#wow my first drabble ??? welcome to hell this is shitty asf

[faeriydust]

♔

get to know my muse !! // drabbles            ♔ – my muse indulging in one of her guilty pleasures

           in the wash of lamplight thrown from the singular desk lamp in Tinka’s room, from where it rests atop a stack of abandoned books shoved into milk crates, Tink stoops. her shadow casts disfigured on her wall, and she stares at it with momentary irritation– peter’s shadow is always a striking imitation of himself, long-limbed and charismatic. hers looks like a lumpy piece of meat shoved into a garbage bag. dismissing it with a glare, she returns to her task, now reaching up on her tippy-toes to tack the corner of a blanket against the wall above her bed. 

         it’s no secret to anybody that Tink loves a good blanket. something about a wooly blanket wrapped up tight around her makes her feel tiny(er) and safe, like she’s caught up in somebody’s embrace, without all the attachment and confusion that comes bundled up inside something like an actual embrace. she didn’t grow up with a lot of hugs, or a lot of stability– but a blanket holds you in place. Tink could manage to shove all her limbs up underneath one, even if it was the size of a towel, like it was a weird art form. the act is sort of like holding yourself together. and any small space, she’s come to learn, can replicate the sensation– the inside of a closet, underneath a bed, wedged in an alley– the sense of restriction is there. it’s part of the reason she never bothers with cleaning up her room. she doesn’t want the space to feel too big. like it’s waiting for her to spill into it. like she’ll disappoint it when she doesn’t.

        she spits the last tack out of her mouth and shoves it into the floorboard, into a tack-hole she’d labored over once but has since reaped the benefits of. then, on her hands and knees, she crawls inside the fort. it’s the stuff for kids– and that’s precisely why she still loves making blanket forts. one soft, muffled, secluded place just for her? where the light filters in green and blue and grey, and the sound of everything is muffled, like she’s adrift in time-space, or on a lily-covered sea? once you’re on the inside of a blanket fort, anything could be on the outside, and you’d never have to know about it. maybe it was an elaborate way for Tink to shut out reality, but sometimes it was the only way. she curls up on the mess of blankets she’s piled on the floor inside, and stares at one particular section of blanket tacked up alongside her head. she stares at it until the light blurs, and it’s just a shape, and it could be anything. she stares at it until her eyes are dry and then swollen with tears to compensate for all the not blinking. then, finally, she closes them, and keeps them closed, and falls asleep.