#back when he was focused on how to craft his public image

[monkesupreme]

Youll never see it bc i never draw it, but its important to me that Bruce has pierced ears- he never has anything in them (and hes lucky they just never closed up) but for some events, he will have little studs or earrings to add to his whole Look

[afreakingdork]

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 9

RotTMNT x Reader

I am constantly blown away by this chapter art by @yamin-yups

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis:  You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

This chapter contains reference to body dysmorphia. Remember that what you feel is completely valid, but we can sometimes see ourselves differently than we really are. Please keep yourselves safe.

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

“Maybe we take a break from going out into the packed public for once?” Mikey was upside-down, but compensated by holding his phone the opposite way. 

It put him right side up in the video chat, but the view was extra blurry. “Is that… okay?”

“I’m the one suggesting it!” Mikey stuck out his tongue, but his reflection seemed to confuse him on which way the appendage should go. “It’s been awhile. I haven’t been able to see you.”

“Yeah… well…” Though for you it would have been predictable, Mikey hadn’t felt the firsthand effects of your setbacks yet. 

Panic attacks always caused you to withdraw into yourself. 

You weren’t supposed to.

There were times when it was easy to keep going.

Others, such as now, left you homebound for as long as society allowed.

The push to normalcy now included your thoughtful friend.

“Do you know after my tremors went away, I spent months avoiding art because I was afraid of how it would look?” Mikey told you casually. 

You weren’t sure what he was talking about.

You tried to recall something about tremors, but came up short.

You wanted to ask more, but there was a more startling aspect than the content itself.

You couldn’t believe there was ever a period where Mikey avoided art as he had been nothing, but a loud proponent of all its merit.

“Why?”

“Because I knew my level and then… I didn’t. I knew I’d have to get back there. It was like riding a skateboard, but needing to take that time? For a second time. Chancing the bad result? It was like my healing was one thing and then by doing that it would show me just how much further I still needed to go. Like that dude with the cat and the box. I didn’t want to open it and find out. I couldn’t do it.”

“Isn’t the saying… something… about riding a bike?”

“We were skateboard tots!” Mikey rolled over and with it so did his camera, inverting the image.

You nodded lightly.

“I switched up crafts. Started new ones that weren’t so finger focused. Pour paints and candle work!” He made grabby hands at the lens as he fixed his phone angle.

“Something low key…” You hummed where you were sitting at the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, something quiet, calm, and… oh! Oh yeah!” There was another flip, but this one was out of excitement.

“D-don’t… bust through a wall…!”

Mikey appeared within a flurry of static. “Did you just make a Kool-Aid Man joke?”

“I make jokes!”

The wattage of his smile turned up to a blinding degree. “Well then I’ve got just the wall to bust through!”

-

“No.” Donnie glowered over his shoulder.

“Please!” Mikey bounced his plea with his head straight up to the ceiling of the garage you were currently in.

An oddity in the subway, but something you imagined had to exist based on logic, your eyes were openly roving around the tidy depot.

“Absolutely not.” Lifting out from under a hood and minding his head, Donnie craned an elbow to the engine block he was working on. “You know you’ve been banned.”

“One time!” Mikey groaned.

“No!” Donnie felt the need to rip off his leather work gloves to throw an unencumbered finger in Mikey’s face. “You were banned once after crashing eleven separate times!!”

“Eleven?!” You squeaked.

Mikey flipped back and forth between the two of you, obviously caught in who to address first. “My driving is fine!” He chose you and then flipped to Donnie. “I’ve changed!”

From the duffel that was slung around your body, you had already been clinging to the strap as it gave you something comforting to hold on to. With the new knowledge that you had almost been driven somewhere rural by someone with that kind of driving record, you now scooped up the entire sack to soothe yourself. 

“Forget that.” Donnie flicked his gaze to you. “You’d need a full crash suit to survive him.” He then folded his gloves into a pair and went to check his tool box.

You wilted further.

“We’re already packed!” Mikey rounded a new argument. “This is going to be our big, no-stress, relaxing getaway and you’re making it exactly not that!” 

“That’s unfortunate. The bus station isn’t far.” Donnie knelt down to get a wrench.

“And how’s that going to work!? We get dropped at some station and walk to the cabin!? You know it’s in the middle of nowhere!” Mikey stepped up to throw menace over his brother.

Donnie smelled it a mile away and lifted his head, pouring twice the malice. “Oh, you want to play?”

Mikey gulped and nodded his head once. “Let us borrow a car, the tank, a shell cycle, whatever! You’re being unfair!”

“Your planning is poor.” Donnie was slow to get on one knee. “You’re ill equipped.” To the other, he got a foot under him. “You’ve informed no one.” Rising to his towering height above his brother, he loomed. “You walk into my garage, where I am in the midst of my own personal and much needed zen in the form of refurbishing my newest baby and expect me to drop the keys of another into your hands knowing full well that you have destroyed more vehicles on more occasions than I can count on our joined mutant fingers and toes because you just so happened to suddenly decided that you needed to take a weekend trip with your friend of which whom you have a similar slapdash scheme going on with to go to our family’s cabin up north on a whim!?!”

Having watched Donnie not take a single breath, you backed up nearly the same distance that Mikey’s head had shrunk down into his shell.

“Y-yes?” Mikey peeped.

“No.” Donnie said the word firm and quiet, but punctuated it with a tap to Mikey’s plastron which caused the stiff turtle to fall over. “Now leave me to my work.”

Only a shell laying there, you leaned forward to look over Mikey without compromising your spot.

Donnie swung his wrench and moved over to a creeper with the intention to disappear under what looked like a turtle-themed moon buggy.

“You-” Your voice echoed in the garage and you tensed up.

Mikey’s head emerged from his shell to peek at you.

Donnie halted his motion, but didn’t turn.

“You… um… could… come with us?”

You watched Donnie’s lips wobble with disdain.

“N-Not a-as a d-driver! Y-you said…”

In a loud pop, all of Mikey’s limbs emerged. “That’s a great idea!!!”

In a smooth rotation, Donnie both turned and lifted his wrench with a threat.

Mikey crab walked several paces away.

“I’m disappointed.” Donnie sent a glare in your direction. “If your thought is even-” He caught a glimpse of his wrench. “-5/16ths as moronic as his then you are banned from the garage itself. Know that, would you still like to continue speaking?”

Gaze plummeting, your heart tried to escape and you screwed the whole of you shut to keep it inside.

Your entire body shook with the force of your nerves and you had to wait until your BPMs dropped to a manageable limit before you could manage speech. “You… said… m-much needed… so maybe… the trip would… well… be calming… for you too?”

There was a clink of metal hitting the ground.

Banned.

You were banned from the garage.

That was fine.

In theory, it wasn’t.

In theory, you were mortified.

Despite your best efforts, you had never been banned from anything.

Now you were.

A glaring dark spot on your permanent record.

Was Mikey a bad influence?

“You do say driving gets your mind off things…” Mikey said with a sudden supportive starkness.

You kept your gaze firmly rooted to the floor in shame.

“Also hold up!” In a slap of feet against concrete, Mikey righted himself. “You take a few of those things back, Don! I may have pushed the idea through, but it was not poorly planned or ill equipment or whatever you said! Y/N worked crazy hard on putting together everything in the short time frame I laid out!!”

You twitched.

“There’s maps, multiple trails marked, a calculated amount of water, with extra rations, flares��� Like do you think this other bag is mine? Heck no! I’m not bringing anything! Both these bags are Y/N’s! They’re both stuffed with… stuff! Like-like!” You felt Mikey come over to you. “How you contacted the ranger’s station to tell them we’d be in the area? I’ve never even thought of that! We’ve never done that have we, Dee?”

Donnie continued his bout of silence that you didn’t dare look upon.

“What else…?” Mikey slapped his forehead. “I mean, come on! I can’t even remember it all!”

“I… got that satellite phone… you were pretty excited… about it.” You mumbled to the ground.

“With the backup batteries, Donald!” Mikey hummed a self-important sound. “The backup batteries!!”

The garage made it very clear that Donnie was walking over to you.

You bounced ever so slightly to garner the courage to meet his eye.

“Who did itinerary?” Donnie asked. 

“Me.” Mikey remarked casually.

“I assume food too?” Donnie’s voice was heavy with judgment. 

“Nope.” You could see a swoop as Mikey folded smug arms.

“That’s not quite…” You cleared your throat. “Mikey… shared his… favorite dishes that you… all make…when you… go.”

Donnie dipped into your eye line and you startled.

He’d bent at his waist and come down at a perfect angle.

You stared with warped lips.

“How long?” He narrowed his gaze.

“T-the trip?” Your gaze wobbled.

Mikey opened his mouth and Donnie threw out an arm that, by the sound, must have slapped the younger in the face.

“Yes.” Donnie kept his hand in place.

“Tonight… tomorrow… back Sunday?”

“Is that a question?” Donnie’s head tilted.

Mikey grunted, annoyed.

“No…” You got out, quiet.

“You agreed knowing full well you’d be alone with him?”

Slapped with a similar heat from the first time you’d realized that fact, you gave a tight nod.

‘We have separate rooms!’ Mikey mumbled through closed lips with surprising clarity.

“And that’s okay?” Donnie disappeared.

You chased him up to find he’d released Mikey and was waiting on him for an answer.

“It’s a no brainer.” Mikey nearly rolled his eyes. 

Donnie’s brow lowered, unsatisfied.

“Yes, it’s okay because it isn’t a thing.” Mikey huffed around his clarification.

“I suppose… I’ve been persuaded.” Donnie looked down thoughtfully and you watched him trace back to where he’d dropped his wrench.

Mikey jumped into the air with a sudden bout of energy and caught your hands to spin you.

“Y-y-yay!” You stutter, stalling on the rotation.

“Cabin, here we come, baby!” Mikey cheered. 

“I need my things!” Donnie barked. “And you.”

You jolted. “Y-yes?”

“You will send me triplicate copies of your plans.”

“S-sure…” You spastically patted yourself down for your phone.

“I refuse to engage with either of your antics.” Donnie’s own appeared in his hand. “I am no third wheel. I am coming because I will apparently have to deal with your whining otherwise and because I am not in the mood for the lecture from Nardo and Raphael when they return.”

“Have they texted yet?” Mikey peered over Donnie’s shoulder.

“No. Security detail means one must pay-” Donnie suddenly dropped and ducked through Mikey’s legs in one fluid movement. “-attention. This is why you weren’t requested.”

“And why didn’t they request you, hm?” Mikey pushed his lips into one corner of his mouth.

“Because…!” Donnie trailed off with widened eyes. “My talents lie elsewhere! Enough interruptions. I will drive and then you will leave me be! I am to have my zen! Is that understood?”

“Yeah, yeah, crystal.” Mikey finally did roll his eyes.

Donnie took a few steps away as you found your phone and held it unsure of how to send him the details.

“He’s totally going because he heard ‘yakiniku’ when you mentioned we were making my favorite foods.” Mikey walked over to you with a smirk.

You watched Donnie take an irritated pause before continuing on to get his things.  

-

The ride in the tank had passed with booming music and a tour from Mikey that you only visually participated in because you were terrified to move about the cabin. The younger seemed not to notice as he explained parts with stories more than function. Donnie alternatively, had shades on that further marred his calculated expression and he said nothing as the studious driver.

Leaving the city and entering scenic woodlands, you were soon left to admire the views until you eventually deviated off the road toward the cabin. Tracking it with the little local map you had found, you busied yourself in the comfortable way that most people disliked on road trips: silence in a cozy bubble all your making.

There didn’t have to be talk, that’s what road trip mixes were for.

You only made exceptions for car games. 

You liked that they had simple rules and there were little stakes to be had. 

You only wished cars were safer modes of transport.

There was also something to be said about environmental impact and the culture of automobiles in America, but other than that, you found them nice.

Pulling up to what you imagined was a quiescent place, Mikey could not be restrained a second longer.

Out of the tank in a flurry, you watched through the windshield as his form screamed straight up the cabin’s steps. “He doesn’t do great on car rides, huh?”

“Sitting still for too long? Michael?” Donnie rose from the captain’s chair.

You gave a small smile and gathered up the few things you’d taken inside with you. Your actual bags were stored in an outer compartment and Donnie waited for you as a safety net as you made the harrowing steps down the tank ladder and to the ground. Landing with little fault, you joined him in getting the luggage until Mikey tore back over to grab some of the load. He talked loudly of dust that had accumulated and Donnie griped at him that it was obvious they’d need to clean.

You fondly watched the two bicker and set-up became the next directive. Throwing back plastic sheets that coated furniture, Donnie had a multitude of inventions to clear the space quickly. You had to run to the windows to release the dust tornadoes formed. Making it out mostly unscathed, you then helped Mikey hang bug nets. With the late Spring weather warming the air, soon everything was prepped and Mikey did a little closing dance number, capping off the preparatory part of the trip.

“Swimming hole time!” Mikey cheered and then turned knowingly on Donnie. “Then BBQ and prompt lights out so I can make a lumberjack breakfast first thing!”

“We’re grinding beans… we roasted…” You offered softly. “Uh… Coffee… beans… that is…”

“Oh yeah, I forgot we took that class.” Mikey chuckled. “You almost fell into that sack!”

You squashed a noise of distress at the memory.

Understanding the schedule, Donnie dismissed himself with a turned foot and headed to one of the cabin’s many rooms. You were left to look about the quintessential log cabin where the huge living space and connected kitchen then butted up against a row of doors. They spoke of many rooms that traced the back of the cabin and then up a staircase to a second floor. From what you could see, there were about eight rooms in all. The entire cabin then had a wraparound porch that extended into the wilderness. It was land that both belonged to nature and not, but Mikey had been cagey about revealing property lines. 

“Welp!” Mikey folded his hands on his hips. “Your boy needs to get wet before he explodes.”

You gawked at him.

“Seriously!” He was looking out over the cabin with a vacant stare that held a sort of unhinged quality. “First the car, then stuck inside? This is not an inside trip. if I am not unleashed in the next, oh I don’t know… 2 minutes, I’m going to lose it!”

“Uh…!”

“You got those trail maps?” He turned, both looking through you and not at.

“Y-yes!”

“I color coded the one to the watering hole. Orange, obviously.” Mikey approached with a waggling brow ridge. “I saw you in the car, keeping perfect pace. It was awesome.”

“Just to s-stay b-busy!”

“Uh huh! Your smile said otherwise! You’ll meet me there then! Same way!” He patted your shoulder once with a whack before bolting out the door.

You stared after him now knowing why he’d chosen to travel in his swimsuit.

Looking down at your road trip ensemble, you still felt sure of your decision to take the few hour drive comfortably.

There was a noise of a door opening and Donatello emerged, changed into a casual outfit punctuated by purple swim trunks.

You stared at him and felt a little like a caught fawn.

Donnie took you in before his gaze dulled with understanding. “He ditched you.”

“I’m… going to meet him.”

“He always does this.” Donnie responded dismissively. “You should have seen him in time out as a tot.”

“Oh?”

“One minute in time out for him was comparative to thirty for the rest of us.” Walking around a large kitchen bar, Donnie studied the rations.

You took a few steps toward him for the sake of it.

“He’s so impatient.” Donnie murmured, poking several waters aside to find a carton of juice boxes that Mikey had insisted on. He quickly tossed the set into the fridge. “He’s not even an aquatic turtle.”

You sort of wished you had done more research past looking up pictures of their species.

“You’re losing daylight.” He emerged from the fridge. “Or are you not swimming?”

“I-I am…!” You squeezed a fist to your chest. “Are… you coming too?”

Donnie blinked slowly at you. “No, why?”

“Oh…” You shouldn’t have assumed. He’d already told you otherwise. “Sorry… your bottoms… I thought…”

“Board shorts.” He punctuated the words with an odd accent.

You gave an unsure nod.

“I’m glad their sign was translated.” He glanced down at himself.

“Sorry…” You murmured when he made no further movement and quickly left to avoid any awkwardness.

You weren’t sure what you expected.

It’s not like you wanted to exclude Donnie.

You knew that pain too well.

You also didn’t want to make him feel unwelcomed.

You were painfully aware of that too.

He hadn’t wanted to be a third wheel and you had made it a silent mission to keep that from happening.

Something else you’d experienced in the past, you’d been the unwilling chaperone on more than one occasion just to satisfy parent’s minds. The good one, in their minds, you had always been ditched and the feeling wasn’t one you cared for. Shoving past the bygone era, you were seen now and you tried to relish that.

The sun’s attention was a fickle thing, but you were getting more use to losing Mikey’s. Something you thought should scare you, instead you felt your friendship with Mikey was stronger than ever. You no longer feared losing him in the same intangible way and you weren’t sure if you should crop that up to Mikey’s feelings about you. Instead it felt as though you’d reached a better status quo where Mikey’s running off felt more like the sun moving on its predetermined rotation. It would eventually round back to you and in that way you expected Mikey’s claustrophobia even if you hadn’t known about it.

You picked a room at random and rummaged through the duffel that you placed on your bed. There was a woodsy smell that teetered on musty in a way that spoke of it being well lived in even if its occupants only came every so often. You had your own little stand up mirror, nightstand, dresser, and a closet though you doubted you’d use anything past the first. Pulling out a single slick piece of black fabric, you double checked the door was closed before changing.

The perfect swimsuit was one you hadn’t imagined you’d find. Not one for flashy things, you only wanted a muted cover that also happened to cover you. Water did unimaginable things to fabrics and you hated the way it clinged. You wanted something you could disappear in, that brought no unnecessary attention, and could be forgotten on your end. Finding it in a matter of minutes into shopping as opposed to the years it took when you were younger, the item had even been on sale.

Stepping into it and pulling it up, you shimmied into the fabric and turned for that same show stopping image you’d seen in the changing room.

What stared back was an image of allure.

No.

That was wrong.

That’s not what it had looked like.

It had covered you.

It hadn’t accentuated anything.

It was simple.

You squirmed, changing angles in hopes that it would get better, but each only revealed more.

What had changed?

You’d purchased it this week.

Were you hallucinating?

Was there something in the wooden walls?

Had the tank crashed and this was you playing out some morbid purgatory?

You pinched yourself.

A sting bit your forearm and you threw your gaze back at the mirror for the unwilling shapes it concocted.

This wasn’t right.

You wanted to swim.

There was no way you could.

Miserably turning away from your image, you rooted through your bag for a cover up. Finding one in some oversized t-shirt you’d brought for comfort, you held it and hated that this wasn’t the way you imagined it would be employed. You figured it’d be a back-up pajama top and not something to hide your shame away in. Clinging to the fabric, you hastily pulled it over your head with an imaginary clock ticking away because Mikey was waiting.

You were ruining everything.

Stumbling out into the living room, you found yourself alone.

Momentarily thrown, but shaking off how Donnie wasn’t a priority right now and the guilt that came with that, you went for your pile of maps. Finding the trail one with the orange lines, you gathered some shoes and careened down the porch.

Buzzing insects mocked your sloppy descent as you rotated the map to be on your course. Following it more than your way, you took the necessary inlet and folded its winds to a drawn T. Bushes and trees concealed you, but the splashing of what was beyond reached your ears faster than you’d hoped. A journey not long to its destination, you slowed as you came to the final bend. You could hear Mikey blabbing presumably to himself as he hooted before resounding sloushes followed. In your mind he jumped off some kind of ledge, you took a deep breath before making the final steps leading to the watering hole.

Somewhere quaint if you had the perspective for such a thing, a tree towered comfortably overtop a sizable pool. One mucked up from algae as the little stream feeding into it didn’t stir the water near enough, you watched roiling green as Mikey emerged with a flip of his wet hair.

“Y/N!” Mikey shouted happiness. “You made it! Come on in! The water’s fine!!” He swam backwards as if giving you room.

The guilt was staggering.

No, Mikey.

I won’t be swimming today.

My body looks like shit and I can’t stand it.

I’ll watch you though.

Have all the fun.

You deserve it.

Signing off your name, you slunk forward only to clip a sight of mixed purples.

Donnie craned his neck back to view you from beneath a large sun hat he’d put on. Sitting on a few rocks that made up the closest edge to you, his lids lowered in a way that said he was reading you like a book.

Hating how he did that, you squeezed the bulky hem of your shirt and walked up. “Uh… M-Mikey…?”

“A-yup!” He stopped splashing to hear you better.

“The… um… car ride… sort of took… more out of me than… I thought? Would it be alright if-!”

“You don’t have to swim.”

You blinked wide and over to him.

“If you don’t want to, don’t!” Mikey continued on. “Let’s compare: are you upset I’m swimming when you don’t want to?”

“O-of c-course not!”

“Then why should I care in the reverse?” He fell back and floated, eyes closed, on his shell.

That was right in a way.

Sweet in another.

You wished you’d put together the same reaction.

Inching closer, it felt like pouring water into an overtaxed bucket.

Another guilty drop in your damnation.

You’d seen your friend in a bad light.

Shirking all the more, you toed off your shoes and let your feet lay flat on one of the worn rocks. It put you near Donnie who’d become the moon on a sunny day’s backdrop. He shined upon the same stone and illuminated its age. The rocks were older and wiser than you’d ever be. They never worried about getting wet. They only knew how to exist, something you wished came as easily to you. Sitting down because you needed more of you to drink from the stone’s wisdom, you kept a lowered head to the water’s edge. It sloshed in a beckoning way and you imagined it too would feel good in a different way. 

You really had wanted to swim.

Imaging your tears would do little to fill up the pool while also overflowing it, you heard a tepid sigh beside you.

Eyes wide and shooting up across the pond, you then turned to where you’d sat down next to Donnie.

Someone who you mistakenly forgot about during your pity party.

How was that for a third wheel?

“It’s always something with you.” He spoke softly.

“Sure is.” You gave an awkward laugh.

“That’s…” He made a little concerned noise. “… I didn’t mean it in a cruel way.”

“You didn’t have to. It is.” You threw your legs off the rock and threatened to drown your toes in the water. “It’s a cruel fate. I’m…” You remembered yourself. “Sorry. Nothing. What are you doing here?”

“My species is aquatic.”

You snuck a glance. “You’re pretty dry then.”

“You are too.”

You frowned deeply and watched Mikey pick up a sun drunk grin as he spread his limbs out to float on. “I don’t know why I feel like this. Everything was fine before…”

“With what?”

“This…” You threw a hand over yourself. “Stupid ugly swimsuit.”

You could feel Donnie’s gaze linger.

“Just trust me.” You folded your legs against yourself.

 “I’m not sure I do.”

You squinted at the glistening water before looking at him.

“I barely know you.” He responded simply, waiting there.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“In what?” Your ugly side was leaking far beyond the reach of what your shirt could cover. “I didn’t think you trusted me. You may have been wrong about me being bad, but that wouldn’t make you less suspicious. So it’s not that. What’s left? The swimsuit sucks. It’s not like you wanna drool over it. I don’t want anyone too. I wanted to swim.”

Hearing your wish aloud, you pressed hard on your chest with your legs.

You could flatten out your entire form if only you were malleable.

“The water is opaque. I can alert Mikey and we’ll turn away so you can get in.”

You felt too far gone for solutions.

You weren’t worth the trouble.

Burying your chin into your knees, you stewed.

“You know how many times the others have made fun of my board shorts?”

You told yourself you didn’t care.

If that was the case then Donnie didn’t either. “Hundreds, though it might be my attitude when wearing them. I like the excuse. To have my day off and not worry about pleasantries. To not have to tailor myself to others. I can tell them to shove it. It’s my day off and how I look isn’t anyone’s damn business.”

Sounded like an odd hill to die on.

“Everyone should have those days.” Donnie craned his arms behind him and leaned back to soak up the rays he was in.

The tree overhead was clipping your light.

Donnie was free. 

Mikey was free. 

Head lifting a little, you pondered your friend.

He’d needed to get out and he did.

Now he was a vision, glowing amongst the pool.

In contrast there was you, wadded up and tossed away without even giving yourself the chance.

Another terrible reminder that this was the point.

This was what you were trying to avoid.

This was what you were trying to learn from.

Mikey didn’t even have to do anything to be himself.

He just was.

Instead of his usual bustle of light, he shined by matter of existence.

That was why you chased him. 

You wanted that. 

Staring at him until sun spots mucked up your vision, you turned the mass to Donnie.

Beside you in the same pose, he was more calculated.

He had to put on his wares.

His was an unseen struggle you hadn’t considered.

No one gleamed quite like Mikey.

That didn’t mean they didn’t shine in their own right.

Donnie’s darkened scales only threw prisms in a different way.

The cool moon’s glow.

Letting your legs fall, this time your feet drew to the allure of the water.

Just out of reach, you stared hard, making sure the pair would keep their eyes closed.

The both of them were still as if asleep, but you waited past whatever insect was chirping before you slowly tugged your hem out from under you. Emerging without more than the sound of rustling fabric, you rolled your shirt up around your waist. The next move was one harder to conceal, you threw a desperate glance at your friend.

Water rocked the resting Mikey like a babe and you wanted to feel that too.

You wanted to be nestled by the sun’s glow.

You wanted to feel weightless and have those burdens removed.

You yanked the shirt over your head and dropped it to your side.

Donnie stirred at the sound, but didn’t open his eyes.

“It’s… It’s okay… I’m not… okay… but I think I… I don’t want to care…”

He cracked a lid and stared skyward.

“It looked so different in the store.”

“How so?” He asked a whispy cloud.

“It looked… I don’t know… covering? Like it didn’t… show any bits. Like it… hid them away.”

He blinked slow and comfortable. “I’m a designer, you know.”

“What?”

“Genius Built Apparel. Where fashion meets function.”

You stared on.

Of course he was. 

He also built a tank and a legion of dusting robots. 

If this were any other family you’d think he was pulling your leg. 

You’d seen more than enough to believe. 

Most of your stare came from the cocky name. 

Though even that made sense. 

Donnie was a carefully constructed sphere. 

Who were you to take away his gloating? 

He tilted his head just enough to glimpse your face. “I’m serious. I’ve dissuaded Mikey from many a faux pas.”

You shook your head.

“May I?”

“What?” You switched to eyeing him.

“I can take a clinical eye. Examine stitching. Find your err.”

You bounced one of your legs.

You did want to know where it had all gone wrong.

You could theoretically fix it then.

Wash this all away in the water you so desperately wanted to get in.

“You won’t make it weird?”

“I don’t drool on the metaphorical clock; you were right about that, but I understand your concern. I have accosted you before.”

“Different kind of weird. That was mean weird. You were a jerk weird.”

Donnie chuffed and it rolled down his plastron.

You watched it fall into his lap before forcing your gaze back to his face in a rush. “Promise… Promise I can pull your hat down if you… do anything.”

“I won’t so a simple enough agreement. Sure.”

“Go… ahead…” You folded your arms to your sides, obviously nervous as you listened to his clothes move.

In a twist, he was examining you and he gave a faint hum.

Not wanting to see exactly how he saw you and growing miserable, you stared into the water.

You could throw yourself in and be done with it.

“Here.” He spoke.

You moved to the sound on instinct and found him pointing to your hip.

His eye was indeed one you imagined a tired scientist gave the samples he was cursed to study.

You immediately relaxed. “What?”

“This ruching here is meant to cover cellulite when the fabric gets wet. When dry it acts a similar concealment, but the way the strips are sewn are for the first purpose.”

“Oh…” You tilted your head to look.

“Thing is, it’s also leading lines.” He didn’t get any closer, but he mimed tracing the seams of the fabric that curled around your hip and beneath where you were sitting. “It’s meant to direct the gaze to certain assets.”

 You blew out an annoyed breath.

“Dressing room mirrors, where I imagine you first saw this, aren’t slapped on walls without thought. They're engineered with angles and lightning to make clothes look as flattering as possible.” He brought his eye to yours. “Where did you see yourself today?”

“There’s a… mirror in my room.”

Donnie’s lip twitched with distaste. “That floor length one?”

You nodded.

“Dad uses that one to feel tall.” He sneered openly. “It tilts up from below, the worst possible perspective.”

You blinked a few rapid times.

“It took the ruching and blew it up.”

“So it’s not… that bad?”

“It’s anything, it's tasteful!” He spoke with an irritation that said that should have been obvious. “It fits your body well. Does it have a certain allure? Yes, I’ve already spoken of assets, but it is not a piece that invites unnecessary solicitation.” 

“Assets, assets. What are you, an ass man?” You retorted automatically. 

“There is nothing quite like sinking your teeth into that soft, inviting flesh.” He took your response and held it between his teeth.

In a blink, you saw an imaginary Donatello around your hips pointing to the fabric and on contact with the thought your face exploded.

“I say generally speaking, of course.” He clicked his tongue as if scolding you and turned away toward the water.

Hot.

You were too hot.

Run.

Throwing yourself forward, you submerged as indelicately as possible into the water.

Sinking like a stone into the silence, your burning flesh was quickly soothed by a cold lap.

A sweet embrace, you kicked to the surface and emerged with a pathetic gasp.

Never graceful, you shook yourself free of clingy drops and spun back around to view the rocks.

Donnie was staring up at the sky again and you sort of hated him for it.

Swim.

You’d swim with Mikey.

Spinning around, the other turtle was not only longer floating, but you couldn’t locate him at all. Quickly worrying that you had toppled him in your dive, you swam forward. “Mikey?”

Quieting to listen, you didn’t hear anything past the faint roiling of the water against its container.

Thinking he must have dove, you looked down to find Donnie’s earlier comment to be a correct one. With the water murky to a fault and a new fear cropped up. You had no idea what was in the water and you immediately darted for the closest shore. Something several long feet from Donnie, it was a sort of marshy landing that rocks from below steeping up to meet. They were covered in a slime that clung to your feet and had you pausing until you heard an off-toned lap behind you.

You whirled around with wide eyes and found a sea monster waiting for you.

Something matted with algae, it groaned pathetically and you sucked in enough air until the balloon was full enough to scream.

“What!? Who?! Where?!” The creature splashed with Mikey’s voice.

He’d been captured by another mutant.

You turned to get out of the water with some intention of getting to the tank.

It had to have missiles or something.

Anything to help.

You’d take a bowling ball launcher at this point.

Catching grip with one foot, you hoisted up the other. The many rocks acted like a disjointed ladder and your entire torso emerged from the water before one of your feet slid. The moment it happened felt like you were falling out of time. In slow motion, you knew your face was one of surprise. You painted an open expression where the imminent terror that you were falling couldn’t catch up as neurons to save yourself from the action. 

Your mind knew, but your face didn’t know that you were going to crack your head open on the rocks you just slipped on.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

Two voices.

Too far.

Something skewered your side as the first injury of many.

Hoping only to black out on that first step, you willed your possessions to your friends.

You didn’t bother hoping they would remember you. 

You only hoped that they could make some use out of your worldly imprint.

No matter how small it was. 

Water rushed to greet you and shoved you away. 

That wasn’t right. 

That was the wrong direction.

Water swayed like waves. 

The equal and opposite reaction wouldn’t come until you fell in. 

Why had it preemptively come for you?

Your arms dangled heavily from gravity and you forced your eyes from wherever they had gone.

The monster was right in front of you. 

Its face was one of Michelangelo.

Green sludge caught in his blackened locks and his worried expression peered out from between a small part. 

He had you by the waist and was holding you up in the air. “Are you okay!?”

You were a loose toy strung up.

Flopping down, lifeless, you were a doll that couldn’t close its eyes until it was laid down.

A second deafening splash came as you hung there.

Mikey’s lips were moving awfully fast.

“Did they hit their head?!” Donnie’s voice broke through.

“No! Above water the whole time! Donnie! They aren’t saying anything, I don’t-”

“Shock?” Donnie wondered, but he never came into frame.

Where was he?

Mikey jostled you as one might bounce a colicky baby.

It was pulling a string on your back and you hacked on contact. 

You wheezed, forcing air in where terror had torn it from you. 

You fought. 

Not Mikey exactly, but the situation. 

It strung your arms back. 

It shoved your torso forward. 

It threw your head skyward. 

You gasped, alive. 

You saw blue.

It was the sky.

You hadn’t died.

Mikey had saved you.

Finally.

You came down from your arching to translate your joy. 

Mikey’s face slid into your vision and he was the picture of a boiled red tomato dotted with summertime spots.

He was looking at you. 

He had ogled you. 

He was embarrassed. 

Your blood pressure plummeted twice as fast as it had when you thought you were about to die.

This was worse.

This time you heard yourself scream as you lashed out.

Water flew up as if to welcome you, to bring you where you were meant to be. 

Drowned. 

Returned you to that place where you weren’t an object to be viewed.

You were a person floating free.

Liquid carried life.

It supported it.

It didn’t have it.

Vertigo struck you as you moved within a blink. 

In a disorientated spiral, your lids fell heavy as your inner ear tried to correct the imbalance. 

There were no longer hands around your waist. 

Something clicked like an engine uselessly turning over. 

Weary, you realized you were standing in a safe spot in the water. 

You drew up the dreary blinds of your curtain and found a muscled arm thrown out protectively in front of you. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!!” Mikey cried, loud and desperate.

“What the hell was that then!?” Donnie’s voice rang close.

That firm limb tucked you further behind someone. 

You were being shielded.

A squabble happened in front of you, but you only looked down at the jade appendage acting as your guard rail.

You touched the arm and it felt familiar.

“Don-nie?” Your voice came out synthetic.

His was the body you were behind and his face appeared in a whip of his head. “Are you alright? Can you swim? I’ll move.”

“I’m not…?” You weren’t swimming.

You weren’t doing anything.

You were standing in the water. 

“What…?”

You looked past Donnie and glimpsed Mikey with a faint blush still stuck to his cheeks.

“Y-you…!” It felt accusatory on your lips.

“I’m sorry!!!” Mikey screeched.

“Turn around, dummy!” Donnie growled hot and was in motion.

You were soon ushered into a spin with an indelicate hand to your back and all but rushed over to the rock you had jumped off of.

You heard a splash of what you assumed was Mikey growing distant behind you. 

You hoped that would cool him off. 

“You ready?” Donnie’s voice appeared like it was newly there. 

“For what?” You were already used.

What was left?

Was it time to take out the recycling?

“I’m going to lift you up. Your shirt is right there.” Donnie instructed. 

“My shirt…” You were forlorn.

It was your back-up comfort item.

“Ready?” Donnie asked again.

The water rocked you and you barely bumped his firm plastron. 

You nodded dumbly.

Your hips were taken in what you read as a clinical way. 

You were barely bounced once, then twice, in a way that ballet dancers got momentum to lift their partners. 

Sure enough, you were lifted cleanly out of the water.

Only this time you felt well handled.

You weren’t swung around like a toddler holding up their favorite doll.

A child who cared for his toys put you on a shelf.

When your knees touched down, you drank in the life of the rock and scrambled for your shirt.

All the things that had just occurred crashed into you.

Shoving your head through the hole, you yanked the shirt down your body as you were already in motion. Forest floor digging into your bare feet, you didn’t need the map to retrace your steps. You followed the single, winding, prickly path and emerged out by the cabin only to fly inside it. A sanctuary amongst the unrelenting woods, you left a rotting drip trail as you entered your room. Your door clattered from where you had thrown it open and you ripped your duffel bag to shreds to get to its confines.

Pulling on layer after layer, you could see Mikey’s blush with each piece of clothing.

He’d looked at you.

You shoved your feet into a third pair of socks.

His gaze was amorous.

Into a thermal that was very much against the season, you ran out of clothes and stormed the dresser.

Sexual.

There were oversized men’s clothes that struck you as maybe being Raph’s and you thanked their huge size.

You put shirt after shirt on.

Mikey had said, point blank, that he wanted to see how far his feelings went.

Why were you so stupid?

You screamed.

Raw and uncut.

Tearing at your larynx, you ripped a few too many layers off as they impeded your melt down.

You needed space to breathe.

You needed to be swallowed whole.

Stumbling out to that accursed mirror, the shape you found there was a frumpy one.

Smiling a teary look at it, you watched it warp your face into one of dismay and you cried.

Where had you last felt okay?

It wasn’t here.

Moving around the room you searched for it.

That intangible something that would help.

Knocking everything over, you finally got a hold of a much too large pillow and hugged it to your body.

It was large and not at all as firm as you wanted.

You needed a hard wall.

You needed that unrelenting nature.

You weren’t something to be judged with heat.

You needed a cold light the sun couldn’t supply.

The wall knocked.

You spun around with your pillow defense to find the back of a head waiting there.

“I come as an emissary.” Donnie spoke slow and methodical.

“You can-!” It wasn’t Mikey.

Your pillow fell slack into one hand.

It wasn’t Mikey.

You let it drop with a thump to the floor.

It wasn’t Mikey.

“…come in.”

You took a wobbly step to spread out your clothed legs in hopes of keeping yourself upright.

Donnie didn’t move.

“You can… come in…” You repeated, not sure if you had gotten the first phrase out.

“No.”

“No…?” You took another step and saw how Donnie was clearly beyond the boundary of your open door.

With his back to you. 

Not impeding on you in any way. 

“This is your space.” He spoke it like a finality. 

You stared at the knot of his mask tails and tried to place what you felt.

“Being out here with us…” Donnie let the sentence hang before he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I want to… respect that much.”

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“I prefer the term ‘sanctum,’ but I couldn’t fit it in.”

“A sacred place…?”

The back of his head nodded. “My lab is supposed to be one.”

Sanctums weren’t places to be invaded.

If they were then they were violated.  

He understood.

Is that what you felt?

Camaraderie?

Even his mania in the beginning had been one you made sense of.

Was that why you hadn’t complained?

No, you were rewriting history from your current perspective.

It was also the only one you knew.

It was one where you envied one man. 

It was where you once feared another. 

Now their roles were reversed. 

You never had to explain your misery to Donnie.

You didn’t have to make him understand.

He was the moon.

You rushed towards him.

Donnie heard the footsteps and made it about half a turn before you reached him. “As… I was saying, I talked to Michael and come in his stead to-”

You collided with that unrelenting wall of plastron. Finding an odd hinge between the front of his shell and the back, you did your best to tuck into that space and weaseled under his arm. You felt it rise above you, out of your way and a rotation brought you more towards his front. There you felt him stop to take your over-clothed form in.

“I’m sorry!” You choked on tears, rooting the sound as deep against Donnie’s wet clothes as possible.

He let your misery hang for exactly one second. 

Then he surrounded you in a soft moon glow.

He pulled you toward his chest and you burrowed closer to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I completely overreacted. It was just too much… Too much attention… the way he looked. He said… I thought he wouldn’t… I didn’t want…!”

A hand pet through the layers of your back.

Even and careful.

No further connotation other than to soothe.

Squirming to get your arms out from where you were crushing them, you wiggled them free to embrace him.

You squeezed a sigh right out of him.

“I know.” He spoke into your damp head. “I know…”

You nodded and basked in the tide. Pulled by the moon’s orbit, the waves rolled in and out with a sway. A gentle rocking, you were cast a comfortable drift by it. This was the one you had longed for from the swimming hole. Here, you floated amongst sturdy shores. Held safe, the guiding white light poured around you. One that pushed back against the darkness, it shone on you. Lucky to be in its reach, it wasn’t the type you soaked up. It instead washed over you in a cleanse. Feeling lighter and a little stifled, you extracted yourself from moisture to moisture.

Everything around you from your leaking face to the clingy pond water was soaked and you frowned down Donnie’s body. Standing in a little pool mostly created by him, you wanted to stick your tongue out at it, but you feared the bacteria clearly clinging to your skin.

“The cabin is yours tonight.”

Before you could register the words, you felt him strengthen his resolve with a puff of his chest.

“I don’t want to hear complaints otherwise.”

You wanted to pout.

“I checked the systems when we were doing our preliminary cleaning. The water will be hot. Shower, bathe, do whatever you’d like. We’ll be staying outside.”

You gave a faint nod to the wet floor.

“We’ll grill and I’ll make you a plate. Preference?”

You shook your head. “I don’t… feel like eating…”

“Bland it is.”

Now you were pouting.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Your head felt heavy.

“I still have a message from Mikey to deliver.”

“I really don’t want to hear it.” Irritation brought you to look at him.

Donnie took you in with a sort of smile. “You’ll want to.”

You dropped your features in a way that said you didn’t believe him.

“He said he’s not ready to talk as he’s having his own crisis, but he’ll let you know when he’s ready to apologize.” Donnie tilted his head, almost amused.

You blinked straight out of your bitterness to stare openly.

Donnie gave a single knowing nod.

“Enjoy your shower.” With one last sweep over you as if to check you were all still there, Donnie turned and headed for the door.

Watching him go, you saw the faint amber hue of sunset.

“It’ll all work out.” Donnie tossed just as he grabbed the knob to exit.

You turned and stormed straight to the bathroom. Drowning in clothes and scum, you locked the door tight and turned the shower knobs to their highest setting. Leaving the water to warm, you started removing your outermost shirt. As soon as it hit the ground you felt possessed. You tore off your clothes with each subsequent layer removed at a faster and faster pace. You needed to be freed. You needed that ridiculous protection off of you as soon as possible. All of it soiled, you stripped down bare and left your feet for last.

The moment they were naked and pressed to tile, you leapt into the old style tub. Instantly boiled by the too hot water, you let it scorch you with clenched teeth at first until the burn seared and you adjusted the dial for something reasonable. Still a lobster in a pot, you scrubbed your skin until you thought it might flake and then doused it in suds until you couldn’t see its color. A sea of white foam, the second scrounge came through, washing the detritus away.

Pickled in the process, you emerged and greedily took up every towel in the room. It meant toeing around the disgusting mound of clothes you’d left, but Donnie had said the cabin was yours. Until tomorrow when you’d clean the place up, you instead mourned how you hadn’t even brought your toothbrush in with you. Scowling at a fog coated mirror, you cracked the door and watched the steam leak out.

Chasing it with your ear, you didn’t hear anything, but there was a distinct lemon scent.

You followed the smell into the hall where you quickly placed it was cleaner. The floor had a sheen to it that spoke of a recent mopping. The clean line ending abruptly at your door said exactly who the culprit was. Donatello had snuck back in to clean and you were thankful for it. He’d left your sanctuary untouched and instead set a stool just outside the door. 

On it was a stack of comfortable looking clothes and a note.

‘Keep your room or upgrade. I recommend the one upstairs, second bedroom on the right.’

You folded the note along its lines and placed it back on the offered clothes. You then gathered the lot and took it with you along with a brave face as you entered your room. You barely looked up as you salvaged what you could from your duffel. Carrying the mostly limp sack, you then moved to follow your recommendation. It led you through the darkened cabin and up the winding wooden stairs where the door in question was closed. Knocking on it out of politeness, you found it empty and slipped inside. It was decorated similarly, but clearly different. Comfortable in its own sense, you went about your nightly routine as best you could and thanked the space for not having a mirror. Growing more weary by the second, you thought vaguely of meat as you instead pulled back the covers.

Sinking in and imagining charcoal lighting the men’s faces, you settled down into the welcoming embrace of bed.

You eventually got up and padded across a tiled floor.

Pulling out a single slick piece of black fabric, you double checked the door was closed before changing.

The perfect swimsuit was one you hadn’t imagined you’d find.

What luck, you thought, as you slipped it on.

Stepping into it, you shimmied into the fabric and turned for that show stopping image in the changing room.

It was perfect.

It covered you in all the right ways.

Finally, the piece you’d been looking for.

Smiling and striking pose after pose, you saw a hand wave above the curtain.

“Come in!” You called to it. 

Sanctum’s were only to be entered with permission. 

“Silly.” You looked over your pleasing image once more. “Is it still a violation if I request it?”

“I guess not.” Instead of drawing the curtain back, Donnie slipped through it.

Tucking himself a strong wall behind you, he looked into the mirror at you.

What looked back held no heat, only appreciation.

“Do you like it?” He checked with you without passing judgment himself.

“I do…” You smiled.

He gave one of his own, though subdued, and flicked his gaze down. “Look here.”

You lowered your gaze to find him kneeling behind you. With his head popped out around your hips, he was looking up at you in a way you liked quite a bit.

You felt powerful.

You were a light bright enough for him to want to project.

“This ruching here has leading lines.” He didn’t touch you, but his hands ghosted over you along the fabric’s pattern.

Your lips parted and your chest filled with heat.

A celestial body was meant to look on.

You were safe. 

“May I?” He asked you once again. 

You were glad and responded with a breathless, “Please.”

His mouth opened a dark orbital maw, a new moon, which then glinted into a teeth-filled waxing crescent headed in its trek to sink into your soft flesh.

You jolted the moment the teeth supposedly hit their mark. 

You stared into the dark abyss and saw drifting images of sharpened grins. 

You were dizzy.

A sheen of sweat to you, you tossed back a cover. 

The black hovel above you took shape as logs in the cabin ceiling. 

They lined up like thick thighs appearing from where board shorts had hiked up. 

Begging for a taste.

Awareness struck with a sharp inhale.

Fully awake and doused with dread from your dream, you voiced your despair with a whisper.

“Oh no…”

💛 NEXT 💛

I swear I handed this to my betas over a year ago... @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

Right, I'm going to weigh in on the Lisa Cameron MP situation and current media trends in the UK right now...

It feels like UK journalism has a real problem right now when public figures do something demonstrably bad, of instead of reporting that as news for the community to be aware of and informed by, journalists go directly to the public figure in question and let them mount a defence, defend, or otherwise excuse in advance their actions in the vein of putting across their side of the story... and thus in the process only platform that side of the story.

Enter Lisa Cameron, MP. Lisa was elected several years ago after standing to represent SNP, Scotland's prominent left-wing party. She's recently jumped ship to the Tories, who in Scotland are a party with minority support, and are strongly right-wing. Because of the law of the country, Lisa gets to keep her job representing the local community - although the party she now represents is diametrically opposed to the views of the party she was elected to stand for. She was elected in the first place because a majority of electors in her district wanted a leftwing party to represent them in government - and now that person that they elected will represent the minority of rightwingers in her district only, and is completely unashamed about this and unwilling to consider re-running an election or standing down.

How is the British media reporting this? Across the board, even in leftwing media...

"Poor Lisa, she's been getting threats and abuse from the nasty public. She has to go into hiding now because of all that abuse she's getting." (with of course no reference to why that is happening, leaving the implication it's because she's a powerful, successful woman, or independent minded etc.)

Making that focus so ridiculously overdramatic, as well as totally focused on the wrong aspect weakens the story, and detracts from what's real news - as well as, most importantly, also taking away the weight from real abuse and criticism that people who don't deserve it face; racism, ableism, sexism and other associated genuine discrimination based on prejudices, rather than angry words spoken as the result of actions someone has openly chosen in order to benefit themself and harm people in their community.

This kind of coverage has also arisen recently with the family of Captain Tom, another UK public figure who was a well-known charity fundraiser, whose family later claimed to continue his work after his death - but instead shifted quietly into for-profit work using his image and likeness, without drawing attention to this fact. Hannah Ingram-Moore, his daughter, was revealed to have personally profited from the sales of Captain Tom's autobiography, written with the aid of ghostwriters after he became a high-profile figure based on his charity endeavours, which strongly implied itself to be a book written and sold in order to raise more money for charity... but actually wasn't. Hannah and her family have been doing the media circuit in defence of this decision, pulling the 'my hero father just wanted to provide for his family' angle (who are all, may I add, working adults in their 50s)... and have been getting very little critical pushback for that! Despite the core story here being literally what seems to be a case of unscrupulous family members profiting off the charity work of a veteran.

Going back to Lisa, generally leftwing paper The Guardian just published a fawning article painting her as the victim - and carefully not asking her any hard questions that would go between the lines of the image she is deliberately crafting.

Quoting below, Lisa - who was elected in no uncertain terms to represent a particular political position and set of policies, supported by her voters, defends herself thus:

In the interview, Cameron said that because she repeatedly opposed the SNP’s “progressive” political positions, she had been blanked by party colleagues in the Commons’ tea room and corridors and was forced to seek help from a counsellor and her GP after experiencing panic attacks and loneliness. “I found it to be quite a psychologically coercive situation,” Cameron told the Times. “They are always right. If you question things you are wrong and you’re isolated.

But Lisa, if you don't agree with any of the SNP's positions on anything and disagree with all of your colleagues on every subject, then it begs the question of why you are actually standing as an SNP MP in the first place. And I suspect based on what she isn't saying here, that the 'isolation' and 'loneliness' she felt here came because people legitimately put this question to her.

Is it psychologically coercive to actually represent the people and political positions that you were elected to, folks? Are your colleagues bullying you when they ask why you aren't doing the job that you applied for and are getting paid circa 100k a year to carry out? Why isn't that the story here? Why are we being asked to feel sympathy for people who break the social contract in order to personally profit?

[fxirybun]

Hi, can you do my DR S/O’s green and red flags?

Initials/Nickname: G.V./ Bie

Big 3: Sun sign is Leo (If you believe in cusps then I’m a Cancer/Leo cusper for specifics), Gemini Moon, and Scorpio Rising.

My most used emoji(s) is/are: ❤️ and 🤣

DR S/O’s Name: Jeon Jungkook

The reality my S/O is in: My WR

I hope this helps you and isn’t too complicated or weird, thank you!

hello bie ! and no it's not too complicated or weird at all lmao xp thank you for sending me your ask <3

ෆ⸒⸒ his ten (10) green flags

𐙚 his natural talent feels boundless , allowing him to constantly experiment with new styles. his working habit gives off authenticity , showing how deeply connected he is to his craft.

𐙚 even when unexpected challenges arise , jungkook remains to keep afloat. he is very versatile and adjusts quickly to new environments , demonstrating that he can thrive under pressure.

𐙚 you may often see him caring for the people around him through means of offering advice , listening attentively , or simply being there for someone.

𐙚 jungkook tends to be practical in his approaches. he knows when to set big goals and has a clear plan for himself. in addition , he also takes practical steps to achieve them.

𐙚 one of his most prominent traits is his consistency. jungkook has shown time and again that people can count on him. his reliable nature ensures that he’s someone others trust to follow through and maintain his composure in difficult times.

𐙚 even though he has faced pressures on his side , Jungkook has proven his resilience. he can overcome obstacles and hardships without losing sight of who he is. when things don’t go as planned , he learns from the experience and bounces back stronger than before.

𐙚 he is the kind of guy who remains humble at all times. he doesn’t allow his achievements to inflate his ego , and he continues to show gratitude for the people who have put their faith in him.

𐙚 jungkook's dedication to his work is evident in everything he does. he has this natural drive to improve himself , often going above and beyond to perfect his abilities.

𐙚 this man has a compassionate heart , often putting others’ needs before his own. his kindness feels genuine and how he shows empathy toward those around him is evident in his actions.

𐙚 jungkook knows how to chase his dreams without letting his ambitions overshadow his personal life or relationships. he has a healthy balance between striving for success and appreciating the things he currently has at the moment.

ෆ���⸒ his ten (10) red flags

𐙚 jungkook may have struggled with or is prone to certain self-limiting patterns or behaviors. even though he works hard to free himself from these , it could be a red flag if he occasionally slips back into negative thought cycles or unhealthy habits.

𐙚 he might sometimes find himself lost or overwhelmed due to receiving too many choices. he might be overly idealistic , chasing dreams that aren’t grounded in reality , leading him to feel frustrated.

𐙚 jungkook may place too much emphasis on close relationships , a need for constant validation from others. he could struggle with boundaries , putting his emotional well-being in the hands of those he cares about.

𐙚 he sometimes is hesitant to fully embrace something out of fear of failure or judgment. this cautious approach could hold him back from exploring new avenues or fully living in the moment.

𐙚 his dedication to his career can be so intense that it tips into imbalance. jungkook finds it difficult to switch off or relax , focusing too much on his work or public image at the expense of his personal time.

𐙚 jungkook could sometimes overanalyze situations that are right in front of him. this action can lead to anxiety , causing him to second-guess himself or hesitate to take action when quick decisions are needed.

𐙚 his desire to do well and to please others could make him vulnerable to emotional ups and downs , especially when facing criticism or negativity from the outside world. l

𐙚 he may as well have trouble expressing his own negative emotions too. jungkook prefers to keep these feelings to himself rather than confront difficult situations , which could lead to bottled-up emotions.

𐙚 his high standards for himself and others could sometimes turn into a worst-case scenario. it may cause him to be overly critical of himself or those around him.

𐙚 despite being emotionally in touch with others , jungkook might find it difficult to fully open up about his own deeper feelings , fears , or even his insecurities.

fxiry : i hope this helps ! feedback is required ^^

[spectralhunter]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 / 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒.

Did they believe in Santa?: Yes is what we want to see, isn't it? And yes it should have been, if Santa had ever been planted as a good seed in his heart. As someone who was raised in a low class family, Takumi's parents focused solely on bills, food, clothing and basic commodities. Since childhood, they clarified that Santa was not real, nor natal festivities were significantly important. They capitalized in such joint action in order to avoid yearly expenditures. So no, Takumi never grew up believing in Santa being actually real.

Were they a dinosaur or rock kid?: A rodent kid actually. Toys were a rare commodity he acquired, so he often resorted on crafting very basic toys for himself. One of the most significant, which resides in his special stash to present time, is a mouse. Takumi crafted one from pebbles, sticks, black filter pen and a string. It was his best friend throughout childhood, carrying on past teenage time 'till Hunter entered his life. Hunter's presence filled up the rodent slot, meaning Takumi did not have to carry his makeshift mouse.

Bugs or slimy critters?: Bugs, pill bugs specifically. He took an affinity to them when living with his parents, often due to the shapes on their back. Some appeared as special designs, some were like faded numbers. More often than not, Takumi spoke to them, and in such acts he found a strange satisfaction as if he wasn't actually alone. Bringing any bugs home was out of the question, unless he wished to be heavily disciplined by his father.

Do they fidget? How?: Takumi does frequently fidget, this is induced via high levels of anxiety or hyper focus. His right leg constantly fidgets, causing his foot to tap the floor. These event windows happen in quick successions, although controlling these episodes is something he persistently works on.

What were they frequently in trouble for as a child?: Academically and local communities for mischief. Exacerbated levels of neglect had caused Takumi to seek validation and attention by causing trouble. These acts were usually harmless, nothing short but annoyances. While it worked at the beginning, people began to pay less and less attention to him. His acts of trouble never went past that due to a few fears.

What underwear do they like?: Boxers only. He keeps a good dozen pairs in his drawer, colour variant. Anything with cute patterns or anything more delicate which might implicate his image with the outside public, he only wears during off time.

Designs on clothing or no?: No, not at all. Most of his clothing is plain by having only colour to them. He keeps a lot of this clothing oriented around his work in order to conserve spending.

Birthmarks?: Nothing.

Do they have good self control?: He has moderate self-control. As a charismatic individual, Takumi is capable of displaying credible levels of discipline, although, put under large stress? He will revert back to his primal instincts of self-preservation; yes, he will leave someone for dead in order to live on. Expect him to have great self-control when operating under normal circumstances.

Do they re-enact scenarios in the shower?: A resounding yes. Takumi will often re-enact speeches for plausible future scenarios. This is part of consolidating his charismatic prowess, so while showering, he will look on a mirror and act as practice. It is an oddity, although it works flawlessly for him.

Do they tell the waiter that their order is wrong?: I am ashamed to even speak about this. If an order is wrong, Takumi will whistle or clap in order to get the waiter's attentions. He will then blatantly point at where the order went wrong, and ask that he either gets a new one, or he will file a complaint. Sometimes this works to an extent that he receives free stuff as compensation.

Stairs or elevator?: Hell no to stairs, elevator all the way. The only time he doesn't take an elevator is if he is being chased by a ghost, or someone who wants to harm him. He's seen plenty of movies and knows how badly being stuck in an elevator can get.

Are they an exaggerator when telling stories?: Very much so. Stories recorded by Takumi will never come out accurate; he adds, subtracts and blatantly exaggerates in order to make himself appear bigger, better or smarter. For most part, he became convincing enough that people usually believe him, further fuelling his already oversized ego.

TAGGED BY: @s-talking thank you dear, a million kisses ~ TAGGING : @fallesto , @sheyearns , @dhahabibi , @respawningdetective , @fanaticist , @tragedicn , @lured-into-wonderland , @spookyooky , @vortship , @the27percent , @inseparableduo , @ensxrcelled , @royaletiquette , @awesomeuchuu , @chronicparagon , @cosmicdreamt

[denimbex1986]

'All of Us Strangers is going to break your heart, and every crack is worth it.

Andrew Haigh's movie is a magical experience exploring universal fears – grief, isolation, loneliness, fear of not being loved – while creating an incredibly touching, personal story about queer trauma. It's extraordinarily unexpected, too.

Ultimately, this is a story about learning how to live with ghosts.

The movie follows Adam (Andrew Scott), a screenwriter who revisits his childhood and his relationship with his parents, who died 30 years ago in an accident.

Now, this is not a flashback-based narrative – All of Us Strangers is not about revisiting the past, but reprogramming it so it's bearable to live with it in the present.

The movie exists within a mysterious space, equally likely to be interpreted as a paranormal scenario where ghosts exist or simply as a hallucinatory manifestation of Adam's corrosive grief. It doesn't matter, really.

Scott travels back to his childhood home to find his parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) exactly as they were before they died. He, however, is a fully-grown man now. The image is striking, bordering on comical, yet still intensely affecting.

Only a superb movie would be able to stick Scott in children's pyjamas and still make us cry with the rawness of what's happening in that haunted house.

For the first time, Adam gets to tell his parents he is gay. He also gets to confront them about not having a better understanding of what he went through as a bullied child. Far from an ideal fantasy, these ghosts are not perfect. They don't necessarily say what he longs to hear. And still, the protagonist is getting the closure he so desperately needs.

In one of the best scenes in the film, the family is decorating their Christmas tree to the sound of Pet Shop Boys' rendition of 'Always on My Mind'.

The lyrics come alive as the mother sings, looking at her son with eyes filled with regrets for love never given and apologies never offered. It's a healing moment for a broken family, and one of the most beautiful movie moments of the year.

While exploring unfinished business with his parents, Adam starts getting close to the only other person living in his near-empty London apartment block, Harry (Paul Mescal), who one day shows up at his door looking for company.

Scott and Mescal's chemistry is beautiful, pouring in every heart-on-hand conversation and every incredibly sensual sex scene they share on screen.

Haigh nails this relationship in the vein of his 2011 movie Weekend. The filmmaker is hardly a stranger when it comes to exploring meaningful, complex connections, as well as the emotional burdens queer people carry.

In All of Us Strangers, he seems to rely on contrasts to dismantle preconceived ideas.

There are tensions between the present and the past, how it used to be and how it is. The cold city turns out to be a place of acceptance among unrelated people, while a home in the suburbs is the one that is full of strangers. The idea of the 'chosen family' is essential for the LGBTQ+ community.

As Harry says in one scene: "I always felt like a stranger in my own family."

All that is connected by public transport, which Haigh focuses on often. The constant movement between contrasts is what creates restlessness in Adam's life — the incessant travelling between the past he can't let go, and the present he can't fully live in.

Through drug-induced nightmarish sequences and Adam's distorted reflections on countless mirrors and windows, All of Us Strangers takes viewers into an emotional storm crafted to perfection.

The movie's performances, visual language, song choices, emotional scope — everything is on point, utterly devastating and still soul-healing.

Since Adam is a writer looking for inspiration, this is also about how stories help us live through memories, keeping people alive when they're no longer here and allowing us to tell them things we'd never had the chance (or the nerve) to in real life.

Stories help us deal with grief, understand it, embrace it, and live with it. This movie deals with all that in the most mystical, heart-rending way.

****.'

[msdrprofessorjessica]

Alchemists Apathy: Five Nights At Freddy's

I made it this specific title just to see if I can confuse someone.

I waffle about in universe posts, the human characters, and occasionally the animatronics. I think I'll be focusing on the latter a bit more but also, I felt like sharing this bit of information on the AU.

I haven't been able to talk much about the Post Afton Era content much, not because I'm fiddling away trying to figure something out, it's mainly cause... I didn't really feel like it. Lol. This era in this AU is called the Fazbear Enterprises Era and focuses on Fazbear Enterprises and everything they do to try and scramble to get back into the public image after Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria Simulator. So yeah, two eras in this AU that do intertwine with each other so I hope you like that. This post focuses on a specific section, that being the in universe games.

I always found this a really interesting concept, but like a lot of things, I feel it could have been done a bit better. Actually explaining what the games were would have been nice, but really, I think that's all there needs to be in terms of that. The detail is only for Help Wanted 1 and only AR makes reference to it in one email. It's a detail that seems really important to me because this is how Fazbear Entertainment got themselves back into the public light after the tragedies that befell their company prior to Help Wanted. This AU now has an entire post dedicated to it. I feel so sigma because of it... I'm not sorry for saying that. This part of the AU is important anyway as it ties into The Joy Of Creation, which is an official spin-off with an amazing demo on Steam right now. You should all download it!

The Abrams family, a family of three that were just trying to survive with their own little home in the woods of Michigan. Father Luke Abrams and his wife, Julie Abrams, were struggling to find work and take care of their son, Tommy Abrams. Work was hard to come by these days, with the well paying jobs in the area requiring some skill that both Luke and Julie simply didn't have. Julie ended up working in fast food while Luke found himself working at a dollar store while making small games on the side to keep Tommy entertained. The games weren't anything special, rom hacks of old games, RPG's, and a game about a beaver. None of the games were... that good. But not only did he make them for his son, he also released them out into the world to hopefully earn some extra pocket money. They didn't sell well and some complained about the controls, the length, and the looks of the game. Eventually, Luke was later contacted by Fazbear Enterprises head: Matthew Burrows. Matthew enlisted his help into making a small game based on the old scary rumors of the Fazbear Enterprises company. Luke didn't want to accept it at first but when he heard about the large cash reward, he greatly accepted. This was the first part in Fazbear Enterprises plan called "Project Clean Slate".

Project "Clean Slate" was meant to cover up everything they had done in the past and spin it around to make it look completely different. The idea was pitched in 2002 as a complete last resort and Fazbear Enterprises used it now to help them stay in business. The plan was simple, lie about everything to make themselves look good. Rewrite the past as much as possible. Enlisting the help of a game developer to conceal and make light of what happened was the perfect goal. They had one shot at this, and Matthew Burrows was going to make sure nothing screwed it up. He had a keen eye over the development of the game, often working with Luke for hours at a time, trying to perfectly craft the designs, the gameplay, the map itself. The game turned into a horror game, where Matthew would pitch the idea of a sit and survive type gameplay for five nights, similar to the stories of the night guards. Luke agreed as it was easy to program. He worked and worked and when it was all done and playtested, Luke released it to the public. It was a massive success. Not only was he amazed at the numbers continuing to go up and up, he was surprised that the money Fazbear Enterprises would give him was actually given to him... and then some. The game "Five Nights At Freddy's" was a massive success and Fazbear Enterprises legacy was thrown into question, a sequel was soon made. "Five Nights At Freddy's 2" was released and more people ate it up.

A total of five games were released, as well as spin-off games called "The Return To Freddy's". The series was very, very popular. It spawned a community, it's own fanfictions, AU's, fanart, even fanmade plushies. There were also a plethora of fangames created based off of the Five Nights At Freddy's brand. One of them was about the Disney resort "Discovery Island" which the development team of the game renamed to "Treasure Island" to avoid copyright. The game had a gamepage and not much information outside of that is known about it. We don't even know if a demo was released. A teaser game was supposedly made, but not much is known about that either. Another fangame involved the old beaver game Luke made for his son, turning it into a horror game with beaver animatronics. Another was about Sonic and Mario and was based off of an inside joke Sega made one time. The community was insane... but Luke wasn't happy. He was at first! But as the games were continued, Luke's mental health kept getting progressively worse and worse. The games affected his family, he and his wife had fights more often and it eventually led in the divorce of Luke and Julie, Julie got Tommy in the divorce. Luke continued and was planning a fourth TRTF game as well as a sixth Five Nights At Freddy's game, but they were both canceled in the end due to Luke's mental health. He broke off from Fazbear Enterprises after this, which they would continue to flourish and create their own merch, books, and their own games. Although, those weren't as well received.

As for what happened to Luke? Well, he would try to make his own horror game away from the Freddy's characters. But they managed to find a way. Demonic forces entering his dreams, turning them into nightmares. He thought he was just hallucinating. Mental health and all, but no. They were real, and there was more than one. His inner thoughts and desires taking form alongside the main demons, and in the head of them all was a Golden Bear. Luke's house burnt to the ground, with the charred corpse of Luke in the center of it all. The demons were nowhere to be found, presumably back down in the underworld where they belonged.

[lappesten]

Max Verstappen is another great example of how the private lives of drivers have become big business. When he first started, Max was mostly seen as a F1 prodigy, a young driver with raw talent, focused on performance and competition. But over time, like many others, his image has taken center stage, and it sometimes feels like the actual racing is pushed aside.

This has been especially noticeable with the way his relationship with his (racist) girlfriend has been exposed. At first, their relationship was kept relatively private, but now, it’s a huge part of his public image, especially since the announcement of her pregnancy. Every little detail of their private life, whether it's everyday moments or more personal events, is now under the spotlight, commented on, and used as part of a carefully crafted marketing strategy. F1, which used to be all about the racing, has turned into a platform where every part of a driver’s life is exploited for commercial gain.

But what’s even more striking with Max is how he’s essentially become *totally immersed* in this. Max, who was once so focused on keeping his private life out of the public eye, has really been swept up by his relationship, and it’s starting to show. He used to be a lot more guarded, and there were times when he really pushed back against letting his personal life get mixed up with his public persona. But over time, it seems like his efforts to keep things private have crumbled a bit. He’s been pushed into a position where his relationship, particularly with his girlfriend’s pregnancy, has become a focal point of his image, and that’s starting to impact his career as a driver.

For example, Verstappen has had moments where his focus on his personal life has clearly affected his race performances. We’ve seen him get frustrated by media questions about his relationship, and sometimes that can distract him during race weekends. Instead of staying completely in the zone, he’s forced to juggle his personal and professional lives, and it’s clear that this can lead to tensions. Plus, his team's focus on his image as a family man and a "public figure" has increased the pressure on him, making it harder to simply be seen as the fierce competitor he once was. It's almost like the marketing side of him is taking up more space than his actual racing.

Max Verstappen, like Charles Leclerc, is living through this shift in modern sports where even personal lives become products to sell. It’s not just about focusing on the races or on-track performances anymore; it’s about what fans can consume from the drivers' lives. His girlfriend’s pregnancy isn’t just a personal event, but a headline, creating buzz and feeding the media machine, grabbing the attention of millions. This mix of personal life and marketing has completely changed the F1 dynamic, turning it into a show where everything is staged to engage fans through aspects that were once considered private and off-limits.

It’s crazy how this commercialization of private lives is changing how we see drivers. It’s no longer just about following the races and seeing who’s the fastest. Now, drivers are more like public figures, influencers, and their everyday lives have become almost as important as their results on the track. Fans now follow these personal stories just as closely, like every detail of their lives is an extension of their public image. It really shows how much the sport has evolved, and how the line between athlete, influencer, and celebrity is now pretty blurry.

[cooloddball]

your thoughts about saying Mish and Jen meeting at the right time is really interesting because I reckon their interactions would have been very different, as you said Jensen was the kind of person to thank jesus for an award and misha was a bit of a rebel, so they probably would have had this very interesting chemistry, but it'd be like enemies to friends to lovers (or friends whichever way you think...i am just perceiving) - where as by the time they met now, Jensen was with Danneel so I 1/?

think Danneel kind of helped him become a bit more liberal (okay that's not the word but more just relaxed and helped maybe with toxic masculinity etc - he didn't drink with straws until he was into his 30s etc). Which is why Danneel and Misha get on so well cause they're quite alike. 2/2

I get what you mean and as much as I believe Danneel brought him out of his shell, I don't think Jensen was ever in any shell, it was a perfectly curated image for his career. There is nothing wrong with that, we all have images to uphold when it comes to our jobs and public lives vis-à-vis our privates lives.

You may be wondering why I'm saying it was crafted image and not a shell. Remember Jensen when he came to Hollywood, a young 18-year-old fair-haired charming boy. He seemed so free and happy being with his best friend (read as bf imo) Ty.

Here are a few posts about Jensen and Ty, including photos and interviews.

Then, he joined Days of Our Lives and he had other "relationships" with men that were pretty sus and rumours started circulating that he was gay.

Even his friend Ty tweeted something rather weird

Maybe it has nothing to do with Jensen but...There’s a lot to unpack about his and Ty’s relationship. It’s mind boggling.

You also mentioned him drinking with straws until he was in his 30s. He said his dad told him that real men don’t drink through straws. That’s an odd thing for a father to say to their child. Was he worried that Jensen wasn’t “manly”? Like what would prompt a parent to say that to their child? I don’t want to assume anything but that statement gave me John Winchester vibes. The fact that also Jensen had to call his dad after every episode of spn aired to get his feedback is just nerve wrecking, I can’t even imagine what it was like for him. Maybe that’s why he left home as soon as he turned 18. He was supposed to go to college with Ty but he moved to Hollywood instead and Ty took a gap year to join him there and they became “roommates”. As I said, there’s a Lot to unpack from his past life. 

In Hollywood you need to have a certain public image to get certain jobs. Do you think if he were perceived as gay he would be cast as Dean? Of course not. So, I think he was always and still is that carefree guy he was back then but as you said Dee who is a rebel helped him shed his layers but he still had some left. And then Misha came along and it was like his whole world was turned upside down. He has said that Misha and Dee are twisted and very similar so I can't even imagine the chaos that is Misha, Dee and Vicki. Once Dee,  Misha and  Vicki came into his life, hewas now with people who lived their lives on their own terms, unapologetically. And it may have taken a while but he shed all of the shells he had. 

That's why the Jensen we saw on the gag reels was not the same Jensen we used to see on panels. He was always freer in panels where Misha was present be it a cockles panel or a J2M panel. He even started being overly affectionate by giving Misha behind the ear kisses on the red carpet, spanking him, caressing his face during public interviews etc.

I mean as the years went by he shed more of his shell to the point where he wasn't afraid of what people thought anymore and as much as some people may say straddlegate is not public, it is in the public domain, YouTube is in the public domain. It just takes a few keyboard strokes "Jensen 2019 cons" and jib10 will show up among other things.

He also went ahead to post that jib10 selfie on his IG. Which tbh is gay AF. I have never seen men stand dick to dick, nip to nip and abs to abs like that before unless they were on top of each other or against each other doing grown-up things.

So I think if he met Misha back then, it wouldn’t have ended well for them. Jensen was too focused on his career and how he is perceived while Misha used acting as a means to an end to reach more people for socio-political change. A goal he has achieved. Acting was never his endgame. So, I think that as much as they would have fallen madly in love when they were younger, it would’ve ended badly and we probably wouldn’t have gotten Misha playing Cas or destiel or cockles. In retrospect, maybe it could’ve still happened because by the time Misha joined the show, Jensen was starting to be his real self again thanks to Dee.

I'm rambling now. I hope this makes sense because I'm never sure if I make any sense.

[bluerose5]

Under the Mistletoe

[Something short and sweet for my symbrock muse (hope I'm not out of line for saying that 😅) @ask-symbrock based on their most recent post. 🥺]

It had been a while since Eddie was in a festive mood.

After their whole Halloween outing, they were back on the run, hopping from state to state —sometimes, from country to country, depending on their mood. They went wherever the "Lethal Protector" was needed, Eddie begrudgingly accepting the title as it gained traction amongst the media, mostly thanks to V and their apparent knack for publicity.

They were surprisingly good at crafting their public image, something that was sorely needed, given the fact that they were an alien that snacked on human heads for a living.

To be able to find something cheerful to take part in was a welcome distraction for both.

Which was exactly why they might or might not have "borrowed" a Christmas tree from a store close to their current apartment complex.

V had been generous enough to carry it back home.

Of course, that had been on the condition that Eddie would help decorate it, and he would have been an idiot to say no to an offer like that.

While he worked to untangle a string of lights, V was busy doing their own thing. Several tendrils emerged from Eddie's body. One fiddled with the radio station on a busted up stereo, another was busy heating up some hot cocoa, and the final of the trio was working on baking gingerbread cookies.

Eventually, his Other found a station with non-stop Christmas songs, leaving it there as they joyously sang along.

Eddie rolled his eyes at them, but even he joined in with a lighthearted hum, unable to contain his smile.

"Hey, V!" Eddie called out, not that he really needed to. After all, his Other had a front row seat to Eddie’s thoughts, but it was a comfort to be able to speak with them aloud rather than internally. "All I ask for tomorrow is that you act surprised when I give you your gift, okay?"

"Gift?!" V gasped dramatically. "You got me a gift? And here I am. I didn't get you anything!"

"Liar," Eddie chuckled. "You got something shipped to that P.O. box, didn't you?"

"My lips are sealed. I have no clue what you're talking about."

As Eddie wrapped the last line of lights around the tree, he muttered, "Uh-huh."

Plugging them in, he quickly tested them. Only a few didn't work, so he grabbed a few of the spare bulbs to replace them.

Once they were all set, it lit up like a —uh, well, like a Christmas tree!

As the fragrant aroma of cookies and chocolate permeated the apartment, Eddie focused on the tree's finishing touches. Soon enough, it was dressed up in an array of colors, ornaments and garlands of various kinds adorning its frame.

It sparkled, dazzling in its own right.

Stepping back, Eddie tried to dust any excess glitter off his hands and admired his handiwork.

"There," he stated, beaming with pride. "The tree's all set up." Tapping a tendril, the three appendages returned to his body at his silent request, replaced with his Other's face instead. His symbiote appraised the tree at his side, taking it in from top to bottom. "Well, what do you think, V?"

They were silent for a moment, screwing around with Eddie, before suddenly declaring, "It looks good enough to eat!"

How could one compliment cause Eddie to feel such a simultaneous spark of joy and horror.

"No, no, no..." Best to nip that in the bud. The thought of the indigestion alone caused him to shudder in revulsion. "We do not eat tre—"

"I'm gonna eat it!"

Eddie narrowed his eyes at them, pointing at them with a glare.

"Don't."

V huffed.

"What a killjoy," they sighed, but Eddie could thankfully feel their responding amusement. They had only been joking around.

Hopefully.

Of course, they wouldn't be his beloved symbiote if they didn't press their luck.

"Do we get to eat the mistletoe, though?" V teased.

Eddie scoffed.

"Maybe later," he said, noncommittal. V started to take shape beside him, towering over him with their bodies still connected by a multitude of tendrils. They hugged Eddie from behind, idly running their hands over the soft fabric of Eddie's sweater. "You know, the mistletoe does serve other purposes."

V caught on, playing along with glee.

"Really?" they asked, voice rumbling throughout their bodies. "What is that, I wonder?"

"Well," Eddie hummed, "perhaps it would be better if I showed you."

Turning in their arms, Eddie grasped at a stray tendril, dragging V along into the kitchen and dining area.

Above their small table, there dangled one of the very culprits in question.

Reaching out, Eddie cupped V's cheeks, standing up on his tiptoes. While his Other didn't have lips like a human, they covered their teeth enough for Eddie to press a light kiss over where their mouth should be. Eddie lingered yet still pulled away too quickly for V's liking.

In the blink of an eye, V had scooped Eddie up and set him on the edge of the table with ease. Eddie instinctively tossed his arms around broad shoulders, his legs wrapped around his Other’s waist.

V rested his forehead against Eddie's, a soothing hum emanating from their core.

"I love you, Eddie Brock," they murmured, said with much more confident and ease compared to when they first said it.

Eddie swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat, his heart pounding out of his chest.

Even now, even when Eddie was more certain of his feelings and theirs, it was difficult to comprehend that someone actually accepted him —that someone actually loved him, flaws and all.

Eddie leaned in close, took in a deep breath.

"Love you too, V." All at once, his breath left him. He smiled, little webs of black clinging to his fingers. His lips ghosted over V's mouth in a soft tease of a kiss. "Merry Christmas, darling."

"Merry Christmas, Eddie."

With that, they closed the distance between their lips, crashing together into a passionate kiss. V instantly deepened it, eager to explore Eddie’s mouth at his behest. They traced the tip of their tongue along the seam of his lips, trilling low in the back of their throat when Eddie parted them.

Their tongues brushed tentatively against one another at first, right before V's tongue ventured deeper. The dark alien mass emitted an excited, high-pitched squeal. Tiny tendrils caressed every inch of exposed skin that they could reach.

Body and mind merged together. Both of them melted into the comfort of a familiar embrace, unable to distinguish where one of them started and the other ended.

Although Eddie readily succumbed to the flow of their kiss, his Other let him take charge, guiding them through pace and passion.

They clung to each other until the very end. When Eddie finally broke the kiss, he gasped for air, pressed flush against his Other.

V smirked, watching as they dragged their claw down along the outline of Eddie's face.

A shiver raced down his spine.

"On second thought," V stated, "I think that I'll forgo eating the tiny plant. Apparently, it has its benefits."

Eddie barked out a breathless laugh.

"Apparently, so." That was when he got a whiff of an unpleasant odor, wrinkling his nose before he sniffed pointedly at the air. "Uh, V? I think the chocolate is burning."

Their eyes widened.

"Oh, shit!" They rushed into the kitchen, still connected by the thinnest of strands. "Not the chocolate!"

With a shake of his head, Eddie jumped down, helping salvage what they could.

[tcm]

THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder By Kim Luperi

Released near the end of WWII, THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE (’45) thoughtfully presented a timeless tale of love and the true nature of beauty to a war-weary nation. But it also dives below the surface, imparting sensitive commentary on society’s standards of attractiveness and belonging, matters of which always seem to remain relevant even as the world changes. 

In THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE, "homely" Laura (Dorothy McGuire) works as a housemaid at the cottage where handsome Oliver (Robert Young) and Beatrice (Hillary Brooke) plan to spend their honeymoon. However, WWII interrupts those nuptials, and a year later, Oliver gets discharged from service with visible battle scars. Bitter and almost driven to suicide, he shuts himself out from the world in that same cottage, where he befriends Laura and blind WWI veteran John (Herbert Marshall). Out of loneliness and convenience, Oliver and Laura marry, but something magical happens once they do: their physical imperfections melt away, but only to them, as love grants them the gift to see each other as they want to be seen.  

Sir Arthur Wing Pinero penned the source material in 1922 in part to provide a confidence boost for injured WWI veterans. His play first hit the screen in 1924, and two decades later, WWII offered a timely background to update the story with similar effect; in fact, Variety predicted the picture would inspire tolerance and “make rehabilitation of the boys easier.” Almost a century after the story’s debut, The Enchanted Cottage’s themes continue to endure. 

WWII expanded women’s roles, making it more acceptable for them to trade, to an extent, elegance for practicability and comfort, especially those who worked in factory jobs vacated by men. Even so, media and pinup photography highlighted beauty and desirability, confirming both genders “assigned great importance to female attractiveness,” as Susan M. Hartmann wrote in The Home Front and Beyond. Indeed, women’s magazines continually emphasized traditional femininity and glamour, while publications that men flipped through accentuated the same – and more overt sexual appeal, too. 

As evidenced by her perceptive reaction to the shattering rebuffs she receives from servicemen at a dance, Laura does not fit the traditional modes of rouged-up style. Growing up in the internet age with similar pressures of glamour and perfect bodies everywhere I clicked, I identified with the humble and thoughtful Laura. Sure, society at large may not label her as physically attractive, but her appeal lies in the way she defends her worth and lives life on her own terms. The film presents her as more of a plain Jane, and viewers are privy to her compassionate character, which makes us root for her. That said, there has always existed a stark difference between the fantasy served up in media and women’s experience in the real world. Just like WWII opened up opportunities, modern women have access to a breadth of possibilities that have also altered how we live and look. Even though more diverse images of beauty are disseminated today, we still constantly consume meticulously crafted physical representations few can actually attain. The weight of 1940s societal pressures obviously left Laura with emotional scars, as such unreasonable demands still have the ability to do today. 

Many soldiers returning from WWII also faced unrealistic expectations. As Mark D. Van Ells reported in To Hear Only Thunder Again, self-help books counseled veterans’ families to show patience, support and encouragement in difficult situations, which Oliver’s support system obviously didn’t do as he seeks to come to terms with his injuries. “Sensitivity seemed in short supply,” Thomas Childers remarked in Soldier from the War Returning when commenting on the stares and whispers disabled veterans regrettably encountered in public, which made many reluctant to venture out. That same social stigma and lack of empathy and kindness for one another, especially those who look different, sadly continue for too many today through bullying. In fact, internet anonymity seemingly gives people carte blanche to act much more cruelly online. 

As Oliver despondently admits to John, he just wants his old life back. John W. Jeffries observed in Wartime America that post-war magazines and newspapers focused on getting back to normal, like going on trips and picnics. For disabled veterans, though, their new normal necessitated a completely different existence. Today, people feel similarly as we’ve lived with the COVID-19 pandemic for over a year. Many grapple with re-entering a society that looks unlike the one we left, and many more deal with tremendous loss and life-changing repercussions from the virus.

The outsider status imposed on Laura and Oliver draws them together in their own secluded world where they fit in. In the modern day, those who feel ostracized from society can find a sense of belonging with like-minded friends and companions around the world through online groups, social media and, of course, dating apps. Then as now, we just want to connect with others – and sometimes, as THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE reminds me, we have to look past the surface and embrace the true self that lies just beneath.

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[gffa]

I WOULD ARGUE THAT THIS WAS KIND OF A NECESSARY SCENE given that this season is about connecting us to Revenge of the Sith, that the previous arc was focused on giving Rex and Echo closure, but it was also sprinkled with moments (like seeing Padme pregnant, Anakin giving Rex a speech about hoping for the best but accepting that the worst might be true) that were specifically designed to understand how the characters are in the places they are for ROTS, how the galaxy is in the place they are for ROTS. This scene reminded me very much of the episode “Bounty Hunters”, where Sugi criticizes the Jedi for “failing to keep the peace” and Obi-Wan (who is one of TCW’s most reliable narrators) responds with how the war is not their fault and if more people were willing to actually stand up, they wouldn’t be in the position they’re in.

But it also reminds me of the Star Wars: Propaganda by Pablo Hidalgo book makes this incredibly clear, that the image of the Jedi is painted by other people:

“Once again, the Jedi Order’s eschewing of the galactic spotlight allowed another to reshape the image of the Jedi, and for nearly a decade, the most famous Jedi in the galaxy was one who advocated for the dissolution of the Republic.“

“Intended for the Core Worlds, it shows a graphic sophistication that was in vogue at the time. Rather than detail the inevitable horrors of impending war, its singular lightsaber and well-chosen words instead demonstrate how undefended the Republic was. In crafting this message of vulnerability, the Commission for a Safe and Secure Republic (a nonprofit think tank based on Level 5121, Coruscant) also unwittingly seeded a secondary story that would grow during the Clone Wars—that no salvation lay in the direction of the Jedi Knights.”

“Absent from this hero-making were the Jedi Knights. Citizens who witnessed the Jedi in action were understandably in awe of their abilities, but it was the clone trooper who was the public face of the war effort. The mystic Jedi remained forever inscrutable to the Republic citizenry at large. To the Separatists, they were branded as hypocrites (thanks to firsthand criticism by Count Dooku). That they could so callously brandish a clone army—“slaves bred for war,” as Separatist propaganda proclaimed—did not speak well to their character, though few among the Separatists knew that the Jedi were given no choice in the matter.”

“Anti-Jedi sentiment was more a product of their cultural absence rather than a refutation of anything substantive. Separatist worlds that had experienced lawlessness attributed that to Jedi neglect, a failure of policing. Indeed, the war itself was a failure of the peacekeepers.”

The language of the book even specifically echoes these lines--how the Jedi were seen as policing everything (or not policing everything, they couldn’t win on that front), how they were failures as peacekeepers, and it’s very consistently shown to be not the truth, they were “painted as” this or “branded as” that or “claimed as” this or “imagined as” that. That’s why what Trace is saying here is so important in context--she’s speaking to a former Jedi, who cannot speak back because she must protect herself, she can’t reveal that she’s a Jedi, so she’s visibly struggling to keep quiet.  She says some of it--”The Jedi didn’t start this war, they’re trying to stop it.”, which shows us that Trace is not an accurate reliable narrator in this, no matter that she’s not doing it out of malice.  Ahsoka also visibly starts to respond a second time when Trace is talking, but pulls herself back, showing us further that there is a response to this, Ahsoka just can’t say it. I mean, she’s not entirely wrong, the Jedi are extremely busy with this war and don’t have time for other stuff, you know, because they’re dying in this war.  So many Jedi have died, we’ve seen them die on the screen, as well as the war gets busier and busier.  The Clone Wars itself makes this point in season five, when Maul is pulling together his crime syndicate and the narration specifically says, because the Jedi are being dragged into the war, they don’t have time to deal with criminals, so they’re flourishing. But there’s really no solution to that, so long as the war is going--do they just let people on Separatist-oppressed worlds die because the spice running trade is gearing up?  Do they let the people of Ryloth die in a Separatist attack because there was a mugging on level 1313 that they should be patrolling for?  They don’t have the numbers to do both and they were already drafted into the war. But even more importantly--Trace says she wants to go out into the stars, get away from Coruscant, get away from the Jedi and the war.  Think about that, where does she think the war actually is?  Where does she think the Jedi actually are?  What does she think is waiting for her out there? One of the big points of ROTS and the Battle Over Coruscant is that the planet has actually been relatively sheltered from the war, the people in the Core (even the ones in the lower levels of Coruscant) haven’t seen much at all of the war, it’s barely touched them.  Out in the stars?  Where Trace dreams of going?  That’s where the real war is. And it shows that she’s not accurate in her assessment of things.  Again, she’s not doing this out of malice, she had expectations of the Jedi that they could not possibly realistically meet, given the political set-up, and that’s part of what Palpatine precisely did.  He built them up to something they couldn’t--and shouldn’t and didn’t want to--live up, but they had no time and so few of them (ONE OUT OF SIX BILLION PEOPLE IS THE CONSERVATIVE ESTIMATE FOR HOW MANY JEDI THERE ARE IN THE GALAXY, that’s like ONE Jedi to deal with literally all of our problems in every single country here on Earth, and then blaming them for not stopping all the wars, while also not keeping the peace in all the countries and not stopping all the crime) and the galaxy had to buy it, including people who were sweethearts but had probably never actually met a Jedi before. Because that’s what Palpatine’s propaganda did, that’s what his political maneuverings did, to get the Jedi so busy saving those people over there, that these people blamed them for not being here, too. And that’s exactly how we get to, “The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning.”

This is how we get to a galaxy willing to stand by while THEIR TEMPLE WAS ATTACKED AND THEIR CHILDREN LITERALLY GUNNED DOWN. This is how you get a galaxy to accept the genocide of an entire culture, that even the good people who are just trying to make it through the day are maneuvered and manipulated into believing the Jedi started the war, that they weren’t trying to stop it but kept it going so they could gain power, that they wanted to take over for power’s sake, that they didn’t care about anyone else, to forget that the Jedi were fighting on their behalf (when they themselves wouldn’t even do as much) and dying for them. By showing us people like Trace Martez.

[luvyanfei]

EVEEEEE CONGRATS ON THE NEW BLOG I HOPE YOULL HAVE LOTS OF FUN WRITING 💜💜💜💜 Let’s see though,,, for my request,,, May I request hcs of Vil x a reader who’s a graphic designer and she edits his magicam posts and whatnot 👀💖

ue ue,,, forgive me if i mischaracterize vil. i also got a bit carried away and this ended up kind of lengthy. thank you vivian! <3

VIL SCHOENHEIT.

when vil finds out about your apparent talent, he’s impressed, to say the least. he knows how diligent you are with your studies, he’s seen with his own eyes the way you organize your notes proficiently and listen thoughtfully during lectures. the effort you pour into your academics is an admiring trait. he’s just, never thought you’re skilled in the creative side of the spectrum as well.

as usual, he’s having difficulties trying to outshine his competitor, neige leblanche. with rook’s advice, he sought out to spice up his contents and produce something that will successfully attract the public’s eye. newer is better, as the saying goes. he exits out to the school’s library after class has finished for the tiresome day to reflect and craft up a plan. he doesn’t expect to see you sitting down on one of the desks, typing things down on your computer once he gets there. ah. you must be starting the new assignment crewel has assigned, he guesses. well, that’s what he thinks, until he walks past you to secretly glance at the screen you’re focusing all your attention on which are, e-edits? how... intriguing. vil can’t help but be silently amused as he watches you skillfully colour in images and create appealing layouts. gears suddenly turn in his head and he ponders deep in thought, inspiration hitting him hard.

“vil, what are you looking at?” shoot. he’s so absorbed in your work that he fails to realize you’ve spotted him staring.

“potato, you’re quite good at editing.” he crosses his arms nonchalantly, nodding his head to gesture to your laptop. you sheepishly look down at the ground and a faint blush dusts your cheeks.

waving your hands in front of you, you rebuke his compliment. “no no. i’m not, really. you’re the one who’s talented between the two of us.”

ah, so you’re the insecure type. he clear his throat to change the topic, much to your relief. “anyways, i’ve been having a bit of a dilemma concerning my posts, lately.” he carefully explains the situation at hand and you nod along. “well, care to lend me a hand. i’m positive you have the skill to make promising results.”

you’re astounded, for a brief moment. vil schoenheit, one of the most popular social media icons in the school and your secret crush, is asking you for help? still in shock, you accept his proposal nonetheless, a wave of excitement washing over the prickling doubt in your head. and that’s how you became his personal graphic designer and your relationship with him takes a more positive turn towards the romantic light.

as you work and combine your talents together, vil admittingly forms a budding affection for you which blossoms into a full-on crush. how can he not? your effervescent smile that emanates warmth as you’re editing the latest posts he’s going to publish for the day gives him a rush of tingling happiness and he reciprocates your smile with a tiny beam of his own, highlighting his beauty.

he tries to pay you back with cash or gifts, but you quickly shake your head and reassure him that he’s worth the time. plus, you’re quite fond of editing so it’s killing two birds with one stone. he makes sure to at least credit you since it would be inconsiderate of him to take all the glory for himself.

after days of preparation and hard work, vil posts the finished products for all to see while you watch him in anticipation. immediately, your budding anxiety is quenched down by the multiple notification noises of his phone and, to both of your amazement, his posts have received generous number of hearts and comments filled with genuine praise in under a minute. what’s most surprising is the fact that he has now gained almost more than the massive followers that neige has. almost. vil should be feeling bitter and scornful for not being more popular than the rsa student is, but he’s... content. after all, he has something - or rather, someone, that neige will never have - and that’s you.

he strives for perfection, and he hopes you - his cherished lover and adoring graphic designer - excel too. it’s always better to journey hand in hand to the top instead of venturing alone, right?

you’re busy typing away on your laptop, concentrating hard on perfecting the edits for vil. the sky outside is dark and the moonlight beams through the many windows in the room. your eyes feel heavy and it’s tempting to close them to give way to slumber, yet you force yourself to battle against your drowsiness. the knocking of the door alerts you to turn around to the source of the intruder as vil himself swiftly enters pomefiore’s common area with a mug of hot cocoa in one hand.

“ara ara, potato, what are you doing up so late?” he places the cup down beside you and grips your shoulders firmly, yet gently, pressing your back against his chest as he straightens your posture. you automatically blush at the close proximity and offers him a little smile.

“i was trying to finish the work for today,” you gesture to your open laptop, ushering him to view your unfinished edit. he studies it closely. beauté as always, he muses to himself, just like you.

you take a sip and breathes out a sigh of satisfaction, letting the decadent taste of the drink trickle down your throat. he cups your chin and his lilac pupils bore into yours. unhesitating, he captures your lips in his perfectly, interlocking his tongue with yours for good measure. your eyes widen for a split second, but you close them reflexively and slings your arms around his neck to further deepen the intimate moment.  

you stay together like this for a few full minutes, until he pulls away reluctantly. “[name],” his fingers comb through your hair, as if to lull you asleep, “don’t overwork yourself. you may have your flaws, but that’s what i find so endearing about you. rest now, my love.”

and with that, he seals your day with a fluttering kiss to your forehead before you finally drift into unconsciousness.

[clockworkgraystairs]

There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020   •   DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet​   @jurdannetrevels​

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary: 

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 ||  Part 2

Masterlist   •   AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods. 

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles. 

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that. 

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father. 

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?” 

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look. 

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.  

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too. 

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing. 

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. 

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.” 

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair. 

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them. 

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time. 

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.” 

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both. 

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles. 

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so. 

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?” 

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you. 

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit. 

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat. 

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”  

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that. 

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it. 

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.” 

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.” 

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?” 

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor. 

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am. 

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan. 

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me. 

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes. 

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way. 

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand. 

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse. 

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away. 

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.    

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea. 

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon. 

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”   

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise? 

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat. 

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human. 

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop. 

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth. 

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together.  His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver. 

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold. 

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something  on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…” 

“Cardan, I can’t-” 

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left? 

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind. 

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever. 

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out. 

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.  

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though. 

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.” 

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. 

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid  an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan. 

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.” 

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says. 

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle. 

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex. 

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up. 

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all. 

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate. 

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers. 

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

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

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @aesthetics-11​ @thesirenwashere​ @jurdanhell​ @nightbringer​ @b00kworm​ @mysweetvillain​ @thefolkofthefic​ @yafandomsdotnet​ @vanessa172003​ @booksandothersecrets​ 

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you like an utter idot) please let me know!

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.