#some kid in a pinstripe jacket

[diltonsstrangescience]

Guys help I think I’ve been transported to a parallel universe. The ponytail is on the wrong color hair.

Archie is blond now.

This is surreal.

[paceprompting]

the stars on the ceiling

little content warning for mentions of abuse (through a child's perspective), but definitely has a happy ending with soft uncle wayne goodness

He missed the stars.

His house with his ma and dad hadn’t been much—one bedroom for his parents and a cot in the living room where Eddie kept his clothes and his library books. The entire space except the kitchen was covered in beige carpet where Eddie drew temporary pictures with his fingers.

But every night before bed, his ma would bundle him up and take them both into the backyard to look at the night sky. Away from his dad’s growing beer bottles and football games he kept losing money on.

Even in winter, she’d grabbed the special thick comforter from the back of the closet and the blanket Eddie’s grandmother had knit for him before he was born and before she died. She’s wrap them up tight together to sit and count each twinkling star as they emerged into the night sky.

The only nights they didn’t look at the stars was when his dad got to shouting at them first. Through red-rimmed eyes and slurred words, he held Eddie’s ma by her pretty curls so she wouldn’t get away and shouted.

Shouted that Eddie looked too much like his ma, with curls and ugly brown eyes. Might as well not have been his, looking like that. Yelled at her for being with other men even though she never left the house, and then grabbed Eddie by the back of his shirt. Shouted that he was too skinny for seven years old; a nothing that sat around reading fantasy bullshit like a fag.

Sometimes he shoved them both into the wall and then went back to his football games. Other times he took his ma to their room, and Eddie burrowed under his blankets until morning.

The last night they’d sat together, she’d made a pot of hot chocolate to share.

Her dark curls had tickled his nose while she held him to her chest. He’d thought she had been holding him particularly tight that night. But it was cold, and together they were warm, so he didn’t say a word.

The next day at school, a lady with blonde hair in a gray pinstripe jacket and skirt came to talk to him. Apparently his ma had called the lady’s job, and that meant she had to ask him some questions.

And he didn’t know any different, so he told about the shouting. About the bruises on his arms and back. The ones on his ma’s ribs and her legs—the ones he only saw in glimpses when she darted past in her towel after a shower.

He didn’t know it would mean he never got to go home.

A bag with his clothes and his books were waiting for him in the lady’s car, as well as a note from his ma that he didn’t read. (Not for nearly a decade.)

He stayed in a foster home for a week until they got ahold of Uncle Wayne.

Eddie hadn’t seen his uncle for a few years. Not after he and his dad shouted worse than Eddie had ever heard his dad shout at Thanksgiving dinner. So much that he covered his ears to muffle it all out, so he didn’t know why Uncle Wayne hadn’t been invited back to his brother’s house.

They’d never gone to visit Forest Hills, and Eddie had no idea why his uncle lived in a trailer. He’d hoped it was some kind of mistake, when the blonde lady had parked in front and led him to the front door, backpack in hand.

But it was his uncle who opened the door.

Uncle Wayne said it wasn’t safe for him to be outside at night.

“Ma and I look at the stars,” he told Uncle Wayne, clutching his grandmother’s blanket close to his chest. No one had told him where his ma had gone, but he knew she wouldn’t abandon the stars, even if he wasn’t with her.

He had his own bedroom living with Wayne, but he didn’t have nearly enough things to justify it. He still hadn’t slept in the bed, instead curling up on the couch with his backpack.

“Ed,” Wayne started, grunting as he knelt down to Eddie’s height. “I’m sorry kid, but it’s too cold. There’s wild animals out there, and a few neighbors who ain’t too friendly.”

 Eddie didn’t think his uncle looked much like his dad. Maybe he was like Eddie, and looked more like another grandmother Eddie had never met.

No one else called him ‘Ed,’ either. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Eddie pouted, rubbing at the tears in his eyes because he wasn’t supposed to cry.

“I can be really quick,” he promised.

It was already late. The stars were bound to be out. Eddie could find the Cassiopeia stars for his mom and say goodnight.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

That was it.

Eddie wouldn’t get to say his goodnight.

The burning tears fell freely down his cheeks, and Eddie shoved his blanket at Wayne hard enough to tip him over onto his butt. He couldn’t hide anywhere in the living room, but his new room had a door.

So, for the first night ever, Eddie stormed into his own bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Eddie didn’t say a word to his uncle for two days, hiding out in his room between meals.

His ma wouldn’t have stood for it. But his ma wasn’t there.

“Ed?” Wayne knocked on his door and when he got no answer, he opened it enough to peer inside. He did that at least once every couple hours, and Eddie pretended to be asleep.

This time, he looked his uncle straight in the eyes, legs tucked up against him and arms wrapped around his knees.

Wayne slipped into the room, the light from the living room spilling in behind him. He had a plastic-wrapped book from the library and a crinkly package in his hands.

“Got something for you,” he said and sat slowly beside Eddie on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

Eddie was silent, but Wayne nontheless laid the book on the mattress. The cover had the night sky across it, and the title “Stars and Constellations for Beginners.” Next, Wayne placed a jumbo pack of stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars.

“How about we put the stars inside for now?” he asked.

Eddie sniffled, reaching for the plastic stars. He held them in both hands, looking them over. Big, little, and in between, all a near-opaque neon green. The label said there were three hundred individual stars.

“All of them?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Wayne nodded. “Every one.”

A stray tear fell off of Eddie’s face and landed on the plastic packaging. He smeared it with his thumb, and then wiped it away with the hem of his last clean shirt from home.

He handed the stars to his uncle to open, and slid the hefty constellations book onto his lap. Wayne tipped the stars out onto the mattress while Eddie scanned the table of contents with his finger.

The constellation he wanted was right near the front.

He flipped to the correct page and traced from star to star across the two-page spread a few times. Enough to make up for the night’s he’d missed.

Eddie held the book out to Wayne.

“Can you do that one?”

His uncle twisted his shoulders and tilted his head to see properly. Eddie didn’t think Wayne really knew what he was looking at, but he hadn’t yanked the book out of his hands and chucked it across the room like his dad would have. He didn’t leave Eddie to figure out how to reach the ceiling on his own, as if he would have ever bought the stars in the first place.

Wayne gently cupped the side of Eddie’s head and pressed a kiss to his temple, over the curls just like his ma’s.

“Sure thing, Ed.”

[cosmicanemoia]

Ms. Nobody

Melissa schemmenti x reader

SUMMARY

You show up at Abbott Elementary and stick your nose into everybody's business, and no one knows what you really do.

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You were walking down the hallway of Abbott Elementary looking for the principal's office, but you couldn't seem to find it. You were wearing a black and white, three piece pinstripe suit, looking like a stuck-up, but also, like a million bucks, you thought its suffocating.

A woman with a leather jacket paired with tight leather pants walks in your direction, as she gets closer from where you stand, you realise her hair is red, some of it tuck in a cat-eye-framed glasses.

You noticed she's fixated on her phone, so you block her way to make her notice you, she accidentally bumps into you, noticing you too late to stop on her tracks "Sorry, miss. Could you please point me in the direction of the principal's office?" She observed you with a stoic look on her face, you know she's trying to get a read on you "just follow me. I was going there anyway"

The walk to the Ava's office was filled with silence and when you got there, Ava checks you out and raises an eyebrow, she looks at the red haired woman "Damn! Schemmenti, thanks for bringing me a hot stripper. How'd you know I need to release some stress" miss Schemmenti made a dumbfounded face "wha--" she's trying to say something but you interrupted her "That's highly inappropriate" you said that left a silence in the room for a few seconds until you break it "That's highly inappropriate if I wasn't a stripper" both of the women's eyes widened by your revelation.

You started unbuttoning your blazer "but lucky for you I was" their jaw dropped at the sight "woah-- w-what the hell is going on?" Melissa earnestly asked looking around the room, confused by the act happening in the principal's office, you took your blazer off, throw it in a chair, and started unbuttoning your vest "I don't know-- but I'm liking every second of it" Ava replied, her eyes fixated on you. A smirk starts to form in your mouth, both women liking the scene more than they should, you took the vest off and throw it in with the blazer, you started to loosen your tie, you were holding back a laugh for quite some time but you couldn't hold it in anymore, so you burst out laughing, the two women bewildered "I'm just kidding!-- I'm not a stripper" you announce "what!?!" Ava and Melissa both shouted at the same time, their voice both frustrated and annoyed.

"Principal Coleman, I need to talk to you in private regarding classified topics" you took a seat in front of her. Ava gulped and clear her throat which Melissa mirrored "of course. Melissa, what do you need?" The principal asked the teacher "Uh- I forgot... I'll just come back later" Melissa walks out.

You've been there for a couple months now since that day. You've easily made friends with most of the teachers there. Janine always asks you questions but you rarely get to answer them because the topics sometimes change way too fast. Jacob jokes around you, talking nonstop, mostly dropping random facts about something not very well known but you already knew them so it fascinates him. Gregory asks you questions out of nowhere, he's quite and he listen but speaks his mind when he feel the need to do so, and you're just willing to listen. Barbara is always glad when you come to observe her class and is always kind to you. Ava unashamedly flirting with you everytime she can, you sometimes flirt back which makes her fluster and blush. Mr. Johnson telling you stories no one would bother to listen to or believe, but you always listen and you don't care if his stories are believable or not, they're still good stories nonetheless. Melissa scoffs at you when she sees you but it only lasted for a week, and she eventually warms up to you, but you know she still have some doubt and still don't fully trust you, you make her smile and you make her laugh everytime you can.

The teacher's are gathered in the teacher's lounge given that it's lunch time. They were chit chatting and catching up until the topic of their conversation became you.

"There's this mysterious woman who came from nowhere and people doesn't know what she really does here, where she came from, we only know she observes the school and do nothing else" Melissa stated making the other teachers question what are your true motives. They added and added so called facts and evidence of your actions trying to figure you out.

You made your way to the teacher's lounge with your hands in the pockets of your jacket, when you open the door and walk in, the room fell silent. You made your way to the vending machine "how is everybody?" You inquired but your met with silence still and you could feel the tension, you turn your back to check on them and when you do, all their eyes are shooting daggers at you. "What's going on?" You inquire once again, and once again your met with silence.

"You a cop?" Melissa ask you, breaking the silence. You slowly walk closer to her and you sigh "actually, I am." You pulled out a hand cuff out of your jacket, and everyone is stunned, "and Melissa Ann Schemmenti, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting, and harboring a criminal in your home" you started to handcuff her, she scoffs "That's ridiculous! I don't know what you're talking about" everyone is in complete shock. A smirk that has formed in your face since you handcuff her begins to become a grin, you tug softly at her shoulder and starts to walk, but halfway through the door you halted and speak again "but mostly for stealing my heart" you burst out laughing and it clicked to everyone what you just did, everyone is holding back their laughter, afraid of the redhead's wrath that you might have unleashed. Your laugh fades when you realise you're the only one laughing, it turned into an awkward chuckle "oookaayyyy. Tough crowd"

Melissa rolled her eyes "ha- ha- satisfied? Now get this off of me" she commanded. You started to search your pockets and nothing "Uh- I might have lost the key" you look at her with puppy eyes, "if this is another one of your jokes, I swear--" her sentence, unfinished, as you tug her and interrupt her "come, I have a copy hidden somewhere" you said as you lead her out the door. When you both are out of sight everyone sighed loudly releasing the breath they didn't know they were holding back.

While walking down the hallway Melissa ask you "so, you just carry around a handcuff with you?" "Who doesn't?" You answered like it's a totally normal thing to carry handcuffs around. She rolled her eyes again, tired of your antics, now clearly irritated, "what kind of idiot carries a handcuff and not have the keys?" You raise your two thumbs and started pointing it to yourself "this idiot, obviously. --Is it idiotic? Or is it part of my grand master plan to get you alone in a private room, with me?" You whispered the last part of your sentence in her ear in a seductive tone.

She's quite for a long time until she ask another question "where'd you put this key anyway? I feel like we've been walking in circles" you smiled and stop in front of her "we actually are" she stopped on her track and looks at you, furious, evident in her eyes.

You started to walk again and this time with the intention of getting the key. You knock at Ava's door and she tells you to come in. You walk in and Ava lifted her gaze from whatever she was doing on her laptop to you "Hey hottie" you shake your head unimpressed with her flirting "where's the key to your handcuffs?" Melissa burst in "This is Ava's handcuffs?!" She lifts and wave her hands "Yes. She gave it to me earlier to hold onto. And you presented an opportunity for it to be used-- so, here we are..." you answered her and she scoff "you won't see another light of day, when I get out of this freaking situation" you smiled at her, daring her to follow through her threat "Nobody carries a handcuff around unless they're actually a cop" you explain "or a stripper" ava added to the end of your sentence.

"Dear god give me patience or I might actually commit murder" Melissa closed her eyes and prayed, as Ava toss the keys to you, and you catch it. You walk over to Melissa to uncuff her as she glares and growls at you. When you finally freed her she massage her wrist and she fake pouncing on you which made Ava flinch, but you stand there unfazed.

Melissa walks out the room first. You drop the cuffs on Ava's table and walk out the office without saying a word.

You had an eventful evening, but today's school is over. You made your way outside the school through the parking lot.

Someone suddenly pulled you, then pushed you against the wall, it was Melissa who is out for blood, your blood. She has you pinned against the wall, you're not complaining, in fact, you actually like it, that position, but really, you just like her.

"Don't think I'll pity you because you're young and pretty. You don't know who you're messing with" she said and you cant help but blush "you think I'm pretty?-- I think you're pretty too, pretty and HOT!" You said emphasising the last word. You were looking eye to eye, faces inches away from each other, you let your eyes wander on her lips, and before both of you knew it, you were kissing her, but you suddenly pulled away when you realise she's not kissing back. She let go of you "first you handcuff me, call me hot, and now kisses me--- what the hell is wrong with you kid?" You look down at your feet ashamed of yourself but you look back gazing in her eyes "I'm not a kid.-- And there's nothing wrong with me.--- I'm just... just-- completely and utterly head over heels for you" you felt something hit the side of your face, you caress it with your hand, she had slapped you, you bit on your lower lip, your chest starting to tighten "don't mess with me like that" she said plainly "I'm no--" "Shut up" she said before you could explain yourself.

You just stood there in the cold as you watch her drive away. 'I really fucked this, shit!' You thought to yourself. You let out a loud sigh thinking how you screwed out really big.

The next day you went to school early, hoping you'd catch her and apologise for being such an asshole, but she didn't get in until before the class starts leaving no time for chit chats, especially with you.

Lunch came and you announce your presence when you walk in the teacher's lounge. You scan the room and you saw everyone is there. "I know you have question. I'm going to answer them truthfully and seriously" you said confidently and you sit on the couch.

Janine raises her hand and you raises your eyebrow at her signaling her to go for it "I actually forgot what to ask- I'm just eager to learn more about you" you nodded and you lean in the couch resting your elbows in your thighs "I know none of you know my name. That's OK. Ms. Nobody sounds good to me, but my name is y/l/n, y/n y/l/n.

"I have a question" Melissa speaks up "What is it you actually do here?" You think for a second "good question. *sighs* I help school that are about to be shut down by the government because the number of students doesn't meet the minimum quota for a public school to be open and for the lack of teachers teaching at the said school or schools that are barely making do"

"We're about to be shut down?" Janine asked to no one, and the teachers starts to converse among themselves, everyone of them shocked by the revelation.

A few minutes later "all teachers please proceed to the library after class we're having an unplanned meeting" Ava said to the intercom.

Someone is about to ask you question but the bell rang and they all dispersed, saddened by the news you told them. You rest your back on the sofa sighing with relief that you don't have to carry that secret anymore.

They went on to their classes pushing the news to the back of of their minds and went teaching like they always do.

The class are over and after the teachers tidy up and finish some things before they head to the library. There are a lot of them when you got there so you didn't bother to sit, you just stood and lean against the bookshelf trusting that if it can hold that many books, it can hold you as well.

Everyone is settled in the library. "I know y/n, has break the news to you. But we are not going to be shut down" Everyone simultaneously lets out a sigh of relief.

Melissa turns her head to look at you "you think everything is a joke, don't you? K--" "No. Of course not." You interrupted her before she finish.

"Everyone listen up. Let me rephrase my beautiful self. We are not going to be shut down because of y/n, and as long as she's here, we'll be okay" Ava collects her things and starts to walk away "Is that all? Are we finished?" Janine ask the principal "Janine, why'd you always gotta be so needy?" She scoffs and continues on her way.

You walk over to where Melissa and Barbara are sitting. "Hi Barbs" you greeted her with a pleasant smile and she replied "thanks for helping the school dear" you smile at her more before you turn your attention to Melissa "Hey, hot stuff. Can I talk to you?" "What'd you wanna talk about?" She ask and Barbara excuse herself so you sat next to her.

You are now alone together in the library. "I just wanted to say sorry for the handcuffs thing, and for stealing a kiss from you" she's just sat there quietly "also, I really mean what I said that night" "what? That I'm hot?" She ask still not looking at you, you look down on your knees and smile to yourself "yeah. That too" You grabbed her hand that is resting on her thighs and rest it on yours instead while you held it "I know you think I'm just messing with you. And I can see why you think that. But, I'm not. I'm being serious and I really mean it.-- please, look at me" you requested and she obliged "I'm in love with you" she just stares at you for a moment and then look away, her hand still held by yours.

You close your eyes and smile but you feel defeated. You let go of her hands and stand up. "I'm sorry" she said right before you walk away so you turn on your back to face her "what?" she's quite for a minute contemplating something "I'm sorry for slapping you" she said and you smiled to her "it's okay. I deserved it.-- and I kinda like it" you said and you wink at her "of course you do" she smiles more wide than usual, she's amused.

She stands up and walks up to you closing the space you made when you walk out, she reach on your fore arms and rub it gently, trying to warm you up. "You're getting cold" she said to you but you know you're hot on the inside caused by the woman's touch "And, no. You didn't deserve it" she said and she starts to let go of you but you pulled her into a hug "it's okay. I know you didn't mean it" you said as you hug her tighter.

You let yourself loosen the embrace but you feel hers tighten, not yet ready to let go, so you tighten your arms around her once more, waiting for her to be ready to let go.

You hugged for more than a couple of minutes until she finally let go, you smiled at each other, saying goodbye with your eyes knowing that you'll meet again soon.

After you've taken a few step away from her she shouted "come over for dinner at my house, let me apologise properly" you look at her with a grin "if you wanted to ask me out for a date, you could've just said so" "and there it is" she gesture with her hands showcasing you and you curtsied at her before you went on your merry way.

You knock and rang on Melissa's door and she opens them right away, inviting you in. Your eyes fixated on her, she looks so comfortable and it warms you, secretly hoping she would be comfortable with you too.

You watch her as you sit on the kitchen counter while she cooks making light conversations.

Her homecooked meal taste so good, you're saying "mmmhh" and nod your head at the same time every time you take a bite. She looks contented and proud of herself.

You were quite for a moment so she ask you "What are you thinking?" You look at her with a wide grin "you don't wanna know" you tease "just tell me" she commanded and you quickly abide "I'm just thinking that my grand master plan actually works. Even better than I'd imagine. Now, I'm eating delicious home cooked meal at your house with a beautiful view right in front of me"

She pulls you in for a kiss, a passionate kiss, which you return with the same desperation she had. You both pulled away at the same time, gasping for air, and catching your breath "I'm just taking back the kiss you stole from me" she said trying to defend her action, you smiled at her "How long have you been wanting to do that?" "Way too long, apparently" she replied and you both burst out laughing.

The night is going great and maybe it will get greater. You don't know where this night might lead you, but you don't care, as long as she's with you, every step of the way.

[steddietogo]

Made With Love

Steddie TikTok au: Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

———

Bobin_Buck Posted 20 mins ago

———

Caption:

Get ready with me: Date night edition

———

Robin and Eddie are rooting through Robin's closet for a perfect date outfit for Robin. Steve has been banished to the bed due to conflicting opinions. He pouts and complains about it for a long time.

"You should totally do that, you'll get so much more views then," Robin says after Eddie suggests that Steve should make a suggestive thirst trap male chefs on the cursed clock app can't stop making.

"I'm not smacking a chicken thigh to get more views, thank you very much." Steve protests, lying upside down with his head hanging off the side of the bed.

"Oh don't act like your above it, Steven, we all know about your several slutty exploits-" Steve launches a cushion into her face, making her scream bloody murder.

"You could make one wearing just your apron," Eddie suggests and wiggles his eyebrows at Steve, making him snort out loud.

"Ew. that would be so embarrassing," Robin fake gags.

"Well, unlike you Buckley, I can appreciate a good looking man-" In the background. Steve rolls over to hide his face in the pillows as Robin and Eddie continue to bicker.

———

Eddie is holding the phone, filming himself. "Passing the phone to someone who acts like dog with the zoomies after a single cup of coffee,"

Cut to Robin, who says, "Passing the phone to the someone who routinely gets bullied by kids several years younger than him,"

"Passing the phone to someone with chronic foot-in-mouth disease and was too scared to talk to their crush that they hid in men's bathroom for a full ten minutes." Steve says, sending a withering glare to someone off camera.

"Passing the phone to the person who got chased by a damn poodle into the- HEY!" The phone gets yanked out of Robin's hands halfway through her sentence.

"Passing the phone to Tinker Bell who is dying because he isn't getting enough attention." Steve says, then shoves the camera towards Eddie who is dramatically pouting on the couch then immediately perks up when he's given the phone.

———

There's a montage of Robin showing off different outfits. Eddie and Steve are sitting on the couch with table tennis racquets on their hands with 'YES:) and 'NO:(' scribbled on each side to rate each of her outfits.

A green sweater vest with a white shirt underneath gets an immediate no and Robin walks back into her room like a sad tom cat. A blue crushed velvet shirt under suspenders gets a maybe. The winning combo is the one with a black suit vest underneath an oversized pinstriped suit jacket and high waisted pleated pants.

Eddie leaps from the couch, exclaiming, "I know what this outfit needs- chains!" then bounds off to his room to pick some out.

———

Bonus clip:

Robin and Steve are piping cream puffs and Eddie walks past them, takes one look at it and says "Me, when I- when-". The video loops back to the beginning just as the three of them dissolve into cackles.

———

Comments:

user 80085: Slutty exploits??? We need details

Corrodedfan: Did Eddie publicly announce getting creamp— *g^nshot*

Dustin H: Goodluck with your date Robin!!

———

[stevieschrodinger]

“Rob, come on!”

“Don’t you ‘come on!’ me!”

Steve immediately snorts a laugh.

Rob gets all flustered, “I didn’t- I mean- oh fuck you very much Harrington.”

“Don’t worry Rob,” Steve chokes out around his laughter, “I’ll try not to come- try not to get it- oh my god,” Steve dissolves into breathless laughter.

Rob slaps the manila file into Steve’s hands, “I don’t have time for your bullshit,” and she marches off down the corridor, kitten heals clacking on the linoleum.

Steve jogs to catch up, “what would Vicki say?” Steve asks, mock scandalized.

She cuts her eyes at him, scowling from behind her too long bangs, “don’t even joke.”

Steve opens the file while Robin pulls out her key card and straightens her jacket. What she wears is far more stylish than what she did when they were teenagers, but she’s never quite grown out of being a little gangly. Where Steve filled out even further, what with the morning runs and evening swims, weekends spent at the local gym and basketball court, Robin has always remained very slim. She looks good today though, she’s definitely grown up, but thank god she never grew out of being Robin – for some reason today she’s paired an emerald green jacket with navy pinstripe pants and shiny, cherry red shoes and somehow, it kind of, sort of, works.

It’s probably the colorful scarf pulling it together, or something.

“The files a little light,” Steve comments as she activates the security lock and holds the door open for him to pass through.

“Yeap. First fourteen years are...pretty vague. I’ve tracked the parents; the mother’s been dead a few years,” Steve makes a face, “and the dad is a guest of the state,” Steve can feel his face crumple even further. “Yeah. He’d been in and out for a while, assault, aggravated assault, theft, possession, possession with intent, honestly it’s a laundry list, the one that stuck was manslaughter.”

“Oh man, not the mom,” Robin makes a face in answer, “fucking hell.”

Robin holds up her badge for security to see, and they get buzzed through. Steve’s nose tickles with all the Omega scents.

“Luckily he wasn’t around at the end, I don’t know if he even knows about his parents. They kicked him out when he presented,” Steve tuts, “yeah, I know, but it was actually the best thing they ever did for him. He was picked up by his uncle, dad’s brother. The guy had regular, full time employment, suddenly the kid’s got medical records, there’s regular prescriptions for blockers and birth control, his school attendance goes from fifty five percent to ninety seven.”

“So the uncle is a good guy?”

Robin sighs, nods, “hopefully he pulls through.”

Steve continues to scan the file as Robin stops them at the final doorway, leaning against the closed door, “says here he’s non verbal?”

“Most of the time, it’s behavioral, he can speak, does, occasionally. We picked him up from the hospital; he’d gone in with his uncle, cardiac arrest that led to some complications, he's had a couple of surgeries already, but he might be in for a while. He's waiting for a pacemaker now, I think.”

“Shitty.”

“Yeah. Steve, listen a second. This kid...it could be anything. He was clearly malnourished growing up, this could be a trauma response. He might suffer with PTSD, might get separation anxiety-”

“Yeah, Rob, I get it.”

“I just,” she deflates a little, hopeless, “this isn’t the place for him. The other Omega, they mean well, they try and include him, and you know what they’re like, curious about new people, but that just drives him away. He doesn’t come out of his room much. Stopped coming into the dining hall for meals; I tried to wait it out, thought if he got hungry enough he’d cave,” she spreads her hands, “nada. I had to cave; he just eats in his room. And he’s terrible with food. Basically unless it’s been shaped into a nugget or came out of a can, he doesn’t get it. Like he’s never even seen real food before...this just...it’s not the place for him here Steve. All the others, it’s like...like a camp out for them, you know? Not him though, he needs some stability. He needs a home.”

“I get it Rob, it’s not my first rodeo.”

“I know, I know, that’s why I called you first, obviously...it’s just. I know it’s a lot. And I know it’s hard on you, after.”

Steve thinks of Dustin, who still calls him the first Sunday of every month without fail; how he’s expecting his first pup with his mate Suzie. Thinks of Max, how fierce she is, how close they got even in the short time they were together. Her mom made it through rehab though, and got custody back. She still drops by sometimes, and Steve loves to see her. The last time she brought her new boyfriend, Lucas, with her, looking for approval from the only father figure she’s ever really had. The Byers boys who came into his care when their mother had some sort of psychotic episode. How the Beta Jonathan had been so stand offish, where Will, too young to have presented yet, had sort Steve out to cuddle into every night. It was bittersweet, the day Joyce got custody back; Steve was glad it worked out for them, but he was still devastated to see them go.

He’s helped out with a lot of kids over the last six years; he can do this.

“It is...but it’s worth it.”

“Steve,” Robin touches his arm, briefly, “this one will be worse. Fostering kids is one thing, being a temporary pack Alpha for them...Eddie is two months off being eighteen years old, legally able to take a mate, potentially sexually active-”

“Rob, I’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. And if he needs me,” Steve shrugs, “it is what it is.”

“Steve,” she tries again, voice gentle, “I just need you to be sure.”

Steve’s only had one other Omega in his care who was old enough to need Steve in a sexual manner, as well as all the other needs that the people in his temporary pack often have; when she left it was...bad. Neither of them ever say Nancy’s name out loud, haven’t for a couple of years. But Steve knows now, what it is he’s getting into.

He knows this has the potential to be painful, he’s broken enough bonds now. Pack scent bonds; it’s unavoidable. It’s the support of an Alpha, it’s exactly what Steve is there to provide. What happens after will not be Eddie’s problem; it’ll be Steve’s.

And he won’t make the mistake he made with Nancy. This time he’ll remember that Eddie’s going to leave, won’t let himself fall into the illusion that it’s real. He knows now, that it hurts.

Just like it has every other time, when his new pack leaves.

“It’ll be fine Rob. I’ll be fine.”

She bites her lip, not looking sure at all, but she nods and leans more against the door, pushing it open with her shoulder as Steve follows her though. There’s laughter along the hall, two young Omega playing chase rush past them, “take it outside please!” Robin yells after them.

Steve tags along, knows all the doorways are bedrooms; young Omega on this wing, all in need of a safe haven. Steve can hear the bustle and chatter of the dining room, the clatter and scrape of cutlery loud as they pass the doorway. At the very end of the hall, the last door stands propped open by a plastic chair, there’s a red plastic tray with a plate sitting on it. There’s evidence of crumbs and sauce from what had been eaten, but the peas haven’t been touched. The window is open too, letting in a fresh breeze. The Omega is curled up, wedged in the corner of the room on his single bed, a book held open in his hand as he stares at them in the doorway.

“You know you won’t die if you eat a green thing, right?” Robin asks him.

He tilts his head, his curly hair shifting, and purses his lips, kind of frowning with one eyebrow quirked up, to Steve is sort of says, ‘why take the risk?’. Steve has to school his features so he doesn’t laugh.

“Okay Eddie, this is Steve, and he’s been kind enough to offer to put a roof over your head for the next little while, how does that sound?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Good enough for me,” Robin replies like Eddie’s spoken, “okay, pack your things.”

It’s not a scowl, not really, but the way Eddie side eyes the radio means...well, Steve’s not even sure what it means, “you can change it, if you like.”

Eddie huffs and shrugs, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the car seat, looking out of the window. The next song comes on; Steve pretty sure it’s Taylor Swift, and Eddie suddenly lunges for the radio. He presses the seek button until he hits something that, to Steve, sounds like two angry guitars hate fucking in a bear infested mine, but he lets it go since Eddie doesn’t turn it up any louder.

Steve carries Eddie’s unfortunately light bag of belongings into the house, “we can go shopping, maybe tomorrow or the day after. I don’t know if you know how this works or not, but you have a state budget, or rather, I do, for you. So don’t worry, if you need anything, just ask.”

He leaves Eddie’s bag at the foot of the stairs, Eddie cautiously following him as Steve points out the blindingly obvious, “lounge, kitchen, through there is the garage, that’s out to the yard.” Eddie eyes are huge in his head, darting around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Utility through there, bring me your basket when you need, I’ll show you how to use the machines. That’s my office, I work from home two days a week, but I have to go into the office for three,” there’s a distinct spike of anxiety in the air, “but that isn’t for a couple of weeks, or until your Alpha is better, so don’t worry yet. One of the perks; you get me PTO.”

Eddie frowns at him, “Paid Time Off.”

Eddie frowns again like Steve’s presented him with an alien. Never mind.

“Okay, upstairs, this is my room,” Steve opens the door, watches as Eddie scans the room with poorly disguised interest. The bed is neatly made, the thick comforter and pillows all fluffed up. The carpet a deep gray and the rest of the room dark rich wood with some splashes of forest green, “now, I’ll show you your room, but it’s entirely up to you where you sleep. I under stand that your uncle was your familial Alpha and you lived in close quarters so...where you sleep is up to you. If you need that.”

Eddie’s gone so red Steve worries his head might explode; Steve, somehow, manages not to laugh at him. He shows Eddie to the next door down, “this is your room, I will never come in here unless you explicitly invite me or I think there’s a genuine cause for concern, okay? There’s a lock on the door, but I do have a master. So if you don’t want me barging in, you need to let me know you’re okay when I ask, okay?”

Eddie nods.

“Good, I need to be clear about that from the start,” Steve puts Eddie’s bag down in the threshold, “there’s extra nesting materials in the top of the wardrobe, the bathroom is through there, help yourself to all the toiletries, they’re for you. Feel free to chill out for a bit, get cleaned up, I’ll do food for about six ish.”

And Steve leaves him to it.

Steve’s chicken parm is, even if he says so himself, pretty damn good. His sauce is ninety percent blended vegetables; carrots, tomatoes, bell peppers; a trick he learned when trying to hide more vegetables in the kids food. He’s got a similar recipe for mac and cheese that no one has ever complained about, even though the sauce is at least fifty percent carrot.

Also, he figures the breaded chicken is just, like, a giant chicken nugget, right?

So that has to look sort of familiar. And you can get spaghetti out of a can so, surely, this isn't so different.

If Eddie doesn’t like cheese...well, that’s just unnatural. Steve’ll just have to take him back to Robin.

Steve’s got everything on plates and is about to call for Eddie, but the kid appears in the doorway, exactly six oclock. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, uncertainty coloring the air, but he’s here, that’s the important thing.

They eat together in the breakfast nook, Eddie picks at his food rather than just eating. Steve tries to match his pace, suspicious that as soon as Steve stops eating, Eddie will stop too. He’s right.

Steve makes a mental note to do a grocery shop and go heavy on the snacks. Steve can see the evidence of Eddie growing up malnourished. He’s too pale, his eyes far too large in his face, his joints protrude and his clothes hang off his frame.

There’s no conversation, but Steve doesn’t push it. It’s not time yet.

They watch TV for a while before bed, Eddie curled up tight at the opposite end of the couch, as far from Steve as he can get. Steve adopts a relaxed posture, lets himself sink down. Pulls a blankets off the back of the couch to go across his knees and leaves another in the middle, an obvious hint to Eddie if he wants it. He doesn’t touch it.

Eddie slips away after an hour, heads upstairs. Steve watches the kid go but doesn’t say anything. It’s a pretty solid start; he’s had much, much worse. Eddie doesn’t appear to be any kind of flight risk, which is a huge plus in Steve’s book.

He messages Rob with an update before pulling out his laptop and responding to some emails. He might legitimately have a couple of weeks off work, but that doesn’t mean he wants to return to a landslide of unanswered messages when he does go back.

He heads to bed a little after. Showers and goes through his night time routine; it’s only nine but it’s been a bit of a day, and Steve intends to read for a while. It’s thirty minutes before he hears Eddie’s door open and close. The creak of the stairs. Steve sneaks to his own door, opens it a little and stands there, ears straining.

Listens as the front door rattles but doesn’t open. The key is right there, Eddie’s not trying to escape; he’s checking the house is secure. Steve hears the fridge door a few moments later, then the TV, turned down low.

Steve goes back to bed, happy that Eddie is already making himself at home. He’s asleep thirty minutes after that. And he sleeps well, until something disturbs him, the bed covers shifting. Eddie freezes when he realizes he’s woken Steve. Steve’s still half asleep, and it’s easy to just not make a big deal of it, he yawns, lifting the covers. Eddie slips in, rolling over and wriggling back, allowing himself to be the little spoon. Steve throws a leg, an arm, and the covers over Eddie’s slim frame, and easily goes back to sleep.

When Steve wakes up, Eddie’s gone again.

Steve finds Eddie on the couch. It’s a scene he’s used to, the TV displaying the little, ‘are you still watching?’ box. He’s had a lot of kids who can’t sleep without company, or background noise, or something, and finding them on the couch is pretty normal.

What’s not normal is the position Eddie is sleeping in, his head hanging off the edge, one arm flopped awkwardly above his head and the other bent underneath him, one leg hooked over the back of the couch. He’s snoring. It’s...kind of loud.

And also kind of adorable. Steve pushes those feelings down reminds himself; he cannot get attached to this one.

He knows how much it hurts.

[teatitty]

Since Yugi was a goth kid in the 90's his goth style would've primarily been Traditional Goth - which means a focus on big black hair, exaggerated pale skin and dark makeup, ripped fishnets, leathers, skulls and bats, big boots, chokers, spikes etc since goth fashion was an offshoot of the punk scene and was thus heavily influenced by that style and genre

A pretty good example of traditional goth would be this

If we want to take his [shudders] suit fashion in DSOD into account and mess with the idea that he ends up working at Kaiba corp [I don't personally subscribe to this but I see it a lot in fics] then he would probably become a Corporate Goth which is a pretty easy style to get into: predominantly black dress shirts, pencil skirts, pinstriped patterns, black jackets, black shoes/boots, a much tamer makeup look but still with black liner, and a lot of Corp Goths will use elements of other Goth styles to add extra flair, like ankh earrings, skull and bone jewellery [usually rings], maybe even other patterned black-on-black clothes, like brocade or lace if you're a Romantic Goth etc

But those are just some thoughts based on my own experiences there's a ton of different goth styles out there and people mix and match them as they see fit so there's no, like, rigid rules to follow or anything I just think trad goth would suit him best given the era the series takes place in

[shinyshortsfetishworld]

For as long as I can remember, I've had a special interest for shiny fabrics. Of course back in the day I had no idea what a fetish was. I only knew it felt amazing wearing and touching the stuff, and this feeling has never stopped.

As a kid of the 80's and a teen of the 90's, I was lucky I got to wear some shiny shorts IRL. I have fond memories of the first shorts I got when I was around ten. A white pair with multicolored pinstripes, a navy blue pair and a light blue pair. Unfortunately all three have gone missing over the years (yes pictures exist and no, I will not be sharing them).

Over time I've managed to collect a modest amount of shiny shorts and jackets, which has been the inspiration for my previous posts here. Now I've been taking some more pics of all (well... most of) my shiny stuff. I would also like to share these with you, my fellow shiny lovers. Enjoy!

[imsparky2002]

The Phantoms of Paris

The following was made with assistance from Chat GPT

So what if everyone in the Akuma Class (+ Luka, Kagami and Marc) were lifelong friends and theatre kids (and eventually romantic partners for some) who all loved dressing up as the Phantom of the Opera from a early age? They were inspired by Miss Bustier, who herself was a Phantom fanatic, and always dressed up as one, right up until becoming their ghostly teacher. One day, the group of cosplayers met Master Fu, who turned them into actual Phantoms. Now they fight crime and be spooky.

Marinette:

Personality: Marinette is the fearless and resourceful leader of the group. She's quick-witted, creative, and compassionate.

Ensemble: Her cape is a deep midnight blue, and her mask is adorned with intricate lace patterns. She wears a sleek black suit with silver pinstripes, black gloves, and a top hat adorned with a silver ribbon.

Adrien:

Personality: Adrien is charming, suave, and skilled in acrobatics. He brings a touch of elegance to their operations.

Ensemble: His cape is a rich burgundy, and his mask is sleek and cat-shaped. Adrien's suit is black with crimson accents, and he sports a stylish black fedora.

Alya:

Personality: Alya is the group's tech genius and a natural-born leader. She's determined, fearless, and has a knack for uncovering secrets.

Ensemble: Alya's cape is a vibrant violet, and her mask features a web-like pattern. She wears a futuristic black jumpsuit with a utility belt, black gloves, and a sleek helmet with built-in communication devices.

Nino:

Personality: Nino is laid-back and easygoing, but he can be fiercely protective of his friends when it matters most.

Ensemble: His cape is a cool teal color, and his mask has a relaxed, musical note design. Nino's suit is casual, with a black leather jacket over a white shirt, black jeans, gloves, and a black beanie.

Chloe:

Personality: Chloe is confident, sassy, and unafraid to speak her mind. Her fashion sense is impeccable, even as a Phantom.

Ensemble: Chloe's cape is a regal gold, and her mask is adorned with subtle but intricate filigree. She wears an elegant white pantsuit with black accents, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed black hat.

Alix:

Personality: Alix is the group's daredevil and thrill-seeker. She's energetic, adventurous, and loves to take risks.

Ensemble: Her cape is a fiery red-orange, and her mask has a sporty, futuristic design. Alix sports a sleek red bodysuit, matching gloves, and a sporty baseball cap.

Kim:

Personality: Kim is the brawns of the group, always eager to lead the charge. He's loyal, brave, and protective.

Ensemble: Kim's cape is a forest green, and his mask features a muscular pattern. He wears a rugged green utility suit, black gloves, and a military-style beret.

Max:

Personality: Max is the group's intellectual, with a love for technology and strategy. He's logical, analytical, and always has a plan.

Ensemble: His cape is a deep navy blue, and his mask is adorned with circuitry designs. Max wears a high-tech navy blue suit, black gloves, and a futuristic visor instead of a hat.

Juleka:

Personality: Juleka is quiet and mysterious, but her creativity shines through her art. She brings an air of elegance to their operations.

Ensemble: Her cape is a royal purple, and her mask has delicate lace patterns. Juleka wears an elegant purple gown-inspired suit, black gloves, and a black velvet hat adorned with a single white rose.

Rose:

Personality: Rose is kind-hearted, gentle, and deeply romantic. Her positivity is infectious, even as a Phantom.

Ensemble: Rose's cape is a soft pink, and her mask is adorned with tiny heart-shaped patterns. She wears a flowing pink dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a flower crown as her hat.

Mylene:

Personality: Mylene is sweet and shy, but her courage shines when she's with her friends. She adds a touch of innocence to the group.

Ensemble: Her cape is a pastel blue, and her mask has subtle cloud-like patterns. Mylene wears a light blue dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a simple straw hat with a blue ribbon.

Ivan:

Personality: Ivan is calm and stoic, but he's a rock when his friends need him most. He adds a sense of stability to the group.

Ensemble: His cape is a deep gray, and his mask has sturdy, stone-like textures. Ivan wears a gray suit with black accents, black gloves, and a simple flat cap.

Sabrina:

Personality: Sabrina is loyal and diligent, always ready to help her friends. She's a bit timid but fiercely protective.

Ensemble: Her cape is a soft lavender, and her mask has intricate lace patterns. Sabrina wears a lavender dress-inspired suit, white gloves, and a matching lavender bonnet.

Nathaniel:

Personality: Nathaniel is artistic and sensitive, with a deep love for storytelling. He brings creativity to the group.

Ensemble: His cape is a muted olive green, and his mask features swirling artistic patterns. Nathaniel wears an olive green suit with brown accents, brown gloves, and a beret adorned with a paintbrush.

Luka:

Personality: Luka is enigmatic, calm, and has a deep connection to nature. He possesses a sense of tranquility

Ensemble: Luka's cape is a deep forest green, symbolizing his connection to the woods. It is adorned with intricate leaf patterns and vine-like embroidery, representing the lushness of the forest. His mask portrays the serene face of a forest guardian, with gentle eyes and a tranquil expression. Luka's hat is a wide-brimmed fedora, giving him an air of mystery and wisdom. His suit takes on a natural, earthy tone, and his gloves shimmer with the texture of bark, symbolizing his bond with nature.

Kagami:

Personality: Kagami is disciplined, determined, and skilled in martial arts and fencing. She's a fierce protector and a master of strategy.

Ensemble: Kagami's cape is fiery red, symbolizing her fierce determination and strength. The hood is decorated with dragon-scale patterns, reflecting her tenacity in battle. Her mask takes on the sharp features of a warrior, with angular lines and a determined expression. Kagami's hat is a crimson fedora with the markings of a fencing mask, symbolizing her mastery of the sword and her readiness to face any challenge. Her suit is sleek and martial arts-inspired, allowing for agility and precision. Her gloves are adorned with sharp blade-like patterns, emphasizing her fierce combat skills.

Marc:

Personality: Marc is anxious, sensitive, and compassionate. He brings a sense of empathy and creativity to the group.

Ensemble: Marc's cloak is a deep indigo, reminiscent of a starry night sky. His mask reflects the whimsy of an writer's imagination, with intricate patterns of ink splatters and quills. Marc's hat has a feather in it, accentuating his creative flair. His suit resembles an canvas, complete with pencil scribbles embodying his passion for storytelling and art. His gloves are adorned with ink splatters, a nod to his talent as a writer.

Miss Bustier

Personality: Miss Bustier, or Phantom Mama as she is known among the Phantoms, possesses a gentle and nurturing personality that has guided and supported the team throughout their long journey. She is a warm and empathetic figure, always ready with a kind word or a comforting presence in times of need.

Ensemble: She wears a long, flowing cape that seems to blend seamlessly with the fog she controls, creating an otherworldly appearance. Her mask, unlike the Phantoms', is more delicate, with intricate lacework and a subtle design that conceals her identity while highlighting her enigmatic nature. A stylish yet mysterious hat rests atop her head, adorned with feathers that evoke the air of a sorceress. Her gloves and suit are both timeless and graceful, maintaining an enigmatic aura befitting her role as Phantom Mama.

Powers

Marinette: As the leader, Marinette possesses heightened agility and an uncanny ability to blend into shadows, allowing her to navigate the city unnoticed.

Adrien: Adrien's cat-like reflexes grant him incredible balance and agility. He can move swiftly through even the most treacherous terrain.

Alya: Alya has a supernatural sense of hearing, enabling her to pick up on the faintest sounds and whispers in the city.

Nino: Nino can manipulate sound waves, creating sonic distractions or silencing any noise within a certain radius.

Chloe: Chloe's charisma and persuasive skills make her a master at blending into crowds and gathering information.

Alix: Alix has enhanced speed and can move as swiftly as a phantom wind, making her an expert at reconnaissance.

Kim: Kim possesses superhuman strength, allowing him to handle even the toughest foes with ease.

Max: Max's brilliant mind grants him the ability to create high-tech gadgets and illusions to aid the Phantoms.

Juleka: Juleka can create eerie illusions that disorient and confuse opponents, making her a formidable strategist.

Rose: Rose can manipulate the emotions of others, calming them in times of crisis or sowing fear in the hearts of adversaries.

Mylene: Mylene's empathy allows her to communicate with animals, gathering vital information from the city's wildlife.

Ivan: Ivan's calm demeanor and strength of character make him an unmovable force, both in combat and as a source of inspiration.

Sabrina: Sabrina has the power of telekinesis, which she uses to manipulate objects and aid the Phantoms in stealthy operations.

Nathaniel: Nathaniel possesses the ability to bring his artistic creations to life, granting the Phantoms unique allies in their missions.

Luka: Luka's affinity with nature allows him to control plant life and communicate with the city's flora.

Kagami: Kagami's fencing skills are unparalleled, and she can use her sword to create protective barriers.

Marc: Marc has the power to manipulate shadows and darkness, making him a master of stealth and subterfuge.

Miss Bustier: Miss Bustier possesses a deep knowledge of dramatics and the ability to control fog, creating illusions and adding an air of mystique to their operations.

Their Laugh

Marinette: Her laugh is a mischievous giggle, resembling a playful dance of moonlight.

Adrien: Adrien's laugh is a charismatic chuckle that carries the confidence of a cat.

Alya: Her laugh is a hearty, energetic burst of amusement that echoes through the night.

Nino: Nino's laugh is a cool and collected chuckle that contrasts his lively personality.

Chloe: Her laugh is a melodramatic, theatrical cackle that suits her dramatic flair.

Alix: Alix's laugh is an adventurous, thrill-seeking guffaw that reflects her daredevil spirit.

Kim: Kim's laugh is a hearty, booming burst of joy, echoing his athletic enthusiasm.

Max: Max's laugh is a cerebral, analytical chuckle that mirrors his scientific mind.

Juleka: Her laugh is a soft, haunting, and mysterious titter that complements her quiet demeanor.

Rose: Rose's laugh is an enchanting, dreamy giggle that reflects her romantic nature.

Mylene: Her laugh is a warm, compassionate chuckle, a reflection of her kind heart.

Ivan: Ivan's laugh is a strong, hearty burst of amusement, befitting his gentle strength.

Sabrina: Her laugh is a refined, cultured chuckle that mirrors her poise and elegance.

Nathaniel: Nathaniel's laugh is an artistic, whimsical giggle, a testament to his creative spirit.

Luka: His laugh is a serene, calming chuckle that embodies his connection to nature.

Kagami: Kagami's laugh is a precise, sharp burst of amusement, reflecting her disciplined nature.

Marc: Marc's laugh is an artistic, imaginative titter that mirrors his creative soul.

Miss Bustier: Miss Bustier's laugh carries the soft, melodic notes of a haunting lullaby, resonating with a timeless elegance that soothes and comforts those around her.

Ok so what do you think, and do you want to see the other Science Kids as phantoms? Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs, reposts, comments and replies. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[ghcstcd]

Dew would have 2 main ways that he’d dress. (Aside from any bedroom kink stuff that could be whatever)

A- Casual Dew : tighter than tight black skinny jeans are part of his daily uniform . There could be a rip in the knee depending on how old they are or how much he’s been crawling around on his knees (cough cough). He wears wears well fitted band T shirts- mostly metal bands but there could be some 80’s or 90’s goth or 80’s hair bands in there too (depends on his mood) to show off his slim body. If the weather is cold, he might layer up with a nice dark flannel or utility shirt. (No bright colors bc he’s a dark rock kid at heart). Once in a while on the really frigid days, he could wear an oversized wool sweater with a turtleneck. Darker colors- of course. He might wear a black metal bullet belt once in a while or a studded leather belt. He will wear black vans. Although he likes his grungey stuff, he also has a penchant for more expensive accessories and will wear black combat type boots from Frye. His leather motorcycle jacket is also expensive (it’s a Schott Perfecto) . He will wear expensive Rayban sunglasses or mirrored aviators. Sometimes, if he’s in a slutty mood he might wear some tortiseshell cat eyed sunglasses and rosey, shiney lip gloss. Dew regularly wears black winged eyeliner.

B- Formal or biz casual Dew: He LOVES a skin tight suit- dark colors- possibly black on black pinstripes, etc to accentuate his lithe form. He will wear a high quality, black sheer button down (unbuttoned of course) or sometimes go shirtless with the jacket to show off his chest jewelry. He likes a pop of color do he’ll wear a dark blue or dark red colored neckerchief that has a slightly metallic sheen. (Think “Mr. Ghost” Tobias AMA style) With this ensemble- he’ll wear short black pointed snakeskin boots with a slight heel. He also likes to accessorize with the before mentioned sunglasses, and lots of chunky silver rings from The Great Frog.

This boy KNOWS he looks good and is not afraid to flaunt it. 🔥

There are so many points that you've given that I'm making notes of. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. I'm also already in love with the Jewelry from The Great Frog. I'm looking at their collections right now and I love them.

[direwombat]

💭

I know I said it as kind of a joke but also. I was very serious about it. Anyway. Here’s some au-where-Syb-starts-bustin-kneecaps-to-make-money Syb meeting Micah before the events of canon! anyway ouughg i hope i did micah justice <3 <3 <3

Sybille ain’t ever been to Atlanta before, and she ain’t sure she cares for it. 

She understands why her bosses have decided to do business with one of the gangs here. They have a surplus of guns, the New Orlean Mafia is looking to buy, and this gang’s gun-runner went to school with one of the bosses kids, so there’s the hope of a mutually beneficial relationship to be built here. 

What she doesn’t understand is why they brought her of all people along as security. They know she prefers to do her work in the French Quarter, shaking down business owners for the money they forgot they owed. But she supposes she’s proved herself reliable enough for Louie to take her on a little field trip.

She’s far too overdressed for the night club where the deal is going down. Black tie tucked into her neatly tailored pinstripe vest. Her slacks match and the press of her button up is so crisp and sharp that it could cut a man. The only reason she was allowed to forgo the blazer was because it interfered with her movement. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but she’s here on Family business, and she finds comfort in the decorum. Bordellos and dive bars are her comfort zone. Modern clubs, not so much. 

 She watches the door to the private room where Louie and the Atlanta gang leader have since retired to conduct business. She just wishes she could hear what was going on in the private room. She doesn’t know these Atlantans -- doesn’t trust them -- and the fact that she isn’t in there being Louie’s shadow unnerves her. Keeping Louie safe is her responsibility and she can’t do her fuckin’ job if he can’t see what he’s doing. But even if she had her ear pressed against the door, she wouldn't be able to hear shit. 

The music thrums so loudly it makes her bones vibrate and pulses in time with the strobing multicolor lights. Louie had told her to relax, wet her whistle, on him -- and her pussy if she felt so inclined -- just make sure she’s sharp and sober tomorrow when the trade happens.

But she’s a guard dog, first and foremost. Always alert and on watch. 

So she sits at the bar instead, watching that door in the reflection of the mirror while she smokes and nurses a bourbon on the rocks.

A young woman around her age comes up to the bar beside her and orders two drinks. While she waits, she props her elbow up on the counter and faces Sybille. “Where’s the party?” she asks. 

Without looking away from the mirror, Sybille takes a drag from her cigarette, tapping ashes into a nearby tray. “Look somewhere else, cherie,” she says, exhaling the smoke. “Ain’t interested.”

“Well that’s sure as shit presumptuous,” the woman scoffs. “I thought you people from New Orleans were supposed to be friendly. What happened to southern hospitality?”

That gets Sybille’s attention. Her brows arch downwards and her jaw clenches. She turns in her stool slightly to look at the woman who knows a little too much for her liking. Especially considering she doesn’t know shit about her. 

Her eyes land on the woman standing next to her and two things rise to the forefront of her mind. This woman is dangerous. Knowledgeable, is the first. This woman is beautiful, is the second. 

Infuriating how those two things tend to go hand in hand. 

Dark hair falls in thick curtains framing her face; a proud, strong jawline with a pointed chin tilted up in confidence. Her features are soft, delicate. Round eyes, full lips, and a petite nose that slopes gracefully down her face -- but it’s all undercut by a certain sharpness. Not one of her features, no but what’s hiding underneath. A sharpness made clear by the way she carries herself, the worn leather of her jacket, and the holes torn into the tight jeans she wears.  

This woman has edges. Lots of them. And all of them sharpened into razors. A rose with thorns too large to prune. A piece of obsidian glass, beautifully reflective, and capable of rending flesh from bone like it’s butter. 

The kind of woman that, were Sybille not working, she might have invited into her bed to show a little southern comfort to. But as things stand, this woman has just declared herself a threat. 

“I ain’t the one doin’ the hostin’. Less of a need to be hospitable,” Sybille drawls. Casually as she can, she slips her hand into her vest pocket, her fingers brushing against her brass knuckles. “You on the other hand seem to know who I am, yet you ain’t introduced yourself. Ain’t much room for you to talk about southern hospitality.” She downs her bourbon, the ice cubes clinking against the glass and she flags down the bartender for another. “So, who the hell’re you?”

“Calm down,” the woman says. “So long as no funny shit happens in that room you’re watching, you can consider us coworkers. I work with Benny. I’m the one gettin’ you your goods. Name’s Micah.”

What Sybille doesn’t know is that nearly a decade later, when shit in New Orleans hits the fan and she has to disappear, she’ll meet Micah again deep in the heart of Montana’s mountains.

[nothingofvaluewaslost]

STORY: The Screw

A short science fiction story. A near future where you can get an implant that allows you to switch on happiness, completely detached from your actual situation.

No objectionable content.

If you enjoyed it, please visit my Patreon.

The Screw, by Christina Nordlander

After cleaning the cleared-out flat I turned off the remote control.

I went one last round to see whether there was anything left for me to bring. The flat was white and deserted and felt like something new, as if I were moving in rather than out. I looked around the bedroom and the kitchenette and waited for some kind of emotional reaction.

There was nothing left to pack. I'd saved the files from Vision Publishing, and the memory stick with the books I hadn't had time to read was lying on the night-table in the new house. I opened the bag to check that the music player was still there. The remote, knurled steel, poked out of its own pocket. I gave in to the impulse of pulling it up to check if the light was on, and put it back.

“Yes, you definitely have the kind of talent we need for our script room, Lotte,” the HR manager had said in Vision's office high above the street. “I'm sure you understand that there's a lot of competition for places, here in the creative sector. Otherwise we'd have been happy to hire you a long time ago.”

The landing was quiet around me as I walked to the lift.

The train to Silveryd took more than an hour. How could it bore me, now that I was on my way to my new house? I was wearing the suit I'd worn at the call centre, synthetic and pinstriped. The trousers got slippery with sweat as soon as I’d got inside the warmth of the compartment. One bra strap was too loose, and after a while I got an ache in my shoulder from angling it to stop it sliding off.

I turned on my phone and read the latest episode of Arioso, but it had been so long since I'd read it that I had a hard time following the story without going back to previous chapters. After a few minutes I set the visor to transparent and looked down on forested slopes and the glimmer of streams below the railway bridge. The new passengers getting on might have seen my suit and taken me for some young corporate high roller.

In my memory, the new house had had a tendency to get as large as the villas I used to see in Djursholm when I was a kid, white-painted palaces with gardens sloping towards the sky-blue lake and gates as powerful as those of prisons. Naturally that wasn't true, but it was a detached house in a garden big enough that you could walk all the way around, with a low evergreen hedge facing the neighbours' identical houses and identical gardens.

I hadn't been there long when my phone rang. I turned on the visor and saw Evandros, in his loose suit-jacket that always looked dusty, in the blinding sunlight of the garden. I went out on the short porch.

“You want to come in?” I said. “Afraid I've got nothing to offer, except tea.”

Evandros remained where he was.

“Nah, I just wanted to see that everything went according to plan.”

He poked in the smooth lawn with the toe of his shoe. On the other side of the houses was a deserted playground in lacquered steel, then the empty plane of fields stretching to the empty plane of sky.

“You could plant some trees here,” he said. “An apple tree, perhaps, or a pear tree. Depends on which you like most, I guess. You could make jam.”

I stepped down on the lawn. When I was close to him, his clothes smelled of outdoors, the countryside.

“Yeah, that's probably what they said at Vision: 'We're gonna have to hire Thomasson as a scriptwriter, so she gets to make pear jam.”

Evandros laughed.

“You'll just have to put the screw on if you hate it that much. Then you'll have jam when you turn it back off.”

I shook my head. Now I was aware of the surgery scar, even though everything must have healed up many years ago: the skin and the bone, the brain hemispheres that they had separated gently around the hypothalamus. For a while after the operation – ten years ago, I'd been eighteen – I'd used to lean my head slowly to check whether it felt any heavier from the weight of metal inside.

“I don't need to have the screw on, any more. I've gotten out of the call centre, now I don't need it to be happy.”

Evandros slapped my shoulder-blade.

“You're living the dream, Lotte! What, you mean you'll never turn it on? Not even if you have to sit at the office eight hours straight writing some bloody romance novel about some teen girl who has to choose between the bad boy and the boy next door... I don't know what it's like being a writer.”

“I can't know that.” I sat down on the step. The key card in my pocket jabbed into my thigh. I went on:

“But if it's just a bit of boredom I guess I can take it. I mean, we made it through school without having the screw.”

“Sometimes I wonder how.”

He switched on the visor and squinted when it reflected the sunlight in his eyes.

“Okay, I think I'd better get going. Unless you need my help unpacking your stuff.”

“I'll be fine, but it's appreciated.”

He turned on the garden path and shouted:

“But give me a ring if you're going to plant anything!”

He leapt across the low fence and out on the road where the asphalt sparkled with road-crystals from last winter. There had been a time when I'd wondered whether I was starting to fall in love with him, but it had sunk away. Now I had a house that was big enough for two people: if that had been how I felt, I could have asked him to stay.

The thing that turned my pulse up when he was around wasn't arousal: it was how much more alive than I he seemed. Energetic? Maybe complete. He liked his teaching job. There were probably classes that made him switch on the remote in his pocket, but on average he must have spent many fewer hours screwed on.

“Before you decide whether you want the implant, we need to give you a bit of information,” the doctor had said. “You've seen people use their remote controls, most likely, and your teachers have probably told you about the implant, but there are a few misconceptions about how it affects the brain. I want to get to grips with those as quickly as possible.”

I was eighteen, still not used to signing documents without having to ask a parent to cosign.

“The implant is about the size of a pea. It is placed here, on the hypothalamus. The remote controls it via a radio transmitter.” She put a remote up on the desk with a heavy thud. “The remote is imprinted on you. No-one else can turn your implant on or off.”

She let me try. When nothing happened she pressed the button herself, and the light blinked red and went out. She looked up at me under her thick iron-grey fringe.

“When the implant is on, it generates a weak electric current that stimulates the hypothalamus,” she said, poking the illustrations. “That causes it to in turn activate the pituitary gland, down here, and release a steady stream of endorphins that induce feelings of happiness. The implant has two settings, one normal and one slightly stronger. The higher setting switches off automatically after two hours and cannot be switched on again until twelve hours have passed. Now we get to the misconceptions I mentioned. Neither of the settings is strong enough to affect the carrier's perceptions or judgement... you can have the implant activated while driving a car, or carrying out any other activities.”

“So it's not intoxication,” I said. “You just feel happy?”

The doctor gave a sharp nod.

“Neither can you hack it to a higher setting. It cannot be used as a stimulant. It doesn't cause any sexual stimulation... that's another misconception we hear from some young people. Not all, naturally.”

She paused.

“The operation is completely safe. There is no difference to when you had your phone implanted. If you change your mind at any point we can take it out again.” She rested her elbows on the yellow-varnished desk. “But we will only operate if you are a hundred percent sure that you want it.”

Up until the last few months, I hadn't thought about it enough to want anything. The screw was one of the things that came with hitting eighteen, like graduation and being able to drive. Perhaps it was more of a symbol than anything useful.

My classmate Zuleima had said that she was never going to get it put in. “No foreign objects are going into my body,” she'd said. She seemed to think it was no different to being on heroin. Perhaps she hadn't had enough information.

Zuleima and I had lost contact after we left secondary school, but a few months later the writer Nora Blomberg, famous for her criticism of the screw, had been arrested for possession of Yellow Light. It had been easy to joke about: the hypocrisy of writing articles about the screw being unnatural stimulation while you were so leant on Yellow Light that you wouldn't sleep for a month. It might not have been a very edifying feeling.

Personally, I thought Zuleima had a point, but mum had been cleaning at her factory since before I was born, and the first decade she hadn't had a screw. The woman who'd been her supervisor had had permanent blotches on her hands where the bleach had burnt her, like in The Help.

I got to put my chin in a cold hollow in the counter in the operation room, and they injected topical anaesthetic and shaved lines in my scalp. I was already too anaesthetised to feel the shaver, but a black down of hair fell on the metal in front of me.

As a writer I worked hybrid. When the writers had to meet for discussion, my editor, Eva Gårding, sent a summons the evening before. I had set up an office in a room next to my bedroom: white, not much bigger than a closet, but with a large window out on the gardens. If I needed to discuss anything with Eva or the other writers, we’d run it by the phone.

They'd set me to work on an episode of a serial novel called Whispers. It was the kind of plot I liked, a thriller about a man who discovers inexplicable messages on his phone that are trying to control him, but it was someone else's story. I hadn't made any of these characters; I didn't know whether I was allowed to develop them. Eva had sent me a list of the core elements of the season. They'd already planned it out. If I wrote out some character or moved the action to a different setting, someone else would have to undo those changes.

During the conferences I mostly sat silent. If I spoke, it was to agree. I felt like the youngest person there, a slim intern, and yet there were probably several who were younger than I and didn't have a problem putting themselves forward.

I had wanted to go walking between the suburban houses and the hedges to get more of an idea about the area, but by the time the working day finished it was too dark to see much. In the evenings I used to sit in the living-room between the unopened crates and consume as much fiction as I could, serial novels and films on the visor, to get fuel for the inspiration and learn how the plots were constructed. Someone who walked past outside might see the golden light in the window and be jealous.

Before I got the job at Ventor, I sent my profile to all companies that needed office personnel. Ventor was a casino company, and when they replied to my application I remembered a dream where I was working in a dusky arcade. When I woke up, the happiness from the dream was still there.

They hadn't told me that I was going to work in a call centre. My job was to sit with an old-fashioned microphone clipped to the side of my face and call people to ask whether they were interested in Ventor's subscriptions, and thank them so that they could hear that I was smiling. I made between twenty and forty calls a day, and at twelve o'clock I switched from “good morning, I'm calling from Ventor” to “good afternoon, I'm calling from Ventor”. Four hours a day I could have the screw switched off.

The woman at the counter next to mine was named Amalia and had done an engineering degree. One Friday afternoon when we were low on calls she flipped the microphone away from her mouth to put on black lip-colour.

“I'm dancing tonight,” she said by way of explanation, flipping the microphone back.

“Hm, hope you'll have a good time,” I said. “Me, I'm not really the clubbing kind of person.”

“Oh, not that kind of dancing,” Amalia said. “This is to make money. I wouldn't be able to make the rent otherwise.”

My gaze sank to the carpet. The centre was always clean and cool from the fans.

“You like it?” was the only thing I could think of saying.

When I looked up, Amalia smiled, just a quick muscle tension. The lip-colour had hardened and made her mouth into a glossy jewel. She took out a case of gold-coloured eyelid decorations and closed one eye at a time while putting them on.

“I mean, I need to be screwed on while I'm doing it,” she said. “But it's an okay profit for a night.”

It was Saturday two weeks after I'd moved to Silveryd that I noticed what I was missing.

I had done all the things I'd been looking forward to while I was sitting in the study: gone for a walk down to the clean desert of the motorway and the redbrick mall, watched The New Man on the visor, cooked a steak of Happy Cow with pepper sauce for lunch. I could watch something or call Evandros or Layal. I had almost forty hours to go until I had to clock in at Vision's homepage. It felt like I was just trying to waste them.

I had a bottle of vodka in the fridge. I pulled it out, but if I started drinking now it would just be for the intoxication. Hadn't I stopped using the screw because I didn't want to drug myself every day?

It was the screw, wasn't it?

I went out on the steps. The air here smelled different to the city; you could smell the mud and the moisture in the blades of grass.

It wasn't an addiction. I couldn't even remember where I'd put the remote. I was going to go back inside and spend the rest of the day with other things without feeling any impulse to take it out. The only thing that had happened was that all tastes and smells had become a little blander, and the sunshine a little bleaker.

Perhaps I deserved this. If I hadn't been using the screw so often during these years, I wouldn't have ruined my reactions. Those thoughts might have been part of the sickness in my mind, but they didn't disappear because I realised that.

As soon as I'd moved out to the suburb I was going to turn off the screw. That was what I'd been looking forward to, the last few days at Ventor. The villa owners behind the gates with security guards could be screwed off 24/7.

I pulled on my shoes and went out. The wind was chilly through my sweater and the sun glittered low over the fields.

I missed the call centre.

THE END

[slaasherslut]

Lester Sinclair + frogs hcs

Okay thanks to @coppasulfate I am now OBSESSED with the idea of Lester loving frogs. hes a frog boy at heart and nothing can change my mind.

Since he was left alone a good chunk of his childhood he had to make his own fun, and one way he did that was going to the nearby creek and catching frogs.

Baby Les spent so much time just crouched at the side of the creek wearing his bright green froggy rain boots trying to spot some frogs in the water.

He refuses to leave his hunt empty handed. He will catch a frog, and he will take it home, no matter how long it takes.

Has a new frog every day but he always calls them "James".

Known to shove frogs in his jacket pockets and carry them around.

Bo is terrified of frogs, he flips out whenever Lester brings them in the house.

Speaking of Bo, one time as a kid Lester put a bunch of frogs in a deep kitchen pot for safe keeping. Bo opened the lid and a shit ton of frogs just jumped out at him. He was traumatized and he definitely cried.

Definitely slept with a frog plush as kid. He doesn't anymore now that he has you to cuddle but its kept on the shelf high up in the closet so Jonesy cant reach it. He sees it every day when he gets dressed.

Has accidentally let frogs loose in the house on multiple occasions.

One time he thought he wrangled them all up and as the two of you were settling down in bed for the night, a soft ribbit echoed throughout the house. You both groaned knowing he missed one.

Will send you blurry photos of frogs hes seen throughout his day or a selfie with said frog, usually captioned "I made a friend today!" or "*insert random frog name* says hello!"

"aint he so cute, sweetpea!? What should we name him? I think he looks like a 'Kirk'. Whatchu think, hon?"

You have definitely told him so many times to stop bringing frogs in the house.

"Lester, what's that in your pocket?"

"...it's nothin'..."

Meanwhile he's literally trying to avoid your gaze and is standing in front of the fridge in the kitchen like

also I will not be judged for using not one but two photos of Greg from OTGW its one of my favs. plus Greg kinda reminds me of baby Les, just a bit brighter lol

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @the-pinstriped-hood @allthingsblood @25bohemianmoons

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[valtsv]

can you give a visual description of your steampunk lesbian ocs? i want to draw them if that's ok

;_; omg okay so Violet is a human engineer with thick curly brown hair that's always falling out of updos because she's always running around doing something or elbow deep in some gadgetry or blowing herself up. she's got green eyes and tanned skin and freckles and she's not skinny she's buff from a lifetime of working with heavy machinery and got a healthy layer of padding on those muscles. she does wear a corset though. she wears typical steampunk fashion (puffy shirt pinstripe pants, ruffled skirt that's longer at the back than the front, goggles perched on the forehead, leather gloves, etc.) in mostly green, white and brown with gold accents. sometimes she wears a big hat but not always. she walks with a cane (that doubles as a sword) and has knee and back braces (the corset actually also functions as back support) because some of those workshop explosions fucked up her joints a lot and also she was a sickly kid. she always wears big boots that you can hear before you see them. her default expression is a sort of lazy smirking look.

Evelyn is an extremely complex clockwork automaton "angel"; it can take on a form more weird and monstrous and creaturelike but for the sake of easier description and drawing i'll stick to its humanoid appearance, which is a slim, fairly androgynous figure with pale "skin" (it's actually sheets of plated metal but dw it just looks like skin) and some exposed clockwork parts (mostly on the arms and legs and near or around the joints). it has lines of interlocking golden bronze where the plates of its skin join together running all across its body, and its hair is similarly a sort of metallic golden blonde color (usually worn in a single shoulder length braid). it has dark gold wings and smaller wings protruding from its head area that can cover its face but usually just kinda hang out. it has brown eyes flecked with gold and golden speckles on its skin to imitate freckles here and there. it usually wears more form fitting and practical clothing on account of needing to fly and transform sometimes - a pair of pants and some sturdy but fast and quiet knee high boots, a cable knit turtleneck jumper, and a red knee length jacket with a high collar (like a pirate jacket kinda look). it basically dresses like an aviator but with a steampunk flavor to it. it's default expression is a wary, tired smile. unless it's blowing something up, then it's a manic grin.

^ this is the kind of vibe i mean when i say it has wings on its head

[fayesrossua]

REINER BRAUN: FIRST KISS

Prompt: Reiner Braun X GN!Reader. Reiner wakes up from a bad dream, and goes to get a drink at a bar. He doesn’t really drink, but why not? He’s old enough now. At the bar he’s reunited with a childhood friend. You guys talk, and catch up. And share a beautiful moment together as he’s about to drop you off :)

WC: 2.4K

Warning: not much! Does include Reiner drinking, and mentions of reader having had drinks previously in the evening. Mentions Reiner’s body change/weightloss. First kiss, awkward kissing, Reiner learning how to kiss, French kiss. Fluff and wholesome for the most part

Notes: i had the beginning parts of season 4 in mind when writing this!! It’ll make more sense contextually. ALSO, the idea of introducing Reiner to the little moments in life, specifically with love and romance makes me so soft 😭 I love him

Reiner had another nightmare. He sat up in bed, bringing his knees up and resting his head in his hands. Even when he woke up, Reiner knew deep down that the nightmare was just his life. Ever since he touched back down in Marley, Reiner’s dreams had gotten more violent, and intrusive — he didn’t have much to do in a day while he was trying to relax back home, and that’s exactly what fuelled his troublesome mind. Aside from his meetings with Zeke and the rest of the crew, his days were wide open.

Frustrated and no longer tired, Reiner decided to get up, pulling on a pair of pants and a sweater over his sleep shirt, and he made sure to grab his beige jacket. He was going to visit Liberio’s bar a few minutes from his childhood house. He wasn’t old enough to go when he was a kid, but now he was - he was a fully grown adult with enough trauma to warrant a midnight drink. Reiner made sure to not let the door creak so loudly like it usually does, not wanting to disturb his Mom.

It was brisk outside, and Reiner stuck his hands in his pocket and walked quickly, vaguely remembering where the bar was. He was unsure until he came across the town square, lit with warm lights and an old, chipped away pinstripe paint job on the brick building on the corner. There it was. Reiner walked in, very aware of his thudding footsteps on the old wood floors. There were a few groups of people talking amongst themselves, and Reiner walked straight to the empty bar, taking a seat.

“What can I get you son?” The bartender asked, his back turned to Reiner.

“Something cheap” Reiner tiredly.

“It won’t taste any good —“ The bartender’s eyes drifted to Reiner’s band on his arm. His Honorary Marleyan status. “I’m not giving that to you. First drink is on me.”

Reiner ran his hand over his band, folding his arms on the table, “Thanks.”

“I haven’t seen you around before, have you been on a trip or what?” The bartender asks, slamming a cup of ice on the counter and lapping some mysterious brown liquid into the cup. He almost fills the cup. Reiner puts out a hand, telling him to slow down.

“Enough-“ Reiner hears the bartender snicker and he takes a small sip of his drink. Whiskey, or bourbon, rum, Reiner doesn’t know but the taste makes him cringe inside. “— I was away on a mission for a few years, just got back.” He swirled the cup around, listening to the ice clink around in the glass.

The bartender tipped his head to Reiner, “Well thank you for your service and hard work. We need more examples like you.” No, no you don’t, Reiner quietly thought to himself. He continued sipping at his drink, feeling the burning warmth of the alcohol stir in his stomach. Then, he felt a gentle tap on the shoulder.

Slight perspective change not really

You reach out, tapping the shoulder of who you think, may be Reiner Braun. The little boy you knew years ago, who was rumoured to become a Titan shifter for the Marley military. You had gone to Primary school in Liberio together, you two were close friends for a lot of your childhood, and very quickly that was taken from you. You hadn’t seen him since.

The man turned around, and looked at you oddly. He stared at you hard, and you saw his mind try to work out who you were. You wrung your hands uncomfortably, but still smiling kindly. You were right, it was him. Then, his eyes softened and recollection bubbled to the surface. “Heyy.. Y/N?”

You nod, breaking out into a grin, “Reiner ..” he pulls the seat next to him out, letting you sit.

“What’re you doing here it’s so late?” He asked.

“I could say the same to you, it’s almost 3 in the morning.” You reply. He takes a sip of his drink again, and sets it down, turning to face you and setting one of his elbows on the counter, and the other on the head of the chair, his fingers clasped together. “How’re you doing?” You ask.

Reiner looks down at his hands, shifting in his seat. “I’m okay, Y/N. What have you been up to these past years?” He sniffs, and returns his eyes back to you. The boy you knew all those years ago was completely gone. He was so huge, and wide - his gold blonde hair now ashy, and slightly grey in the light. His face thinned out, his cheekbones and chin looking almost god-like as he narrowed his eyes in on you. He was unrecognizable, and you thought he was really handsome.

You think quickly of what to say, exhaling an exaggerated breath. “It’s been uneventful largely. I’ve taken over my family’s market, and I work with vendors and farmers all day.”

Reiner nods, intrigued by what you said. “That sounds great, speaking of, how is your family?” He asks.

You shrug, “Same old everything. They’re just getting older now.” You reply. “What about you though? I haven’t seen you in years, Reiner,” you say softly, and leaning in slightly. Immediately you notice at how Reiner recedes at your question, and his eyes avert from yours, as if to say ‘you don’t want to know’.

But, Reiner remembers you, and the years of friendship you had before all of this. He knows he doesn’t really know you— a lot can change in 10 years, but he decides to let you in on it anyway. Maybe that’s what Reiner needs, is to just tell someone.

“I went to the ‘Devil’s’ island for a few years, to do a mission.” He said, deliberating if he should tell any more details, “It was — a long time to be away from home.” He finished.

Your suspicions are confirmed. Still, you wanted to know if the rumours had been true. “Is it true,” you leant in across the bar, placing your hand his chair, “that you can titan shift?” You whisper. Reiner blinks hard, before biting the inside of his cheek in nervousness and leaning away. He replied with a nod,

“Yeah.” He says lowly.

“Wow,” you reply, “that’s incredible.” To this, Reiner chuckles and grabs his drink, taking a deep swig and draining the glass.

“Incredible isn’t the way I’d describe it, but it had its moments..” he trailed off. “Do you want to go outside? It’s hot in here.” You nod eagerly, and he stands up, offering an arm for you to wrap yours around and your leave the bar. You’re met with a gust of wind and you two start walking down the streets, looking at all the dark and closed up shops that litter the town centre.

“Do you feel like you missed out on anything because of your job?” You ask,

Reiner pressed his lips together, his eyebrows knitting together, “I suppose I have, I don’t know what I should have done normally,”

Your heart sank at his reply. Everything was torn away from him so early in life, it was all he knew. How could things get so muddy? How could you two, once close friends, diverge so far away from each other. He was a stranger to you, but your faint memories of him were enough. “You never went back to school? You never went shopping at the markets on Devils island?,” you tried to recall things everyone in Marley did. Everyone worked, prayed, ate dinner with their family, got married, stayed out past curfew - quietly evading the footsteps of Marleyan troops. “You never had your first kiss?” You asked smugly, nudging him with your elbow. He shook his head to all of your suggestions, exhaling an amused breath.

“Never, I was undercover on the Island. I served in their military… there was never any peace and quiet, Y/N,” his sentence dropped off and it suggested there was more to be said, “certainly no time to grow those kinds of relationships either,” he gently nudged you back, hailing back to your comment about first kisses. “It’s not like there was anyone worthy anyway.”

You two continued walking, and feeling more bold, you wrap your arm around his waist. You weren’t anticipating how far your arm sunk into his waist, and even through his clothes you could feel how slender he was. You had no point of reference for how Reiner looked after he left you, but you knew someone of his stature and breadth should be more substantial. What did they do to him? You wonder silently to yourself.

“Did you miss home, Reiner?” You ask him, as you approach your the small cobblestone path that leads to your home. You stop in front of the path and turn to face him.

He nods earnestly, “I do. It’s been too long, and I should be staying for a while.” He replies. Unconsciously, you take a step toward him, leaving only a few inches between you and him.

“You should come see me again then.” You quietly muse, lifting your head to meet his eyes. His eyes sat in a constant state of stress, and you could see wrinkles bloom around his skin. He tried to smooth it out, letting his eyebrows relax, and he smiled slightly.

“I’d like to do that.” Unknown to either of you, he leaned into you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m really happy to see life has been good to you.”

You couldn’t ignore the implication behind his words. You knew life had treated him unkindly, and you wished it hadn’t. “It was luck really. I could have easily been in your position.”

Reiner shook his head, “You don’t become a child solider and Titan shifter without trying really damn hard, Y/N. i chose this life.” You didn’t know what to say. He chose this life. What circumstances, what desperation lead to him making this choice? Sure, there is free will, but what element of our choices are coercive? You opened your mouth, about to say something but nothing comes out. “I should let you go, get some rest.” Reiner said softly.

You nod. But before you leave, you place your hand back on Reiner’s waist, not knowing why you’re stalling or why you’re leaning in closer to him. He looks at you gravely, “You said you’ve never had your first kiss?” You whispered. Reiner just nodded, his eyes boring into you intensely. You shift your weight, standing firmly on your feet. “Can I change that?” You ask, barely able to look up at him with how close he is to you.

The air between you is hanging with anticipation, and Reiner’s face hardens with concentration. Then, his hand travels up from your shoulder and on to the side of your face.

“Yes,” he replied, feeling out of breath himself. His hands began to feel wiry, and hot, and his heart was beating out of his chest. He was intimidated by the way you looked at him with such constant, and pleasant eyes. The friendly, and almost loving stare you gave him as he slowly leaned in, letting your lips press against his.

You planted a gentle, but firm kiss on his lips, before releasing and hovering right against his lips. You decided to pull him closer by the waist, and kiss him again. Reiner’s lips were smooth, and your stomach flipped as you felt Reiner’s lips move against yours finally. You could taste the spicy bitterness of his drink, and his overgrown stubble brushed against your face as you tilted your head, kissing the other side of his lips.

Reiner made a noise in the back of his throat and he brought his other hand to your face. You tightly wrapped your arms around his waist, letting your forearms sit on top of his hips. A part of you wants to deepen the kiss — to grab his hair and devour his lips greedily, massaging your tongue against his and pulling his bottom lip with your teeth. But this is his first kiss, and you know better, so you keep them sweet. His kisses are shallow, and of undecided pace. Some are long, leaving you to enjoy the moment and melt in his hands, and some are short, his lips pressing against yours, never letting his mouth open up for more than a quick kiss. He was trying out your mouth for the first time, and you wanted to be apart of this fleeting learning curve.

Without any words being exchanged, you gained control of the kiss. He broke away from your lips momentarily, pressing his forehead against yours. You smiled underneath him, and after you caught your breath you stroked the side of his face, and leaned in for another kiss.

This time you let your mouth open further, taking more of Reiner in, and letting him explore your mouth. Immediately he felt the wet rim of your lips, and made another throaty groan, kissing you with a little more confidence. You reciprocated, sighing into his kiss and wrapping your arm around his neck. His lips eagerly glided with yours and soon his hands were slowly roaming your body, never below your hips, or too close to your chest.

Without your initiation, Reiner gently flicks his tongue in your mouth and it gives you butterflies. Your head was spinning, and you were consumed with a feeling of peace, and love. Whether it was the drinks you had earlier in the night, or the fresh wave of nostalgia for the man you were holding, you were overcome with bliss. You had no idea if Reiner would make an effort to see you again, but you really hoped he did.

You slowly introduce your tongue against his, sliding it in during a kiss and then retracting, leaving him to laugh into your mouth as he dove back in, trying to get you to do it again. Reiner was a quick learner, and his rhythm matched with yours in a matter of minutes. You widened your mouth, and tilted your head to the side, gliding your tongue through his teeth and colliding with his tongue.

To set the pace, you slowly flicked his tongue, retreating into the kiss before doing it again, letting your tongues crash against each other. His kisses left you breathless and you could feel tension building with each passing second. Your lips felt like they were made for each other. Soon, Reiner pulled away, planting one more kiss against your lips and tipping his head down, and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You ran your fingers through his hair, sighing and smiling giddily to yourself.

“How was that Reiner?” You whispered against his head.

Reiner stood up fully, a hand still softly on your shoulder, “Good enough to know I have been missing out,” he replied.

[strangestcase]

so ive seen some talk in my dash about how to redesign jackson but NOT about holt which i think is a harder task! so! here are my Humble Opinions:

-lean more to the punk rock side. sorry but djs are very 2000s for me. spiky cuffs, studded lapels, big clunky boots for trampling kids at 3 am, the works. -half and half motifs. holt’s original W1 design had a half and half t-shirt, so we can build from there. i’d keep that t-shirt but also add a half and half jacket or pants.

-ripped stuff! torn sleeves, ripped jeans, tops with holes. adds to the punk rock vibe. also, you know how in movies when the mad scientist turns into a monster his clothes get ripped up? yeah, that.

-i’d tone down the fire motifs for more duality motifs, but that doesnt mean you have to scrap them! i’ve kept them in the form of sharp edges and zig-zaggy lines here and there.

-…I really dont know what other motifs to add other than a general aesthetic of “evil”, or at least what a kid would think being a criminal is, given the gimmick the character Holt is based on is literally being evil lmao. though sneaking in subtle science motifs would be a plus.

-i have ”give everyone fingerless gloves” disease but i recommend it! holt rocks those gloves.

-other than the half and half stuff, i think the pinstripe pants can stay.

-aside from clothes, i gave my Holt design a mullet with an orange-to-red gradient, pointy ears, pointed fangs, and noticeable eyebags. you cowards make him more monstrous NOW.

[sergeant-spoons]

15. Tartan, Pinstripe, Twill

Sutton Flynn-Marshall

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @chaosklutz @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

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Sutton liked the feeling of certain fabrics on her skin. In the dark and chill (and inherent loneliness) of winter, the embrace of a scarf, a jacket, or even something as small as a pair of gloves reminded her of a hug. Physical affection was something she did not receive often and gave even less. Sometimes, she longed for a hug. If she weren't so apprehensive of growing attached to the arms holding her, whoever's they may be, she might have asked. And maybe, just maybe, 'whoever' wanted to hold her just as much as she wanted to be held. The use of 'whoever' left the position open, and Sutton clung to it while knowing all along there was only one person she wished to fill the role. As the months went by and moment after moment proved to her his kindness, it became increasingly difficult for Sutton to continue thinking 'whoever' and not 'Dick Winters'.

Patterns surfaced in her life as she settled back into Battalion CP. Work, of course, but also friendships and daily routines. Patterns came in many forms, but those that stuck with Sutton the most through the winter of 1944 were the kind she could feel, cemented in her mind by the texture of them just as much as the sight and sound. The pleasantries of gentle fabric on her skin kept some memories fresher than most—tartan, pinstripe, and twill came to mind at once.

Tartan was a blanket that appeared in Sutton's office one chilly day in mid-January. It was a pattern her father had familiarized her with by the print on his slip-on slippers, the ones she gave him the first Christmas after her mother left. The first Christmas he gave her a gift in return. Of course, Dick couldn't possibly know that—in a way, it endeared Sutton even more to him. The blanket came into her possession like this: it was a frigid week—conceivably the coldest of the winter—and the biting temperatures and cloudy skies had even Sutton murmuring a word against the season. Harry was the first to catch wind of her discomfort and mentioned it to Nixon, who in turn probed Sutton until she admitted how her office often went cold and made it difficult for her to focus. Smoke tended to give her a headache if she could smell it for long periods of time, and besides, she was too busy with her work to bother with the upkeep of a proper fire. 

The blanket appeared that same afternoon. 

Sutton did not believe it was for her at first. No note accompanied it nor did any comment from a friend or a colleague arise to identify its origin. Sutton was sure someone had left it on her armchair by accident and so did not touch it all afternoon, but when no one came to retrieve it by dusk and her office started getting colder and colder, she took it and wrapped it around herself. Before long, the goosebumps on her arms disappeared and the bouncing of her leg—a subconscious tactic to combat shivering—ceased. Harry dropped in right before he retired for the evening to say goodnight and frowned to see the fire in her hearth had diminished to embers. Apparently, he'd thought she was kidding when she said she didn't have the time to keep it burning. He grumbled lightheartedly about her putting too much emphasis on her work, and Sutton, to her own surprise as much as Harry's, laughed. Such a simple thing as a tartan blanket had turned her entire mood around. She agreed with Harry and supposed she'd look after herself better.

(It also buoyed her spirits that Harry, from that day on, came in periodically to say hello and replenish her fire.)

Three days passed and no one came for the blanket. Sutton was all too happy to keep it, but the thought of it being a gift failed to occur to her until Nix pointed it out. He was trying to be subtle, suggesting the caring of a friend, but when Sutton simply blinked at him, he realized she was oblivious. Astonished that she didn't think the blanket was meant to be hers, he came right out and told her it had been a gift. She started to thank him, humbled by his kindness, but he was quick to correct her it hadn't been him. Sutton was confused when he would not tell her who, though, as Nix was not the type to avoid giving credit where credit was due. He told her he'd promised not to say, and that at least told her he thought well of the gifter. She took it upon herself to look around the office a bit but found no clues until she stopped searching for them. 

It was around noon—lunchtime—and Sutton had decided to skip the midday meal to use the time for a report she'd been hoping to complete yesterday before finding a second set of notes she had initially missed. On her way to the upstairs cabinets to retrieve the files she needed, she passed Dick's office. Her first inclination was to worry that he too was missing lunch, and it made her feel a little silly that she put higher stock in his wellbeing than her own. Perhaps Harry's teasing concern was not quite as teasing as she'd thought. She wondered if she ought to convince Dick to come with her to the mess hall after all when she spied that same tartan pattern through the open door. It was an identical blanket, folded neatly on the chaise lounge in the corner. Focused on the lettering of his typewriter, Dick did not notice Sutton. She hesitated but quickly resumed her intended path when he turned halfway toward her, reaching for a manila file on the door-facing side of his desk. She knew he could spot her watching at any second, and that was something she knew she would never be able to square with her fragile self-confidence.

A few minutes later, with the thought of Dick being the secret gift-giver still swimming through her mind, Sutton poked her head into Nix's office on her way back down the first-floor hallway. He was reading a manual and twiddling a pencil between his forefinger and thumb, his legs neatly crossed and his feet not-so-neatly propped up on his desk. A smile was the first thing he greeted her with, and he made a joking comment about the files in her arms, but she was distracted enough that she didn't understand it. Scrutinizing the room, she saw the final piece of evidence she was looking for—which was, rather, the absence of something—and her heart trembled.

"Was it Dick?" she asked abruptly, interrupting whatever Nix had been saying, and the pencil stilled.

"Come again?"

"The blanket. It was Dick, wasn't it?"

After a beat, Nix swung his legs to the floor and lowered the manual into his lap. A smile had begun to spread across his lips, and Sutton shifted her stance in the doorway, refusing to meet his eye.

"Why, yes, it was," he told her, and his tone made her think he imagined himself gallant for upending the secret. "You guessed it, so I don't think I'm breaching any contract by telling you the truth."

"Yes. Right." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it. That book won't read itself."

With a sigh, Nix reluctantly picked up his manual.

"I sure wish it would."

Sutton withdrew to her office and her work, but with the blanket around her, she struggled to quit smiling all afternoon long. It was Dick who had given her this blanket, and no one, not even Nix, had the same. He had heard of her discomfort and sought a way to ease it. He was just lovely, wasn't he? She would have to repay him somehow. And maybe, just maybe, she'd ask Nix or Harry to keep an eye on him and tell her all about his reaction. 

If it was anything like hers, no doubt it would satisfy that craving in her heart to know that New Year's kiss was for love's sake just as much as luck's.

Pinstripe was the kind of suit Sutton had a fitting for in early February. It was a 'gift' (more like a loan, a taxable borrowing) from the London office of her original administrators, the SIS. There was a great buzz from her contacts in the city about an upcoming operation that would involve a network of spies deployed all at once into occupied Europe. Seeing as this was all top-secret, she knew very little else, only that she had been picked for the mission (codenamed Operation Bodyguard) and the timeline would commence in two months' time. The need for a well-fitted suit gave Sutton an inkling as to the kind of espionage she would be involved in—the surveillance and export of enemy documentation, the same as she'd done in Austria—but she was otherwise in the dark. She could only speculate what other skills might be tested. The one thing she hoped against was an assassination plot. Those were notoriously difficult and deadly, and if Sutton had the choice, she thought she might like coming back to her cramped little office in the heart of Aldbourne, England—though perhaps it should be noted that the people there were infinitely more valuable to her than the place.

By order of her superiors' contacts in the local government, the seamstress came right to Sutton's office bright and early that February morning, marching in with a mission to accomplish. She was a little old lady, surprisingly spry for her age, and her demeanor was so sweet that it almost gave Sutton a toothache. She carried a messenger bag not unlike Sutton's, filled to the brim with the equipment of her profession, up to and including a majestic sewing machine with a well-worn foot pedal. The pinstripe suit, as opposed to the messenger bag, was entirely unfamiliar to Sutton (though certainly not unattractive). Sutton stayed standing on a squat stool borrowed from Lieutenant Meehan's office for so long that morning that she started wondering if a person was meant to be this tall and she was just short. The seamstress bustled around, taking measurements and making adjustments, always in motion; even when the door opened and nearly hit her as she ambled past, she didn't bat an eye and kept on keeping on.

"Good morning," Dick started to say, but he trailed off as soon as he caught sight of Sutton on the stool. The heat of the two steaming mugs in his hands now seemed inconsequential compared to the feeling in his chest when he saw her in that suit. It was pinned up to fit her just right. Dick knew he shouldn't stare, but by God, he'd never seen something so divine. Somehow, the visible straight pins made her seem all the more charming, as if her beauty, already impressive, was yet a work in progress. Dick thought she looked sublimely smart, both in the manner of an esteemed professor or philosopher as well as the attractiveness of a movie star dressing up as an academic for the role. There was a hat perched on her head, a handsome fedora with a ribbon and a small fake carnation (both black) that matched the striping of the suit. Her hair was pinned up behind her head in a bun that Dick had never seen her wear before. He liked it. He liked her. He saw her in the suit, and then he saw her face start to turn red and realized he had been staring for the better part of a minute.

"Morning," he said again and winced, blinking quickly, as his voice croaked. 

"Good morning," Sutton replied in turn, her head bent away from his gaze, and it was when she nervously smoothed her hands together that Dick remembered he had her coffee. He came fully into the room and handed her the mug. She was taller than him, for once, and he told himself it was just because he was unused to her being a head above him that he leaned around to see her face. She caught his eye and smiled awkwardly, and Dick thought it was a shame, for her to feel uncomfortable when she looked so wonderful. As he backed away, he nearly ran into the beaming seamstress. He'd been exhaling a shallow breath and when he began to speak, he could only gasp the amends to bring her a cup of coffee. He hardly noticed her knowing smile as she gently refused but prattled on about appreciating the offer, distracted by the reason for his breathlessness.

"Dick-"

"Yes?"

He'd seen his name on her lips before she'd said it, unable to take his eyes off her, and she noticed, hesitating a beat before voicing the rest of her question.

"How's Harry? I heard he caught a bad stomach flu yesterday and I've been meaning to go and see him, but I'm afraid I'm a bit busy this morning..."

"He's still in bed," Dick told her, straining his voice to sound more at ease, "but he said he feels better than he did last night."

"Oh, that's good. Sleep does tend to help when you’re sick."

"Yes, it does."

After several seconds of strained silence, Dick cleared his throat, wished Sutton and the seamstress a good day, and hastened out the door, straightening his shirt as he went. Sutton let out a breath she hadn't meant to hold in. The seamstress looked up from re-pinning the cuff of Sutton's left pant leg and flashed that warm, wizened smile that calmed Sutton almost immediately.

"What a pleasant fellow he is, that lieutenant," she praised.

"He is, yes."

"And quite handsome, too."

Sutton almost choked on nothing but air. "Yes- yes."

Her agreement to the second statement was noticeably meeker than the first, and she expected the seamstress to tease her about it (like Nix undoubtedly would), but the old woman did nothing of the sort, just kept smiling and stepped back to examine her work.

"Alright, dearie, now go on and change," she directed, patting her client's leg. "All my prodding and pinning is over. Isn't that a relief, pet?"

"Ah, yes," Sutton agreed belatedly, the sight in the mirror having seized her attention. "I'll just... change, then."

Dick's reaction had perplexed her. The suit was nice, of course, but Sutton couldn't figure out what it was that made him almost... Well, the closest word she could think of was combust. Her cheeks went pink again and she wondered if she should take the suit off at all if he liked it that much. Or maybe he felt inappropriate walking into a fitting like this. That was probably it; she shouldn't get her hopes up. Deflating, Sutton stepped off the stool and hurried for the standing screen the seamstress had set up in the corner.

"Don't rush, if you'd please," the seamstress called, "you'll pop out a pin, and then where would we be?"

Sutton, feeling a good deal less assured than before, reluctantly slowed her disrobing.

"Sutton?"

"Nix?" She paused with the jacket off one arm but still hanging on the other. "What is it?"

"You'd better come with me, there's been a- thing."

Sutton slipped her loose arm into the hanging sleeve and hurried out so quickly she nearly tripped on a bump in the carpet although she'd walked over it a thousand times before. Nix was standing in the doorway, too nonchalant for an emergency, and she realized he'd been trying to trick her. She didn't understand why until his face lit up and he whistled for Dick.

"What? Did something happen?"

Dick appeared around the corner, eyeing Nix with a slight frown, but when he looked up and saw Sutton, any and all concerns for his friend disappeared. There was a good deal of staring until Nix elbowed Dick and got them both going along; catching the last glance Dick threw over his shoulder (a look she seemed not meant to see), Sutton pursed her lips, holding back a smile, as her rubberbanding confidence shot back up.

"You do look quite nice, dearie," the seamstress hummed. "If you couldn't tell from your gentlemen friends there."

Twill was the weave of the tweed jacket that warmed Sutton's shoulders on a cold and foggy evening later that month. March was almost here, and with it came the wet days of false Springs and resurgent snow. The jacket was of substantial material, likely because it was an element of a Class A uniform—a uniform that just so happened to belong to Dick. To commemorate the passing of the second leap year since the war in Europe began (the last was 1940), General Taylor had issued a memorandum that for the last week in February, all commissioned officers stationed in the United Kingdom were expected to wear their Class A's (unless they were absent from their units on a furlough). Dick, of course, followed this mandate to the tee.

Seeing as Sutton was English and not technically enlisted with the 101st Airborne, she was not required to comply with the notice, but she freely chose to do so without a second thought. General Taylor's directive was meant as a tribute to the fallen soldiers of Britain, those who had been fighting since the very beginning following the Nazi invasion of Poland in late '39. England was one of the first countries to declare war on Germany, not the other way around—Sutton was proud of her nation for that, and for holding strong in the three years since the infamous evacuation of armed forces at Dunkirk. She didn't take much stock in being British before the war—home meant hell for a very long time, and since 'home' was in England, she didn't care for it—but ever since it had begun—and especially since coming back from Austria—she had found a new respect for her country.

That was not all to the story, however. Sutton had a more personal reason for honoring the missive. Standing on the porch in the cold fog, locked out of CP until Nix (the last one left in the building that night) came to unlock the doors, she thought it over. Dick's jacket around her shoulders encouraged her in a way she could not name, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, she raised her voice out of thought and told Dick just how much she missed Jolene. She braced herself for him to sigh and pity her as most did, but instead, he opened his arms to her in the suggestion of a hug.

"You told me once she was like your sister," he recalled, and she could feel the reverberation of the words graze the side of her head. "If I lost Ann..."

"It wasn't even the war," Sutton told him, calling herself selfish and yet refusing to leave his embrace. "It was a car accident. And her fiancé—he was my friend—died just at the same time. Somewhere in France or Holland, we never found out exactly where."

Dick was quiet. He knew just as well as she did that moments of vulnerability were rare when it came to Sutton and her past. She felt a little alone, telling him, even more so when she stepped back and saw he was not just letting her speak but truly listening to every word she said.

"I loved them both very much-"

Her voice broke, and she turned away, wiping away her tears with fingers that trembled more from grief than the cold. Dick searched for a handkerchief but could not find one, and it was in the midst of his apology that Sutton spoke up again. She hadn't meant to interrupt, but honestly, she hadn't realized he was speaking, so caught up in her memories that she forgot the present was separate from the past.

"It was four years ago last December. 1940."

"The last leap year."

"Yes."

She turned back to him, one hand on the banister, the other tucked across her chest, fingering the lapel of his coat around her shoulders.

"I'm dressed up for our lads, of course," she said, quieter than before, "but in a way..."

Dick shuffled closer. She expected him to try and guess the conclusion to her unfinished thought, but he did not. Instead, he reached for her hand, the one on the banister. She gave it to him and he yet asked for the other.

"Your hands are cold."

He warmed them between his own, and by the time Sutton remembered what she'd meant to say, she was so close she could see his breath coming out in little puffs less than a foot from her face.

"It's not my way of saying goodbye," she protested at nothing, "but I can't say I'm not doing this mostly for them."

Dick took this in. After a long few seconds, he nodded, just once, and said, "I understand."

Somehow, she knew he did.

Nix appeared quite that same instant and interrupted the moment, but Sutton could not think ill of him knowing he had given them entry to the building again. She and Dick hurried inside, parting to retrieve their personal belongings—coats, papers, a messenger bag for one, a uniform cap for the other—from their respective offices only to reconvene at precisely the same moment in the narrow foyer. Nix was waiting just outside, squinting out into the fog, saying something about the weather always acting strangely this time of year no matter what continent you considered. Sutton closed her eyes, pretended she was brave, and kissed Dick's cheek.

"Thank you," she said, her voice the softest yet, "for listening."

It rained and rained all that week, and by the end of February, the snow that had plagued the base (and Sutton's mobility) since November had been washed away. The ground was wet and muddy and occasionally treacherous (Harry slipped five times in a single day, twice on the same soaked porch), but anything was better than the snow. It was starting to warm up—compared to the temperatures of the last few months, anyway—and despite the rain, soldiers had returned to their typical outdoor exercises in droves. Fully-fledged field maneuvers had returned to the regiment with the aggression of a fevered artist battering their masterpiece into a canvas stretched over wood (the metaphorical paint mixed from a motley of Easy Company's blood, sweat, and tears). The most was demanded of Easy, as could be predicted by the nature of their commanding officer.

As a result of these drills picking back up, Dick had been in CP less and less. The demands made of him by his commanding officer (though they had always been unceasing) seemed to grow with every passing day. Sutton, who had managed to stay mostly impartial towards Captain Sobel since her first rocky interaction with him, began to think him most unfavorable. The man was a piece of work if Sutton had ever met one, and she had met quite a few, even excluding her time in Austria. She missed Dick, that was the cut and dry of it, and she knew Sobel was to blame for his sudden withdrawal. He still had his office and always said hello when he saw Sutton in passing, but for a solid two weeks, they hardly said more than a few sentences to each other at a time.

"Are you busy?"

Sutton looked up, hearing the question but not the knocking that came before it, and saw Dick standing at the door, a tray in either hand and a small smile blooming upon his lips. Her heart fluttered, and despite the layers of reports strewn across her desk, she told him she could spare him a few minutes.

Those 'few minutes' turned into ten, then thirty, then Sutton looked up and saw it was dark outside and three hours had passed in the blink of an eye. She was astonished. She'd never talked that long with anyone before. Granted, ten or so minutes of that time was spent eating the dinner Dick had brought all the way from the mess hall for them to enjoy (a loosely-used term) together, but still, ten minutes was an infinitesimal fraction of three whole hours. Not much had happened in the past two weeks, and so the excuse of 'catching up' was quickly and quietly set aside for discussion on any topic that may come to mind. By the time Dick stood up and said he ought to get going, Sobel was preparing a sunrise march for tomorrow and he didn't want to be too tired for it, Sutton was starting to doze off in her armchair.

"Don't stay up too late," he implored her, shrugging his jacket on, and she crossed her legs, leaning back in the armchair.

"I won't," she falsely promised. "I'll go to bed soon."

"Good." 

Nodding, Dick started to leave. He paused in the doorway, then turned back, came over to her, and kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, Sutton."

For several minutes, Sutton thought she must be dreaming. But then a log in the fireplace crackled and snapped and she jumped, startled, only to find her eyes had been open the whole time and she wasn't sleeping at all. Flushed with the contentment of the evening, she turned her attention back to her long-abandoned work and stayed there far longer than she meant to. By the time she set aside the second-to-last report she'd meant to get through that night, she looked up and saw the clock above the mantel had slipped into single digits again. Compromising for Dick's sake (although she doubted he would ever know that), she took the last ream of papers over to the armchair, grabbed her favorite blanket, kicked off her shoes, and settled in. She was asleep within the minute. The report was still on the floor when Harry came in the next morning at eight o'clock sharp with a mug of coffee and a plate of toast with margarine (hooray for war rationing) for Sutton.

"Breakfast this morning wasn't half-bad," he declared as he strolled right in, expecting to find her hard at work already, but she wasn't at her desk. He found her in the armchair before long, practically swallowed up by its blue upholstery and the tartan blanket, and he hesitated, closing his mouth against the wakey-wakey! he'd been about to call. He spotted the report and picked it up, flipping through it without really reading any of the words on the page. He walked it over to the desk, then returned to Sutton. She was fast asleep. Harry was fairly certain this was the first time he'd ever woken up before her.

She's a morning person alright, just like Dick, he thought, setting aside the breakfast as he decided to let her sleep a little while longer. 

They'd look nice, waking up together at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m.

Despite Harry's purpose to exit the office quietly and leave Sutton to her much-deserved, long-overlooked sleep, he managed to knock over a chair as he turned around and the ensuing clatter made him wince. Mumbling curses as he straightened up the chair, recognizing it as the one usually behind her desk—"How the hell'd this get here?"—he tried to remedy the situation but it was too late.

"Harry?"

Her voice was groggy, but she was awake, and he turned around with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you-"

Her eyes widened as she saw the sunshine out the window and she pushed herself up to her feet, seeming unaware of how she swayed as she stumbled toward her desk.

"Bloody hell, it's late. I shouldn't have slept so long- oh, good God, I'm going to be so behind-"

"Catch your breath," Harry urged, stopping her before she tried to sit down on a chair that was still halfway across the room. "You're fine. It's only eight."

"Only eight?" she gasped. "Oh. Oh, it's only eight."

Relaxing, she looked around for her seat and saw it standing in front of the armchair. Her cheeks turned pink and Harry concluded that she must have had a visitor last night. He had seen Dick come in here around dinnertime, but he never saw him leave... Contrary to his hopes, he knew nothing had transpired; after all, he and Nixon would presumably be the first to know, from either Dick or Sutton. Stifling a sigh, Harry retrieved the chair and brought it to Sutton, then fetched the toast and coffee in a similar fashion. He told her he wouldn't leave until she'd eaten, and so he meandered about the room, doing this and that—folding the blanket, checking the coals in the fireplace, drawing the curtains on the window behind her—until Sutton's plate was empty.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, and when he turned to offer his usual you bet! he was disheartened to see she hadn't even looked up from her papers. She was shuffling through them quickly, signing this and scribbling notes in the margins of that, and he was about to implore her to come and take a short walk with him to clear her head and wake her up fully when she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, and the words died in his throat. How on earth could she look so utterly overwhelmed and yet entirely at peace at the same time?

It struck him, then, for the first time: she was a spy, she went undercover in Austria for two years-

She hadn't known peace since the war began. 

But no, he thought, wondering how soon the spark of innocence had left her child self, she didn't have peace even then.

Clueless to her friend's inner turmoil, Sutton lifted a paper a bit off the desk to scrutinize it closer. To Harry, she appeared to be reading it patiently and thoroughly; in reality, Sutton was scanning it over and over until the words finally registered in her overworked brain. She reached for her pen, uncapped it with one deft flick of the finger, and just as she brought it down over the bottom of the page, her hand stilled. Harry watched for a beat, but she did not resume her contemplation, and so he came over to the desk, readying a plea for her to go back to her billet and get some real sleep. He spoke his mind, this time, but Sutton just shook her head and mumbled something unintelligible about having work to do. 

"You always have work to do," he sighed, peering over her shoulder. "That's, what—the hundredth form you've signed this week?"

"It's... the monthly expense list."

She sounded unsure, and Harry's brows knit together as he examined the page.

"Looks like a supply order to me."

"... That's what I meant."

"Uh-huh."

He thought she might look up at him, finally, but no, she kept staring at the page until the ink from her pen wavered on the tip and dared to cause a splotch on the paper just above the signature line. Hastily, Sutton scribbled S.F.M., nearly tearing the paper, and thrust the supply order aside. Sighing, she turned her head into her hands, leaning fully onto the desk. Harry hovered his hand over her shoulder but ultimately thought better of touching her and withdrew.

"Maybe someday," she mumbled as if he wasn't there to hear. "Someday..."

Heaving a silent sigh, Harry stepped back, his hands hanging empty at his sides.

Someday, you could be free.

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*All credits for screencap of Dick Winters go to the lovely @tvserie-s-world. 💕