#it might not technically be a quilt?

[tj-crochets]

The rainbow sudoku baby quilt is done!

It’s called that because I used nine fabrics, numbered them, and used a completed sudoku to decide how to arrange them

[jungle-angel]

Our Nest (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob are preparing for your little one's arrival and already, shenanigans have ensued

Warnings: Pregnancy, parenthood, Auggie being a menace etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia and the lovely @bradshawsbaby my darling, I leave this as a little gift for you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

It was one of those gloriously warm spring days in Montana when all the flowers were in bloom, the windows of the house open to let in the breeze and the birds singing. The lilacs and the crape myrtles that you and Bob had planted after your wedding several years before had fully bloomed already, releasing their heady scents and causing more than a few sneezing fits.

Bob hummed a little as he organized the bookshelf in the corner of the nursery, right next to the rocking chair. Already Meemaw and Papa had sent over an old box of books that had been his when he was a baby, each one carefully picked with all the love in the world and inscribed with his date of birth and a message from Meemaw and Papa.

"Whatcha got Bob?" you asked folding one of the little blue onesies to put in the laundry.

"All the books that were mine when I was a baby," he answered. "Got Baby's Good Morning Book, Baby's Bedtime Book, Baby's Story Book, the Christmas Stories, Child's Story Book, Child's Fairy Tale Book, Peter Rabbit and.......looks like Winnie The Pooh too."

You couldn't help but ooh and aah over the books and their illustrations. You wished you could have a few of them to hang on the walls.

"Hey!" chirped a little toddler voice. "Get out me swamp!!"

You and Bob laughed when you saw Auggie running to the door with the kitchen broom as soon as the doorbell rang, when who should enter but Jake Seresin himself, greeted by his godson wielding a broom.

"Bob! I think Shrek's at it again!" Jake announced. "He's chasing me out of his swamp!"

"You're the one who had to show him that movie," Bob informed him.

Jake rolled his eyes as Auggie laughed and hugged his leg, hanging on for dear life and giggling like crazy as Jake lifted one leg and then the other.

"How goes Mommas?" Jake said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Good, save for the fact that my husband is right there watching you," you chuckled.

"Hey it's called being courteous, it's technically not flirting," Jake explained.

"Although Natasha might disagree."

Jake made a noise that caught in his throat, his hand moving quickly to protectively cup his denim clad scrotum.

"That's what we thought," Bob said with a shit eating grin.

Jake gathered up Auggie to go and cause havoc elsewhere for the day, leaving you and Bob to finish putting together the nursery. You unpacked all the baby clothes, blankets, shoes and other things your family and friends had sent you over the last few months including adorable little bunnies, puppies, bears, elephants and duckies for your little boy.

"Oh remember this?" you laughed, unfolding one of the blankets from the box.

"Oh, my Uncle Red's wife made that years ago," Bob cooed, holding up the little ducky quilt. "I used to sleep with it every night and Mom had to wrestle it away just to wash it."

You and Bob shared a few laughs as you kept organizing and putting everything together. Outside, you could see two mountain bluebirds in the nest they had made in the crape myrtle, wondering if there were any eggs due to hatch. Already the chicks had begun to hatch while there were more horse and cow births happening at least twice a week. The bunnies too had been hard at work, their numbers multiplying in the last few weeks as well.

"Oof," you breathed, feeling your baby kick. "Oh I know little guy, you're ready."

Bob helped you up from where you had been sitting, letting you lean against him as his hand rested gently on your belly. "Did he drop?" he asked.

You nodded.

Bob smiled broadly as he knelt to kiss your bump. "Now you wait a minute mister," Bob chuckled. "There's still some things we need to get ready for you."

You laughed as Bob pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. He wasn't wrong. Even though you were days away from giving birth, there were still so many things to do in such a tiny time frame.

The next few days were spent prepping the house and finishing the nursery. The laundry and the last of your knitting went smoothly although your cats would have said otherwise. Bluey and Echo, Bob's two blue-heelers, had taken to fetching the oddest things from the other rooms which led to an odd assortment of everything piling up in the living room. But you wouldn't have had it any other way.

At last, the day had come, a warm and calm night when you woke up suddenly after your water broke unexpectedly. Jake and Natasha came to take Auggie back to their place for a while, while your midwife came to the house to help. Bob stayed with you the whole time, just as he had done with Auggie, letting you squeeze his hand as you relaxed in the warm bath.

At long last, on June 1st, at 1:30 in the morning, your sweet little boy, Patrick Lewis Floyd, was born; sharing a birthday with Bob's father Joe. As soon as you were back in yours and Bob's shared bed, he snapped a few photos and sent them to his parents, siblings and the Daggers. It's not long before his phone is flooded with messages, all from the proud aunts, uncles and grandparents of your new little boy.

Joe and Irene, Bob's parents, are proud as ever of their grandson and of you both, more so now that Joe can joke about Patrick being his birthday present for that year. His Meemaw and Papa are all too proud to be great-grandparents again, all of them offering to come by and help with whatever is needed.

You and Bob wake later the next day at the sound of Patrick's fussing in the little bedside bassinet, Bob carefully lifting him into his arms and bringing him to the window to hear the birds singing. Patrick calms right down as soon as he's heard the birds sing and as soon as he's latched onto you to feed.

And when you and Bob are snuggled in your shared bed with Auggie coming in to see his new baby brother, you are both overjoyed and happy at the little nest you've built together.

[luveline]

shy reader who starts working with rockstar!remus and thinks he’s super grumpy and mean, but eventually he reveals that he’s a huge softie and is really sweet to her. maybe she gets the impression bc she sees him arguing with someone or gets told something. thanks so much for all your amazing writing!

tw implied slut shaming ♡ rockstar!remus x shy!fem!reader | 1k words

Remus is technically your boss. You don't expect him to treat you any differently than that – a boss employee relationship suits you fine. It actually suits you perfectly. If he'd been chatty like James or overly flirtatious like Sirius you may not have survived this long on tour, but you have.  

Sirius' assistant Mabel had told you on your first day that Remus can be quite short with others. And over time you've found she's right. He doesn't say more than he needs to, he doesn't adopt any beguiling tones. Short, though, might be the wrong word for it. He's quiet. 

You try not to label him too harshly. After all, you barely talk. If people were calling you grumpy because of that alone you'd feel a great sense of injustice.

You wipe your damp cheeks. Maybe being called grumpy might be kinder. Grumpy you can own. Grumpy is something you can actively change. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asks, shocking you out of your thoughts. 

You sniff and stand as quickly as you can, stiff from sitting outside in the cold for so long. You don't look at him as you say, "I'm okay." 

"Are you sure?" 

You chance a glance at his face, unreadable as always. "Yeah." 

"What's upset you?" he asks seriously. 

The wind whips at your clothes and bites at your fingers. You tense them up into balls. With no jacket to hide them in they might as well be made of ice. 

Remus is similarly underdressed for the weather. Different cities, different climates. You miss the South American half of the tour dearly. 

"We should go inside," he says into the silence. 

You don't want to go in yet. "I'm gonna stay out here." 

"It's too cold." 

You nibble the inside of your bottom lip and try to fight another embarrassing wave of tears. "I don't want to go back to my bus, yet." 

He nods, eyes very obviously on the tear dribbling weakly down your cheek. "Okay. Okay, but we can't stay out here. Come on."

He nods his head towards the right where the band's bus, bigger and shinier than anyone else's, sits parked. You follow him up the steps and into the small front where there's a sort of L-shaped sofa around a square table covered in laptops and paper and drinks. You've been in here before, though usually there's another Marauder causing havoc. Remus opens his arm toward the table and you take it as a cue to sit as he disappears into the bedroom area down the way. He returns with a thin quilt and passes it over. Obviously his, it smells exactly like him, woodsmoke and sandalwood and that hint of fruity jasmine. 

You try not to breathe it in too deeply as you pull it over your lap, frigid hands hiding beneath it. "Thank you." 

"If somebody's done something to you, you can tell me." 

"Maybe I'm homesick," you try. 

"Are you homesick?" 

"...No." 

He sits beside you. Not close but closer than you thought he would've. If he wanted to, he could wrap his arm around your shoulder. 

"Are you feeling warmer?" he asks after a minute. 

"Yeah. Thank you. You didn't have to-" 

"Of course I did. You're my favourite assistant." 

You laugh, startled. "I bet you say that to all of your assistants." And he must have a few. You only handle his on tour expenses and comfort. He barely ever needs you.

"Only the very pretty ones." He tilts his head to the side. "Are you okay?" 

His caring tone is sobering. You nod slowly and then with more enthusiasm. "Yeah, I-" You shock yourself when you realise how much you want to just tell him what had happened, and when he smiles at you to keep going, you do. "One of the, uh, one of the tech guys. I got in the way and he- he asked me why I couldn't be more useful. 'N obviously uh, I'm your- I'm usually with you, and it looks… well, they think we're sleeping together. And one of the girls said I have plenty use." Your voice wobbles.

"One of the girls on your bus, you mean?" he asks gently. 

"Yeah. That's why I didn't want to go in." 

"You don't have to go in. I can't get them to put you on a different bus, if you like." 

You shake your head. It's a silly thing to be upset about. So what if everyone things you're having sex with a rockstar, right? And you don't really care about that. Sex is sex. But, the animosity that she'd said it with. 

"I guess- I mean, I thought she liked me," you say weakly. 

"More fool her if she doesn't. You're lovely." 

You laugh wetly. "What?" 

"I said you're lovely. You're sweet. You've never heard that?" he asks. 

You turn your face to him and smile shyly. "No, I've never heard that." 

He raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes before huffing a breath out of the corner of his mouth. "Well, that's a crime." 

You don't know what to say. You think maybe he's knocked himself unsteady as well, because he reaches over your lap to grab a heavy looking laptop and pull it open in front of you. "I got that movie you like. The one about the aliens." 

"A Dark Line?" 

"Yeah." 

"I didn't know you liked-" 

"I don't. Or, I mean, I didn't. But you were so excited to see it when we were in Brazil, I thought it must be worth watching." 

The DVD he got is dubbed in Portuguese. You have to sit very close to read the subtitles, and his arm is a heat against yours. When he laughs you can feel it in your chest. 

You sneak a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His smile is the farthest thing from grumpy, at least in your opinion. 

[idontknowreallywhy]

A thing I’m toying with - maybe as a sequel to Presence… but I’m not sure as I suspect hallucination Scotty was the best bit of that one and so now he’s been banished it might just be a bit pedestrian. Hmm. Ah well, let me know if you think it’s worth pursuing?

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Virgil pretended to be asleep until everyone had left and then quickly slipped out of bed and tiptoed the seven half-paces to the other bed in the room. This one was a more bulky structure and had many machines attached to it. He knew exactly what they all were and he did his utmost to ignore the readouts as the past few days had taught him that knowledge was not always power in his current situation.

He had never been so powerless, in fact. Nor so confused.

He both wanted to know and really REALLY didn’t want to know.

He perched on the chair his father had just vacated and rested his elbows on the fall-rail at the edge of the bed, propped his chin up on his hands and kept watch. From experience he knew his father wouldn’t be gone long. The man had probably just needed to use the facilities, hopefully have a shower. Virgil was fairly sure he hadn’t actually TOLD Dad how badly he needed to do that but wasn’t 100% certain… his face may have betrayed him at the end of that hug a short while ago.

There has been a lot of hugs from Dad since he’d moved up here. He was aware that the hospital staff weren’t happy about him being here but Dad had ranted in the hallway about duty of care and having the hospital administration hung out to dry over some security incident Virgil didn’t quite catch the details of.

The hugs had been good though. Dad had been there when Virgil woke disoriented and crying out for Scott and he’d held him so tight and stroked his hair and kissed him on the head. Then he’d helped Virgil over to sit in the chair by the other bed so he could hold his brother’s cannula-encumbered hand.

If only he knew why Scott wouldn’t wake up.

He knew he was sick, injured. He knew a lot of the technical details, the medical terms, the numbers… the statistics. He was trying to ignore all those.

What he didn’t know was WHY.

He felt like he should know, in fact he was sure he DID know, but the information floated just out of reach.

He was less fuzzy now. There had been another tense conversation between Dad and the staff about a stash of tablets inside a clock that Virgil wasn’t sure of the relevance of, but the upshot was he wasn’t being sedated anymore. One of the other tablets which they were weirdly insistent on checking he had swallowed was an antibiotic which he guessed was related to the nasty wound on his stomach… he couldn’t recall how he got that. Something to do with a window, they’d said but that made no sense as he’d snuck a look when they changed the dressing and it didn’t look like a glass cut at all. Nor would a glass cut require the tetanus booster he’d been given. So he must have misheard.

The others he knew to be two kinds of anti-psychotic medication. Which, he reasoned, was presumably why he was here. It would explain why his memory resembled a quilt of vividly oversaturated impressions, scattered thinly amongst an overwhelming palate of grey and fluffy interspersed with light-sucking heavyweight obsidian patches. When the doctor had raised an eyebrow at this description Virgil had sighed and summarised as “there are a lot of gaps” which had met with a sympathetic nod and some kind of reassuring nonsense. He hadn’t paid attention to said reassuring nonsense because he had been distracted by overhearing one of the nurses tending to his brother muttering to her colleague:

“Probably just as well”

Which was less than reassuring.

The only thing worse than worrying the voids in his memory were concealing something awful was knowing they definitely were.

Which brought Virgil back to why his brother was lying unresponsive and almost unrecognisable in front of him.

What if this was his fault?

[trashlama]

YAN!FUTURE!DONNIE X READER!!

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Heeeeeeyyyyy guess whose back!

This is a part of I guess this series of one shots I got going on. →This post can explain more←

This is the image I used for Donnie in this one. ↓

Art isn't mine but the design is radical!

Sorry this took so long. Honestly I almost didn't post it cause I didn't like how it came out. Like I kept trying to fix it to how I like it buuutt, this was the best that I could do. I might try rewriting it or somethin'. I was just trying to change it up buuutt, I suck. Did my best with the proof reading. Probably could have tried to proof read it more.

Honestly this fic is pretty dark. Originally was darker.

Please no minors, 18+ only!(There's no smut or anything sexual, just a lot of technically triggering elements)

The meme in this fic is not mine I just found them on Pinterest and they were too good.

Read the creator's notes below for more!

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Humming computer fans and diligent typing filled the silent void in the poorly lit room. If not for the obscured ominous glow of the various monitors littering the labatory you would've believed you had gone completely blind. Having already lost the vision on your right to the slimy pink tentacle bastards who transformed your planet into the living Hell on Earth.

Guess religion was right about something. At The End of Days the devil came for the damned. And in spite of your mother's faithful beliefs, there was never a savior to come swop away the righteous to the selective pearly gates of the Heaven she had mindlessly prayed to. She was wrong. Her savior locked her out.

There would be no salvation. Not for anyone.

Instead for the first thirteen years after the Krrang's invasion you suffered. Everyone suffered.

Shit hit the fan and it splattered like a chocolate pie in bad clown gag.

Overnight the world you had grown up in changed for the worse. Blind to the way society crumbled and turned into a Mad Max film. Unaware of the great loss. Naive and young you weren't prepared for the grotesque violence that replaced your boring mundane life that you had taken for granted.

How you wish there was a way to go back.

Return to days where your only worries were filling out job applications to move out of your mother's abode and getting into a good college. Begging whatever deities listened to accept you to one of the variety of schools you had applied for. Preferably one more than five hundred miles away from the run-down neighborhood in the Bronx you lived in. You've always wanted to travel the country and college opened up that opportunity to do so. Had everything gone according to plan you would've started your first semester that following fall.

Though it wasn't meant to be. Instead you spent that lonely winter, grieving

" (Y/n) "

At the call of your name the chain that hung from around your neck clanked as a single (e/c) orb snapped out of its routine day-dreams to look towards the owner of the tired deep voice that had called to you. It was Donatello. Said ninja turtle kneeling at your side next to the cot you both shared.

Within the nest of sheets you retracted from the curled position you had been laying in on top of the bed spread. A multi-paterned stitched quilt gifted by one of the softshell turtle's brothers— you forget who; rested at your feet, unused. Protecting thin (skin tone) skin from the piercing cold was a worn pair of faded PJs that consisted of a dark green long sleeve with fluffy grey plaid bottoms. The odd attire didn't bother you in the slightest. When living in the apocalypse fashion hardly matters. If it was usable it was wearable.

Despite of your efforts to block the aged mutant out by focusing your lone (e/c) gaze on soothing else. The Large cold hand of Donatello's petting the top of your head was all your traumatized receptors could focus on. Three lengthy jade digits combing rouge strands of unkept (h/l) (h/c) hair away from their position in your face. Wandering fingertips skimmed over your missing right eye. Playing with the white medical eye patch that kept the old wound hidden. Had this been seven months ago you would've already been trying to bite the technological General's scared appendage off. Though now at this point you just let the mutant do whatever. You didn't care.

The same regard was held when the purple clad turtle observed you. Anything and everything that flashed across your face was cataloged by your analyzing capter's dark narrowed stare. A common occurrence that never faltered in its repetitiveness.

Exhaustion dominated the aged jade complexion of Donatello's. His expression would be read bored if not for the controlled obsession that lurked in pools of night.

You always did like his eyes. Even when they were hidden behind the dual frames perched on his snout. One half a traditional prescription lens the other a crimson infrared optic that provided extra assistance to the current wearer. Like a moth to the flame you were drawn to the night sky he held in those dark pools.

"You're wasting the food Mikey brought you" the softshell flatly chastised. Those same magnetic dark eyes that had been locked with yours turned away momentarily to retrieve something from beside him. The tattered greyish purple cloak he wore tied loosely around his sturdy shoulders draped forward revealing the silver cybertronic mechanical substitute for his left arm. A necessary loss for the cause he dutifully worked for.

You hadn't respond to his comment.

For a moment you began to sink back into your land of memories if it had not been for the scrapping metal of the fork against the plate that was now in the purple bandana wearing turtle's grasp. Stabbing at the rations that the commissary passed out earlier that day. At least you're assuming it's day. It's hard to tell when you never leave the underground base, let alone the prison of Donatello's lab that doubled as his quarters.

Back in reality something moist pressed against your bottom lip.

"Eat."

Robotically you obeyed.

You learned a long time ago that starving doesn't work. It was this or the feeding tub. At least this didn't hurt your throat. The ache in your esophagus from the experience lasted for weeks after. Bile threatening to rise if you focused any longer on the nightmarish memory.

Up till the plate was cleared the mutant continued to feed you. Picking at the dish's portions until there was nothing left. After which the adult ninja turtle placed the cutlery to the side before taking a corner of his faded cloak to wipe away the food residue left around your mouth. Repeating the same method with the plastic cup that sat precariously on the table to the other side of you next to the cement wall.

For a moment his calculative narrowed gaze stared at you before deciding something.

"...I have to go work on the faulty pump in the filter for the hydroponic system in the Agriculture Unit later...." Thick brows frowed together in an unsure manner upon his purple-clad forehead as he continued. ".....would you be interested in joining me for the endeavor?" The aged ninja finally prompted.

You didn't respond.

Had this been seven months ago you would've replied with an immediate yes. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Back then you would've thought somebody, anybody, would help you.

But if that were the case you would've been free already.

It wasn't necessarily a secret that you belonged to the purple bandana wearing brainiac. On the contrary it was a well known fact amongst the inhabitants of the base. It was just an unspoken topic. An issue that the Commander and the rest of the generals much rather sweep under the rug than to confront.

You learned it the hard way.

You had managed to get away somehow after Donatello first claimed you. Before the chained leash that pooled around you became a permanent fixture. In its place there had been a small amount of leeway the softshell gifted you. A fragile trust you didn't bother to strengthen prior to your attempt two months into your captivity. Maybe things would've been different.

You had told Donnie you were just gonna go to the commissary and get them some lunch. Claimed you were trying to be a nice, good partner. You didn't want to disturb the important work you were so proud of him for. Like a termite at Home Depo he ate it up. A bashful smile stretched across his jade complexion that was burnt red.

Playing the serpent who tricked Adam, you slithered from the technological garden of paradise. Departing with a false display of affection. Pride filled you from the phenomenal performance you gave.

Taking flight to the wind you ran down the Resistance headquarters hallways. Without meaning too you lost yourself around the twist and turns of unfamiliar corridors. Your limited vision and even less knowledge of the section's layout not being of much aid to your mission. Especially since prior to your imprisonment you hadn't ventured to this area since it was restricted to Resistance officers way above your ranking.

Though your plan was to run into someone. Anyone who could help you. You were gonna rat out that purple techno creep. He needed to pay. You were fed up with this stupid apocalypse.

Eventually after sprinting down the halls for God knows how long. You found your self face first into the plastron of General Michelangelo.

"Wwhooo! Slow down little missy! You're gonna give this old man a scare!" The greying box turtle joked even though you weren't very much younger than him. Catching your charging figure easily between rough moss palms. Out of breath you began spewing your story. Begging the mystic mutant to help you get away from his crazy purple coded brother.

"Oooohh, so yoouurr (Y/n)..." The youngest general gathered. Aged face scrunching up in a contemplative way, as if he was thinking. For a moment you had thought maybe the mutant turtle knew who you were cause somebody had reported your missing presence. Realized that you had been stolen by one of the very leaders they worked under. Unfortunately that was not the case.

"Yes! I'm (Y/n)! Your brother Donatello, he—"

"Said that if you got lost to return you to him!~"

What.

It was too late to retreat. You didn't even have the chance to react before the orange clad General had you on the ground. Wind punched from your lungs by the sudden force. Mouth mimicking a fish out of water as you gasped for much needed air. Next thing you knew your hands were bound behind your back by the same orange bandana wearing mutant you sought aid from. Kicking and screaming as the moss green Hamato sibling dragged you back to where you had started.

Entering the lab Michaelangelo greeted his flabbergasted older brother. Sporting a wide cheshire grin as he released his grip on you to only then in the same motion push your unbalanced wobbly stature forward caching yourself on Donatello's chest. Leaving shortly after with some sort of fucked up quip you couldn't hear past the pounding in your ears. Heart jackhammering painfully against your ribs. The beat too powerful for any other sound to break it's dominating rythem.

Were you about to have a heart attack?A stroke? You couldn't tell. You didn't think people your age had them.

Once left alone the white hot fury you had expected never came. No beating. Nor any dismemberment of a limb. There were no threats made for your dire transgression. No shouts or screams of possessive anger. Only unnerving still silence.

Somehow that was worse.

You lied. You tried to leave. You made a scene with his younger brother only for said orange clad sibling to drag you back like the dog who got out.

The first ten–fifteen minutes you both just stood there. There were no excuses nor pleading from your part. Just utter overwhelming suffocating quite. The jade and purple tattooed complexion of the General's who stood before you was drained to match snow. Face displaying a composed, conserved expression to anyone who was looking in from the outside.

Unfortunately for you it was always Donatello's dark eyes that gave everything away.

Hurt. He was undeniably wounded by the injury. You broke the thin veil of trust he gave you. You could have done whatever you wanted. As long as you didn't stray far from him. Stayed and supported him. It was all he wanted.

The softshell was so happy when you forged that lie believing the act to be true. Believing that you cared about his health and work. Being kind and supportive enough to trek and retrieve both of your guys' lunch. Except upon his younger mutant brother's arrival the fantasy he was living in was broken. It was all a lie. You deceived him. Betrayed the tempered trust that two of you shared. A thin string you willing snipped.

Saltwater streaks poured down in silent bunches as the aged ninja turtle lowered his head. He really thought you had loved him as you whispered sweet claims from soft deceiving lips that kissed his heated cheek a farewell. Departing with that smile that made his heart race. Donatello was hurt. And so the turtle did the only thing that would hurt you just as much as you had hurt him.

Had you known what he was going to do maybe you would've fought harder than you had.

No words were exchanged as the mutant scientist tied your jittery limbs to your paralyzed figure. Plastic white ties zipped painfully tight around (skinned tone) appendages. Though fear hadn't taken it's full course until the softshell began to secure a thick fabric around your head, blinding you. Finding the immediate endless world of black frightening.

"Please— don't do this— I-I'm sorry!" You plead as large cold hands slide a set of what you assume are noise canceling buds into your ears. You couldn't catch your breath. Your heart wouldn't still itself as it fought for space within your ribcage. "Please! I— mphmfh!"was all you could cry before lastly a gag was stuffed into your teriffied jaws. Based on the texture of the rough fabric you deduced it was most likely an old gym sock from the clothing bin. The worn garment scratched at the roof of your mouth making you taste cooper.

Donnatello hadn't planned to use this method this early on but, this was a lesson that needed to be learned. He was going to deprive you of your senses. Leave you lost just as he would've been without you. Maybe then you'd understand.

For some time you were just scared shitless. Frightful of the purple coded general's unknown intentions. Was he gonna torture you? Kill you and keep the body? The imaginary list was much more scary than the actual first quarter of the punishment . Thankfully nothing happened. The turtle left you be. Probably just watching you from his typical spinny chair from in front of the large monitor dominating the room. The motherfucker probably felt like Batman or some shit sipping on his coffee as you the Joker— fucked around in the holding tube.

When the endless darkness started to pick at your already aggravated anxiety you had tried to force yourself asleep to escape the void. However you found the effort quickly fruitless. Trapped without sound or any background stimulation aside from the limited range of touch at your disposal made the task feel impossible. Dissolving lines between real and what was not becoming harder to differentiate with every passing unknown second.

Attempts to keep your sanity felt futile in spite of efforts to keep the screws forming coming loose. Clawed (skin tone) palms and curling toes only did so much. When all else failed you felt only one thing could be done. You need to feel something. Anything. You couldn't do this anymore. The scratches in your palms did not suffice.

Doing what you felt was your only choice in your spiralling panic. You began to throw yourself around across the lab's tile floor. Using your upper body and knees you inch worm around the room. Purposely banging yourself into anything and everything so you may injure yourself. Feeding your starved receptors with whatever painful sensations you could produce.

Donatello was quick to remove the suppressors once you really started injuring yourself. Most likely calling it when the various wounds littered your (s/c) skin began to form. Following the path you had squirmed eyes like La Brea tar pits found speckles of crimson decorating a variety of the objects in his workspace. As if a baby crawled around repainting his lab with dots of red.

What a pain. Couldn't you have just accepted the punishment like an adult? Now he was gonna have to clean up this mess later. But alas just as many great minds of science had taught him. There was always a price to be paid for results. Maybe he should've just thrown you into solitary or made a modification or two to your Achilles tendons.... Next time.

Cold hands without delay discarded the ear buds and spit soaked sock. Your chest was still rising too fast. You were gonna puke if you stayed any longer in the dark. Though once the blind fold was discarded the softshell turtle's concerned expression was the first thing you saw. The sight of another instantly calming the bees stabbing your stomach lining. A flash of worry glimmered in those pools of ink. Only for the emotion to be consumed by the sticky black tar that lurked beneath.

"Did you learn your lesson?" The purple tattooed turtle questioned softly as he scooped your zip tied bound form into his mix matched arms. Combination of flesh and steel cradling you as he maneuvered towards his cot. Donatello was aware that you have one too but, recently the color coded general had been considereing just having you sleep with him. It'd save him space.

"I doubt it." he chided with a small grin that didn't match his eyes as he laid you down. Tucking you into his barely used sheets.

You didn't bother to request for him to remove the plastic bonds as exhaustion dragged you into the realm of slumber. Senses finally relaxing thanks to some stimulation. Allowing the phantom hand caresse the curve of your cheek as you drifted away.

When you awoke your injuries were bandaged and the plastic that had restrained you was gone. In the zip ties stead was a steel collar and chain hooped around the deadbolt installed in the cool tiled floor of the purple brainiac's lab. The same device you wore to this present day.

"(Y/n).... (Y/n)..."

"(Y/n)....."

"(Y/n)"

Oh no you got lost in your memories again didn't you? Based on the softshell's expression, your answer would be yes.

"(Y/n)... I think you should come with me when I go to the farming unit. I think it'd be good for you ....and maybe we'll even see Leon and Casey Jr. " Donnie soothed. His large cold hand returning at some point continued to comb the wild flyaways that tried to elude his threading jade fingers.

You didn't care. You bobbed your head. Listening but, not particularly agreeing nor disagreeing to anything as you went along with the general's wishes.

°°°°°°

In the hallway you and Donatello walked side by side. Your collar and chain were gone. Left behind in the lab due to the bondage being bolted to the floor. Not very mobile. Which in turn left you shackle free for the trip. Seven months ago you would've already tried to attack the turtle like the wild dog you were. You had been.

Now the tamed rescue, you leapt and barked without hesitation when commanded.

Like a good pup you didn't stray from your master's side.

Traversing through the base with the lumbering mutant was a quiet affair. No one bothered the two of you as the purple clad genuis led the way.

Here and there the technological general would make small talk by commenting about certain functions found throughout the headquarters along the short journey. Explaining uses of faculties and tech that had been constructed long before you ever stepped foot in the Resistance headquarters.

Long before you ever met the softshell who kept you prisoner in his room. Like a toy a spoiled child didn't want to share.

Pushing open the floppy doors to the Ag unit; bright UV rays burned your sensitive retinas that grew unconditioned to direct sunlight due to the dark room you were trapped in on a daily. Although unlike you, Donatello's dark narrowed stare remained unfazed by the bright light. Not even a stinge of discomfort upon disciplined matured features.

Artificial warmth even if false still felt soothing on your cold (skin tone) skin.

How you missed the real thing.

Missed the stupid picnics your mother would force you on. Laying under shady emerald trees in the smothering New York summer heat under a bright blue sky. Pouting as you watched your mother and brother played on the playground. You used to think those family outings were a waste of your time when you could be hanging with your friends or studying. Be anywhere but with them. How foolish you were.

A small frown laced your lips as you recalled the more peaceful days.

"(Y/n) this way" Donatello's voice called from in front of you. At some point having grabbed your hand to pull you closer to his tall stature as he escorted the two of you through the rows of growing produce. The tips of his long purple bandana tickled your nose but you made no complaints.

"Donnie over here!"

Onwards he directed you along.

Off in the near distance was the blue clad Commander. On his shelled back was a raven haired child that looked no more than nine.

"Oi! Casey Jr can you please be un bueno niño(a good little boy)!" The leader begged as the afro mentioned brown-eyed boy tugged at the long tied strands to his azure mask. Tighting the fabric painfully around his head. Giggling at his guardian's torment. "Nah! This is so much fun el anciano(old man) " Casey cheered, showing off a wide chipped tooth grin. A recent cosmetic development much to Leo's jargon.

Back and forth the two went as you and Donatello approached the comedic duo. The softshell grown a small grin on his normally uninterested expression.

" Thank Gram Gram you're here Donnie! The pump to the filter finally said capoot! And—"

"Yeah I know that's why I'm here." The jade colored turtle cut off his Commander.

Leonardo didn't mind his brother's injection. Smile still present upon olive skin.

"Alright-o dear brother-o! I'll leave you to it."

As the two siblings continued to chat over the needed maintenance, the raven haired boy leaning over the lumbering leader's shoulder stared straight at you. Eyes like teddy bear plushies bore into your being as they watched. Wide and impressionable. Brown judging spheres.

You could feel the bugs scuttling under your skin again.

"(Y/n)..., (Y/n) are you listening?"

Breaking from the losing staring competition you were having with the nine year old. Knowing dark eyes like night drew your attention back to the mutant who was cradling your hand between his own odd pair.

Once the scientist was sure he had all of you here he repeated his directions. " (Y/n) I want you to hangout out here for a little while I work. The pump requires more attention than I had initially thought..." Jade eyelids closed for a moment as the mutant exhaled his stored breath. " ...if you need me you can ask Leo. He had said he and Casey had some things to do here for a bit anyways so he doesn't mind watching you."

You didn't care. It was just nice being outside that damn lab in general.

With the nod of your head Donatello allowed your smaller hand free from his mix matched grasp. " I'll be back soon. If you get too hot tell Leo and he'll take you inside to cool down." The turtle further explained. It was like he wasn't sure if he could depart from you. Even if he was only temporarily leaving you under his twin's supervision. He still didn't like the idea of not having you beside him as he worked. However the space in the room with the filter was limited. Although Donnatello would prefer to have you in sight. Genius does take a little finesse and he always performed best with space.

With one more glance the softshell turtle turned and left. Walking towards the small building far off in the corner of the massive underground green house.

Once gone you were left standing there. Unmoving like a puppet without it's puppeteer.

You guess you stood there for too long cause at some point the Leonardo approached and rested his palm on your clothed shoulder. Probably making sure you're still there before his olive palm spirited away.

Hands very much like Donatello's. Too much like Donnie's. The touch made you shutter. You hated it. You hated the jade turtle who did this to you.

Based on the Commander's look you could tell he wanted to ask if you were good. Though the question would be pointless when the answer was as obvious as the dirt that coated the thin fabric of your eggshell colored slip-on flats.

"Sensei why is that weird girl that General Donnie brought only got one eye? Is she a pirate?" Casey Jr inquired not aware of the offensive statement he constructed.

The blue clad leader flicked his retainee's forehead. Lightly punishing the child as he chastised the raven haired boy for the rude question. "Casey Jr that's not how we talk about people. Especially ladies. If you have a question you ask them politely. " The retainer informed. Dark onyx eyes too similar to that of his brainac twin's slid back to your cemented figure.

You were waiting.

With an awkward grin Leo proposed that you join him and Casey Jr on their check up on the Agricultural workers. You didn't respond, just nodding to whatever the aged ninja turtle had suggested.

Around the large farming area that had to be as big, if not bigger than old New York City's Grand Central Station. The red eared slider led you and Casey Jr around as he performed leader duties. The task not being that tedious if it wasn't for the raven haired kinder who wouldn't leave you be. The orphan kept asking too many personal questions for your taste. None of which you responded too. Though that didn't mean it stopped the nine year old from chatting your ear off.

For what felt like forever Casey Jr went on about, everything. There wasn't a single topic he stuck to. Bouncing from asking about how you knew General Donnie to do you always wear pajamas? What was your favorite food? Do you have any parents? What's your favorite game in the rec room?

The kid was gonna be the death of you if not the UVs that were starting to roast you. The faded winter sleeping attire you wore not necessarily the best outfit to be clothed in while under the artificial rays. Though you didn't complain. Didn't want to miss this opportunity to be outside of the technological General's lab.

You weren't ready to go back to the darkness. Not yet.

A single (E/c) colored orb found itself focused on the sudden opportunity presented.

You didn't have to go back as long as you did this right. You could be free. You couldn't fuck this up again. Not again. The anxiety of the looming punishment sat in the back of your mind. Giggling. A child-like tone mocking you for your thoughts of freedom. Reminding you if you escaped something worse could happen. Would happen.

Blood trickled down the (skin tone) surface of your chin. You had accidentally chewed your bottom lip to ground beef with your nervous tick, again.

Using the right sleeve of your pajama shirt you wiped away the oozing crimson fluid.

"Are you okay (Y/n)?" Casey's high but worried voice broke you from your scheming thoughts.

Looking down at Casey Jr's baby checks that had been holding a wide chipped smile instead thinned out into a tight frown. Wide brown orbs innocently peered up at you with concern.

For a moment you didn't reply.

Looking past the apocalyptic born child observing the interaction between Leo and the worker he spoke to. Gageing how much longer you had before the Commander returned from the discussion.

" I'm fine... but, ....do you think you could help me with something Casey? "

°°°°°°°

When his softshell twin asked him if he could watch (Y/n) while he worked on the hydroponic filter pump. The red eared slider was not gonna lie, he was not looking forward to the task. Already having his own gremlin running a muck the last thing the blue clad Commander wanted was a creepy-ass robot following them around.

However whenever it came to Donnie and (Y/n) being involved in the same situation there was hardly room for argument. Leo was the leader of the Resistance he swore that he'd do his best to help end this apocalypse and to do so he needed a functional base. That entailed having a controlled food supply, functioning weaponry, dormitories, facilities— the works. If anything was to go down. The blue bandana wearing mutant only has one reliable individual who could repair, design, modify— you name it. In less time than a whole team of engineers and mechanics he could whip up— combined. Only Donnie could do it. It's cause of the afro mentioned scientist and his inventions that the Krrang hadn't taken them out yet. The aged blue bandana wearing turtle wasn't actually sure how long they could fend off the pink tentacle armada without his softshell twin.

The thought keeps him on edge sometimes— what if the turtle passed or chose not to use his gift the way he does. They'd be screwed in the long run. The turtle imagines it would be similar to that of ant colony walking into a spider's nest. The carnage would be unsalvageable. They'd have to use the last resort.

He couldn't afford for shit to go sideways.

And sometimes if that meant sacrifices... for the greater good so be it. It was something the mutant leader wasn't proud of.

Leo isn't even really sure when the purple clad mutant even met (Y/n) or how. Donnie kept mostly to himself. Never straying far from his lab and a working coffee machine. So the fact the caffine addicted nerd met someone, let alone a girl. Truly made the phenomenon a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes.

He knew what he was doing when Donnie made his ultimatums. It was (Y/n) or no base. The softshell mutant was aware the kind of game he was playing. How it would affect everyone. So many would be lost because the adult ninja turtle wanted to throw a tantrum. Leonardo was ashamed but, it was necessary. He had to give in to the mad scientist's demands. The olive skinned mutant would like to say he had no choice— But he did. And he chose to keep the Resistance alive rather than allowing you to be free. He couldn't. Donnie wanted you and so you were the purple clad General's. There was no room for negotiations. The softshell was always stubborn like that. He played the odds in his favor. He'd let the whole base crumble if it meant he couldn't have you.

And for the last year, that was that.

Leonardo knew that Donatello was keeping you in his lab and that at some point over the last twelve months the workspace began to double as the jade turtle's quarters as well.

Only discovering the new development when visiting his purple color coded brother one day. The blue bandana wearing leader doesn't remember what he had gone to his sibling's work space for but, once inside he found the usual cluttered layout. However off closer to the far wall in the direct line of sight was the (Blonde/Brunette/Raven or Scarlet Haired/ Etc) tribute his brother had demanded for.

This had been when the (e/c) eyed woman still had her own bed. Though at some point after your escape attempt that had been thwarted by Mikey. He remembered because of the presence of the steel restraints that you typically wore when in Donnie's laboratory.

In the corner you were laying down. Hands obviously bound behind your back. The (h/c) haired captive probably scratched her neck raw again. His theory only confirmed upon closer inspection. Beneath the steel collar a dressing of white gauze. Though that wasn't the only injury. Like a Christmas present you were wrapped almost head to toe in the cotton bandages. Most likely caused by other attempts to break free from your bonds which backfired. Resulting in Donnie just further inhibiting your mobility.

Sometimes he doesn't understand why the softshell turtle did what he does. If he loved you, why did he let you hurt yourself like this? The technological General's plan was to rid you of your will. Like the mustang in stables he was gonna break that need to be free. You would be his. The aged purple coded mutant wouldn't accept anything less.

It was creepy how his sciencey twin doted on his feral captive. How even when discussing the condition of the base the crippled mutant still gravitates towards your curled up figure. In spite your attempts to chomp off his jade digits the Donnie still continued to glide his fingers through (h/c) strands. The action was bizarre to the red eared slider. He couldn't relate but if this kept the softshell from throwing the headquarters into the destructive hands of the Krrang. So be it.

Which brings Leo back to the current task at hand. Watching both Casey Jr and his brother's captive as he did his patrols of the agricultural production. He needed to start getting a feel of the ratio amount of crops so he knew how to plan for the Resistance's future. Winter was gonna be coming soon and scavenging in the snow was not an easy feat. Especially with pink tentacle freaks and the assimilated around every lurking corner up on the surface.

Leo was sure that this was gonna be a pain in the shell however to his surprise he found some entertainment out of the one sided conversation Casey Jr was having with you.

Regardless of the lack of your response, the raven haired boy kept bombarding you with rounds of endless questioning. Like twenty-one questions but, with more like five hundred-fifty-five questions. It was hilarious. Many times as he was communicating with his subordinates he would over hear Casey Jr spout something random. Comedic prompting caused the mutant leader to muffle his chuckles on a few occasions. The action earned him a raised brow or two from a couple of agricultural workers.

Everything was fun and games, until it wasn't.

Leo had been strolling down one of the many select rows of dirt walkways onto the next location he needed a report from. He had been listening to his live comedy show when he noticed the lack of quips from his adolescent charge. That's when he peeked over his broad shoulder, only to find nothing but the dirt path beneath his feet. Casey Jr and (Y/n) nowhere to be found.

That's when suddenly shit turned into a real life Lou Jitsu movie with a plot twist that kept the viewer at the edge of their seat. Except for Leo this wasn't a Lou Jitsu movie. He fucked up. Shit wasn't just gonna line up and all his problems would be solved. No. Hot Soup he had to solve this himself. The Resistance Commander gripped the inside pockets of his loose fitted beige pants. A small amount of anxiety rose at the possible implication of the duo's absence meant.

Now the blue clad mutant was aware he was the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew some things. For example, you wanted to leave. Casey Jr knew how to leave the base. Leo taught him in case of emergency if the red eared slider himself or someone else wasn't present to assist the child. Said afro mentioned charge wanted you to respond to his pestering. And the Resistance leader was distracted by the comedic routine and his patrols to notice the disappearance of the two-man comedic troupe he had been chaperoning.

The grown ninja turtle knew what you were doing. If his hypothesis was correct—

You were trying to use Casey Jr to escape.

The blue bandana wearing turtle internally scolded himself for his stupidity. He knew you wanted to escape. He shouldn't have let his guard down just because of your meek unresponsive domineer and his humorous charge.

Donatello was gonna kill him if he didn't find you before the purple clad mutant was finished repairing the pump. Which at this point was any minute.

Taking a deep breath of air Leonardo calmed his startled nerves. The mutated Commander had no reason to stress. He could handle this easily. Reminding himself that he taught Casey Jr how to flee from the base. If that truly was the case this retrieval should be a walk in the park.

Cursing his luck under his breath the olive skinned turtle dashed off in the suspected direction that you and Casey had traveled. Unaware of inky orbs following his brother's retreating figure. Ignorant to the irritated displeasure that burned within the tary pits.

°°°°°°°°

As a kid your mother the ever devoted follower— used to warn you about making deals with demons and wicked imps. They'd offer whatever you wished for just a simple price before snatching away your soul. Never would you ever reach the kingdom in the clouds with her and your brother Ethan(I know so creative). Now adult, you knew that stuff was a crock of shit— but as a starry-eyed child with all the hopes and no crushed self esteem, you believed it. Though now as you traversed through disgusting sewer waste you can honestly say that it was a possibility. How else did you end up in this mess? You rolled the dice with the jade devil and now you couldn't pay.

"(Y/n)? .....Were you even listening?"

Without even realizing it you drifted off into your thoughts again an occurrence that only seemed to become more frequent the longer you stayed in that base. In that lab. With the purple bandana wearing turtle who betrayed your trust.

Hopefully after this you wouldn't have to worry about that mutated swindler ever again.

"Sorry.. I was just thinking about something...could you repeat what you said again?" You asked glancing down at your miniature guide, a tight smile presented on your (skin tone) face. It's been a while since you had to play nice.

It was selfish but, you had no other choice. You'd never have this opportunity again. You only had one way out. No one else was gonna help you. Push came to shove you were willing to do whatever it took to flee from the purple clad demon who wouldn't leave you be.

" Dios miós! I-iii aaasked why you're tryinna' to leave this base? Isn't everyone like, tryinna' to get in the base not out? " The doomsday child inquired. Emphasizing his question with a dramatic arched brow and one big questioning eye. The expression very animated. The kid likely picked up the look from a old salvaged comic from the Resistance headquarters' communal library.

Not prepared for the sudden insightful line questioning from the nine year old who up until now had been just asking whatever seemed to pop into his head.

With a forced grin you replied. "You wish." Teasing the now pouting child before continuing. "Though if you must know. I'm gonna go see some family." You lied releasing a tired exhale as your sole (e/c) orb looked around the seemingly empty canels that Casey was accompanying you through. Claiming that he only knew the way based on the look of the surroundings. How he tells the difference between one gross wall from another gross wall slightly boggled your head. Though if it got you out of this cement prison you didn't care.

For a moment as the two of you walked side by side the raven haired child peered up at you with a squinting gaze as he absorbed your answer. Another cartoonish action that made the corner of your lip slightly curl.

"Hmmmm... Alrighty! I can understand wanting to see your family. I lost my mother when I was young but, Leo and his brothers always make me feel right at home!" The young child perked as he grinned up at you with that wide chipped grin of his.

You missed this type of interaction. No fighting or an obsessive purple bandana wearing turtle lurking. Just two normal people just having a plain conversation. No commands or shifty deals. Just one person leading the other to the long awaiting freedom you've desired.

These interactions with the teddy bear brown eyed boy become more challenging with each quip the child spoke. Insects were drilling into the flesh under your skin again. Burrowing into the empty casket of your missing soul. Thriving on what is left of your sanity as they scuttled around in the memories you didn't want to face.

Somehow peering down at the chubby cheeks and scruffy black hair of Casey Jr's that didn't resemble Ethan in any way— still made you think of your deceased younger sibling.

He had been only eight years old he was the first to go out of your happy family trio. It had happened when the Krrang had first opened their portal. Neither one of you were prepared for the earthquake like shake before the ceiling of your mother's apartment collapsed and crushed the two of you under crumbling rubble. When you came to after pushing crumbled drywall from on top of yourself and searching for your younger sibling. All you found when you searched through broken pieces of your childhood home was blood. You couldn't lift the interior support beam off of where you had presumed Ethan was. The steel was far too heavy and your palms were too coated in the surrounding sediment to be able to lift the remaining pieces. You couldn't do anything. Unable to fulfill the role of the older sibling.

For hours you bawled as you had tried to wait for your mother's return. She had been at work when the Krrang attacked. You never did find out what became of her. You always did hope that she got away and somehow was doing well. Even if the reality is she most likely got assimilated or killed. You still always prayed she was doing good.

You just wanted to see them again. Go back in time and re-live the moments you carelessly spent. Fights and words you wish could be taken back. Reclaim wasted opportunities that you'll never have again. How you wish you could tell them you loved them both one last time.

"(Y/n) were here."

At the sound of Casey Jr's squeaky voice your lone (e/c) orb found presented before it was a waterfall of sludge that spilled over into a thirty-five foot drop. Leading down into what appeared into a bay of the same icky substance rushing past your soaked flats. An

With a cheeky grin the raven haired boy pointed down into the pool below. "This is it, the end of the line for me!" The boy quipped before continuing. "I can't go any further with you but, if you keep following that tunnel down there you should be out of the sewers in no time!" Casey finished with a smirk arms crossed over his tiny chest as he explained the directions. Obviously proud himself for remembering his Sensei's words.

" Thanks... " You grinned awkwardly. Not particularly fond of the idea of swimming through god knows what.

"Goodbye Casey, ...thank you for showing me the out." A small smile grew on your face as you looked back at the nine year old only to see the cause of your nightmares standing silently in the background. Glowing optic reflecting in the shadows like a beast prowling the jungle.

Suddenly the spacious catacomb you've been traversing through didn't have enough air. Your chest clenched tight around the squishy organs encased in your ribs.

"(Y/n) are you alrig—"

"Casey Jr stay back!"

It was Leonardo, already at his charge's side holding back the nine year old from advancing any further into the situation that no longer included them. Donatello already approaching forward with the same air of confidence he always carried. Expression studious and sharp. Although the purple tattooed turtle did not display it— he was fucking furious.

"I should've known you would do this to me, (Y/n). " The General dryly chuckled as he edged closer. Every bold step forward the purple bandana wearing ninja took, the closer your shaking legs stumbled towards the slimy edge of the trash filled waterfall. In his three fingered grip a pair of steel cuffs. The kind you see in the movies except from the look of the bulky things. The ones dangling from Donatello's right hand were real.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck— Things were moving too fast. Your rampaging pumping muscle was going to explode. Panicked breaths filled the range of sound your anxiety allowed at you honed in on the jade demon in front of you.

" I should've never made that deal with you... you lied to me. You knew that my mother was dead— YOU KNEW!" You cried as your lone (e/c) eye flashed back and forth between the cracking edge you stood on and the softshell who stood before you. "You fucking lied to me! You played me just so I would stay! I FUCKING HATE YOU! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Panting you learned forward, (skin tone) palms resting on your knees. Never breaking eye contact with the aged turtle who although appeared collected was everything but. Narrowed black eyes filled with so much anger. Though still allowed you continue.

"I... -pant-....will never.. -pant- ..fucking love you. You were a mistake. Any feelings I ever had for you were a mistake. I wish I never had met you. I wish I fucking died when you rescued me on your stupid scrap run those months ago..." Straighten your stature you gave the infuriated jade turtle one last look as you smugly looked him dead in the eye.

"I wish whatever fucked up God had chose to taken General Raph, ....had instead killed you..." You calmly stated. Laughing as you continued. Silent tears finally falling out of your last good eye. " Hahahaha— the only reason— you are soooo important enough to still be alive is because your older brother decided to give his life for all of you sick fucks! I pity his sacrifice— maybe at least if he was still here he would know how to handle shit instead of giving into an overgrown spoiled brat like you!"

Silence. No one made a peep. The only sound that broke through the thick tension in the tunnel was the rushing sound of the sewers water that at this point has successfully drenched the legs of your muck covered plaid bottoms.

In the background the fearless blue bandana wearing Commander's emotions were all laid out on his nonexistent sleeve. He was hurt, pissed, and over all he just looked disturbed with the overall conversation.

Meanwhile Casey Jr shielded his face into his Sensei's plastron. Quite sobs choking the boy as his tiny hands griped onto his Commander's beige pant leg like his life depended on it. Terrified of the situation that didn't make sense to the child. The sight made your heart ache just a little bit.

Donatello didn't say anything. He didn't do anything just bore holes into your soul. You had opened your mouth to continue berating the purple clad asshole who's kept you in his fuckin' lab for the last year. Forced you to sleep next to him. Locked you up like a dog when you tried to run away.

However the jade mutant beat you to the punch.

"Shut up. Don't you dare even say another fucking word. "The aged ninja seethed, closing the space between the two of you in a blink of an eye. His left metal palm shooting to grasp your according bicep, tightening his grip around the tender flesh.

" I don't ever want to ever hear you mention Raph's name ever again. You don't fucking deserve to say it. You're so ungrateful and pathetic it just makes everyone around you laugh at your stupidity. Are you really trying to leave the base? Me? For what? Just so you can go fucking kill yourself out there? I saved you. I'm supporting the human race even when all the facts say I shouldn't. That I should've given up on this stupid apocalypse alooong time ago but, I didn't. I had wanted to when we had crossed paths for the first time. When I rescued you, I changed my mind. Why can't you just be grateful!?!?" Donatello cried as he pushed you from the tunnels edge into the roaring murky waters below.

°°°°°

Beep...beep...beepbeepbeep

There she is.

The softshell will admit he lost a bit of his composure back there. He shouldn't have pushed you from that high of a point but, you just made him so mad. How dare you bring up Raph. You weren't there. You don't know what it was like on that battlefield. There was no winning, only retreat. You don't realize how much he wishes everyday that the one who had perished was himself not Raph. You don't realize. You're always so naive. That's why Donatello was here to keep you safe. It was for your own good.

There.

In the shallow waters was your water logged figure. Obviously you were out cold based off small rise and fall of your chest.

With a sigh, Donatello slid the projected screen from the monitor on his cybertronic arm. Deactivating the tracker that was implanted in your abdomen. Lucky for him had installed this little insurance a long time ago after one of your many fits just for this type of emergency. Finding the gadget handy in locating you both times. Not having to rely on his red eared slider twin's amazing capabilities.

Trekking into the shallow water the purple clad turtle reached down and retrieved your knocked out figure. Not caring particularly much about the condition of his loose dark purple pants that soaked up the surrounding water fairly quickly.

With a strong exhale of air the technological general retreated back to his base chastising you under his breath along the way. Once there the softshell would insure that you wouldn't have another opportunity like this again.

Like a true scientist Donatello learns from his mistakes and he'll keep trying until one of his punishments clicks. It's not like you won't give the techno demon the opportunity to do so. Not that Donatello minds.

After all where would science be without trial and error?

¶¶Creator's notes¶¶

Wazzup!

You guys made this far so you deserve the scoup on the next one-shot will be...

Drum roll🥁🥁

Yan!Future!Raph x Reader 🎉🎉

I don't have a picture for Future Raph but, if you guys have any good pictures saved hit me up I'm always open.

I have some ideas on how I want to do it. Though I could also turn it into a post movie sort of deal. Where it takes place after the events of the ROTTMNT movie. Thouughhh it's up to you guys. One person has already voted for some future Raph so we'll see what I come up with.

[avatarmerida]

Girlfriend Material

Mini sequel to this

———

Hunter was beyond excited to give Willow his latest creation. He had truly outdone himself this time, consulting multiple books, blogs, and online tutorials. He had pricked his fingers so much that each one was now graced with a colorful bandage to attest to his dedication. Most of it he had done by hand, working well into the night to make sure it was done before the week was over. There was no special occasion that the gift was for, but the anticipated look on Willow’s face was motivation enough.

When Gus left the basement to “get a drink of water” and have Hunter a dramatic wink to signify he would not be returning, Hunter leapt up from the couch to retrieve her gift from his sewing station. When he called her name to show her, her jaw dropped.

“Oh my Titan, Hunter it’s stunning!” Willow exclaimed, jumping from her seat and rushing over to take his creation in her arms. It was the Emerald Entrails signature color, lightweight with a quilted texture and “Park” in large letter across the back and a small bee patch on the end of the sleeve to represent Clover. She admired every stitch, every detail, every part of the jacket an unmistakable indication that it could be made for no one else by her by no one else but Hunter. She slipped it on, unsurprised that it fit her perfectly. “How do I look?” Willow asked sweetly, twirling around like it was a ball gown.

“Perfect,” said Hunter, excited to see her excited. “As always.”

“Oh my Titan, did you hand stitch this?” Willow exclaimed again, looking at herself in the mirror and spotting “Captain” purposely displayed just above her heart.

“Oh, yeah. But, it was nothing.” he lied, it has been one of the most tedious parts of the project. “I still haven’t showed you the best part!”

“Oh! It has pockets?!” Willow gasped as she put her hands in them, feeling like she was on the cover of Flyer Derby monthly.

“Even better.” Hunter said with a smile.

“Double pockets?!” Willow said with a louder, deep gasp.

“No- well, actually kind of,” he laughed. “It’s reversible.”

Willow gasped once more. “Shut up!”

“It’s true!” Hunter said, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin in the best way. “See for yourself.”

Willow carefully slipped it off, and found the liner was a lighter green the same color as her eyes and littered with white, wide flowers. As she turned it inside out, she saw there was a matching bee patch resting on the opposite sleeve. And it also had pockets! How did a jacket manage to capture every part of her so perfectly?

A true labor of love.

“Hunter thank you so much, I love it.” She lunged forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. “This was so sweet. I’m never taking it off, it’s so comfortable.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning her embrace as a wide smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you like it, it was my first time making something with girlfriend material.”

“Wait, what?” Willow asked, taking a step back to look up at him with wide eyes, wondering if she heard him correctly.

“Oh, I wanted it to be extra special so Camila helped me find this fabric, and they had it in two similar colors that both reminded me of you and since I couldn’t decide which one to get, that’s how I got the idea to-.”

“Are you saying my jacket is made of… girlfriend material?” Willow cut him off, giving him a playful eyebrow raise. She was able to connect his interpretation of the fabric’s name with her attempt to flirt with him last week. Never had she been so grateful for a misunderstanding.

“Um, yeah? But I don’t know if-.” Before he could finish explaining that that might not be the technical name of the fabric, Willow took him by the hand and was pulling him up the stairs. “Uh, where are we going?”

“I’m going to show everyone my new favorite jacket and I need you to tell them what it’s made of.”

[ellipsae]

Here's the next Post-Epilogue design for Jade! I struggled a lot with this one because a lot of his design has specific purpose so I was weighing function against aesthetic and had to make some trade offs. Anyways, the small satchel and wrist contraption is a prototype for strengthening fonic artes.

More details under the cut. !Lots of Spoilers as well under cut!

-So firstly, I fully believe Jade would return to his research on Fomicry and lead the medical movement for replicas and replica health as he had mentioned in-game. I like to imagine that he goes by Jade Curtiss-Balfour as it's just easier than being called two different Family Names (as he's more well known in the research circles as Balfour).

-In the post-Epilogue world with the Planet Storm stopped, the concentration of fonons have dramatically decreased so I imagine spellcasters like Jade would find their fonic artes significantly weakened and perhaps some higher level artes can no longer be activated in normal circumstances. So to supplement the lack of fonons, the prototype uses concentrated fonic crystals (manufactured by fontech machines) that can be consumed during casting. For most efficient usage, the crystals can be absorbed into the body via contamination so it doesn't dissipate into the atmosphere.

-It's a bit hard to see, but Jade has half-glasses and one eye is darker because he's dispelled the fonic eyes on one of them. My understanding of the fonic artes is that it opens the fon slots in the eyes beyond normal circumstances to absorb more fonons in the air. With the lower concentration of fonons post-Epilogue, I figured that in desperate situations, the fonic eyes might overstrain themselves to try and draw in fonons (which increases the risk of going blind) and it happens to Jade once and he decided to cut his losses by removing it/disabling in one of his eyes and keeping the other one as a last resort (even if it may result in sacrificing sight in one eye)

-His turtleneck sweater is an homage to Professor Nebilim. The quilted coat is partially based on his young design. I had really wanted to keep his military boots in the design in the same colour scheme but having them all blue-teal made it really hard to colour coordinated the rest of his outfit so I changed it to grey. I wanted him to be able to switch between 'Doctor Balfour' and 'Colonel Curtiss' mode very quickly.

-I'm not too familiar with military ranks but I really hope that Jade tried to resign from the military so he could focus on his research (he can't do both jobs full time) but Peony wouldn't let him so he either demoted him or gave him a sideways promotion into a non-commanding officer role. It works out for Jade in the best way because he can take advantage of his military resources and access to help his research.

-His main research base is in Keterburg hence his winter-oriented outfit but he frequently travels to Belkend to collaborate on research and projects. He will sometimes help with theory behind new fontech and also deciphering old Dawn Age technical manuals (which were released in small batches from the forbidden archives in Daath).

-End of the day, Jade becomes super well known because of his knowledge and expertise that eclipses his former research and Necromancer title from his military days which makes him more approachable for marriage meeting requests plus he's more personable now after his travels and friendship with the party

[raainy-daze]

Halloween Movies

halloween special !

2012 leo x gn!reader

summary: it’s time for your usual stay-at-home movie date with leo. of course, during october, you’ve gotta watch some halloween movies.

word count: 1297

a/n: holy crap. i did not expect 2012 leo to be this hard to write. i honest to god kind of hate this, but if i spent any longer on it, i was probably going to scream/loose my mind. happy halloween!

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Ah, October, the month of spooks and scares. There’s a chill in the air, and festivities have begun.

Night had fallen just a little bit ago, and you were in your apartment, searching through the storage closet for any blankets that may have wound up lost in there.

“A-ha!” You pulled an old quilt off from the top shelf, careful to not knock anything down with it. “I knew it was here somewhere!”

You draped the quilt over your shoulders and dragged it back into your bedroom, where your bed was covered with other such blankets and several pillows stolen from around the place. You set the quilt down with the rest, and debated how you could arrange everything in the most comfortable way possible. Did you even have enough time?

You certainly didn’t have the time for a full blown blanket fort, and no matter what you did, you suspected you would just wind up rearranging everything repeatedly. So, you just sighed and grabbed your laptop, scrolling through your selection of movies as you continually glanced at the window.

Tap, tap, tap.

You smiled, getting up to open the window. Technically, it was already unlatched, but whatever. You were met with a familiar green face, just as you’d expected.

“Leo!” You stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m not late, am I?” Leonardo climbed inside, just like you’d watched him do a million times before.

“Nope. You’re right on time.”

As if on cue, the clock in the living room could be heard chiming 9 o’clock.

Brief explanation: today was a Saturday! Seeing as you and Leo couldn’t go on dates the way a normal couple would, you had begun a sort of tradition. Your family conveniently was out most weekends, so every other Saturday, Leo would come over for movie night. Granted, movie nights were something that happened at the lair regardless, but it was different when it was just you and him.

And, this time, it was October, which could only mean one thing.

“So, are we going horror scary, Tim Burton scary, what are we thinking?” You sat back down on the blanket pile, pulling your list back up.

Leo sat down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. (That definitely did not make you combust inside).

“Please not a slasher. I’m pretty sure Raph’s made us watch every classic slasher movie already in the last week.”

“Really? Y’know, he does seem like a slasher guy.” You quickly eliminated Halloween and Scream from your list. “Any of the rest of these speak to you?”

You watched as Leo’s eyes skimmed over the remaining entries on the list. “Well, I haven’t seen The Corpse Bride.”

“Corpse Bride it is!”

You set aside your laptop and stood up. “I’m gonna go make some popcorn, then we can start. Make yourself comfortable! Oh, but some of those blankets might be a little dusty. Specifically that one.” You pointed at the quilt.

“I can go ahead and pull up the movie, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great! Netflix should already be logged in.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, and made your way to the kitchen for the popcorn.

By the time you were back, the movie was paused on the beginning. Leo was drumming his fingers on the bed, but looked up and smiled when you reappeared. You flicked off the lights, and sat back down next to him with the popcorn bowl.

As he unpaused the movie, you snuggled up against him, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around yourself. The opening music began playing, and you reached into the red, plastic bowl in between the two of you for a handful of popcorn.

You didn’t really talk much when you watched something. Not a movie like this, anyways. If it was something one of you was really into, the case was different. Like when you’d sit down to watch Space Heroes, Leo would tell you all the little lore details weaved into the background.

So instead, as the movie played, you just leaned against him. Occasionally, when you got bored of staying still, you’d start poking at Leo just to annoy him. It was a game, trying to make him retaliate. It also helped you stay awake, considering you had had a pretty exhausting day.

After the Corpse Bride, you decided you had time for one more movie. The two of you decided Coraline would do. As the credits rolled, you shifted to find yourself stiff. “You want any more popcorn, or?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

You set the popcorn bowl aside, and pulled your laptop closer to type in the search bar. “Have you seen Coraline?”

“Just once. I don’t remember it very well. I don’t remember how we got it, but we were only… five, maybe? Six at the oldest.” Leo shrugged. “It ended up freaking Mikey out pretty badly, so Master Splinter got rid of it.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” You scrolled for a moment before clicking on the movie. “Well, let’s see how you feel about it- hey!” You were cut off as he poked you in the cheek.

“Revenge.” He grinned.

“You bastard. I thought you were better than this.”

“You should know better. It’s about patience.”

The beginning sequence to Coraline played, and you couldn’t help but notice Leo’s apparent discomfort at it. You couldn’t blame him - that first scene was certainly something.

When it passed, however, he seemed more relaxed. Every so often, he’d pipe up to say he remembered some part of it from when he was a kid, like the dog bats and the scene in the store.

You must’ve been more tired than you thought, because somewhere around midway through, you began slipping in and out of sleep. You’d shake yourself awake, but always drift back off.

Around the third time this occurred, you were somewhere around the kidnapping of Coraline’s parents. You shifted, trying to wake yourself up, only to feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Go on back to sleep.”

You shook your head. “No, no, I want to finish it with you.”

“We can finish it another day.”

“But that’s not…” You stifled a yawn. “You should go ahead and finish it.”

“Would it be a good compromise if I woke you up at the end?”

You thought about it for a second. “Alright, fine.” That didn’t stop you from trying to stay awake, of course, but it seemed that you just couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Leo gently shook you awake, and you registered the closing theme playing. “It’s over.”

You blinked a couple times. “What’d ya think?”

“I now much better understand Mikey’s terror as a child.” Leo closed up your laptop. “The animation was cool.”

You smiled, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Coraline: Baby’s First Horror Movie. I think it’s pretty good.”

“It is. So’s the Corpse Bride.”

“Great!” You pumped a fist. You were always glad to know Leo enjoyed the movies you watched.

From the living area, you could hear the clock chime once more, this time for midnight. “Sorry I was asleep for half of that.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled softly at you. “It’s getting late anyways.”

You grabbed one of the many pillows and held it to your chest. You leaned back against Leo. “Are you staying the night?”

He put his arms around you and laid back. “For a while, anyways. I’ll have to leave early, though.”

“Mm. That’s fine.” You were already half asleep again.

You knew Leo would probably already be gone by the time you woke up in the morning, but that didn’t matter. He was never gone for long.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. Then, you slipped off into dreamland.

[20dollarlolita]

Hey! I’m hoping you might have a suggestion for fabrics; I’m looking for a thick cotton to make a petticoat style skirt (like those oldschool ones made of cotton with pintucks and insertion lace). I want it thick enough that the white skirt isn’t see through and it stays stiff enough to provide volume if I use it as an underskirt, but not so thick/rough it’s uncomfortable or that I can’t gather it to be frilly. There’s so many words out there- duck? Broadcloth? Canvas? Twill? I’m not sure how to describe what I’m looking for in a Google search. All I know is I definitely don’t want quilting cotton. ‘Burberry’ (which I see a lot of brands use) just turns up plaids a la the high fashion brand. Any help would be appreciated! Thank you so much!

Anyone who is interested in burbery in the lolita context should talk to @babelglyph aka burberryglyph. The short version is that burbery is a lightweight cotton twill used in a lot of old school pieces, and B.Glyph knows where to get it, as well as can provide info about why they know that the fabric they recommend is true burbery twill, as well as why it's called burbery. I remember that they know all of this but can't remember the actual answer to any of it.

As for other fabrics you mentioned: All duck is canvas but not all canvas is duck. Duck is a plain weave and other canvasses can be a twill weave of some kind. Either way, the heavier yarn and overall thick construction is what makes canvas canvas. Fun fact, "duck tape" predated the term "duct tape" and referred to tape made of duck canvas. Broadcloth is usually interchangeably with quilt cotton, though "quilt cotton" is generally a more specific term. Broadcloth can be pretty much any fiber but quilt cotton is expected to be cotton. Some people think that broadcloth has to be a single color. Twill is a weave structure, so the words that predate it are important. "stretch twill" is going to be different from "suiting twill" or "heavyweight wool twill." If you want to see a twill weave structure, generally the most accessible example of a twill structure is denim. Look at some blue jeans and you can see how there's that slanting pattern caused by the blue threads passing over 2-3 white threads before going under a white thread? That's a twill weave structure. (You then have to have it be cotton and have the two color setup to be proper denim. Technically black jeans aren't denim, they're just twill, but no one wants to get into that fight with me.)

If you're looking for cotton fabrics that aren't quilt cotton, but tend to be in that sort of lighter weight area, I'd look for:

Cotton sateen: This is cotton fibers woven in a satin weave. This has a really subtle luster and will drape better than quilt cotton,

or

Cotton poplin: poplin has what's called an unbalanced plain weave, so the threads are woven in the same pattern as quilting cotton, but where in quilting cotton they are the same thickness vertically and horizontally, they're different thicknesses vertical vs horizontal in poplin. This means that it hangs better, and also that it has a different drape depending on if you're using lengthwise grain or crosswise grain. Poplin is used for shirting a lot.

If you need to get thicker, you will probably want to look for lightweight twill. I'm trying to not get too into textile science, which is hard because i LOVE textile science. So stick with me for a second:

The "higher quality" a fabric generally feels, in quotes there because quality is subjective, but through history we have associated finely spun yarns with a higher quality. Thinner yarns are harder to make, and you need to use more of them to make the same size fabric as you'd make with thicker yarn. Thinner yarn has to be structurally better constructed to take the force of being woven into fabric, versus a thicker yarn. So, when we want something that feels like quality, we look for fabrics spun with a thinner yarn. This is why expensive sheets are measured in thread count: more threads per inch is a better quality sheet.

However, the problem comes when you want a thicker fabric made of thinner yarns. If you've ever had a potholder loom, you understand a plain weave: a yarn goes over one yarn, under the next, over the next, and so on. Thinner threads in a plain weave will make a thinner fabric.

However, if you start using other weave patterns, you start changing fabric properties. In a twill weave, a thread will go over two or more other threads before going under another thread. One of the side effects of this is that it's possible to fit more threads into the same space than you could fit in a plain weave, meaning that you can make a thicker fabric with thinner yarns going into the construction process.

And this means that, if you're judging a fabric thickness by weight, like you know how many ounces a yard of fabric is, a twill fabric will be made of finer yarns than a canvas fabric of the same weight.

In addition to being "higher quality", we like thinner yarns in garment construction because they're more flexible, so they make the fabric hang more like a garment and less like a canvas sack.

As a final note, when you say "provide volume as an underskirt", a twill skirt with pintucks and insertion will have some volume, but if you're doing a lolita fashion look, you'll also need petticoats under that. Some fashion styles, that added volume will be enough, but in lolita fashion, if you can get the hem of your skirt to be 10" away from your legs in all direction, you're probably approaching the correct level of poof.

(But for what it's worth, if you're trying to add some more volume on a cotton underskirt that's not for lolita fashion, pintucks will make the same skirt have more volume. Creating that rigid-ish line that goes in the direction opposite of what the skirt would naturally want to fold, especially if you make several of those lines in a close spacing, will hold the skirt out and make it have more lift. Just a fun fact there. If you want to get as much volume as possible out of this, you will want to use many small pintucks, as well as the stiffest insertion that you can find. Skirts want to be small and make lots of soft vertical folds, so applying horizontal decoration that makes that folding harder to do will add volume).

I don't know how much of that was answering the ask and how much was just Pink Loves Textile Science 2023(tm)

[flashnthunder]

Miscellaneous tag game

@grumpy-liebgott and @sharkboyandlavalieb tagged me <333 and i am of course a million years late

Favorite place in the world you’ve visited?

inside the us i would say maine, i love the ocean/forest combo it's got going on

Something you’re proud of yourself for?

coauthoring several medical research papers as an undergrad, which is like my one and only flex and it's a nerdy one

Favorite books?

new hampshire- robert frost, the art of being human- michael wesch, ajax- sophocles (yes, only one of these is technically a book ik)

Something that makes your heart happy when thinking about it?

it might be cheesy to say music, but music and my friends <3

Favorite thing about your culture?

from the midwest US (so there's not that much), but i was raised very much in borderline appalachia and the older i've gotten the more i've come to appreciate that as part of how i was raised, so i would say quilting! i was taught to quilt by the women in my family and i still cherish the connection to them through that

When did you join the HBO War fandom? What was the first show you watched?

band of brothers in 8th grade, my history teacher would play it for us and i'm pretty sure he used it in place of actually teaching but he was a real one and also a drill sergeant so i don't think anyone argued with his methods

Have you read any of Easy Company’s books? If so, which ones were your favorite?

have NOT read any BoB books, but i have read most of the ones that inspired the pacific + a shit ton of pacific memoirs in general

Favorite HBO War character and your favorite moment with them?

lip and luz with the dud shell, bull watching out for the younger replacements, the officers in the eagle's nest, and just in general all of episode 8

Do you make content for any fandoms, if so; what sort of content?

band of brothers, top gun, the pacific (hypothetically), mota now it looks like, way back to my roots would be star trek and also whatever was going on with bandoms in hs that is a dark time

Favorite actor/actress and your favorite film of theirs?

oooh idk it changes, but last year i was on an ethan hawke kick- 'adopt a highway' and 'first reformed' are two he's good in (obligatory dead poets society mention ofc)

Favorite quote/s that you wish to share with others?

"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." - sarah williams

Random fact your mutuals/followers don’t know about you?

so bad at fun facts uhhh. uh. i am double-jointed in my hands.

If you’re a writer, do you need a beta reader (say yes so I can be your beta reader 🤭)?

i have NEVER had a beta reader and i am simply too scared to ask how it works because i'm not sure anyone should have to be subjected to my writing process but!! always willing to give a new thing a shot

Three things that make you smile?

my dog when she stretches in the sun, swimming in a creek in the summer, sitting in the car with my best friend while it rains

Any nicknames you like?

izzy! i have liked it well enough to all but legally make it my real name, other than that izzy-maye from people i'm close with, or iz/izzers when people are in a hurry

List some people you love to see around on tumblr!

@andromeddog art makes me go feral, @mutantmanifesto killer art that is living rent-free in my mind, @ewipandora MWAH you already know you make my day better on here, @onehelluvamarine has me kicking my feet giggling when they're in my notifs, @terresdebrume lovely writing <3

What would you do during a zombie apocalypse?

foolproof 3 step plan, ready for it? 1- find a good ditch 2- lay down in the ditch 3- just let it happen

idealistically i think i could go chill in the woods for a semi-significant period of time and be alright

Favorite movie?

logan's run (comfort movie, questionable 70s sci-fi), the hunt for red october (always feeling very big feelings on this), arrival, apocalypse now, fury, dead poets society, alexander (like the 4 hours version because im insufferable like that) the old star trek movies

Do you like horror movies?

i love horror movies WITH people you will not catch me watching them on my own, but 100% love love getting to sit on someone's couch and watch one

Tagging:

(no pressure and apologies for any double tagging) @ewipandora @blood-mocha-latte @deputy-buck @lamialamia @blurredcolour @saturnwisteria @staud + anyone i tagged in my answers and forgot to tag down here, or anyone who just wants to do it :)

[airplanned]

Silence. 7

Table of Contents....Chapter 1...Chapter 6

.

After mid-day prayers, the residents of the abbey dispersed, and Zelda was ready to head to the scriptorium except Link was right at her elbow, giving her a look as if waiting for instructions.  A look like he didn't want to be left alone.

She blinked at him.  He blinked back at her.

She had no idea how to explain the next part of their day, even if they weren't in the middle of the sanctuary right under the eyes of Hylia and were able to sign to each other as much as they wanted.  The abbot was nowhere in sight, either trusting Zelda to take care of him, or leaving Link to figure it out.

She waved him to follow her into an alcove, where beneath a statue of the forest sage was a cubby full of old hymnals that were more for study than use.  Flip flip flip, she finally found the hymn she wanted and tilted the book to show him the title.  All Praise and Glory to Hylia.  She circled the last three words, then awkwardly held the hymnal under her arm pit and held up her hands to form a triangle in the air.  Glory to Hylia.

He half nodded, but still looked skeptical.  Of course, he wouldn't want to say he understood her, because he didn't.  Glory to Hylia.  Okay?  What did that mean?

She slipped the hymnal back into place and guided him back out into the sanctuary, where she pointed at the monk taking his place at the pipe organ.  He took his time sorting his music, rolled his shoulders, and began to play.  To practice.  It sounded beautiful, the full, pressured notes bursting at them like the sun.  

Giving Link a look, she lifted the triangle in the air again. (This time all the way over her head, because she didn't have to hold onto a hymnal.) Glory to Hylia.

Then she waved him to follow her.  

Back in a hallway deeper into the temple, one of the acolytes was practicing a harp.  They did not peek inside, but they could hear it.

Glory to Hylia, she said.  

She brought him outside, where a small group of monks were working through meditative stretches.  It was a lot like the prayer session they had just done, but these were actually an ancient martial art, meant to strengthen their bodies and minds.  In a nearby courtyard, another monk poured colored sand into a painstaking design of circles and triforces. Glory to Hylia.

She brought him to the abbey and leaned into the doorway of one of the cells, where a monk was embroidering a quilt so complicated that it looked like a watercolor. In another room, someone neatly tapped a glass cutter against a pane of red glass so they could fit it into a stained glass window of the Sage of Spirit, now only a quarter of the way completed. Glory to Hylia.

These were not chores meant to preserve the functioning of the abbey.  These endeavors could be called superfluous, except that they were all in service of spreading Hylia's love and showing their love for Her through art--a medium close to the Hylian heart.  

Link's nod now was enthusiastic.  He got it.

Satisfied, Zelda headed to the nearby scriptorium where she usually spent her time copying and illuminating pages sent by the Sheikah clan.  Pages detailing ancient technology.  It was as close as she could get to studying the technology herself, which wasn't technically against the rules, but there were no guardian parts around and she had a feeling that technology's absence on the plateau was half the reason she'd been sent to the temple in the first place.

She settled at her drawing desk and began to set out her brushes and pick her colors.  And yet Link hesitated by her side.

Go, she shooed.  Glory to Hylia.

He thought for a brief second, then scooted away.  

Maybe, she thought as she prepared a fresh page of paper, she should have given him some materials to work with.  He might need a musical instrument or some cloth.  She cringed.  He would have to take that up with the abbot, and hopefully he knew enough to go do that.  Probably he would just join the acolytes in their meditative movements.  If he needed something tomorrow, she would help him ask.

He'll find something.

This decision did not stem the guilt that churned in her stomach.  She should not have left him alone.

Today, she was going to start on a diagram of an ancient core, which would probably take her several weeks.  It was her job to re-sketch the design and then paint it so it lit up as brightly (if not more brightly) than it did in real life.  She'd spend most of her time on this picture before transferring the Sheikah's notes in brilliant calligraphy in a column on the side.  She would have to correct their spelling mistakes, which were frequent.  (At first, she'd hoped there was a code.  That they were trying to get her out.  But after months of trying to decipher it, she realized there wasn't one.)

The Sheikah didn't send the diagrams specifically for her to illuminate.  They just sent them to the abbot and asked if his people could do something nice with them.  But then again, of course they sent them just for Zelda.  She could catch bits of Purah peeking through--the funny twist on her infrequent Fs, the way she would capitalize words she felt were Important, but definitely were not.  The diagrams were like little nods from home.  She liked to think that maybe her friends thought of her as they wrote them.  She liked to think that they eventually saw the illuminated pages she created.

She thought back to Link's question of where her heart was.  Maybe it was with the Sheikah.

Maybe that was part of her problem.

Movement in the courtyard caught her eye, and she turned her head in the briefest curiosity to see what it was, expecting it to be nothing and to go straight back to her drawing.

Instead she froze.

Because Link had a sword and was running through his forms.

Of course she'd known that he could use a sword.  He was a knight after all.  She was mostly surprised that he'd been allowed to keep his sword at the abbey.  She thought he would have put it in the chest in the storage room under the sanctuary, where he put away all the personal affects with which he'd arrived.  His armor would be in there too.  He wouldn't have given that to his fellow knights to take away.

(Somewhere in that storage room Zelda had a chest as well.  There was a fine dress and some shoes and clips for her hair.  She suspected that only the hair clips would still fit, and the abbey should go ahead and sell her dress rather than letting it go to waste.  It's not as if she could wear it when she left.)

But it was strange that the abbot let Link have the sword from his chest.

Or was it?  She supposed his practice certainly glorified Hylia.

Almost to a distracting degree...

With a blush, she realized she was staring, and quickly turned back to her work.  Away from the quick spinning of his blade and the confident movements of his feet and the roll of his shoulders.

.

Chapter 8

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Please more sorceress reader

Bruce watched you work the simulation with your broad sword in hand- he knows that some means or another makes it lighter than it should be- or it would. If this weren't your practice blade. Blunted and heavier than what you fight with.

"Still locked down?" he asked, not looking at Dick who was pretending not to watch you.

"It's not like she can summon guards or rely on the other exiles to watch her back," Dick pointed out. "Gentry don't get bounced often. They usually do the bouncing. So... she's stuck."

Bruce grunted softly and watched you finish the simulation- without magic to avoid damaging the equipment.

"So," Dick sighed, "I thought I'd get her out for a few hours. She's going stir crazy."

"I'd imagine- going from running a kingdom-"

"A Duchy, technically," Dick snorted, "She's a princess. Had a whole string of titles and lands but- she's not a queen. And pretty far from the throne anyway."

"Still."

"She's bored. She made a quilt yesterday? Like a whole quilt? I'm pretty sure there was SOME magic involved but..."

"That explains all the granola Steph came back with," Bruce mused.

"Granola, cookies, chex mix," Dick shook his head. "She's just trying to keep it together until after mid-winter. Between the Dragons and being iron sick all the time she's just-" He broke off and shook his head again.

"How does she usually take care of Dragons?" Bruce asked, folding his arms.

"She doesn't," Dick said. "They couldn't get close enough to her to be a threat until she lost the ties to court- to home."

Bruce nodded and watched you hand Damian your practice sword so he could get a closer look at it. Damian seemed to regard you as an oddity. But a useful oddity.

"After Christmas," Dick said after a moment, "I may get her out of Gotham for a while."

"Probably wise," Bruce said.

"And I might see- She misses having a forge."

Bruce looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"She makes all her own weapons," Dick explained. "It would give her something to do. And, give her a foothold in the Exile community."

"I'll look at buildings," Bruce said nodding.

[kelyon]

On the House 3

Belle goes through her first day of being Cora's least favorite person

Read on AO3

Belle’s punishment began bright and early, when Cora opened the door to her bedroom. It was technically morning, but far too early for most of the house to be up. Belle jerked out of a dreamless sleep the instant she heard Cora’s voice.

“Right this way, Mr. Wells. Our Belle will be happy to--oh!”

There was just enough time to sit up and cover her body with her blanket before Cora and the customer walked in. Belle pressed the quilt to her chest, well aware that her shoulders were bare. Last night, after Mr. Gold had left, she had been too tired and too overcome with feeling to bother putting on her chemise. 

Cora couldn’t possibly be shocked at the sight of a naked body, no matter what exclamations she made. At most, Belle might have surprised her--but it was the surprise of a baker seeing that the cakes were done ten minutes before they were supposed to be. For less than an instant, she grimaced at Belle, then turned to the gentleman with a warm smile. 

“As you can see, she’s ready and waiting for you, Mr. Wells. You can pluck this little rose fresh from her flower bed!”

She didn’t give Belle a second glance, before shutting the door and leaving her alone with the customer.

Muddled as her mind was from slumber, Belle knew exactly what she was supposed to do. She let her gaze settle on the customer, keeping her expression soft and pleasant. He was a tall man of middling age, almost fat, but not quite. He wore a light summer frock coat that was stained with grease and sweat. His beady eyes roved over Belle’s naked neck and shoulders. Meaty red hands slowly undid the buttons on his fly.   

Belle took a breath, and smiled. She let the blanket fall a little farther down her breasts. Tease him, tempt him, make him want it.  “Good morning, sir. How can I please you?”

The man sniggered, revealing brown teeth. “You can take off the rest of that blanket and show me your goods, missy.”

She forced her smile to grow deeper and warmer. This must have been how Cora had perfected her art, over years of practice. With an attempt at drama, Belle swept the blanket off of her. She didn’t let herself wince at the cold. She didn’t let her face move a muscle.

“All your goods are right here, sir.” She waved her hand down the line of her body, directing the man’s gaze to the curves of her waist and her hips. Hopefully, she looked like a figure from one of those horrid French photographs some men liked to carry. Her legs remained demurely closed, but that would just excite him more. Show a man something closed and all he’ll want to do is pry it open. He’ll force it, if he has to, but he’ll be more fond of an object that yields and submits in the face of masculine desire.

The man pulled his cock out of his trousers, but kept the rest of his clothes on. Including his muddy shoes. Somehow that seemed more an insult than anything else. He came closer to her, stroking himself in front of her face.

“Give us a kiss, will you, lovely? Let’s say a proper good morning.”

Belle licked her lips in preparation. She hadn’t yet learned how to smile while her mouth was open, but she kept her eyes bright and cheerful. She looked up at him. Unless they said otherwise, men loved being looked up to. It must make them feel like gods. With slow, reverent hands, she took this stranger’s stumpy cock. 

She stroked him for a moment, discreetly inspecting him for sores. Not that she would have been able to do anything about it if he had some. Cora had personally brought this man to her bed. He could be oozing with syphilitic pus and Belle would have no choice but to service him. She cupped his balls--they always liked that--and pulled back his foreskin with her other hand. Delicately at first, she placed her lips on his bulging red cockhead. Then she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. 

To the customer’s credit, he didn’t push into her, or pull her forward and force her to swallow all of him at once. This man didn’t jerk her head or grab at her hair to move her where he wanted. He didn’t choke her or gag her or keep her from breathing. He didn’t touch her at all, just sighed his appreciation and let her work. 

Belle took in more of him, licking and sucking and trying not to retch. For a moment, she dared to get her hopes up; perhaps this would be all he would ask of her. Not that pure fellatio was that much better than any other act. There really wasn’t anything a man could want from you that wasn’t unpleasant and degrading in one way or another. But it was always nice to be violated in only one orifice per customer.

Of course he wanted more. The man pushed on her shoulder, nudging her away from him. She obeyed, releasing his instrument from her lips. Thin strands of her saliva fell from his cock onto her chest.

“That’s a good girl!” He slapped his hand loosely against her jaw, the same way he would pet a horse or a dog. 

Under the mask of a smile, Belle caught her breath and swallowed down the taste of his unwashed flesh. 

“Oh, this is my lucky day.” The man took a few steps to the foot of the bed. With his dirty coat and muddy shoes, he got on the mattress over Belle’s body. “Any day that starts with such a pretty cunt is bound to be a good day.” 

She opened her legs and lay back on the bed. “Oh yes, sir!” she cried when he entered her. “Yes, this will be a good day for me as well, if it starts with such a powerful early riser.”

Above her, the customer sniggered again. His breath was rank on her face. It was even fouler when his slobbery lips covered her mouth. Some men didn’t kiss whores, some men paid extra for whores who would kiss them back.

Only one man said he didn’t kiss whores, but had kissed her because she wasn’t one.

The mirror in the corner was still uncovered from last night. It reflected the bed, and the customer’s hairy backside. It reflected Belle’s face, until she couldn’t look at it anymore.

As the customer thrust and panted, she let out her moans and squeals. She kissed him, threw her arms around him in simulated ecstasy. She did her job. He got what he paid for and enjoyed every moment of it.

She tried to forget the sounds she had made for Mr. Gold, the reactions he had insisted were real, in a way that nothing else in this house was real. She pleasured her customer, and tried to forget what her own pleasure had felt like. 

****

Men tended to take offense if a girl leapt out of bed to wash while he was still in the room. After her customer was concluded, Belle put on her chemise and a mended dressing gown in order to escort him from the house. 

He kept his hand on her waist, kept squeezing and pinching her. She had to play along, had to pretend to flirt with a man who had already paid and was already on his way out. Cora insisted that every moment a customer spent in the house should be pleasurable. She said that kept them coming back.

Belle had a momentary envy for alley-whores. At least they could walk away from a man once he was done with his tuppenny upright. Did those girls have to act like they liked it? Or for that price were the customers’ expectations lower? From Belle’s perspective, that seemed a more honest way to do the trade. She was already just a soft thing for a man to rut against, a hole for him to fill. Why not embrace it? Why not let her body become as misused and hollowed-out as her soul felt?

The man kissed her again before he left. On the cheek. Belle closed the door behind him and wiped it away. 

Now she was free to go through her routine of waking. Now she could dress and brush her hair. Now she could cleanse her body with noxious chemicals and cast off slivers of soap. She could wash the man’s fluids out from between her legs, his stench off her hands, his spittle off her face. She could put the cloth back up over her mirror. She could steel herself a little better, prepare to endure another day of life in Cora’s house. 

****

When she was ready, Belle took the back stairs down to the kitchen. Cora preferred for the girls to use the servant’s stairs whenever they didn’t have a customer with them. When Belle had been a child, she would hide from her governess on these stairs, so she could read adventure books instead of conjugating Latin verbs. Belle had always been welcome in the kitchen, where Mrs. Potts would give her sweets and listen to her prattle on about her stories. The housekeeper used to dote on her, the little girl without a mother.

The butler, Potts, and his wife had stayed on with Belle and her father through it all. Even in the face of ruin. Even when there was nothing to pay them. It was only when Cora bought the house, and made it clear what kind of house it was going to be, that those good people had gone on to seek another situation. 

Now, the kitchen was run by Ruby’s grandmother, who everyone called Granny. Granny Lucas had no compunctions about coming to work at a brothel. She had been a bawd herself for a time but had lost the taste for it after her daughter ran off. Ruby said that when she had first gone out, Granny had tried to act as her pimp, but the lurking image of a furious old woman brandishing an ancient crossbow had been rather bad for business. Staying in Cora’s house was safer for Ruby and easier for Granny.

Mornings in the kitchen were almost homey, with all the girls gathered around the table for a bit of chat before the workday started. Every girl who lived in the house stayed up in the attic, and the kitchen was the only other room where they could relax a little. Even Regina would lounge in a corner chair, perusing the gossip magazines that Cora said were too vulgar for a lady to read in the dining room. Cora and Zelena never came back here, and neither did the customers.       

Astrid was the first person to look up when Belle entered the room. She smiled, bright and true as a star. “Good morning!”

Ruby greeted Belle with raised eyebrows. “Did I hear you with a man earlier?”

“You hear everything,” Belle said as she sat down. 

She took a cup off the table for tea. Granny’s morning tea was strong and sweet, with just enough of a nip to take the edge off. Belle needed it today. She’d tried to clean her mouth with tooth powder, but the rancid taste of her earlier appointment still lingered on her tongue. 

“Cora really put you with a customer this early?” Ella always looked and sounded like she was about to cry. “Doesn’t she normally send them away and tell them to come back later? Was he very rich or something?”

“He didn’t seem rich,” Belle shrugged.

“If Cora thinks she can bring in customers at all hours, she’s going to have to organize us better.” Ruby yawned. “I’m not staying up all night and then getting up in the morning. We should work in shifts, like they do in factories.”

“We already work in shifts,” Astrid giggled. “And then customers take them off!”

Ruby laughed, more out of encouragement than humor. It had only been a few weeks since Astrid had fallen from grace and landed on her back. The poor girl had been training as a nun before coming to the house, so teaching her how to use unholy language was a work in progress. 

A heavy set of feet came thundering down the stairs, followed by much lighter steps. Apparently, Anastasia had let her paramour spend the night again.

“Allo, ladies!” Will Scarlet gave them all a wave. He had the buoyant good humor of a man who hadn’t had to pay for his lady’s time. Rubbing his hands together, he sidled up to where Granny was bent over the stove. “That smells good.”

Granny smacked him away. “You don’t work here, you don’t eat here.”

“Aw, Granny, I’m hungry!” he whined. “And I work here! Ana had me working like a dog not ten minutes ago.”

At the table, Anastasia snorted into her tea. 

Of all the girls in this house, Anastasia had the most potential. If Cora ever had anything good to say about anyone, it was about Anastasia. She was classically beautiful--all flaxen hair and rosy cheeks and pink lips that seemed to be forever pouting--and she had an air of effortless charm. Men flocked to her like flies to honey, and Anastasia had a finely-honed instinct for which one would be the most beneficial to her. She flirted with everyone, went to bed with as many gentlemen as she could, and steadfastly reserved her heart for Will. 

That was the part that puzzled Belle. How was it possible to fuck for your bread and butter and still have any appetite for it at all? Was Anastasia as insatiable as they all pretended to be? Or did she love Will so much that she would do extra work just for him? Was it work, when they were together? What would it be like, Belle wondered, to be fond of the man you went to bed with?

Granny would not be moved, even when Will offered to pay her for his breakfast. 

“This is a whorehouse, not a boarding house. Now get out before the boss finds you.”

The mention of Cora put the fear of God into Will. He gave Anastasia a loving kiss, the rest of them a friendly wave, and then he was out the back door and into the alley like a stray cat. 

Ruby turned to Ella. “Your boy could spend the night too, you know. None of us would say anything.”

Ella blushed crimson and put her hands over her protruding belly. “Thomas isn’t that daring. If Cora found out, she would tell the Judge, and--”

“And that would be worse than where you are now, darling?” Anastasia gave Ella a knowing look. 

“It can always get worse,” Belle muttered. “Especially if you get on Cora’s bad side.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Granny came around with the pot of hot porridge. She went around the table and served the girls one by one--until she got to Belle. For Belle, Granny pulled out a slice of bread from her apron pocket and placed it in her empty bowl.

“Sorry dear,” she said grimly. “Orders from the top.”

Belle nodded at the old woman. It wasn’t her fault. Around the table, everyone was staring at her, with various levels of shock and horror. 

She tried to laugh it off. “See? What did I just say? It can always get worse.” 

Ruby let out a long breath. “What did you do that was so terrible?”

Belle shrugged. “Got picked by the wrong man.”

Astrid gaped. “But that’s--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle lied. “I’ll just let it blow over.”

“Who is this wrong man anyway?” Anastasia asked. “Let us know so we can all avoid him.”

Before Belle could answer, the bell rang in the front hall. All of them went quiet, listening for who was at the door. From three rooms away, Cora’s voice rang out:

“Ah, Mr. Quigley! How wonderful to see you again!”

Everyone groaned. Mr. Quigley was a regular customer, but nobody’s favorite. He wasn’t a bad man, exactly, but he never seemed to know his own strength. Having him on top of you could be brutal.

“I’ll go,” Ella stood up. “Ever since I started to show, he’s treated me like I’m made of glass.”

Ruby lifted her teacup in salute. “Your strength and bravery are a model for us all.”

When Ella left, Anastasia asked again. “Belle darling, tell us. Who did you tup that Cora wants to kill you for it?”

Belle picked at her bread. It was yesterday’s bread, stale and dry. Granny hadn’t gone to the baker’s yet today. 

“It was Mr. Gold,” she said. “Cora wanted him for one of the ladies but I was in the room and he picked me instead.”

“Oh, I met that man last night,” Ruby said. “Cora said we should do anything he wants us to. He’s a short man, so he probably wants to hear how big his cock is.”

“I thought they all wanted that?” Astrid said with honest curiosity and confusion.

Before Belle could say anything else about her night with Mr. Gold, Ella came back into the kitchen with a worried look on her face.

“Belle?” she said. “Cora wants you to take Mr. Quigley. She insisted.”

“I bet she did,” Belle muttered as she stood up.  

****

Up in her room, Belle gripped the whitewashed bars of her headboard to keep from screaming as Mr. Quigley pounded into her. At least he didn’t smell, she told herself. At least he wasn’t trying to hurt her. It could be worse. Knowing Cora, it would be much worse, very soon.

When it was over, she walked Mr. Quigley down to the front door. It was very important not to limp, after a man was done with you, unless you knew he liked knowing he had hurt you. Most of them weren’t cruel, not really. Most men liked it when the women around them were happy and well. So the girls had to appear happy and well, no matter what a lie that might be. 

At least Mr. Quigley did not kiss her when he left. 

Too fatigued to make another trek up three flights of stairs, Belle went into the kitchen to wash. The other girls had gone, and Granny was washing dishes. She gave Belle a sympathetic look, and let her dip a rag into the warm and soapy water. 

At least there was no blood this time. 

When Belle went into the parlor, Ella and Anastasia were playing cards while they waited for daytime customers. Ruby must have taken Astrid out for a walking lesson on the streets of the city. Regina was up, reading a letter by the window. Her face grew more sour by the line. Belle walked by her on her way to the pianoforte. 

“Duke Leopold?” she asked, mostly to keep her mind off of how much it hurt to sit down on the wooden piano stool.

Regina looked up. “He was so impressed with me at the opera, he’s invited me to his estate in the country. He says it will be an overnight visit. Normally, that would mean he wants me in his bed, but with this man…” She shook her head, pointed to a section of the letter. “He wants me to meet his daughter. His eleven-year-old daughter. What man says that to a girl he wants to be his mistress?”

Belle’s hands stretched out on the keyboard. She played a few chords from memory, no particular tune. Even that little soothed her spirit. In Cora’s house, music was Belle’s only means of creating beauty and harmony. 

“Your mother would tell you you’re not a girl,” Belle said. “You’re a lady, so of course he should treat you like a queen.” 

Regina scoffed. “He could treat me like I’m a woman, and not just a--a--I don’t know what he thinks I am.” 

Before Belle could reply, the doorbell rang again. Her breath stopped. She lifted her fingers off the keys and listened for who it was.

Cora’s voice didn’t carry through the hall, so it must not be a customer. Belle began to breathe again, then stopped when Cora strode into the parlor. She carried a vase of white roses with both hands. She was already angry, and now sought out a reason for it. 

“Regina! What are you doing in the sunlight? It will ruin your complexion.”  

Belle watched Regina straighten up. “I was reading this letter from Duke Leopold.” 

“Duke Leopold’s late wife was so fair her skin looked like snow.” Cora stalked toward her daughter. “You’re swarthier than Anastasia’s Mr. al Vizer.”

Across the room, Anastasia rolled her eyes at the mention of her very rich, but very odious, Arabian regular. Beside her, Ella looked ready to cry. Regina stood up. “Mother, you’re being unfair.”

“Go to the kitchen and ask Granny for lemon juice. You’ll wash with it every day until you stop looking like a pirate.”

Unable to do anything but clench her jaw and obey, Regina stormed off into the kitchen. Cora allowed herself a luxurious thirty seconds to seethe before she turned to Belle with a calm but knowing look.

“Well, dear, since you clearly have nothing else to do, why don’t you make yourself useful and bring these flowers up to my daughter? They’re from an admirer who remains anonymous, for the moment.”

Belle stood, as quickly as her battered body would allow. “Yes, Mrs. Mills,” she said softly.

She took the vase of white roses and left the parlor. As she went up the stairs, she could see into the parlor door. She lingered for a moment to catch her breath. In the parlor below, Cora tossed something into the fire, then stood and watched it burn.

Belle continued up the stairs.   

Of all the flowers gentlemen sent to the house, Belle liked roses best. The ones she carried now were particularly elegant, long-stemmed and tight-budded. The beauty of roses was in their simplicity. While a rose was a welcome addition to any bouquet, she admired the flower’s ability to stand on its own. A single bloom or a full vase were equally enchanting. Roses were soft and lovely, no less beautiful for their thorns.

Curious, that an admirer would send white roses to Zelena. The white rose symbolized purity, innocent love. Not the kind of gift a man gives to a whore. If Duke Leopold had sent these flowers to Regina, that would almost make sense. The poor man barely seemed aware of what Regina did for a living, so his affections for her could be entirely innocent. But these were for Zelena, who never let anyone doubt her availability. Perhaps it was a joke between her and the sender. 

Belle was too tired to give the matter any more thought than that.

Up on the third floor, the door to Zelena’s room was closed. For most other rooms in this house, Belle would take that as an indication that there was a customer inside, and that she shouldn’t interrupt. But Cora’s daughters had permission to close their doors even when they were alone, as Belle assumed Zelena was now. 

Shifting the vase to one hand, Belle knocked on Zelena’s door. 

“Who is it?” sounded from the other side.

“It’s Belle,” she said. “Someone sent you flowers.”

“Oh, then come.” 

Belle opened the door, but Zelena had not finished speaking.

“Oh, yes! Come for me!”

From inside Zelena’s sitting room, it was clear that she was not alone. The bed was in full view of the door, so Zelena was in full view of Belle. She was completely naked, on her hands and knees, with her customer standing behind her on the bed, plowing into her for all he was worth.

Belle shut the door behind her quickly, only belatedly thinking that she should have shut it in front of her. She should have set the flowers on the floor outside and been on her way.

It was too late now.

She kept her gaze averted from the bed, but she could not turn her ears away from the steady thumping and the squeak of bedsprings. Nor did Belle have any power to deafen herself to the customer’s grunts and Zelena’s encouragements.

“Yes! Yes! Ride me, my stallion, yes!”

Quickly as she could, Belle placed the flowers on an empty table and made for the door.

“Don’t move!” Zelena snapped. The noises from the bed suddenly went silent. “No, not you Norbert, the maid!” After a moment, the bed began to thump again. “We’re nearly done and I want to talk to you.”

Belle nodded. She moved away from the door, and began an in-depth study of the wallpaper. Like everything else Zelena had any say over, it was green. A forest green velvet design against a background of mint. When this room had been Belle’s nursery, the walls had been painted with a mural of a castle, with gallant knights and fair ladies looking out at her with warm and noble expressions. 

 The noises grew louder. Zelena continued in her assertions that the man on top of her was a stallion and that he was riding her to victory. Did she mean to call herself a mare? Or was there a fundamental aspect of horsemanship that Zelena had yet to grasp? 

Either way, it was done quickly. The customer dressed and saw himself out, with Zelena’s praises on his lips. Zelena said her good-byes from the doorway, clad in a silk chemise and an emerald dressing gown. Cora’s daughters weren’t obliged to walk their assignations through the house. 

Zelena kept the contempt off her face until the man was out of the room. As soon as the door closed, she turned to Belle and smirked.

“They’re all pathetic, aren’t they?”

Belle shrugged. “They’re the ones with the money.”

“Well exactly,” Zelena said. She went to the table where Belle had set the flowers. Bending at the waist, she rubbed her nose against the white petals.  “We’re born with what they want. Those poor sods have to go out and work every day just to have enough money for us to think is worth taking. And we milk them dry.”

“Mmm,” Belle said. Usually that was as much as you needed to say when Zelena was talking. 

She took one of the roses out of the vase and smiled into it. “Now who did these come from? I don’t see a card.”

“Your mother said they were from an anonymous admirer.”

Zelena snorted. “Well, I’ve never fucked anyone anonymous. All my gentlemen are of good and proud names. It must be someone who wants me and hasn’t had me yet.”

“Why wouldn’t a man announce himself?” Belle asked. There was no point in trying to win a whore’s affections with romantic gestures, not when it was so easy to simply buy them.

“For the mystery,” Zelena licked her lips. “To build anticipation.” Losing interest, she tossed the rose aside. “Maybe he thinks I’ll let him pay less if he makes me want him first. Men can be so stupid about things like that.” 

That was possible, though white roses wouldn’t be cheap this time of year. Whoever sent these probably didn’t need to vie for a discount on Zelena’s charms. 

“Time for business.” Zelena sat down at the vanity in her bedchamber and began to brush out her long, copper-colored hair. She looked at Belle’s reflection in the mirror. “You must tell me everything about Mr. Gold.”

Belle swallowed. In the mirror, her image floated above Zelena’s shoulder, like a pale ghost. She moved out of the way. Zelena hadn’t invited her to sit, but she leaned against the clothes press off to the side. 

“Um, it was fine. He was--”

“Did he seem tired? Mother said he just got back from business abroad. The journey must have depleted him.” 

“I… didn’t notice.”

She snorted again, sneered at some flaw in her own reflection. “Of course you wouldn’t notice. You’re not actually very good at this, you know. I think that’s why he wanted you. I think Mr. Gold knew he wasn’t up for a challenge, so he decided to take someone who would be impressed with any effort he could manage.”

“That’s not very charitable.”

Zelena let out a single harsh burst of laughter. “No one comes into this house for charity.” She chortled and shook her head at Belle. “How stupid are you? This is why picking you was such a shrewd move on Mr. Gold’s part. He’s an older man, he has limitations. He knew he wasn’t ready for me.”

“Yes,” Belle lied. “That must be it.”

Once her hair was arranged, Zelena began to apply her cosmetics. “He’ll want me soon, I know it. Everybody does.” She blew a red-painted kiss to her reflection. Then she looked over at Belle. “What did he like? Or did you even do anything for him? Tell me you didn’t just lie back and think of England. We all know that’s what you do most of the time, but not with Mr. Gold, please.”

Cheeks burning, Belle spoke with more candor than she would have otherwise. “He likes to be touched,” she said. “And he likes sincerity. He said he wanted something real, not a trollop’s song and dance.” 

With a soft snort, Zelena added another layer of powder to her face. “Perhaps Mr. Gold isn’t as sharp as Mama says he used to be. What kind of man goes to a whorehouse and doesn’t want a whore?”

Belle had no answer to that--or at least nothing she wanted to say to Zelena. She was about to ask if she could go, when the door opened and Cora walked in.

“Good morning, darling,” she said to Zelena. “Mr. Birch told me he had a very pleasant evening. He’d like to have you for dinner at his residence tonight.”

“Do you think he’s good enough for me, Mama?” Zelena looked up with something like hope in her green eyes.

“No.” Cora snuffed out that hope like a candle flame. “But his coin is good enough, and you didn’t have anyone better lined up.” 

Zelena nodded, all business again. “So it’s off to the races.”

After smirking at her daughter, Cora turned to Belle. “Customers are waiting in the parlor while you’re up here bothering my daughter.”

Belle stood at attention, her head bowed. “Of course, Mrs. Mills, I’ll go--”

“Two young men want something they call ‘a pig on a spit.’ You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

Sudden anger flared up in Belle’s spirit. She glared at Cora. “Actually, no. I’ve never--”

“Well, then you had better apologize to the gentlemen before they begin, and hope they aren’t disappointed by your failure of experience.”

Cora’s rages were frightening, but times like this were worse. When she was quiet and calm, dispassionate to the point of coldness. That was when she was most cruel. 

Belle’s defiance crumpled. She lowered her gaze. “Yes, Mrs. Mills.”

“If they don’t like you, I’ll let them walk out without paying,” Cora smiled. “So you had better make them like you.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Mills.”

[slishthelovemachine]

[I just wrote an entire fucking review for Planetes and it got deleted by me pressing ctrl+x but is no longer present in my clipboard. I am going to scream and writhe. Here's another try.

I finished Planetes at 0200 hours this morning after a 16 hour shift on the ambulance. I read the last few short volumes of Planetes on a shift with a man I've worked with plenty of times. I felt a connection with the broader set-up of Planetes that, upon some reflection, might change how I operate as a human being who makes her living on the forefront of tiny histories in tiny people's lives with various doodads and machines in a hulking metal box. Y'know, like astronauts, or something.]

Planetes (1999-2004, Yukimura Makoto) is a manga about space, Space as a character, and all the little people who come to rest in that glittering black quilt of ice-death that is it's vacuum. The story follows Hachirota "Hachimaki" Hashino, a young man from a family of astronauts in a near-future where humanity's Cold War era space ventures never stopped. Hachimaki works with a colorful crew on a debris collecting ship, collecting the trash orbiting the Earth to keep supply and travel orbits free. The job is thankless but deeply important, something frequently expressed by everyone else but Hachimaki, who bristles at the lack of grandiosity in picking up space-refuse.

Hachimaki develops and matures as a young man in space, and those developments come when he faces Space with his ever-evolving Self and receives different revelations in return. These revelations are preceded by explorations of the lives surrounding Hachimaki's own, buffeting him with challenges and proof of the lessons he needs to learn with their own grounded complexities. I could write a lot on those lives, but I won't, because they're believable and textured in a way that feels very good to witness firsthand. So read Planetes and do that. I wouldn't do it justice here.

Yukimura's background and environment art makes for a very believable space future. The manga itself is rife with extra technical documents and concept pages (especially in the last volume) that serve as a hefty eye-meal for anyone even remotely excited by technical design and lore-shit. Yukimura's art lends itself to both quiet, grand scenes of haunting introspection and speech-bubble-loaded busy exposition pages. Warm smiles and declarations of love hit as hard as the few brief action scenes in the earlier volumes with Yukimura's bright, mature style. Planetes is as gripping visually on Earth as it is on the surface of the Moon or the cargo holds of trash-collecting ships and space stations.

Space (as a character separate from the literal thing being explored, here) is represented in a few ways throughout the manga. Sometimes, it is a white cat representing the divine indifference of the Universe at large, and sometimes it is a black cat representing the terrible death that occupies more of the vacuum than not. Sometimes Space is portrayed as Hachimaki himself, though a dark and bitter version of him, pushing him toward breaking himself on the bow of humanity's insatiable need to conquer and know.

All of these moments serve to answer the biggest (and only the biggest) questions any person truly infatuated with space has come to. Why are we up there in the first place? Should we even be "up there?" Is our purpose to die up there, or is our purpose to live? Is just living enough?

The author Yukimura Makoto answers all of these with warmth. Space is about surviving. It is about life and death itself. Space is where we are now--standing, staring up at the stars, numb to the grand warmth they sent to us from places we will never see as more than pinpricks in a vast and smothering fabric. Space is not a place to escape what makes us human. Space is about love, loneliness, marriage, nations, war--space is about everything a human being brings to it, because all we can bring to space is everything we have, and everything we have is all we will ever know.

Planetes is beautiful. Planetes grabbed 26 year old me by the ears and made me look back at 16 year old me who used to stare at space with awe and hope and wonder and said What happened? Then Planetes hugged me and said It's alright. Space isn't going anywhere. Through all the strife and misery on Earth here at the end of history, Space isn't going anywhere. Like a character in Planetes's mother tells her when she is a child: "When you can't stop crying, you're supposed to look up at the sky. 'Cause no one can cry when they're looking at the sky."

Maybe one day, humanity's big selfish dreams will take us back there, and this end of history will release it's vice grip on the world. Maybe we can rediscover what it is to live with a future in front of us. Maybe, instead of staring at the fires around us and crying while we bathe them in more gasoline, we can look to space and see ourselves whole again.

It is a selfish dream, one wracked with the imperfections and fears and oversights common to all of our best and most exciting dreams, but what is more human than that?

[cecexwrites]

Title: Neon Gods?

Windy nights were the worst for commiting sin. 

I gripped the antenna a little tighter as the wind whipped over the rooftop, my boots would have been struggling for grip on the slick roof on a normal night. Tonight, as the wind force continued to rise, I knew I had to really make haste and get to the window without falling off, Falling to my death if I was lucky. If I didn't die, I'd likely break something, something that wouldn't get properly healed and I'd end up either limping or with an infection. The former would result in me being useless to my father and- 

I didn't like to think about what might happen if I was no longer of use to my father. 

I muttered a quick prayer, gripping the small metal cross around my neck and I launched myself across the roof, leeping to the next one, then the final, carefully pressing myself against the slope. My all black outfit hiding me from anyone who might have looked up in that moment. 

One might think at this time of night, no one would be up to see me. But the Isle didn't sleep. There was always some sort of depravity happening. When I was sure I was safe, I slipped the window open, It gave me no trouble, as I had snuck up here a few nights before to carefully oil the whole thing, insuring that it would remain silent. I ducked into the room, closing it behind me. I wouldn't need to use the window to leave. 

I crossed the room- it was an office, the walls lined with bookshelves that sagged in the middle, all of them weighed down with not books, but ledgers. ledgers filled with secrets. I ran my fingers over the spines, each of them labeled with code, a code that I didn't yet know. I'd have to get some information before I finished the job then. 

I let myself out of the office, silently trailing down the stairs to the second floor where the bedroom was. Technically at this point I didn't need stealth any longer, but I maintained. I pulled my dagger from the holster on my thigh, one of eight that I had hidden on my person. 

Seigfried Allard worked for my father. He was a priest, he was the one in charge of the confessional. His job was to listen to the sins of the Isle, record them and report them to my father. However, recently, it seemed, he was getting too comfortable, as he not only was refusing to tell my father the confessions, he had admitted that he had a book on my father. 

That had been the end. 

I climbed up onto the bed, the quilt he was covered with was one I recognized. It had been donated to the church, meant to be given to one of the many childrens homes on the Isle. 

[idkaguyorsomething]

Why you should read Cowboys and Indians

Despite what the title might indicate, this isn’t an AU or western. This is a story about identity, friendship, and one of the best reinterpretations of the Twilight Saga ever written.

Who It’s About: the story centers on, of all characters, Leah and Jasper. Seth and Edward play some minor roles, but most of the story is about the surprisingly heartwarming friendship between those two.

Why You Should Check It Out: this is one of the only Twilight fics I’ve read that actively confronts the shitty racial implications in its source material (Leah’s experiences as an indigenous woman and Jasper’s confederate background) and it makes a really compelling story out of it. Jasper in canon is probably one of my most hated characters because of how little development he gets and how his backstory of having fought for the confederates in the American Civil War is completely glossed over. Here, the author manages to make him into a likable, complicated man, one that you can look at and think “yeah, if vampirism enhances your human traits, he’d get emotion powers” and has him confront his past in a really interesting journey. And Leah gets her due!! If you, like me, hated how canon treated her, then it might be worth it just to check this out because watching her form bonds and open up feels truly cathartic. A lot of how growing up on the reservation shaped her is explored, and she gets some awesome moments. Even if you don’t like these characters or think that a friendship between them sounds unlikely, the writing is so good that by the end you’ll be totally invested in both of them and their friendship. There’s also a sequel oneshot, The Star Quilt, with Alice in a more prominent position where Leah gets a happily ever after.

Reasons You Might Want To Avoid: this fic heavily discusses racism and the history of the USA south, so if you’re not in the mood for either of those or are unfamiliar with the latter, this probably isn’t for you (though I’d heavily encourage you to engage with some form of discussion of the racial undertones of Twilight anyways, there is a lot to be said there). It’s also partially non-chronological, so if you hate that kind of storytelling then this might get under your skin. All-around, it’s really a great story, and the closest thing to any serious flaws this fic has is that it doesn’t have much in the way of a plot. The author goes into detail about why this is in their notes, and the story is more about the development between Leah and Jasper than defeating any kind of an antagonist or finding a Macguffin. Technically, the plot of Twilight is going on in the background the whole time, but it doesn’t really affect the story in any meaningful way, so that’s that.

TL;DR Cowboys and Indians is a fantastic exploration of a lot of the subject matter that Stephanie Meyer never did anything with, giving us a surprisingly powerful emotional bond between two unlikely characters in the process. Extra recommended for any fans of Leah Clearwater!!