#Fabric Inspection Rewinding

[robotstrategy]

Rediscover • Part 1 • 7 - Nero

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Nero follows the director, whom she now knows as Marilyn down the Hospital-like hallways. They still unnerve her, it’s surprising considering how much time she spent rearing young Rewinds in sterile environments.

“I’ve heard you’ve had a job in nursing, tell me about it,” Marilynn asks her. 

Nero scratches the back of her neck. “It was more like an advanced daycare, my job was really just to educate the fresh Rewinds and make sure they felt comfortable in their bodies.”

“Hmm, that’s good nonetheless, keeping teens in a good state of mind will be a big part of your job.”

Nero is confused. “Won’t there be children too?”

Marilynn laughs. “I sure hope not!”

Soon they close in on a room simply labelled “Training Room”. Nero watches as Marilynn walks over to a filing cabinet to the side and picks out a DVD case. She opens it and hands the DVD to Nero. 

“Insert this into the player when you go in, it’ll start up immediately.” Nero notices that almost all of Marilynn's peppiness is gone like life has drained out of her.

“Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

She looks at Nero, confused. “No?” She opens the door to the room for her, the first thing Nero notices is the only furniture in the room consists of a TV and its disc player, a comfy chair, and a side table simply holding a box of tissues. Nero snickers at the side table, “Is training the only use of this room?”

Marilynn looks to the side. “The walls are sound-proof, sometimes people will scream in here to get rid of pent-up frustration.”

Nero looks back at the tissues. “Riiiiiiiiiiiight.”

Marilynn’s voice, despite being dead of all emotion, somehow becomes soft, yet authoritative. “There are no security cameras in there, take your time and come out when you’re ready.”

Although still miffed about the ambience of this situation Nero steps through the doorway and is promptly closed in by Marilynn shutting the door for her. Nero inspects the room more, its floor and walls are made up of white fabric panels. She knows they’ve been there for a long time as when she softly punches one of them dust waterfalls out of it. 

“This room is a big fire hazard.” She whispers to herself. She looks at the block of light on the wall and follows it back to a small window on the other side of the room. It’s placed in a way one would place a basement window, though Nero knows she isn’t underground. She finally goes to sit down in the chair, picking up the player from the floor. She inserts the disc and watches as the TV screen illuminates. Free-Range Camp Nursing: The Hand-Holder Nurse is what the screen reads, at the bottom of the screen she catches the words Happy Jack, those words seem familiar to her, has she heard them before? Perhaps they were listed as funders for this camp, this camp is called Jack’s Canadian Summer Camp after all. The video starts with a narration, it sounds like an older woman, maybe, the voice seems so cigarette-filled that it is hard to tell the gender of the voice. 

Nero sits cross-legged as she sets the player down.

“A Hand-Holder Nurse is a very important job in a Harvest Camp, you will have the greatest impression on everyone you see.”

Harvest Camp? Harvest Camp! Nero has heard those words many times before she believes the last time she’s heard them was when Roland was talking about the events leading up to his original body’s unwinding. Wait, then what is she watching, oh god what is she watching? 

“The job is very simple, you are to keep the unwind calm during the process of unwinding.” 

What! WHAT! SHE’S TO WHAT! The screen then suddenly cuts to a boy panicking on a table, the boy is about Sam’s age, and he even sounds like Sam. Nero finds herself off of the chair and onto her knees she feels the static coming from the old TV as she has her hands pressed to it. The boy cries for help as directions on how to act are spoken, from the boy's reaction it’s clear that the instructions aren’t an audio overlay, they’re being told to you in real-time as the boy screams. As the video plays on it shows how to direct the unwind’s attention away from the cutting, it’s mostly focused on the face of the unwind, that poor, poor child, until it flashes to his body being taken apart. Suddenly, Nero feels her body tense up and ache; she curses as all the scar tissue stings like there’s no tomorrow. She’s really in for it now. 

Nero can’t even pay attention to what’s on the TV screen anymore the voices scream in her head crying out wanting to go back to their bodies. They can’t, and they never will, not without tearing Nero apart herself, and she doesn’t want that. It seems like all those opportunities Nero takes lead her back to rotting in situations he’d rather not be in. Being at that support group brought her friendship with Roland, yes, but it also brought her pain through no one understanding or wanting to understand how she saw her own life. She found peace for a moment in the academy, but it only led to her friend becoming miserable and her going back to the military. And now she lays convulsing against the floor knowing she made another mistake of bringing her and Roland here. She could’ve been with Sam now, she wouldn’t care that she’d be on Molokai if she had her brother by her side. If she still didn’t want to be on Molokai, she could’ve been brewing coffee at three in the morning for Roland as he told her about all the crazy stories that came with being an EMT Helicopter Pilot. For a brief moment through all the struggling Nero hears only a blurb of the film. “Reassure the patient after their eyes have been removed that you are still here, then only, will you be allowed to leave.” Nero receives the worst headache ever as her brain implodes on itself screaming traitor, liar, and whatnot. She feels her fingers dig into her shoulders and her legs kick into the ground as Roland, Beth and her Biobuilder fingers do whatever they can to rage in her convulsing body. Nero lays on the floor teary-eyed wanting all of this to end, the video, the convulsing, and being stuck on this smelly padded floor. So she does the only thing she can, She takes a deep breath and lets out the loudest, anger-filled, blood-curdling scream she can muster up. 

“You have come to the end of the training video, please return to your camp director when possible.”

Nero stares at the ceiling feeling sobered up, she’s finally able to reach up and grab tissues from the box. She feels hopeless in her situation as she stares at the end card of the video. Nero knows she’s in the palm of the enemy, and she must find a way out of it. But first, she’ll cry, she’ll cry her big heart out, she’s not sure if it’s the homesickness or the fear of what waits for her on the other side of that door, but she knows it can’t be good. 

She looks at the garbage pail hidden from her sight when she first walked into the room. Nero goes to put the Kleenex in the garbage only to have second thoughts, she wonders if the staff would check the garbage after she’d left. See if she had cried. Nero stuffs the Kleenex in her bra before opening the door, outside is Marilynn waiting for her, Nero would’ve jumped if this wasn’t exactly what she expected. 

Marilynn has the same stone-cold face when Nero returns the disc to her. She expects Marilynn to say something to her, but instead, she lifts Nero's veil and Nero immediately slaps her away. That gets Marilynn to react.

“Strong hands,” Marilynn mutters. She puts the disc away and ushers Nero into a backroom. Nero wonders if the shelves are planted on the wall or if she could knock one over and easily kill the director, pretending it was an accident. 

Nero snaps out of it after being handed a few garments, she looks at the shirts, noticing they are a bright, sunshine yellow. 

She cringes at them. “Is there any other colour?” She asks. 

Marilynn blinks at her. “We all wear yellow.” 

Nero huffs. “Isn’t Maha wearing blue?” 

“We don’t have any blue shirts your size.”

Nero holds the garments close to her, frowning, she goes towards a bathroom to change. Upon entering she looks in the mirror to see a veiled figure looking back at her. Somehow the hard plastic mask she wore when she came here seems more comforting now. She begins to slowly undress and redress herself, although now wearing more modest and flowy attire she feels even more trapped and exposed than before. She feels nauseous like a patient anxious before their first surgery, not sure what exactly to expect. She takes the tissues out of her bra and throws them into the garbage already in use. Before leaving the bathroom Nero takes one last look at herself, her nose is stuffed, her eyes are puffy, and she has a very noticeable pout. She takes a deep breath and calms herself like she was taught to. At least serving in the military had some use in the end. She takes one last look at her yellow shirt and then dismisses it before her legs get any second thoughts and starts falling on her. 

She returns to the main room to see Marilynn with Maha at her side, and she notices Marilynn has something in her hand. Once she gets close enough she’s handed the paper, Nero should’ve been surprised by what she saw, but when else would Marilynn have given her the list of every unwinds’ appointment with her? 

“You’ll have to tell me how the first one goes.” Maha smiles. “I’ll be more ready for Fatima when her time comes.” 

Nero can’t exactly give the stink eye if her eyes are out of view, so instead she turns her head to Maha for an uncomfortably long second before looking away. It gets her point across. Nero looks back at the paper and notices something. “Why am I hand-holding a 19-year-old?” She asks. 

Marilynn clears her throat. “That’s Connor Lassiter, known for forcing unwinding out of the United States.” 

Nero looks at her, confused. “Isn’t he a liberty fighter?” 

“A war criminal really. We plan on unwinding him first before anybody else,” Marilynn gets closer to Nero. “I need you to gain his trust, he’s obviously hatching a plan to destroy us, and I need to be one step ahead of him, understand?” 

“Yes ma’am!” Nero says out of habit before biting her tongue. 

“Good.” She then leaves Maha and her alone, Maha takes the hint that Nero doesn’t like her and leaves soon after. 

Nero looks at the page again, Connor Lassiter/Robert Saltries, set for unwinding on the 24th, that’s the guy she’ll help if she wants this place crushed beneath her feet. 

[haydergroup]

Professional Fabric Inspection machine Presentation :

Fabric inspection machines are used to inspect fabric materials in order to find manufacturing defects(weave), mechanical defects (holes) and dirty spots. For convenience of operator inspection machines have an illuminated panel, under the material. This machines rewinds and measures fabric in order to verify declared by the manufacturer length of roll oraz precisely mark distances between defects on the inspected roll of fabric. Yet another very important feature of the inspection machine is to ensure even tension of rewinded fabric. This is a very important condition for spreading and cutting operations in future. Fabric inspection machines are used by manufacturers, where high quality of manufactured products forces additional quality check before materials are sent for spreading and cutting.

[embroidery-pro]

8 common machine embroidery problems

Taming the Thread: Conquering 8 Common Machine Embroidery Problems

Machine embroidery allows you to create stunning designs on fabric, but even the most seasoned stitchers encounter occasional roadblocks. Don't let these problems prevent you from achieving beautiful embroidered finishes! This guide explores eight frequent machine embroidery issues and provides solutions to get your projects stitching smoothly again. 1. Thread Terror: Breakage Blues Upper Thread Snapping: This can be caused by several factors. Ensure proper threading, checking for snags on the thread path or a rough needle eye. Adjust the upper thread tension – too tight can cause snapping. Consider using a higher quality thread designed for embroidery. Bobbin Thread Breaking: An improperly wound bobbin or a bobbin case with rough edges can snag the thread. Rewind the bobbin with even tension and inspect the bobbin case for damage. Ensure the bobbin is inserted correctly and the tension is balanced with the upper thread. 2. The Not-So-Smooth Stitch: Uneven or skipped stitches are frustrating. Check the needle for burrs or bends and replace it if necessary. Ensure the correct needle size and type for your fabric and thread weight. Verify proper threading and tension settings. Sometimes, cleaning the machine's feed dogs and tension discs can resolve stitching issues. Consult your machine's manual for specific cleaning instructions. 3. The Dreaded Bird's Nest: This tangled mess of thread beneath the fabric occurs when the upper and bobbin threads don't catch cleanly. Re-thread both threads, ensuring they lay flat in the tension discs. Check for loose bobbin casing components or a worn-out tension spring. Using a water-soluble stabilizer can help prevent birds' nests in some fabrics. 4. Puckering Up: Puckered fabric around the embroidery is unsightly. The culprit is often improper hooping. Use a stabilizer that matches the weight of your fabric, and hoop it taut but not drum-tight. For knits or lightweight fabrics, use a floating technique where the fabric lays on top of a layer of stabilizer within the hoop. 5. Thread Shredding: A blunt or incorrect needle size can shred delicate threads. Choose a sharp needle appropriate for your fabric and thread weight. For thicker threads or dense stitch patterns, consider a larger needle. Using a higher quality thread designed for embroidery can also improve durability. 6. The Wandering Design: Stitches that veer off course can be caused by loose fabric in the hoop. Re-hoop your project with proper tension. Additionally, a stabilizer that's too weak or the wrong type for your fabric might not provide enough support, leading to shifting. 7. The Unruly Machine: Unusual noises or slow stitching can indicate an underlying issue. Consult your machine's manual for routine maintenance procedures like cleaning and oiling. Ensure the bobbin is properly seated and the needle is securely tightened. If these steps don't resolve the problem, consider seeking professional servicing for your machine. 8. Design Dilemmas: Improperly digitized embroidery files can lead to stitching problems. If you suspect the design is the culprit, try contacting the digitizer for assistance. There are also software programs available that can help you edit and troubleshoot embroidery files. Bonus Tips: Invest in quality supplies: Using good quality needles, thread, and stabilizer will significantly reduce embroidery problems. Practice on scrap fabric: Before starting your final project, experiment with different settings and stabilizer combinations on a scrap of fabric that matches your project materials. Consult your machine's manual: It's a valuable resource for troubleshooting and proper maintenance procedures. Join online communities: Online forums and embroidery groups are a wealth of information and support. Conclusion: Machine embroidery can be a rewarding hobby, and with a little troubleshooting know-how, you can overcome common challenges and achieve beautiful results. Don't be discouraged by occasional glitches – consider them opportunities to learn and refine your skills. With practice and the knowledge to address these eight frequent problems, you'll be stitching stunning embroidery designs in no time! Read the full article

[lyishengineeringltd]

Nonwoven Rewinder: Unraveling Efficiency and Quality

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[humongousthomas]

Fabric Rewinding Machine

With a lot more effective winding unit (from your roll cradle on to the tube), duration measurement gadget. Vital characteristics: - Fabric rewinding machine / inspection machines with backlighting display deliver quickly, quick good quality Command and measure material size. - Equipment can have a created-in lay handbook (version /R) or semi-automatic (Model /A) finish-cutter for greater performance within the office. - A wonderful choice for all textile suppliers and businesses that manage any type of fabric. - The device winds material from a roll positioned Within the cradle over a Main put on a winding shaft. - Superior winding velocity (fifty m/min or sixty m/min). - Mechanical counter (yards or meters). - Easy fabric roll installation. - Body made from powder-coated steel.

[rewindingmachines]

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[doctoringrewindingmachine]

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[rotogravuremachine]

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[unwindermachine]

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[tobesobri]

Hmmm request. Harry and y/n are watching a movie and there’s a long steamy sex scene. She’s sitting on his lap and he lets his hands wander. But doesn’t like say anything just watches the sex scene and starts touching her

oof okay this made me feel a way™️ so,,, 😬🥵 thanks for allowing me to indulge in some jand content

It was an indie movie, buried deep within Netflix because they’d already exhausted everything else. And it wasn’t a very good movie either. The acting was questionable. The plot seemed non-existent. Things happened that were never explained.

But, it led to some decent laughs, so they kept watching it.

The sexual nature of the movie helped too; that plenty of secret touching and innuendos had occurred which also led to the pressing together of thighs and odd shifting of weight on the couch they shared.

It wasn’t the first time they’d watched something like that together, but it was the first time they were stuck at home with each other for the past several months and had done nothing but indulged in each other at every waking second.

They sat sideways on the couch, Harry’s back pressed against the cushioned armrest and Y/N situated between his legs, laying across his chest. And it was most certainly not a stick he had poking into her backside. It made her smile more though, the longer he sat in complete silence and got hard knowing she knew everything about it. So, when the inevitable sex scene began to run its course on screen, the restlessness and the tension between them hit a head.

She felt him suck in a breath of air at the first steamy kiss on screen and within a matter of seconds afterwards, he slipped his arm around her waist, his right hand wandering onto her thigh with a mind of its own. Her eyes fled to his touch immediately, watching while his fingers slowly traveled across her bare skin. Both of them thankful for her habit of wearing oversized shirts around the house with no pants on underneath.

She was the one holding her breath when his hand finally met its destination. Seeing him there sent a buzzing through her entire system. He didn’t wear his rings, any rings around the house. His hands were completely bare. His knuckles prominent; his long fingers a reminder of what they knew how to do. What they had done in the past plenty of times before and now didn’t seem to be any different.

And if she were to turn around and see the expression on his face, his flared nostrils and furrowed brows, he wouldn’t have had to whisper what he did in her ear upon feeling her soaked panties under his callused fingertips.

Without looking away from the screen, he brought his lips closer to her ear. “See you are as wet as I thought you’d be.”

Her entire body inflamed with goosebumps as he began rubbing his fingers in circles over her panties. It was slow, teasing, and absentminded as they both continued to watch the movie. As she spread her legs out and his other arm curled around her waist to hold her in place, and they pretended nothing was even happening. That they were just sitting there, watching a drawn out sex scene in some random Netflix movie together. The characters on screen smack dab in the middle of foreplay themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Although when he slipped his hand underneath the thin cotton fabric, and she gasped when he seamlessly continued what he was doing, he caused a bit of turbulence and she struggled to keep her eyes focused. He, on the other hand, didn’t remove his attention from the screen for one second. Even if her reactions to him sent a permanent smirk onto his lips.

It was fine for a while. She had her body mostly under control. She watched the TV and got more and more aroused the longer his fingers took care of what the movie was causing inside of her. It was casual. Him touching her while they watched the two people fall into a montage of rough sex. Casual.

That was… until Harry went a bit faster.

Then she began struggling to keep her cool, everyone of his muscles strained to keep her down as her body fought against it, and his voice returned at her ear, quietly and with the restraint she was clearly lacking.

“You alright there, love?”

She wanted to smack him. Of course she wasn’t fucking alright. His fingers were having a field day with her and there was still raunchy sex taking place on the TV.

Her exasperated laugh turned into moaning when he sunk his fingers into her and then spread her wetness over her clit, making what he was doing feel a million times better. He had three fingers on her, his middle one doing the most damage. He switched around though, sometimes using two and sometimes just his index finger, depending on which speed at which he wanted to unravel her. Not that he really ever did, however. Not completely.

Again, though, while she writhed against him, he just watched the movie. Slowing down when she was close, giving her a break while his smirk filled out his lips a bit more, before he went back to it. He was taunting her and she hated him, but also it felt so fucking good she didn’t want him to stop anyway.

Her hand clasped onto his left arm that was still very much firm against her waist and she dug her fingernails in, her backside lifting ever so slightly away from him when he brought her to the very edge again, only to be disappointed when he didn’t give her that release.

Then his touch was slow, almost barely even there as the sex scene came to a close, almost like he wanted her to watch it. Watch the characters on screen get what he refused to give to her. Watch as they came for each other and she had yet to come once the entire time since he’d snuck his devious, beautiful hand underneath her panties.

He felt every one of her breaths, too, as she panted. He felt her body vibrate against him when she whined for more. And then finally, he felt as she shifted until she was able to twist her head around and look up at him.

He glanced at her without moving anything but his eyes and the corners of his mouth. And, of course, his hand between her legs as it held her orgasm hostage like a carrot on a stick.

He lifted a curious brow at her pouted lips. “Need something?” He teased again.

She fluttered back to her previous position with a huff, coming down onto his chest hard that knocked the wind out of him. “You’re an asshole.”

“You missed most of the sex scene,” He said, deflecting. “Maybe we should rewind it.” He removed his left arm from her for the first time in the past five minutes and used his freed hand to swipe her hair over her shoulder and kiss her neck there, humming softly against her skin.

She followed his lips, lifting up until she was twisted again and able to kiss him. It took him by surprise, as his fingers froze on her and his eyebrows hit the ceiling. He expected her name-calling at his lack of mercy, but not this.

She pulled apart after a moment, however, and he realized why she was doing it and the evil look on his face returned.

“Harry, if you don’t let me come, I won’t let you for the rest of the time we’re stuck in this house together.

“Sounds like a challenge.”

She rolled her eyes, flopped back against him and grabbed hold of his right hand, attempting to pull it away so she could get up, but he refused quickly once he realized what she was doing.

And just as quickly, he fell back into his motions, giving into her. She whined again as she melted into his body once more, just like before. When she bucked her hips into his hand, he slid his left one back into place and held her down. She lifted one of her arms above her head, wrapping her hand around his neck where she pulled on his hair and whispered about how much she hated him.

“I love you too.” He mumbled with his lips against the top of her head, both of them watching his hand while she pulled the hem of her shirt out of the way for good. It was a better sight than any sex scene on TV anyways. His fingers slick as they rubbed against her glistening core. She was so pretty and warm and so fucking wet. He thought about fucking her until the sun went down. Thought about making her come in every which way he knew how to until she couldn’t handle it anymore.

And the way her body moved against his, her ass pressed onto his cock while she squirmed, it didn’t take much more than that to have him coming right alongside her, stifling his moans the best he could. He was a tad bit ashamed, but then again, she did weird things to him and the mess he’d made on himself and the one his fingers made on her just got him excited all over again thinking about hopping into the shower together.

When she came, her legs had pressed together and the hand that wasn’t tearing his hair out was around his wrist once it got to the point of overstimulation for her. But even when she fell against him in a sigh, he still remained in place.

And then he cleared his throat, “I, uh…” he stammered, breathlessly, “think we need to take a shower.”

She giggled, “Thought I felt something back there.”

Grumbling, he pulled his hand from her finally, wiping his fingers off onto her thigh before gently coercing her off of him to inspect the damage. And his boxer-briefs had done very little to keep everything in. Her shirt was stained. His underwear was stained. It really was a mess and his cheeks grew hot.

She laughed again. “That’s what you get for being a dick.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 26

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mention of weapons and gunshots 

A/N:  will i ever write a chapter without a musical reference? no as i literally cannot help myself.

NEXT CHAPTER

The night was like a warm blanket tonight yet the world somehow seemed wider, brighter as she laid against his chest, hearing his heart softly beating against his ribcage. The sound itself sent her in a spiral of her own mind, the sound itself proved he was alive, he was real and he was there. Laying down next to him was just the right thing to do despite it being at the same time the wrongest of all wrong things. Sure, this was the man Gwen had been promised to ever since she was born but at the same time whenever she was next to him he seemed like a completely different person than the mythical mob boss her mind had fabricated over the years. When she was next to him he was her lover and at the end of the day that was what overwhelmed her overall perception. 

     - What are you thinking about? - Sebastian slightly raised his head with precaution as to not disturb her. - You’re very quiet.  

     - Just basking in the feeling. - she looked up to him without really moving the rest of her body, hand remaining in its imaginary circle drawing. - We should probably return to doing what we were doing.

     - I think there’s more boxes in the garage. - he sat up, arms wrapped around her figure so she didn’t fall off his lap and landed on the ground. If it was up to him, he would remain in that position for another hour with his nose buried in her hair smelling the scent of her fragrance mixed with her shampoo. - Maybe there’s something there. 

    - You don’t need to do this for me. - she pushed her hair to the side, cocking her head slightly as her hand searched the ground for her jumper which was colder than she would like due to the winter weather just outside. - I know you probably have your own business to take care of. 

    - I’m a good multitasker, my angel. - he kissed her naked shoulder before she slide her jumper on, shivering at the contact of her warm skin with the cold fabric. Y/N gave him a playful smile followed by a roll of the eyes before getting up, picking up his garments in the process and throwing them at him. 

Smiling like a fool who just won the lottery, and in a certain way he sort of had, he got dressed up in the wrinkled clothes and wrapped his arm around her natural waist before leading her out of his office and into the life to the garage. If there was a room in the house that was always, if not ever since its construction, in chaos, it was the garage. Whatever he didn’t want in his home anymore or anything for which he didn’t have space, he would send it down to the garage which meant the room was filled to the brim with boxes and boxes along with some record books and more contracts, most likely belonging to his father as Sebastian prided himself in keeping an electronic copy of all his contracts, just in case. Y/N couldn’t help herself but sneeze at the amount of dust that had gathered over the years as she grabbed one of the boxes. Surely he had enough money to hire someone to clean it, however it seemed to always escape his mind.

Sebastian took the other side of the box created walls while Y/N started to go through the first box which weirdly was filled with clothes, children’s clothes. She cocked an eyebrow in confusion, but continued to go through the box’s contents, carefully putting the clothing off the box by her side until she reached a silver picture frame of a woman holding a baby whose gaze was somewhere else. She smiled at the warm nature of the photo which looked to have been snapped unknowingly. Her fingers traced the contours of the photo as she wondered who the two individuals were until she felt Sebastian’s hand on her shoulder. 

   - That’s my mother. - he pointed at the woman in the photo. - And that’s me. 

   - Why is this photo here? - she asked, turning her head to stare at him. Y/N knew Sebastian clearly had a soft spot for his mother as he spoke of her like any kid spoke of their parents, something that didn’t seem to occur whenever he mentioned his father whose relationship seemed to be more apprentice-master than father and son. 

   - In all honesty, I didn’t even remember it was down here. My father got rid of most stuff related to my mother after the divorce. - his hand left her shoulder as he took a seat next to her. 

   - You’ve never spoke to me about your mother. At least not a lot. - it was in her nature to be curious, she found the most she knew about people, the best she could connect and help them out. Sebastian normally would’ve taken curiosity at harsh value but whenever she asked him something, he couldn’t help but feel wrapped around her kind nature. 

   - Well, they got divorced when I was 6 or 7. Bad divorce, my mother didn’t have enough money to get a legal team so my father got everything, including me. One visit a year ... she ended up dying when I was 14.

   - I’m so sorry, Seb. - she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his temple, trying to console him the best way she could. Sebastian however had closed that wound a long time ago and instead looked inside the box she was looking at, recognising most of the items as childhood belongings. With a curious look in her eyes, his hand rummaged through the box’s belongings taking an old teared by time stuffed bunny which gained Y/N’s attention. - What’s that?

   - Oreo. - he said nonchalantly. 

   - Oreo? - she giggled. - It has a name? You don’t mean to tell me that the mob boss had a stuffed animal named Oreo. 

   - Mob bosses aren’t born mob bosses. - he put the stuffed animal back in the box. - I thought one of my kids might want it someday but if they’re anything like Gwen, I think they won’t want something this old.

   - Right. - she swallowed her worries which kept telling her that she would never be the one to bore him a child. Mr. Williams words rang inside her mind like terrifying echoes. Mistress. Mistresses don’t get happy endings. - Well, you have good taste, Oreo is a great name. 

   - Good taste ... - his eyes seemed to rewind to a past time, leaving Y/N to look at him weirdly as he jumped on his feet to walk to a little shelf filled with books which turned to be photo albums. Looking through several pages in second-like intervals, he finally stopped in the middle of the album, a smile on his face as his memories proved right. Quickly moving towards the young handmaiden, placing the book in her lap. Her eyes glued to the photo which was of a round table filled with mostly men and little to no women, however, a specific woman stood out in the middle of everyone, a kind smile contrasting with the tight lipped smirks of the rest of the crowd. Around her neck a golden necklace just like the one which was wrapped around the young handmaiden’s neck. - I knew I remembered the name Robin. 

   - What happened to her? - Sebastian sadly couldn’t answer this question as he was rather young and most of the times forbidden to even be close to any of his father’s parties or dinners. Y/N flipped through the pages noticing she showed up in a few more pictures before completely disappearing. - She seems to stop appearing. 

   - Whoever she was, she was no mere worker. My father had a rather elitist taste when it came to who got to attend his dinners and parties. - the theory that her parents didn’t want her screamed at her again. At that point, it just sounded like the most plausible theory. Noticing this shift his attitude, Sebastian closed the photo album, putting it away from her. - You don’t need to keep going, angel. You turned out just fine without them. 

   - I know. - she forced a smile, trying to see if she could fool Sebastian but he was much too familiar with her characteristics to be easily fooled. Sighing, Sebastian took her hands in his, slowly yet surely getting her on her feet.

   - I think that’s enough detective work for today. - he leaned down, pecking her lips two times, a smile on his face. Y/N nodded, thinking it would be best if she didn’t dig in the past and together they returned to the lift which took them back to the penthouse. The lift doors slowly open and Y/N noticed her suitcase standing slightly to the side of the lift. She didn’t think much of it knowing Sebastian to be a man who had man for everything so he had probably gotten someone to grab it earlier than mentioned. Even with that, she felt a somber heavy vibe in the air as she located her suitcase, something that seemed to push her down, like a weight. - Your suitcase is here.

   - Oh ... I guess I should just unpack. - his words took her from the glued, almost hypnotic glare at her own bag. Sebastian shrugged, letting her do her own thing, only offering his help to help her move the suitcase into her bedroom to which she declined. 

Her intuition was telling her to be careful and as such, she closed the door behind her immediately opening her suitcase. There was nothing odd about it, mostly filled with the clothes she had brought to the Forrest along with other objects and personal belongings. Still there was a  heavy weight which seemed to grow heavier and heavier as she folded her clothes and put them back in her wardrobe which hit a climax as she noticed a piece of white like fabric right at the bottom of her suitcase. She took a step back however her hand leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric as if the fabric itself were a bomb. 

The fabric itself didn’t feel worn out and as she raised it into the air so she could inspect it better. It was an old fabric which at his prime was white but had started to grow slightly yellowish with the passage of time, the material of cashmere itself however still had the same comfort of a new one, almost as if it had never been worn. However, the most notable feature of the blanket was the cursive embroidery spelling Ella next to the silhouette of a robin. Without much thought to it, she brought the blanket up to her nose, inhaling what was reminiscent of fresh rosemaries on a hot summer day spent in a garden. Then out of the sudden, just as her nose sensed the scent of the blanket, a loud gunshot sound seemed to reverberate from the back of her skull to the front. She let out a scared scream, dropping the blanket on the floor as if the fabric was burning her hands. Her eyes scanned the room, looking paranoiacally for where the gunshot could’ve come for but there was nothing in her bedroom, there was no one in her bedroom. That was until Sebastian broke into her bedroom, black revolver set in the air to which she immediately put her hands up, noticing there were few tears rolling down her cheeks and meeting at her chin. Sebastian lowered his gun, after inspecting her bedroom for any threats.

   - I heard a gunshot. - her breathe came rather harshly through her mouth, almost as if she had been holding in her breathe. 

   - There was no gunshot, angel. - his hands cupped her face, kissing the top of her forehead as she leaned into his embrace. - Your mind’s playing tricks on you. 

   - No, I heard it. - she heard it, she could still hear it ringing in her ears like a never ending sound. Sebastian’s lips tightened as he embraced her tighter, letting go of his revolver on top of her bed. - I heard it. 

  - I know, angel. I know. - he spoke very lowly, whisper-like even. - You’re tired, you need some rest.

  - I swear I heard it. - she looked around, her eyes convincing her that there was no real danger but her mind telling her to keep her guard up, specially when the blanket on the ground caught her attention once more like a cursed amulet. Like a child, she hid from it on Sebastian’s shoulders, the contrasting cedar wood scent almost erasing the soft and fresh rosemary from her mind. She had heard it, she knew she had heard it. - Maybe you’re right, I just might be tired. 

  - C’mon, I can make you a cheese toastie. - he rubbed her arm soothingly, a inviting smile on his reddish pink lips which just always looked so inviting. - It’s gonna be alright, angel. 

  -  Well, I’m surprised you can use a sandwich maker. - Y/N pushed the worries to the back of the brain, that part you only see when you’re trying to fall asleep or too lost in your own mind to visit those darkest parts which you hope disappear with time. 

   - I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen. - she looked up at him, a seemingly calm smile masking all her worries. - I never set it on fire.

   - What an amazing astonishment. - she giggled, a hand coming to stand in front of her lips. 

   - C’mon angel, let’s get some food in you.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​ @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​ @nikkipea​ @madisonpillstrom​ @cevans98​ @thelostallycat​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan​ @lookiamtrying​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen@nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34

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[fletchphoenix]

Beginnings

I,,,,couldn’t help myself. I am very weak and needed to write this idea down as soon as I could. So, here you go gamers. <3 I love y’all and hope you’ve had the best day on earth!

-------------------

Donella hasn’t expected for any of this to happen. She hadn’t expected to suddenly be launched into a parenting position, relying on the small, leather bound book that she’d hidden behind a panel in the wall of the workshop after hours of listening to Ulla ramble about her son. She’d secretly hoped that she’d be able to take care of the boy one day, alas it wasn’t meant to be, but she kept the book regardless. Either way, she hadn’t expected any of this to just...happen on the Thursday afternoon. But let's rewind, shall we?

  Walking through Pittsford was a hit or miss. One day you could be walking and it would all be fine and dandy, and the next, you could have a knife to your throat and someone demanding you give them your money. Luckily for her, it was one of the good days. No trouble going on whatsoever. Well, that’s what she thought was happening until she saw the motionless body of a scruffy blonde haired child against a wall.

  A frown painted her features as she strolled over quietly, glancing down at the boy with a bloody stump for an arm. He was a mess - hair covering his face with glasses, the frame snapped where his nose was and barely sitting on it with cracks all over the thick lenses. His pale, freckled face had an assortment of cuts and bruises, a particularly gnarly one through his right eyebrow separating the hair there. The shirt he wore was far too big for him, the white fabric hanging off his scrawny frame and coated in grime, blood and mud as though he’d never washed it in his life. His feet were bare, presumably sore and throbbing with pain from having to walk on the terrible quality cobbled streets of Pittsford’s lower class area. 

The worst part however, was the significant lack of a right arm. Blood had pooled on the rocks below him, no longer dripping from the stump as apparent from the dried up puddle underneath him and on his shirt. Colour had drained from his face, well, at least Donella thought so as there was no way a kid could be that pale and it not be from blood loss. He’d need to get that wound checked out before infection set in eventually, the arm severed from below his elbow. She should’ve probably been more worried about his condition and the fact that his arm was nowhere in sight, but considering the harsh punishments for thieves that were caught in Pittsford, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to lose an arm.

She lowered herself to his level, glancing over his small figure. “What should I do?” she thought as her eyes scanned over the curled up child. She could send him to an orphanage, but then they wouldn’t get him the help he needed with his arm and the orphanages were already full as it was, unable to feed all the kids in their care. He’d most likely die there if she sent him there. She could just leave him here, but...something stopped her. Maybe it was just something stupid, but all she could think about as she stared at the child was Ulla and how she’d talk about her son all the time.

  ...Could she be a mother?

  She pondered the thought for a moment. She’d made notes on everything Ulla would tell her about childcare, such as certain things her son loved and liked, and this kid couldn’t have been more than two years older than Ulla’s boy (Varian, was it? She couldn’t remember at this moment, more concerned about the scene in front of her). She could also make him a prosthetic if he needed it - scratch that, because he definitely needed it. Donella could take care of him if she really put her mind to it, but she wasn’t sure if she had the money to help two people. Surely she’d have to lower some wages to be able to provide for him and teach the kid how to survive out here. With a groan, she scooped the boy into her arms, him unsurprisingly light, as she carried him down the street. 

---------------------

  Blurry. Everything was blurry. 

  Hugo grumbled as he pushed himself into a sitting position, only for two strong hands of a grey haired woman to push him back down. Where even was he? And who was she? How long had he been out? He glanced over to his right, a metal prosthetic greeting him and sticking out like a sore thumb against the pale skin of his shoulder. He could’ve sworn that the stall owner only severed from his elbow down, so how the hell had he lost the rest of it? 

  “Good morning, kid. You’ve been out for three days since I picked you up and made your prosthetic.” the mystery woman muttered, placing his glasses in his hand. Upon closer inspection, however, they had new lenses with the middle of the frame crudely stuck together with some tape. He appreciated the effort though, carefully placing them onto his face and pushing them up his nose as he looked the woman in front of him up and down. “My name’s Donella. What’s yours.” 

  “Hugo.” his voice rasped and cracked. How dehydrated even was he? A table on the left of his makeshift mattress decorated with sweet sweet water and a loaf of bread. He stared at it, his mouth watering and, when Donella gave an approving nod, he lunged forward to scoff the bread down. It had been so so long since he’d eaten something this beautiful and heavenly - in fact, he can’t even remember when he last ate something like this. He gulped down the water and swore that Donella’s stone cold expression cracked into a soft smile as he indulged himself on the treat placed so graciously in front of him. 

  “Why did you do this?” Hugo whispered as he gazed at the arm, the sunlight peering through the window glinting off the metal. It looked like titanium, but that was incredibly hard to come by in these parts - or at least for him. Maybe aluminium? Or steel? Perhaps copper? Nonetheless, it was an impressive feat even though there was a slight pain in his shoulder and he couldn’t move it just yet.

  “Because you’d die otherwise, either from blood loss or infection and I didn’t want that on my conscience.” She shrugged and her cold stare fixed onto him, a shiver trailing down his spine at the sight. He bet that stare could make a grown man cry if he was being honest. “How did this even happen anyway?” 

  Hugo took in a sharp inhale. “I...tried to steal something from the vendor that sells mechanical parts. Look!” he declared as Olivia rolled out of his shirt pocket, the small mouse trailing onto his fleshy hand before he moved her to his shoulder, the cold metal lingering on his hand. “I wanted to make some improvements to her, but he caught me and the law said that...this was a suitable punishment.” Donella’s monotone expression shifted into a frown as she heard his story, the two in an uncomfortable silence as Olivia rolled happily on his shoulder. 

  “Impressive creation.” She muttered, her face conflicted as if she was making a difficult choice. Hugo could almost hear the cogs in her brain turning. “So kid, you’re obviously smart so I’m going to give you a choice,” Donella started, shuffling to sit on the end of the mattress, her knees bending awkwardly as she sat down, the mattress directly on the floor which seemed to be made out of concrete or solid rock. “You can either get sent back to the orphanage, or you can stay here with me. You can work for your keep and to pay off the debt for your arm, with a home to come back to. Which one?” 

  Hugo stopped eating for a second, his hands hesitating before he took another gulp of water. She was offering him a home. A family. A good life. He didn’t even know her and she was holding out everything he’d ever wanted as if it was nothing. Hugo searched her face for any sign of lying or false hope, picking up on nothing but genuine feelings as her eyes locked with his. “Okay.” he whispered, moving back in the bed as she rose to her feet. 

  "You need a bath, kid. Just to get all that blood off of you and all." she commented to him as she started to walk out of the door and down the hall. Hugo sat in silence, playing with his hair as he waited for the woman to come back for him. She...really was here to help him wasn’t she? She wasn’t going to double cross him and leave him back in the alley, or throw him back into the orphanage where he really didn’t want to go back. She actually wanted to be there for him. Wow. That was new.

  The woman - Donella - walked back in, an old, green tunic in her arms along with a jacket and some brown trousers with leather boots. “Okay kid. Here you go. It isn’t much, but it's the best I can do.” She stated as she guided him along the hall to the bathroom, which was a small room with a little wooden barrel for a bathtub. “Get washed and go to sleep, it's been a long day.” she declared as she turned around and left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Hugo alone once again. 

  -----------------------

  As soon as she heard the boy leave the bathroom and his bedroom door creak shut, Donella strided down the hall to remove a panel from the wall. Inside the small alcove sat a leather notebook, already gathering dust and a pair of goggles from her former partner, Ulla. Keeping her footsteps as quiet as she could to not disturb the sleeping child in the room beside her, she made her way back to her room and sat on her bed, the object in question moaning under her sudden application of weight. 

  Her fingers trailed over the cover for a millisecond longer than it should’ve, the memory of Ulla lingering, as she shook her head and opened the cover to show parchment paper with ink staining their pages. Scanning over the text, she took in as much information as she could, the page illuminated by the small candle lit beside her bed. Scrawled across the pages were notes on Ulla’s parenting techniques for her little boy. She’d made them in hopes she’d at least see the boy and be able to look after him at one point, but that was a wish of the past. The pair had long since separated after the whole...library incident. Her hand drifted upwards to trace the scar trailing over her chin before she shook the thought away and continued to read.

  Hours later, she finally set the book aside and let herself fall back amongst the pillows, the sound of snoring from Hugo loud enough to carry itself down the hall. A smile slowly fought its way onto his face, before she shut it down immediately and covered her face. God, she already cared too much about this kid. Oh well, she could look after him.

[histoireettralala]

How the (Quarantined) Murats broke the Internet (and Lannes).

Hello friends! I know we already have several ongoing projects with @joachimnapoleon, but we couldn’t resist unleashing this one.

It’s set in the Quarantine!AU which is itself a spin off of the Roadtrip!AU, Trifecta Universe, name it as you will :^)

Inspired by real world situation, unfortunately. Hoping this will bring to those of you who are in lockdown (same here!) some much needed levity.

****************************************************************************************

Caroline is cursing the day Napoléon enrolled her in Mme Campan's Institute; no, scrap that/rewind, she is cursing the day he met Joséphine, and consequently, Hortense, bane of her life, goody-two-shoes of the century who has inspired Napoleon with the truly visionary idea of trying to copy and paste Hortense's behaviour onto Caroline's whole self.

Now, Caroline is mature enough to admit some slight controlling tendencies. And maybe a contrarian streak - but try being the youngest sister in the Bonaparte family - you have to fight twice as hard to make yourself a place and get some respect.

Her point is, she hasn't taken to the Institute. For excellent reasons. If Hortense has made it a point of honor to excel in some subject, Caroline has systematically hated it. No use fighting for scraps after the star pupil has received the old hag's whole quota of praise, after all. Now Caroline wholeheartedly embraces whatever makes Madame Campan pinch her lips, shake her head, or sigh (as much as the snobby old lady allows herself to), treasuring every sign of disappointment the way Hortense collects gold stars. (Not to brag, but Caroline is now a master at it).

Even her marriage is a testament to that superhuman ability of hers.

Not that she didn't love Joachim anyway - she's been ridiculously besotted with the man since she was fifteen, and nothing has yet managed to abate her feelings towards the maddening, adorable goofball. But honestly, the way Mme Campan's face had fallen (oh, ever so slightly, but Caroline knows how to look) in disapproval had been the cherry on top of the delightful, curly-haired, long-legged cake.

She has relished every single one of their subsequent media appearances, and she would lie if she says she hasn't occasionally baited the press with their nationwide famous PDA. For now, Caroline admits, in spite of the "scandals" and all the choices she has made, the old witch is still standing and tutting in disapproval - like that would work. But someday, yes, oh someday she would break, and it would be all thanks to Caroline.

So - she is cursing. Because, of course, Hortense has always been committed to arts and crafts, and Caroline, therefore, has pointedly ignored them.

And now she can't sew to save her life.

Literally.

Because masks are mandatory now.

And she has four kids to protect.

And, well, she may suck as a student, but she does NOT suck as a mother. So, taking a deep breath, she watches videos, buys fabric, filters, and elastic bands, and sets herself to the task.

Two hours later, her eyes are red, her voice hoarse, her fingers raw and pricked, and she is irreparably breaking her ties with the sewing machine.

She vaguely considers calling Pauline - even if she can't sew herself (can she ?) Pauline will surely know someone who can, and at least she is kind enough not to let anyone know of Caroline's embarrassing problem.

She is still scowling fiercely when the shrieking chorus begins (the kids' usual reaction to Joachim's arrival), promptly followed by the sound of bags hitting ground and little feet running, three, two, one, impact. And Joachim's laugh.

God but that sound can still bring a smile to her face.

She wipes her eyes and straightens herself up before opening the door to the entry hall where the kids are now swarming around their father and drowning him in cuddles and kisses, stuffing their drawings under his nose and chattering excitedly. ** Beneath the squealing, adoring, warm little pile of his children's wriggling bodies, Joachim soaks up the innocent love and its side dish of kicking little feet and shrieks in the ear. As Louise's sticky little fingers pat his cheek, he sees from the corner of his eye the door open on his wife.

His sunshine.

His glorious little dynamo.

But there's a problem, Joachim thinks frantically (what has he done now ??? nothing comes up!!), because she doesn't spark her usual energy - oh my God, she's disappointed, that's it, disappointed and SAD (WHAT I HAVE DONE ???), her walk is nothing like her usual triumphant gait (it's the COUCH), even her hair looks listless (Lannes may still let me crash, where is my sleeping bag ??). Joachim takes a deep breath and centers himself before looking at her again, and - oh. She's not angry at him.

Oh.

Then whatever has her so bothered is going to die a fiery death and if she wants, Joachim will stomp it to death (with his hooves, Achille's voice adds in his mind).

** Famous last words, Joachim muses, hesitantly fingering the white cotton.

He has watched the video. Three times, to make sure.

He has cut the necessary length and width for six masks (his ambition for tonight is moderate). 

The machine looks back at him, reminding him of a crouched feline, poised to pounce. He eyes it warily. Caroline's explanations, though thorough, had been... fast paced. Joachim has caught the general idea and in what order the different steps of the process are supposed to happen. He has minded every fold of the fabric and set aside the elastic bands.

It's... daunting. If he messes that up his family will be stuck inside forever and the house will probably catch fire spontaneously from the sheer frustration burning inside them. Murats need to be OUTSIDE (Bonapartes don't deal much better with being locked up).

He carefully selects the stitch and folds the fabric by instinct - patterns are as useless as maps, anyway - he'll go with his guts and God bless the bold.

He takes a deep breath and lines up the three layers of material - with the elastic bands properly tucked inside- under the needle, lowers the presser foot, and gently pushes on the pedal.

Oh my God.

Oh my God it's happening.

Joachim marvels at the speed the machine uses to execute its task, remembering to steer the fabric only if needed, and being careful with it ("To be honest, sweetie, I'm not even sure if it's working well, " Caroline had admitted. "I think Mama gave it to me, ugh, when I went to the Institute. " Joachim hadn't pushed because he wasn't that insane, some things were taboo in this house).

When the first side is done, he takes a moment to inspect his work before switching to the other side.

Wow.

It's... Pretty okay ?

The mask all done, Joachim holds it to his face, and stands up to find a mirror (they're everywhere in this house, and see, it's useful).

He tries it on.

It's very... white.

Time for some color, he decides.

Heh. If anyone had told him before tonight that he was going to sew a mask and like it, he would have sent them to a psychiatrist. Because, even though he'd been quick to assure Caroline he totally could do this (I've repaired my suits several times! ), his skills were limited to a temporary little tweak and quick repair when he didn't have the time to go to the tailor.

In front of the mirror, Joachim smiles beneath the mask.

This is going swimmingly. ** Caroline grumbles when a weight hollows the mattress out.

"It's late," she mutters.

"Shhhh, " says the voice. Then, with a giddy sort of energy Caroline can only wonder at (who the hell is so alive at such an ungodly hour -oh yeah, that's right, only Joachim). "Love."

A pause.

"Sweetheart ?"

Caroline groans.

"Yeah", she forces out.

"We have seven masks!"

The proclamation wakes Caroline completely and her hand is already searching for the light switch.

"What?"

She pushes the switch and looks at Joachim's face. Blinking under the sudden flood of light, he looks …

Surprised and happy. A little bit like a dog who has just learned a new trick. The smile on his face is infectious.

"You want to see them ?"

Caroline is already up.

In her office, the old machine sleeps and seven masks wait in a wicker basket. They're real. They look like the models Caroline vainly tried to follow. She touches them, putting one over her face. It fits. The elastics do not hurt.

They have masks.

Joachim watches her, waiting anxiously for her verdict. Her eyes shine in the mirror, and then she turns towards him, takes off the mask and sets it aside.

A purring Caroline leaps into his arms.

So much for sleep.

** At the usual hour, Lannes, bottle and glass at the ready, flicks on Skype. He has so much to tell Murat (to be honest, he never knew before quarantine how much of a gossip he'd turn out to be, but what can you do) and even without any grand news (which is the case most of the time) it's always a highlight of his day.

The kids are lovely but sometimes you need an adult conversation, okay ?

An adult male conversation.

A bro discussion, yeah, okay.

"Murat ?" he calls.

Weird. Usually Joachim leaps onto any greeting, if he's not the first one to call.

"Yo ? Murat ?"

Nothing.

"JOACHIM MURAT" he bellows.

Finally,  a harried face appears. The black curls are everywhere and the eyes seem inhabited by some unholy light.

Has Joachim started to drink without him ?

Or worse, with someone else ?

Lannes feels oddly cheated at the idea.

"Ah, yeah, okay, hello, Lannes!" says Murat, blinking. "Is it already time ?"

Already ? The day had dragged on.

"What the hell is happening," he blurts out. "Have you started drinking ?"

Murat looks weirdly offended, scrunching up his nose.

"Drink- what ? No!"

He straightens up and clears his throat.

"No, Lannes, I didn't cheat on our Skype cocktail hour with some random booze harlot, I respect you too much for that. I was just, " he lowers his voice and Lannes instinctively leans towards his screen, intrigued.

"I was busy.

- Are the kids okay ?

- Yeah, they're fine! Excellent! The spirit is undaunted, yeah!

- Joachim," Lannes slowly articulates.

Artless blue eyes look up at him.

"I was making masks, and I forgot the time, that's all!"

- Masks, " Lannes repeats in a bland tone.

- Masks," Joachim nods.

- Masks ?" What the hell, Lannes wonders, masks, like, actual masks against Coronavirus ? Masks, as in, paper masks or clown masks for the kids, right ?

- Masks, as in, mandatory masks, yeah, I'm making them, " and Lannes has stepped into an alternate dimension.

- You're making masks.

- I am.

- Masks.

- Masks, " Joachim patiently assures him.

- Making ? As in, as in SEWING them ?"

The black curls fly as Murat vehemently nods.

Holy shit.

Lannes almost busts a gut laughing.

" I could show you", Murat says with a hint of disapproval in his voice (it was weird) "but if this is the way you react I might not bother."

The laughter stops short. Murat's headmasterly tones are frankly weirding Lannes out.

Is this a prank ?

Lannes knows it's not. It's all over Murat's face. He's actually serious.

Holy shit.

"Why are you the one sewing the masks ?" he finally asks.

"Because," Murat shrugs. "I volunteered."

Lannes blinks.

"Plus, " he adds, with a smile, " Turns out I'm great at it!"

That is still to be seen, Lannes thinks, remembering, oh, way too many boasts.

"You'll see", Murat nods sagely.

"Right", Lannes croaks.

The evening goes on.

** He made the haberdashery's day, Joachim thinks, fabric piled up in his arms.

Good for them, and good for his family.

Today, he is going to let the kids choose the fabric for their masks. Just because they are young doesn't mean they have to settle for their parents' choice, right ? He carefully picked anything that could interest or amuse the little ones.

He has turtles, an armada of kittens, various birds, flowers, geometric patterns, dots and stripes of all sorts.

"What are you doing, Papa ?"

Joachim turns to face Letitia.

"I just bought some fabric to make some masks for you all, sweetheart. Do you want to choose yours ?"

The little girl nods eagerly.

"Can I stay with you ?" she says, leaning into him.

Joachim can't resist such a request.

** Caroline climbs up the stairs to Joachim's office where he finally set camp with the sewing machine two days ago.

She is still mesmerized by his mastery over the beast.

He has adopted a routine, and tonight, she needs proof that Joachim sewing actually happened (Pauline had laughed, and Joséphine had asked for receipts), so she's carrying her camera. She scowls inwardly, why can't anyone ever believe them ? Joachim told her about Lannes the other day - well, what is so extraordinary about it ? Being male doesn't make you genetically unable to sew, you know. Men!

Hushed voices wash over her, Letitia's flute-like voice overlapping with Joachim's warm tones.

"And then I put the fabric here," their little girl is saying.

"Uh huh," her man agrees, with the softness he saves for his children (and herself). " Perfect!"

Letitia giggles.

Caroline, readying her camera, silently enters the room. Both father and daughter are so absorbed by their task and by each other that they don't notice her presence.

Letitia sits on her father's knee, her little hands holding the fabric - a giraffe pattern - and Joachim is entirely focused on her.

Caroline starts filming.

When the giraffe-adorned mask is ready, Letitia snuggles into her father's chest and he offers her the next selection, apparently a swarm of tropical fishes.

"Your turn, Papa", says the little girl.

"Oh, you're right, princess", Joachim smiles, mock chastened. "Shall I ?"

Letitia nods determinedly. “Go on good Sir".

Joachim sews the next mask.

It's very sweet, Caroline thinks, beaming behind her camera. This is the perfect proof that she was right, not only about his sewing ability, but about her own choice years ago. I'm so going to upload this as soon as I'm out of here, she rejoices.

** New video uploaded, by @carolinemurat, 7.54

@pauline-borghese, 8.01: oh my god it's so cute!

@pauline-borghese, 8.01: and he's doing great!! how many has joachim already sewn ?

@pauline-borghese, 8.08: sorry, just had to watch it again. (<3) This is an adorable duo and you were totally right, I should never have doubted you.

@joséphine-malmaison, 8.14: wow

@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.14: I'm speechless.

@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.14: In a very good way!! Congratulations to Joachim.

@joséphine-malmaison, 8.17: very sweet and actually educational! Congratulations!

@aimée-davout, 8.26: I wish Louis would do that with our little one!

@joséphine-malmaison, 8.34: Can I share this on other social medias , Caroline ?

@pauline-borghese, 8.36: was about to suggest the same! I can boost it up with my contacts. Up for it sister ?

The phone rings.

"Mama ?"

"Uh huh, he did that. He's... Yes, Mama, he actually offered, and.. Mama. Mama! Listen to me please ? Yes, I promise. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, really. Did you watch the video ? You really should, your namesake is on it too. "

Ten minutes later.

"Yes, Mama ? Is everything  - oh. Oh. Well, yes, he's still sewing. Wha- yes, Mama, I won't disturb him. Of course, Mama. You.. what ? His favorite dessert ? Why... Mama we're in lockdown, he can't go to Corsica. You.. Ah, yes, of course, I'll ask him. And yes, of course, I'm feeding him! Mama!"

@aglaéauguiéney, 8.47: mind boggling.

@eleonoredenuelle, 8.49: how talented can a man be ?

@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.53: It's actually a better tutorial than the official ones ? And so much cuter.

@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.55: I wish I had a little girl.

@carolinemurat, to @joséphine-malmaison, @pauline-borghese, 8.58: Yes.

TBF...

[mybestfriendthedingus]

Fire Flies with the Fleeting Time ~ Part Three: But I mean nothing to you and I don’t know why

Summary: Reader grew up as an experiment in the Hawkins Lab. Born with the power to manipulate time, the Bad Men train them to be a weapon. But what they don’t realize is, two years from now, their world is supposed to end. And Reader is there to see it. But when Steve Harrington recognizes them among the chaos, an anomaly occurs that drags them both back to the beginning. Now they must retrace their steps and save the world, but one wrong move might be enough to unravel all the time that they have left.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Swearing

Catch Up Here

You stare through the open door at the inner house beyond, frozen in place.

“Uh.” Dustin, who’s been holding the door for the last five minutes — leans towards Steve. “Are they gonna go in or...”

“Just, here. Let me —“ He steps around you, being the first to enter Dustin’s home. Your eyes snap away from the walls and doors to watch him spread his arms, spin in a small circle. “Nothing happened. It’s safe.” He turns back to face you and grins sheepishly, extending a hand and beckoning you forward.

You glance at Dustin and he waves you impatiently forward. A deep breath and you look at the still foreboding clouded sky before you scurry over the threshold, reach for Steve. A shiver runs up your arm as your fingers brush the palm of his hand. Dustin looks between you, shaking his head.

It’s as he closes the door, begins to lock it, that you tense again. But miraculously, like Steve has already read your mind, he blurts, “keep it unlocked.”

“What?”

“Don’t lock it. I’m — I’m claustrophobic!” Steve shifts closer to you. “Feel better if it’s unlocked, y’know,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Easier to uh, get some air in.”

Dustin narrows his eyes, his gaze flicking back to you. “Right...” He steps away from the door though, and you exhale, letting your shoulders drop. Steve squeezes your hand. “This is mental,” Dustin mutters, brushing past you.

“Hey so...you have a first aid kit around here? And a —“ Steve coughs, averting his gaze. “A change of clothes?”

Dustin cocks a brow and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I don’t think that’s really how hand-me-downs work.”

He blushes at your expense and refuses to look at you. “I meant, pea brain, if you have anything of your mom’s laying around. For —“ Steve presses his lips together and waves a hand in your direction.

The expression on his face seems familiar somehow. Like you’ve watched him send Dustin looks of exasperation a thousand times over.

You shake off the feeling.

Dustin’s smile widens into a curious grin and he makes his way down the hall. “Sure, I can go check.”

Steve waits until he’s out of view to go raiding his kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, scouring cupboards and drawers. He perches a knee on the counter and reaches up. “Jackpot!”

“Should - should you be —“

“It’s fiiiine.” He sends you a knowing grin as you follow him to a small table and starts pouring milk and lucky charms into a bowl. “Best friends in the future anyway,” he says around a shovelling mouthful.

“Excuse me, what?” You jerk your head towards Dustin, now standing in the middle of the hallway; nightwear crumpled in his arms, balancing the first aid kit under his chin. He dumps them unceremoniously on the table. “First of all, I leave for five seconds and you’ve already figured out the entire layout of our kitchen and found my sugar stash? Then out of all the cool shit you could’ve revealed about the future and —“ He deflates, slumps into a chair to slam his head into his arms, and waves a vague hand towards Steve. “And I’m stuck with you?”

“Hey!” Steve jabs his spoon towards him and swallows. “I happen to be lovely company alright? And you should be glad I didn’t tell you about Dart.”

“Dart?” Dustin’s lifts his head.

“You don’t wanna know, man,” he says around another spoonful.

“Too late.” Dustin sits up, leans forward. He’s almost bouncing in his chair. “Who’s Dart?” Steve’s mouth turns down in an exaggerated frown and he shrugs. “Come on, you gotta tell me!”

“And risk tearing a hole in the space time continuum? Yeah, no. That’s not happening.”

While the two of them bicker, your gaze wanders around the home. If you’re going to be stuck here for a while, there’s something you need to do. Your gaze snags on something in the kitchen, stuck in a wooden block and maybe that’s just the thing.

You slip into the kitchen. Reach for one of the hilts.

“Hey uh, hate to break it to you dude, but I think your partner might be preparing to stab you in the back,” Dustin says.

“Haha, very -“ Steve’s gaze flicks to you just as you begin to inspect the small blade in your hand “- shit! Y/N!” His chair falls sideways as he leaps up, stumbling towards you.

“Shhh! My mom’s sleeping down the hall!”

Steve glares over his shoulder at Dustin before he slaps the knife out of your hand. It clatters to the ground and your breath hitches. You shy away until the small of your back is pressing uncomfortably against the edge of the counter. Steve steps forward and you flinch. “You didn’t cut yourself or anything, did you?” You look up, tears gathering in your eyes and shake your head. “Shit, Y/N, I didn’t mean to -“

“I can show you the bathroom if you want.” You both turn to Dustin, hovering awkwardly in the archway. “If you want to, um -“ he holds out his arms, offering over the nightwear.

You look down, hands twisting in your stiff, crusty, and blood stained hospital gown, swallowing your rising panic. Your heart slams against your rib cage but you nod. Carefully take the clothes from Dustin and follow him down the hall.

Dustin has the good sense to leave the door open a little, before he leaves you to your privacy. “Okay, what was that?”

You don’t hear Steve’s response as you hurriedly slip the hospital gown off your shoulders and pull the light, frilly material over your head. It nearly swallows you but you realize with dismay that the sleeves don’t reach your wrists.

Wrapping your arms tightly across your chest, you turn towards the mirror. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You don’t look at yourself directly as you turn the tap on, poke at the dark bruises blossoming over your cheek. They ache, your whole body does, but you shield yourself in the comfort of knowing that at least, being back in your time means that any injuries will fade away as time continues to rewind itself.

So long as the Bad Men — and the Upside Down — don’t catch up to you.

The weight of the world falls on you again and a sob breaks past your cracked lips. You don’t know what any of this means and the events are tangling in your head. Was the world crumbling around you? You want to believe that part never happened. But a nagging at the back of your head says otherwise.

You slide down to the floor, hands gripping your knees as you try to steady your breathing.

You slide down to the floor, hands gripping your knees as you try to steady your breathing.

On the one hand, you’re technically free. You’re out of the lab. You’re not trapped in that empty room anymore.

But then, how soon will you be brought back? There’s no telling what will happen when the Upside Down’s internal clock catches up to you. And those kids...maybe they wouldn’t even give a second thought to taking you back there. Something tells you that would never happen. That even if it did, Steve would never —

Steve.

You close your eyes. Force yourself not to go there. The thing about time is, even if you forget - if that’s what this is - it doesn’t let the problems disappear. They are still there, pressed against the walls of your mind, and no matter what you do, you can’t scrape them away completely. So you live with them, and hope that, because you forgot, they aren’t important enough to address.

You wish that’s not what it had felt like when the two of you were pulled together into this fucked up paradox.

But maybe you’ve torn open more than just the fabric of time.

There’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Y/N?” Your heart drops to your stomach. “Hey, I - I wanted to apologize for scaring you. I just kinda...I saw the knife and freaked out ‘cause I didn’t want you to - to uh...look, I have the first aid kit if you want to -“

You swing the door open. Steve’s wide-eyed gaze darts around the room before he spots you by the sink, and his expression softens immediately. Barely moving into the small bathroom, he crouches and sweeps his gaze over you. “What do you need?”

Your mouth drops open, words nobody has ever given you a chance to say sticking in your throat. You search his expression for any kind of cruelty, hidden meaning. But if there is any, you can’t find it. You furrow your brow and look away.

“I can -“ he licks his lips, inclining his head toward you. “I can leave if you want me to.” You snap your head back towards him and shake your head fervently. Something small and lopsided, maybe not quite a smile but something a bit more hesitant, breakable, curves into his cheek. “Okay. I won’t then. Can I?” He nods to the space beside you.

You scoot closer to the wall on your other side and Steve gracefully flops down. You’re both silent for a while and you take the moment to watch him.

Already the cuts on Steve’s chin are starting to look like old scars from years ago past. A thin line runs from the corner of his lip, down the length of his chin. It won’t be gone forever, you know. As long as the future you left is in tack, it will appear again when the summer of 1985 comes around again, no matter if Steve is in the same fight or not. Even his hair, long enough to curl around his ears with blond highlights running through his thick locks, is starting to revert back to the shorter length his doppelgänger sports; blond beginning to fade and fringe beginning to trim itself back.

“You weren’t really going to stab me, were you?” He asks.

You blink, shaking your head. Besides a cocked brow that could be interpreted as anything, Steve gives no indication that he caught you staring. “No!” You say too quickly. You clap a hand over your mouth, slump your shoulders, slip further down the sink.

He tips his head back and laughs softly. “Glad to hear it.” Your face flames and you duck your head into your arms. ”So, wait. What’d you want the knife for. Never seen one before or?”

For a second, you debate not telling him. But this is the least you should be worried about right now. You lift your head, and pull a chunk of hair forward, moving a finger over it in a slicing motion.

“Wanna cut it?” You nod, biting your lip. Steve looks thoughtful for a moment, then he’s clambering to his feet. “Just, hold on a sec.”

He disappears back into the hall before you can do so much as protest. Murmuring voices float through the door before Steve comes back, a scrunchie over his wrist and an unfamiliar set of two attached blades. He drops them on the floor in front of you.

Your brows furrow and you look up with a frown.

Steve cocks his head, gestures at the objects. “You’ve never...?” You shake your head. “I uh, I can do it. If you want...not that you need to cut it,” he says under his breath.

You bite your lip, considering. What if he could do a lot worse than just a bad haircut though? You lean down and take up the double blades, spinning it in your hands. After a minute of inspection you start to press the outer edge against your hair and saw back and forth.

Steve lets out a breathless laugh and reaches a hand towards you. Your breath catches before he asks, “May I?”

Your heart’s pounding, but you nod, holding out the blades handle first. He takes them, bends down and picks up the scrunchie. You watch closely as Steve carefully positions himself behind you and wait with bated breath.

He starts to gather the hair at the nap of your neck when a not-memory floods your senses.

You’re on a bed in a room you both recognize and don’t. Two girls are giggling behind you, one holding up ribbons against your dark locks while the other breads your hair back with an experienced hand.

“This one?” You realize with a jolt that one of them is Eleven.

“Nah, too dull,” the one you somehow know as Max says. “We want something eye-catching.”

“Eye-catching?” You and El ask in sync.

“Yeah.” You don’t need to see it to know Max is rolling her eyes. “It’s like, rule one in the dating handbook: dress to impress. Don’t ask me why, it just is.”

“Dating?”

“Wh- what?”

In an instant, you’re back in Dustin’s bathroom, kneeling on the tiled floor. Something clatters to the floor. “Shit,” Steve mutters as he quickly retrieves whatever he dropped. “Sorry.”

Silence stretches between you as Steve fiddles with the scrunchie in your hair. Something in you says that you shouldn’t ask, to just stay quiet, but every time you blink you see the not-memory reflecting against your eyelids.

You bite your lip, taking a deep breath. “What...what is it? Dating?”

Steve’s quiet for so long you worry he isn’t even breathing. But then he stutters, “it’s — well I um — I don’t — it’s...” He clears his throat. “It’s, like. You go out with someone, either you ask them out or they do and uh. If — if by the end of the ‘date’ you uh, find that you are interested in getting to know them better or have butterflies in your stomach every time you’re both around each other then...then you continue to go out with them until the interest turns into something stronger like, um.” He exhales a long breath.

“Like?”

“Like attraction or — or love.” His voice breaks on that last word. Love.

Just after his says that there’s a snip and your head tips forward with an immediate lift in weight. You reach your hand back, running fingers through the strands until you reach the newly shorn edges sitting just at the base of your shoulders. You smile and turn to Steve subconsciously. He gives you one in return, something wondrous and sad and different in his gaze.

He lost his love, the voice in your head says.

Steve averts his gaze and raises his hand. It’s your chunk of hair, bound in one thick chopped off ponytail. “What’d you think, put this under Dustin’s pillow tonight?”

A laugh bubbles out of you bright and loud. You clap your hands over your mouth and shake your head. “Don’t - don’t get me involved if you do,” you whisper.

“Excuse you, it’s your hair.”

Another laugh slips past your lips before you have it in mind to stifle it. That is before the door opens. You startle, scooting back until you bump against Steve’s chest, him instinctively wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.

You both stare with wide eyes as Dustin pops his head in. He looks to you, then to Steve, and back again. “Ah, shit,” he groans. “Really? Now? Here I was thinking you —“

“It’s not what you think,” Steve blurts, pulling away from you and standing.

“Right.”

“Really, man. I’m being serious.” He offers you a hand and gently helps you to your feet.

Dustin sighs. “Whatever. Just came to say that whenever you’re ready, your bedroom is second down on the left.” He gestures towards the hall, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You can have the couch. Gonna be pissed if you burn the house down, Steve.”

“Lucky for you, I wasn’t —“ he folds his arms, “— I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“What?” You and Dustin spin towards him.

“Oh really? And uh, where do you plan to go Steve? Back home where your so-called doppelgänger currently lives?”

Steve scoffs. “No.” He averts his gaze and says under his breath, “Was gonna break into my car and scope around the neighbourhood.”

Dustin laughs. “Do that and I’m not gonna be the one bailing you out.”

“Hopper would help —“

You grab his arm and look up at him, shaking your head. “Don’t. Please.” One unspoken word lingers on your tongue that scares you more than anything you have faced today. But Steve meets your gaze, a hidden conversation and promise in his eyes, and nods.

“Fine. Just, let’s finish patching you up yeah?”

You shake your head with a knowing smile, prepared to tell him about the physics of time. “No need.”

******

Steve Harrington is incredibly, irreparably fucked.

Really, his entire life has been one big massive Fuck You. Raised with parents that didn’t give a shit, friends who were willing to drop him at the slightest provocation — and did eventually — with a girlfriend that loved him enough to cheat the minute he chose his own self worth.

But before all that had started to break him, he met you.

You showed up, almost without any kind of trace of where you came from, what your past was — on November 8th, 1983.

Steve never really paid close enough attention to know you. Well, he *did* in some respect. You were ridiculously smart, nearly reciting your shared history class textbook word from word at every question the teacher posed, and perceptive. Almost none of the boys in your chemistry class ever got away with fooling around with experiments, least of all Steve himself.

There had been something about you, but he never knew that it could possibly have been tied to El, or the lab, or the Upside Down.

But he guesses now, that you had been called the Reset Button for a reason considering everything he had come to learn — or will or would’ve learnt if not for the timeline set out in front of him now — that the Bad Man had asked of you.

The kids hadn’t trusted you the second they saw you. It took all of his and Eleven’s efforts to change their minds.

But now it’s like none of that ever fucking mattered anyway.

Because you didn’t remember him.

The mantra that he’s spent years building his walls around, rears it’s ugly head.

It’s all just...bullshit.

Steve rolls onto his other side, face pressed into the couch cushions. Of all the times he has spent sleeping here and it still amazes him how uncomfortable Dustin’s couch really is.

He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to be dragged into a dreamless sleep for once.

No sooner is exhaustion tugging at his brain that he hears it.

Whimpering.

His eyes fling open and he jerks up, searching around the living room, the kitchen, his gaze darting to the hallway.

It isn’t until he hears his name, choked and muffled, that he springs off the couch. Lunges for his bat.

That isn’t there.

He curses softly, dragging his hand through his messy bed headed hair. Still will never understand how he could’ve gone all summer without his beloved bat.

So, instead, he picks up the kitchen knife you had found, and creeps down the hall. Snores can be heard the entire length of it, but Steve stops at the second door on the left, door ajar just as he had left it.

He watches through the sliver for a moment, the sight clutching at his chest. You’re squirming in your sleep, blankets tangled around your legs as sobs shudder through your body.

Steve takes a shaky breath and slips the knife into his pocket. Gently pushes open the door and pads over to your bed.

“Y/N,” he says, lowering himself to the edge of the mattress. He drops a hand to your shoulder. “Hey —“

You jolt up, hands twisted in the sheets, trembling, and gasp. “Steve!”

“Hey, easy. It’s okay.” His brows furrow as you meet his gaze. “I’m here.”

“Steve,” you breath. Before he knows what’s happening, your clawing at his shirt and pulling him closer. He tenses for a moment when you press your face into his chest, but carefully wraps his arms around you all the same. “I - I thought - and they - they took —“

A knot twists in his stomach and he holds you tighter, rubs circles into your back. He’s had his fair share of nightmares. Can feel the demo-dogs launching themselves at him every time he closes his eyes.

He’d never wish them upon anybody so seeing you — hair clinging to your neck and tears soaking into his scoops shirt — it does nothing to quell the longing buried in his chest, sending a pang straight through his heart.

Steve wouldn’t hesitate to go through everything all over again if it meant you were free from all that pain.

Even if there was still a possibility of you never remembering him.

He shakes away the thought and shushes you, rocking you back and forth exactly the way he found out you liked all that time ago. “You’re safe,” he murmurs, tucking your head under his chin. “Just a bad dream.”

“It didn’t —“ You tip your head up to look at him and shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” You’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breathing and sniffling. Steve grabs for the first words he can find. “Tell me more about the time physics.”

You pull away with a frown, and Steve already misses the feeling of holding you, safe and protected, in his arms. “What?”

He shrugs. “Getting my mind off things usually helps.”

You rub a hand across your eyes. “Like what?”

“You tell me.” He grins. “What’s the weirdest thing about time travel?”

It takes you a while to answer and Steve tries desperately to not be distracted by you biting your lip. Eventually, you say, “I got to see the day I was born when I was 12.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Shit, really?”

You nod, averting your gaze. “First time travel. Not fun experience.”

His face falls. He’d struck a nerve. He tries a different tactic. “So does that mean that you have like, a doppelgänger or something?”

“No. Or never seen them?” You rush to explain before Steve gets the chance to ask. “It’s like - it’s like this tether that was given by the Bad Men? Like the up - upside down. It doesn’t —“ You shake your head. “Don’t have one.”

“But I do?”

You nod. “Dunno know how it’ll effect you.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Panic surges through him as he remembers broken fragments of the plot of Back to the Future, the only comfort knowing him still being alive right now. He laughs to soften the blow and you look up, confusion etched in your expression.

“You’re um...never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon,” he repeats what Dustin told him earlier. “You gotta tell me now.”

You sigh. “You’regoingtostartlookinglikehim.”

“Excuse me.” He blinks. “What?”

His voice raises too loud, echoing through the room. He bows his head sheepishly and keeps an eye on the door. It doesn’t open any further.

“Your hair,” you say as explanation.

Something clicks and his gaze is drawn to the scratches along your arms and legs, remembering what you told him about injuries. “I’m...” He licks his lips. “I’m gonna change in relation to how time rewinds?” You nod again. “Jesus christ. I mean, I grew my hair out for a reason!”

“It’ll grow back,” you offer.

“Not the point! Believe me you don’t want to see the fucking...” He searches for the right words. “Glue head I had back then.” He looks up and does a double take. You’re grinning. “What?”

“Glue head.”

“It’s true!” You both begin to laugh softly. “Look. My mom was a stylist back then. She had way way too much hairspray and gel lying around.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Polos too?”

“How did you —“ you give him a pointed look “— right, doppelgänger. But hey! Leave my polos out of...you know what? In my defense —“

“Is there one?”

“Okay, yeah no. You’re right.” He laughs. “How can you defend a fucking polo?”

Your laughter slowly dies down and you look back at the bed. “We should probably —“

“Oh. Oh, yeah, totally.” Steve scrambles off the bed, heart pounding. “You okay? Need anything else before I —“

Your meet his gaze, response quick on your tongue. “Stay.”

“I — are you...” Steve looks between the empty side of the bed and you. “You sure?”

“I think...” You bite your lip again. “What if the - the Upside Down tries to take me in my sleep and...and you’re not here?”

“Would it?”

You shrug. Don’t meet his eyes. “Happened before.”

“I won’t leave. Okay?” As answer, you scoot closer to the edge of the mattress and lay down, back facing him.

There’s something you aren’t telling him, Steve thinks, but for now he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna try to keep you safe.

——

Tag List (click to be added/removed): @jxnehxpper @harringtown