirmed her eyes filled with confusion and some form of…disgust?

“When did you all come back…” Dally questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“A year or so ago, we thought you’d be at the academy! What did you do to your hair?!” Her aunt answered and reached for her cap.

Dally swatted her away, “Get away from me! You never cared where I was! You all just dumped me and left! Didn’t even try to find my brothers!”

“You’ve got scars all over you! And your hair, it’s a mess!”

Spot and the gang began to get closer.

“Dahlia! Get behind me, it’s those newsies!”

Dally rolled her eyes and stalked back over to the gang, “I’ve got a work day to get through, please leave me be!”

Her aunt and uncle sneered and took a couple steps back. Ritz looked the two up and down. The others joined in staring them down. Eventually her uncle began to walk off, but her aunt stayed. She reached out to Dally but quickly pulled back and straightened her posture.

“Nice to know you're so scared of me now that ya won’t even go near me,” Dally spat, “I don’t want to eva see youse again.”

Her aunt swallowed hard and walked back to her uncle. Dally sighed and walked ahead of the group.

Spot looked back at them and then caught up with her, “I’m sorry, but ya have brudders?!”

“Yes, haven’t seen them in forever, probably dead.” She answered with a bite.

Spot took another quick glance, “How did they even know youse was here?”

“I dunno, probably got tipped off by one of the teachers, maybe they want their money back from the time I spent…there.”

Spot let it go. He was one of the few who knew about her time at the academy. It may have not been as bad as the refuge, but it took a large mental toll on anyone who grew up there. Dally still slept perfectly uniformed, not able to sleep otherwise. The group reached the gate as the distributors opened it. That was one of the nice things about being a Brooklyn newsie, the goons wouldn’t mess with you. Dally looked up as the headline was swiped across the board.

“Trolley Strike Drags On For 3rd Week.”

Stray huffed and so did Ritz. Spot rolled his eyes. The writers needed to come up with something more creative! Maybe the newsies needed to start making the headlines. Dally still grabbed her stack of 50 papes and walked out. Then Spot stopped her.

“Youse is sellin at the sheepshead today, right?”

Dally nodded, a bit confused.

“There’s a ‘hattan newsie who keeps showin his face there, chase him off if ya can.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

The Sheepshead had some of the best foot traffic in the borough. They couldn’t have any Manhattan newsie stealing their sales! And it didn’t make it any better that the racetrack was especially full that day. She shoved her way through the crowds, shouting exaggerated titles while doing so. Also stopping a few women and talking about her dream of an education. She was making good sales! Until she reached the middle of the stands. Several men and women already had papes! And then she heard him.

“Extra Extra! Strikers beat to death! You heard it right here folks!”

Dally looked up and saw the boy. He was about her age, but his clothes made it clear he wasn’t from Brooklyn. With his hat clumsily placed on his blonde curls and buttoned shirt and vest. Most newsies from Brooklyn had a simple undershirt and suspenders.

“Hey you! What are ya doin on Brooklyn terf?!” She yelled to him, hoisting herself onto his platform.

He glanced at her with a stupid grin, “Hey sweetheart! Just here to watch the horses and make my rent for tonight!”

“Don’t call me that.” she growled, “This isn’t ‘hattan, I suggest ya run back to Jacky before I soak ya!”

He held up his hands and stepped back… Onto the very firm floor of air. He let out a yelp and Dally quickly grabbed one of his hands before he tumbled off the back of the stands.

“Thanks, sweetie. Though moving a bit fast?” He smirked, raising his eyebrows.

She began to loosen her grip on him and he quickly grabbed onto her waist.

“I think I’m still gonna drop ya.”

“NO! I mean, uh…Please don’t?”

“Leave.” She demanded sternly.

He shrugged and began to walk towards the exit. Until he saw someone and swiftly turned back towards her.

“Hey, uh, Spot just walked past here, I don’t feel like gettin soaked…” He said sheepishly, “Would ya mind walking me to the bridge?”

Dally sighed but grabbed him by his shirt collar, “Fine. Let’s go.”

As they walked the crowded streets of the borough he enthusiastically rambled about the newsies in Manhattan and horses. Not that Dally was listening much. It sort of reminded her of herself before the academy.

“Hey, I never caught ya name.” He suddenly asked.

She blew a hair out of her face, “Dally.”

“Nice ta meet ya! Name’s Racetrack!”

“Racetrack? Where’d ya get that name?”

“I’m really fast, and my whole thing with horse races.”

Dally nodded her head and kept on walking. She didn’t want him to turn the conversation to be about her. But it seemed her luck was down that day.

“So how’d you become a newsie? We don’t got many girls in Manhattan.”

“Escaped from the academy, worked a couple of jobs and then met Spot.”

“Huh, say youse is not a native New Yorker are ya?”

That made Dally stop and turn to look at him, “Um, yeah no I’m not. How could ya tell?”

He chuckled, “Well the fact youse said “yeah no” confirms that. Ya have an accent!”

“Says the New Yorker… I spent my childhood in Ohio, on a farm.”

“Youse a funny girl, ya know the Delanceys have a similar accent!”

Dally made a sound of acknowledgement. She was more surprised she had grown comfortable enough to drop her fake accent.

“Ah no, Spot Conlon is right over there!” Race squeaked, his eyes widening.

Dally looked over and sure enough he was. Spot was selling papes to a nicer gentleman and hadn’t noticed them yet.

“If we just tell him I’m escorting ya he won’t give us no trouble!”

“I guess youse is right… But he’s still a little intimidating…”

“And where did ya learn that big word?”

Race got ready to shoot back but Spot had finally turned their way. And he didn’t look happy.

“So what are ya doin up here, Dally?” Spot smiled, crossing his arms with feigned politeness.

“Just takin that ‘Hattan newsie you warned me about back to his terf.”

Race took his cigar out of his mouth with a dopey grin, “Wow Spot! Cared enough to warn her about me!”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “I think I can take him from here, Dals. He’s caused ya enough trouble.”

Race’s face dropped. Dally understood why, Spot wasn’t exactly in a joyful mood right now. But Race quickly went back to his happy self.

“A personal escort, Spot? You must be in love!”

Spot stalked forward a couple feet to wait for Race, who turned back to Dally.

“Thank ya, miss. It’s been a grand time with ya!” He winked and tipped his hat.

Then he joined with Spot who started lecturing him. Dally was just happy she could be rid of him and get back to selling. But something about him stuck with her for the rest of the day. Not exactly in a lovey dovey sense, but man did Race have blue eyes! Something must have seemed off cause Hotshot started laughing at her while they were playing poker at the lodging house.

“Penny for ya thoughts?”

“Show me the penny and we’ll see.”

He rolled his eyes, “I heard ya met the ‘Hattan newsie at the track today~”

“Yeah, his name is Racetrack and he kept flirtin with me while I was takin him to the bridge. He’s charming, but he probably does that to everyone he meets.”

“Gasp! The stone-cold Dally has admitted someone to be…Charming?!” Hotshot put a hand over his mouth.

“She finds who what?” Spot asked, sticking his head through the door.

“Spot! How long did it take ya to get him to the bridge?” Dally inquired.

“A couple hours, Race likes to talk so Ise ended up standing at the bridge for another hour before he left!”

Hotshot placed his hands under his chin, “Dear Dally just admitted to him being charmin!”

Dally placed her reddening face in her hands as Hotshot giggled like a small child.

“Ise didn’t mean it like that! I’m just sayin, he has…um…”

Hotshot snickered, “And now she’s at a loss for words!”

Spot gave her a look of disapproval and pulled out a chair.

“I’ve gotta say though, he has stamina.” Spot conceded, “It’s a 18 mile hike from the bridge to the races. And without the trolley workers…”

Hotshot and Dally mumbled sounds of agreement and once again focused hard on the game. The two revealed their hands, Dally flashing a royal flush.

“Guess I win!.”

Hotshot threw his cards to the ground, “I’m neva playin with youse again!”

“And what’s the reason for the sudden tantrum?”

“I can neva read ya!”

Dally made a dramatic evil laugh and placed the cards together. Hotshot huffed and grabbed his off the ground.

“Ise is going to bed guys, try an get a early start.” Spot yawned.

Hotshot flopped face first on the table with a sigh, “mmkay…”

Dally shook her head with a smile, no one would ever think the Brooklyn newsies would be some of the most dramatic. Yet here they were.

“I think I’m too tired to think straight…” Hotshot mused.

“Go on to bed then! It’s best if I sleep now too.”

Hotshot mhmmed and stumbled down the hallway. Dally climbed out of the window and made her way up the fire escape. This was the only somewhat peaceful place in Brooklyn. But she didn’t come out there to look at the stars, something about watching the nightlife was more soothing. She dozed off to the quiet hummm of the streets.

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