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moonlightflower21 · 4 years

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Always, Part 4

A/N: so... i know no one really asked for this but i felt like writing it and well, hope you enjoy <33

Part 1- X

Part 2- X

Part 3- X

You stayed away from the lair, knowing it would cause you more harm than good and the reason was solely them. Donatello and April. It was too much for your heart to handle, watching them become so in love and you would always be on the sidelines.

It wasn't as if you could take a break either, to allow your heart to heal. You had so much work responsibilities so you focused on yourself. The three weeks that went by hurt your soul, he didn't care nor did he even try to initiate a conversation with you. You wanted to do the same, but god, you cared so fucking much.

The other boys were confused, trying to reach out to you but not getting anywhere. They knew their brother had something to do with your absence and tried to talk to him but was met with anger and silence. Mikey and Raph tried to get through to you while Leo tried to get through Donnie. You were also their best friend, why did you leave so abruptly? Did their friendship not mean a single thing to you, were they just a gain? No matters what their questions would be, the answer given would always be so heartless. Because as much as it killed you to say, you physically couldn't go to the lair and face them all. Especially not him

And no matter what they did, you counteracted everything with some excuse. When they wanted to watch a movie, you said you had work. When they asked if you wanted to come by the lair, you said you had other stress to take care off. It hurt so bad, for the only people who understood you for you, you were now pushing them away and for who? For Donatello, because mentally it would hurt too much.

Tonight was a calm night, winds were gently breezing through the atmosphere and everything seemed so lively. Your friends had arranged a nights out, you weren't originally going to go but you needed a change of scenery. Everything here reminded you of Donatello, all the cute little machines and knick-knacks he created for you were still in your apartment and you hadn't the heart to throw them away. Because it would mean that it was serious; and you didn't want to believe that just yet.

You dressed a dress, reaching mid thighs while you wore knee high heel boots to finish the outfit. Makeup adorned your face, accentuating all your beautiful features while your hair was lightly curled; pulled back in a loose bun with curly tendrils framing your face. Despite the many souls surrounding you, emptiness filled your being. You hated having fights with people, being ignored by someone who you adored just hurt on another level.

"Hey I'm gonna go.." You smiled at your friend who looked at you with concern. "We just got here, what happened?" Her tone was soft and gentle, knowing that while she didn't want to push you she was worried for you. "Nothing, I guess I'm not feeling it tonight" you breathed out, opening the door. But there was something surrounding you, sadness or anger or perhaps a mix of both, she couldn't quite put her to get upon it.

"That's not all, Y/N. We've been best friends for 7 years, I know when you're down..." she whispered, placing her hand in your shoulder and you had to suck in a breath to not let tears escape. The worst thing about this entire situation is that you couldn’t even say it; you couldn't say that your heart was hurting because of a mutant turtle. A mutant turtle who hated you.

"I guess.... my mood has just been a little off lately. I'll be fine..." You smiled softly, walking down the pavement with her. She looked at you, unsure and definitely not convinced. "You go, they're waiting for you back there and I don't want to ruin your night" you chuckled, nudging her back in the direction of the club but she hesitantly stayed back. "No it's okay, I can-"

"I'll be fine" you laughed, gently pushing her back. "I honestly need some air and space to myself, I wouldn't be much company to you anyway" you smiled and she gave you an unconvinced look but sighed. "Come here" she hugged you tight, stepping back.

"Whoever has hurt you wasn't worth it, Y/N. He was a prick anyway" she smiled, patting your shoulder. Your heart warmed when she gave you advice, even if she didn't know who it was. "Thank you.." You whispered, not wanting to cry. She nodded, quickly giving you a hug before running off to the nightclub.

"Give me a call when you're home!" She yelled over her shoulder and you laughed. "Will do!" You turned around, walking deep in thought until your shoulder was nudged by someone. You growled, turning around to look at stranger who had pushed into you. You certainly weren’t expecting a fond face.

"Woah, Jake??" You breathed out, laughing when he rushed to you. "Y/N?? It's been a while!" He hugged you tightly, in disbelief that he had run into you late at night. “Likewise! How have you been?” you laughed, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in days as you continued chattering to your old friend. You didn’t realise that you had ended up on a rather deserted part of the neighbourhood and your gut instincts told you to get the hell out of there.Before you could have turned, all you remembered was screaming for Jake to run as another familiar face turned up. Karai. She injected you with something, instantly making your eyes grow heavy and collapse to the floor. You meekly called out his name out once more, hoping her ran far and wide before you allowed the darkness to overtake your mind and body.

Awaking, you twisted in your chains trying to rip yourself free. How the hell did you end up here?? But the memories flooded your brain; how had an innocent night out turn so sour? You hoped Jake was okay, because you sure weren't. Your body was littered with cuts and bruising especially where the chain was wrapped tightly around. You regretted going out tonight, regretted eve leaving that damn nightclub. How would you set yourself free? Would you even be left alive after all this?? Would anyone find? Fear and panic began to creep into your mind, flooding your thoughts and no matter how much you tried to get rid of them, they seemed to be coming on stronger.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" You cursed, trying to remain level-headed but it was so hard. So damn hard when you were way in over your head, when all these feelings just became overwhelming and you wanted just one pair of arms around you holding you tight reminding you that it was going to be okay. 'No, don't go back to him...' you took a deep breath, You held in your tears, glaring at the young woman in front of you.

"Whatever you want, I'm not going to give it" you gritted out, tightening your fingers around the chains binding you down.

"Oh, but don't worry my darling. I have what I want" she winked, tracing her finger down your stiff cheek and you nudged your face away harshly away looking at her with pure confusion.

"What??" You gritted out and she pointed behind her shoulder and you followed the direction, heart lurching when you saw four familiar faces looking at you with sadness, hurt and anger. Your eyes landed on Donnie, watching his face morph into something unrecognisable and you raised your brows mirroring his exact expression.

For the first time in your life, you actually hated him. He fucking destroyed you, broke you in pieces you weren't sure that were ever fixable.

“Y/N??” A voice called out but your eyes stayed upon Donatello, daring him to say a word. His eyes lingered onto your chains, wanting to run to you and set you free but his feet were seemingly glued to the floor. His brothers had already beat him to it though, Leonardo and Raphael quickly setting you free.

They looked over your wounds, asking you questions but you didn’t answer. How could you, when the one person who caused the biggest injury to you was standing just a feet away? When the person who caused the most heartbreaking pain you’ve ever felt in your life, standing directly opposite you?

#tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader fanfic #tmnt 2014/16 #tmnt 2016 x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello x reader angst #tmnt x reader sad stuff #tmnt x reader sad angst #tmnt x reader angst

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ghost-chance · 6 years

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A New Lease on Life - 5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

Trigger Warnings: The usual, bad coping methods, minor bullying including self-bullying

Suggested Listening: Avril Lavigne "Nobody's Home"

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5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

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February 8, 2016

"Why'd you have to leave, Amber?" Aaron muttered into a mostly empty glass of cheap beer. "Why'd you go out on your own like that? You were safe in the shelter…"

Amber stared in dismay from the dark corner of the skeazy bar. Aaron would never have been caught dead in a place like this, much less drunk on cheap alcohol. He HATED the stuff, hated the memories it always brought forth—memories of the friends and family he lost to the can and bottle. Though truth hurt, Amber knew without a doubt he was drinking over her—her senseless, needless death had driven her best friend to drinking.

"Aaron…" she whispered, inching toward the bar. "Aaron, I'm sorry…" As though she hadn't even spoken, the barkeeper laughed derisively behind his newspaper.

"Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus,"- the portly man drawled thickly. "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—"- Without warning, Aaron's heavy glass stein crashed onto the counter, shattering from the impact.

"SHUDDUP!"- he slurred angrily, clumsily launching himself over the counter at the barkeeper. "You di'n't- know'er—you got no right to judge'er!"-

As the two grappled and traded blows, the ceiling violently tore away. Amber turned fearfully to the gaping rafters, her heart racing. Clouds gathered in the barren skies forming menacing grey thunderheads. Blue and green lightning cracked from cloud to cloud racing the rolling thunder.

Her lungs tight from fear, her ears aching from the plummeting air pressure, Amber fell to the ground, scrambling into the nearest corner and staring up in horror. Though torrents of rain fell, though the power flickered and failed, though wind tore through the bar like a vengeful ghost, the patrons never budged, staring blankly through their drinks as though the world weren't coming to an end. She was alone—alone with the demon that killed her and haunted her dreams.

Sirens wailed in the distance; a familiar sputtering roar deafened her. Grey-green clouds split in a merciless, mocking grin. As the world fell away around her, Amber screamed unheard pleas to the merciless winds, certain she'd breathed her last.

Amber shot up in bed with a panicked shriek; as her racing heart calmed and the phantom ache in her skull faded, the blanks filled themselves in around her. Old, stained brick walls, vaulted concrete ceiling with exposed ducts, pipes, and wiring, the distant rumble of a passing subway train, slow whirring and beeping from the ridiculously advanced machinery around her…she was safe.

"Not again," she rasped, pulling the patched quilt around her as she waited for the shaking to stop. "Damn night terrors…gettin' fuckin' old."

She glanced wearily over at the clock. It was four am…she'd gotten five full hours of sleep. In her previous life, she was useless without nine to ten hours a night; now she was lucky to get three. The hourly trains triggered nightmares and kept her awake fighting a constant barrage of graphic memories and chills that had no basis in temperature. Five hours of uninterrupted sleep? 'It's like Christmas,' she thought sarcastically, picturing a decent night's sleep packaged up in a box with a big red bow.

Without further ado, she disentangled herself from the sheet and quilt, rummaged under the cot for her folded clothes and basket of toiletries, and padded out of the room barefoot. After a quick stop in the bathroom, she set up the coffee maker on autopilot, staring blankly through the scratched wooden table as the percolating machine hissed, dripped, and belched. After downing a cup of sweetened, creamed tar-juice, she set up a second cup with only sugar.

Stopping only to deliver it to the still slumbering genius, she hit the showers, choosing the farthest stall from the door as usual. That one had a working lock. The room's fixtures had obviously been salvaged from somewhere, but fixing the warped, vandalized locks apparently wasn't very high on Donatello's list of priorities. Maybe because the lair once had only male residents and most men weren't all that concerned about being seen in the buff by other men? She cringed, wrenching the elastics from her tangled hair; she still wasn't sure if Mikey had barged in on her on purpose, but she wasn't willing to risk a recurrence.

The moment the water started up, she started humming loudly to block out the sound. She'd once loved the sound of water—had once slept deepest when rain was falling—but that was before her fear of severe storms became a fear of even the lightest rainstorm, and long before she was killed and given another life. Now the sound of rain terrified her and the dripping showerhead sent chills down her spine. As she lathered up her hair, she thought back to better times, better days, and a soft voice that once lulled her to sleep with songs of their youth.

The roar of water rattling the overhead pipes ripped Donatello from his hard-earned sleep. As his eyes blearily cranked open, he again cursed his decision to leave the ceilings in the lair unfinished; even a suspended ceiling could muffle the noise a little. Scratching his neck, he hoisted himself up in his bed and fumbled for his glasses. As his eyes focused, the blurry splotch by his alarm clock solidified into a mug of steaming coffee. The coffee was prepared far too sweet, as usual, and he nearly sprayed it all over the clock's display once he realized what it read.

"Four-thirty in the morning?" he groaned, digging his knuckles into his aching eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me...this can't go on." As his bedroom was the closest to the lab, he was always woken several times nightly. Every time Amber cried out in her sleep, every time she thrashed around and fought the demons haunting her dreams, every time she woke up screaming herself hoarse, he was woken by the noise. Every time her nightmares deprived him of sleep, he spent the rest of the night struggling with his own thoughts and feelings. Sorrow at her condition—guilt about being unable to save Kimber's life—resentment over lost sleep and interrupted work—disgust at himself for resenting Amber when she clearly wasn't responsible…the list went on and on.

With every day that passed, he became ever more certain that Amber wasn't as well as she tried convincing herself. Every time the subway rumbled overhead she fell into another panic attack, and sometimes even a flashback. Several times daily she'd turn up missing without any word of where she was going, and more often than not he'd find her tucked beside the running washing machine or wedged into the foot-well of his desk, shaking violently and smothering tears in her knees. She was getting worse every day…and for the first time in his life, Donatello was faced with a problem he knew was beyond his skill.

Amber wasn't a broken machine—she was a broken woman. He couldn't fix her.

"It was down in La-wheezy-yan—AH!- Jus' about a mile from Texarkana," an off-key voice echoed from the bathroom. Donatello sank into his usual seat at the battered table, staring through his coffee cup. "OW! In them ol' cotton fields back home–DAMMIT!" The water had long since shut off; every now and then, the song was interrupted by a cry of pain or curse, signifying that Amber had moved on to impatiently wrenching the tangles from her hair. She still wasn't used to Kimber's body, especially the second set of posts in her ears and the ring on the left one, and routinely snagged them in the bristles. Between oaths and verses, Donnie dozed off at the table, nodding into his empty cup.

"Ah, shoot." The sudden phrase startled him awake, and in the blink of an eye, he was crouched before his chair brandishing his empty coffee cup as a weapon. Amber stood in the doorway to the kitchen cringing in embarrassment. "I woke ya up again, didn't I?" She brought the coffee carafe over to refill his cup as he slouched back into his seat.

"Yeah," he answered honestly, trying to stretch the crick out of his neck. "No big deal, though…not like you do it on purpose." She shook her head with a wry smile and made her way to the kitchen sink. As she passed by, he realized something was different…he stared in surprise. Instead of just keeping her hair in a high, messy bun, she'd separated it into twin tails at her nape and braided them tightly. She'd discovered the other day that even though her hair still smelled fruity, the red was starting to fade. Apparently she was so excited to be returning to her natural color that she changed things up a little. With her hair still so red, though…He winced. Breakfast was going to be a disaster.

"So," he attempted, striving for a casual tone and failing. "What's with the change?" She ducked around the open cabinet door to meet his eyes.

"You noticed?" she smiled brightly as she mixed up a huge bowl of pancake batter. "I got sick'a fighting my hair all day so I went back to basics—before I got here, I usually wore my hair like this. I'm lazy like that." She dug a package of wilting blueberries from the fridge, picking out the stems as she tossed the berries into the bowl. "After all the change an' drama, it's a real comfort havin' my braids back."

"It's…" He scrambled for words between the worries. "…cute. Maybe you should wait until the dye fades, though. I just know—"

"S'up, Angelcakes?" Mikey called out from the doorway. "What's for—Whoa!" Donatello cringed, retreating to the coffeemaker; he knew this was going to happen. "Blueberry pancakes?! Sweet!"

"Wait, what?" Donnie muttered dubiously.

"Yup!" Amber grinned, mixing in a little extra sugar as Mikey dug out a pair of battered skillets and spatulas. "They were about dead anyway, so I figured why not? It'll be a nice treat." As Michelangelo fried pancakes and Amber scrambled eggs, Donatello watched silently, hoping that his worries really were unfounded.

About halfway through the bowl of batter and eggs, Leonardo and Splinter sat at their places, conversing over morning tea. Right as the stove burners were switched off, Raphael lumbered through the door to the coffeemaker. Halfway there, he pulled a double-take, gaping at Amber's braids in disbelief and derision. He said nothing, retreating to his seat with a steaming mug of coffee. When Amber bustled to the table to dole out breakfast, he struck.

"So," he asked snidely. "Where's da meat, Wendy?"

"Hey, now," Leo began, but Mikey cut him off.

"Don't be such a jerk, Raphie," the youngest scolded, playing with the end of a punch red braid. Amber's comforted smile warped into a deadpan glower a moment later when she felt both braids lifted up at either side of her head. "Too many freckles! She looks more like Pippi Longstocking!"

"Hardy, har, har," she grumbled, setting the two platters down a little more roughly than necessary. While Raph and Mikey bantered over which was a more accurate resemblance, she retreated to the living room with yet another cup of coffee. Donatello was used to Raph and Mikey's antics—he'd been the butt of their jokes more times than he'd like to admit—but this time, he was pissed. He loaded her untouched plate and his own with pancakes and eggs and dug for flatware in the drawer.

"She's been nothing but helpful since she arrived," he reminded the two troublemakers coldly. "She cooks, she cleans, she picks up after your ungrateful asses, and right when she starts to relax, you tease her!" He shot them both a glare as he left. Sometimes they absolutely disgusted him, Raph especially. He found Amber on the cot in the lab, lying on her back with her head dangling over the side and brushing through her long loosened hair. Though he'd only seen them once, he already missed the braided tails; why eluded him at the moment. "Hey."

"Hey yerself," she shot back with a grin, wrestling her hair into a high ponytail. As she sat up and fastened the coiled mass into a sloppy bun, he pulled up his rolling stool and held out her plate.

"You forgot this—dig in." Moss green eyes scrutinized him seriously. He avoided her eyes, passing the plate and flatware. "Don't mind them. They're just—"

"It's okay, Donnie." Confused, he finally met her eyes; she didn't really seem upset anymore. "If unflatterin' comparisons and immature folks were all it took to ruin my day, I'd'a- died a hermit. This body? It ain't me—I was short, fat, clumsy, partly crippled, an' I started goin' grey before I hit drinkin' age. I've been called much worse'n- any'a that. It's no big deal." She halfheartedly scraped a chunk of egg around on her plate while Donatello let the description sink in. "B'sides, Aaron used to say much worse…an' he's—was my best friend. I'm used to gettin' shite from people, and I'm more than willin' to give it back." She shot an up-to-no-good grin up at him. "I'll get'em-…but not 'til they've let their guard down. Meantime, let'em squirm."

"If you're sure, Amber," he relented, then paused for a bite of his own pancakes. "Forgive me for asking, but…before twenty-one?" She chuckled.

"Yeah. Lots'a early grey in my family. My uncle Bart went shock white while he was in high school; findin' my first silver at nineteen was lucky, considerin'." She took another sip of coffee before adding, "It always hit the redheads worst. I wasn't a redhead, but there was enough red in my hair to turn me into a brown skunk." He couldn't help but grin at the mental image.

"It didn't embarrass you?"

"Course it did," she answered honestly. "For a while, I kept my hair cut above the neck an' never went anywhere without a hat or hair-scarf—couldn't afford dyein' it all the time. Course, then everyone jus' assumed I was goin' bald and started pullin' me aside to talk about the cancer I was supposedly dyin' of. I finally had it when my roommate Mercy dragged me to a cancer survivors group shpeal; flipped'er off, flashed my stripes, an' walked home. Apparently the granny-hair spoke for itself." She finally gave up on pushing her food around and passed the plate back to him. "Guess I'm not really hungry; help yourself. I better get to work, right?"

"Amber," he scolded, latching onto her arm and anchoring her in her seat. "You have to eat—you skipped breakfast and lunch yesterday, and the day before you only ate an apple! You're not getting adequate caloric intake like this—at this rate you'll—"

"I'm not starvin' myself," she argued. Against her will, a memory played through her mind's eye: City Hall's basement, Aaron crouched before her with a bowl of soup, coaxing her to eat even though her stomach felt full of concrete. She fought to keep control but that memory had a dozen more on its heels; together, they swarmed her. "I'm just not hungry! Trus' me, I spent my whole life hungry when I shouldn't be—"

"You should be hungry! If you keep this up you're going to—"

"I don't need a nanny, Donnie!" she burst out vehemently. "I'm a grown woman, not some anorexic tweenager.- If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!"- Without another word, she stormed out intent on silencing her memories with manual labor.

"I just don't know what to do, April," Donatello muttered into his palms as she watched him with worry. Beyond the lab's closed blast door, Amber was hard at work in the dojo, waxing the floorboards to mirror brightness on her hands and knees…for the fifth time in as many days. "She hardly eats anything and guzzles coffee like it's water," he ranted harshly. "She barely sleeps, wakes up screaming, then spends the whole day and most of the night cleaning everything in the lair in the least effective ways possible—she intentionally wears herself out every day, then crashes in the early hours, too sore to do anything! She's having panic attacks more and more often and she's been spacing out for hours at time—the other night we found her wandering the sewers barefoot talking to someone who doesn't even exist in this reality!"

He fell silent, choking up. She and Mikey had been washing dishes when someone dropped a glass, and the sound had somehow flipped some hidden switch in her brain. She walked barefoot right through the shards like a zombie and somehow found her way out the front door, muttering the whole way about hungover friends and neurotic dogs. When they finally found her—after following what felt like a mile of bloody footprints—the sight of her adamantly arguing about music with 'Aaron' silenced the long lecture he'd planned. "She's going to kill herself at this rate, April," he confessed weakly, dropping his hands to dangle helplessly between his knees. "…and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Donnie," the older woman murmured leaning forward for a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. "You're a brilliant guy and a talented engineer, but you can't just 'fix' people—if someone's broken, you can't reconnect some wires, tighten a lug nut or two, slap on some duct tape and expect them to work again…and if those injuries aren't physical…" She trailed off, avoiding his eyes. "…Broken bones heal quickly once you immobilize them, but there's no way to set a broken soul. It's not your fault."

"You're waxing poetic on me, April," he teased halfheartedly. "I'm not Mikey; you don't have to play down the gritty details." Finally, she met his eyes, her own serious.

"She needs to see a doctor, Donnie…a psychiatrist. I think Amber has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder…and it's only going to get worse."

Just outside the shuttered door, Amber silently slid down the wall and landed in a boneless heap. She wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation, she was sure of it, and she wouldn't have heard it if she'd not come to apologize for taking Donatello's head off earlier. Now her overreaction and subsequent attempt at apology had exposed her to a secret discussion and triggered a plethora of fears. Even as she fought to rationalize away the knowledge, stubbornly scolded herself that PTSD wasn't caused by something as minor as a natural disaster, she knew it would explain so many things.

She'd never been in a war zone, had never seen battle, and had never seen her comrades fall one by one—she was a janitor, not a soldier!—so how could she have developed something even seasoned warriors weren't guaranteed stricken with? She'd insisted her whole life that she wasn't weak, that she could handle ANYTHING given enough time to work through it…yet she was completely broken by something as stupid and meaningless as a storm.

'Am I…' she though disjointedly, tears pricking her eyes behind her glasses. 'No…I am…I really am weak after all.' Without a word she stood, dusted herself off, and wandered out the front door, stopping only to grab a battered flashlight from the kitchen counter. A walk wouldn't fix her intolerable weakness and it wouldn't fix her, but maybe it would at least give her time to think. A line of music echoed down a storm drain from a passing car, reminding her of a time when she didn't feel so lost. 'Where were they going without ever knowing the way?'

Tolkien was right: not all who wander are lost, but she knew she wasn't among them.

Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Adding 'er to the end of a word - Means 'her' - Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - Means he, his, or him. - Adding 'em or 'eir to the end of a word - Means them or their - B'sides - Besides - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - I'd'a - 'I would have' - Know'er / Judge'er - Know her / Judge her - La-wheezy-anna - This is an awkward pronunciation of "Louisiana" sometimes heard in the Midwest. In the South - or other areas NEAR Louisiana - people generally pronounce it "Loozianna" or "Loo-ee-zee-anna." IRL, I pronounce it "La-wheezy-anna" because it's how I was taught, and it always drives Cold up the wall because he grew up friends with a family FROM Louisianna. At first, it was just a habit; NOW I keep that habit just to annoy my hubby. ;P - Shuddup / Shaddap - Shut up, the first being a common mispronunciation and the second being more of a Southern/Midwestern slang pronunciation. - Tweenager - Slang term for someone just old enough to be a pain, but too young to be considered a teenager; generally such persons are older adolescents. - Worse'n - 'Worse than' - "Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus" - 'This is ridiculous.' A highly twisted version of the Southern Drawl, perhaps from Arkansas. An odd way of defining the difference between the Midwestern Twang and Southern Drawl would be this: 'In the Midwest, we say as much as possible with as few syllables as we can, while in the South, people say as little as possible with as many syllables as they can.' The South tends to stretch words out and add extra syllables to words, while the Midwest tends to crop off syllables and mash words together, and both tend to warp pronunciations of common words. - "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—" - 'This article says over half the people who died in the twister was ignoring the sirens - any dumb bitch who'd go out in weather like that deserves [to die].’ Twisted southern drawl. Unfortunately, there was a LOT of this after the tornado I went through - people would openly blame those who were killed for being careless or for not seeking the 'right' shelter, never considering that they didn't know all the facts OR that the dead person's loved ones might be hearing their ranting. - "If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!" - 'If I'm not hungry, I'm not hungry, and no amount of shoving food at me is going to make me hungry!"

A quick rant: Developing PTSD does NOT mean you're weak, broken, worthless, damaged, or any other horrible things we often convince ourselves it means. PTSD is just your brain's way of recovering and adapting, and it's actually a healthy response to trauma. It's not exclusively a 'warrior's illness'—anyone can develop it regardless of whether or not they've been deployed. While it can be hard to accept that you 'got it from' a car accident, witnessing extreme violence, or in Amber's case, weathering a hell of a storm, what caused it has little to do with personal strength or weakness. If you start showing signs of PTSD, TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR. Don't put it off, don't talk yourself out of it, and for Pete's sake, don't do what I did—don't spend months staring out the window, ruminating on why you lived when so many others died, and hoping to waste away into nothing—the longer you wait to seek help, the longer it takes for you to heal, and healing IS possible.

Putting away my soapbox now. Also, the song Amber sings is called "Cotton Fields"—it's a Southern folk song, and if sung in a slow, bluesy manner, it can put kids out like a light

Up Next: Cohabitation Chaos

#TMNT #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Ninja Turtles #Donatello #Raphael #Leonardo #Michelangelo #Donnie/OC #Leo/OC #Mikey/OC #Romantic Drama #Non-Sue OCs #A New Lease on Life #ANLoL #Here be plot twists

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lobsters-on-their-heads · 6 years

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Continuing Travels of Cophine, Chapt. 11

I was going to write the Christmas chapter, but there's no way I'm letting Delphine's birthday slip away unwritten about.

If you want to start at the beginning, go here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799/chapters/27477684

“Oh, Cosima, I've been meaning to ask you – why don't you or Delphine have rings?”

Cosima looked up to see Alison hovering beside her. Her head had been buried in her laptop, looking up indoor pools and swimming lessons for Charlotte, and her first thought of “rings” was of the colorful plastic rings they used to dive after when Cosima was little. Across the table from her, Delphine just gave her a doe-eyed look and blinked, hand still resting on the Sunday crossword.

“Rings?” she asked.

“Yes, engagement rings. You keep saying that you're engaged, but I don't see rings on either of your fingers. Well, except for your usual clunky pieces.”

“My pieces?” Cosima said, smiling and spinning one of her thumb rings around. “You make it sound like I'm wearing guns on my fingers.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Cosima's mother overheard and appeared over Delphine's shoulder. “You know, I was wondering the same thing. Most girls can't wait to show off their rings, but you don't even have one.”

“Yeah, we're not like most girls.” That much should have been obvious, she thought.

Alison lowered her voice a bit. “You know, Cosima,” she whispered, “if it's a matter of money, we could...”

Not for the first time, Cosima thought of the 15,000 euro ring Delphine had once received, and how some rings she'd seen online even came with hefty insurance policies. She and Delphine had talked about that. She and Alison had not.

“It's not a matter of money,” she said.

Delphine reached across the table and took Cosima's hand. “We're waiting until we get to Paris,” she said. “There are some stores there I want to look at, and some jewelers my parents know that might be able to make us some custom ones.”

Cosima's eyebrows went up, but both Alison and Sally were dramatic enough that Cosima could safely recover herself. Sally swooned and Alison swatted Cosima's shoulder, scolding her for not just saying so in the first place.

“It's not something we're telling everyone,” Delphine went on. “We don't want to sound pretentious.”

“Oh, don't be silly!” Sally cried, taking the chair next to Cosima. “That sounds like the most romantic thing I've heard all year, and there's nothing pretentious about romance. By the way, I don't think we've heard the story yet. Who asked whom, and how?”

They hadn't told anyone yet, had they? Somehow, five days after announcing their engagement, they hadn't really talked about it with anyone. Sure, there had been some comments here or there – they planned to marry in Toronto, the date was up in the air but certainly more than a year away, and yes, everyone in Clone Club was invited. Otherwise, though, it just hadn't come up. There had been the business with Charlotte's school, then a couple long drives to the country with Charlotte to give her and Cosima some needed one-on-one time. Sally and Gene spent as much time, or more, getting to know Cosima's new clone family as they did talking to Cosima herself, and every member of clone club had their own drama to talk about. Once the fact of Delphine and Cosima's engagement was accepted, no one had asked about it. Until now.

“She asked me,” Delphine said. “In a park in Mexico.”

“I'm not surprised,” Alison said. “We sestras tend be to assertive, don't we?”

“Sestras,” Sally said, shimmying as she ate another peanut. “That is such a cute little word, I think. And yes, Cosima's always been assertive. I'm not surprised, either.”

“I asked Donnie, you know,” Alison said. “Well, more like told him.”

“Aww, really?” The image in Cosima's mind was adorable, of college-aged Alison and Donnie.

There was a thump on the basement door and Alison opened it to reveal Helena, in pajama pants and a mustard-stained T-shirt, holding a baby in each arm. With a day's work, Donnie, Sarah, and Oscar had converted the basement into a useable living unit for Helena and the twins, for as long as it took for the Hendrix's water and housing situation to sort itself out.

“Hallo, Sestra Alison,” Helena said. “You look very nice this morning.”

“Well, thank you.” Alison wore a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with a black blazer, and her little gold cross necklace gleamed against her blouse. “We're, um, heading off to church in about twenty minutes, and I was hoping you'd join us. You could bring the boys, of course.”

“No.”

Cosima leaned back in her chair to watch the interaction. She knew Alison had succeeded in getting the girls, but not Sarah, to attend this new church in the city, but inviting Helena was something different.

Alison nodded and twisted her hands around. “I see. Well, if you change your mind...”

“No church.”

Helena walked through the kitchen to the living room, saying hello to everyone as she passed and apparently putting the conversation with Alison behind her. She set the boys on the living room floor and sat with them, getting a stuffed bear from the couch for them to play with.

“Maybe we can bring the boys with us, then?” Alison called out. “Give you a few hours off, huh? The church has a wonderful nursery...”

“No. No church.” Helena turned then to fix Alison with a stare that went well with a bow and arrow, or a sniper rifle.

“Okay. No problem. Just, just thought I'd ask.”

A few minutes later, Charlotte and Kira came downstairs, wearing Christmas-colored dresses. Kira still wore bows in her hair, but Charlotte's was done up in a bun that reminded Cosima of a librarian, or maybe Beth Childs. “Oh, you girls look nice!” she said.

Charlotte limped over to Cosima and leaned on her shoulder. “Are you coming, too?” she asked.

“To church? No, I think I'll be staying here.”

“How come?” Kira asked. “You're not like my mom or Helena.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Charlotte supplied the answer. “It means you don't have problems with authority like they do.”

Cosima tried not to be too offended by the way her mother laughed at that statement, or by Delphine's little snort. “Okay, well, I'm not getting into that right now, but I still don't think I'm going to church with you guys. It's just not really my thing.”

Kira's attention was already redirected to Delphine's crossword puzzle, but Charlotte hung on. “We went last Sunday and it was a lot of fun. We sang Christmas songs, and the minister was really interesting. He talked about the connections between the Christmas story and the Syrian refugees.”

Cosima wasn't sure that a person needed to sit in church to figure out that connection, but before she could say so, her mother rose and tapped her shoulder. “Maybe you should go, sweetheart. You know your father and I didn't do a great job putting religion in you as a kid; it could be good for you now.”

“That's because Dad hates church, and you're a non-practicing Jew, and since when do you want me to be religious?”

Whatever her mother said was swallowed by the faucet as she poured herself a glass of water, but Alison's eyes had that excited gleam that made Cosima more than a little nervous. She thought fast.

“Besides,” she said, “I've already got plans with Sarah today.”

“Plans?” Delphine asked. She looked like she would say more, maybe something along the lines of “you were so excited about having no plans today,” but Cosima kicked her under the table, and she shut her mouth.

“Yeah. We're doing some Christmas shopping together, so you guys aren't invited. In fact, I should go remind her that we're leaving soon.” With that, she closed her laptop and went upstairs, where Sarah was more than happy for a reason to get out of the house for a few hours.

***

After Cosima left, Delphine sat in the living room armchair and watched Sally Niehaus and Helena playing with the babies while Gene dozed on the sofa. In the kitchen, Helena mixed the ingredients for banana nut bread, following a recipe Alison gave her. It was part of the on-going effort to make self-sufficient in a way that didn't involve store-bought lollipops and unheated cans of ravioli.

Sally seemed to be fully in her element, trotting a little stuffed horse around the living room and having it jump onto the boys' heads or laps and making them laugh. It was easy to imagine her playing with baby Cosima this way, and Delphine thought of her own mother, who never talked about Delphine's infancy. Her mother, who was tight-lipped in all of the early photographs of her and Delphine, tolerating her daughter and paying other people to change the diapers, bathe, and feed her.

”Do your parents know about me?” Cosima had asked. “Do you want them to come to the wedding?”

She shook her head and pushed those feelings out of the way for the time being. The past was painful, but the present was beautiful, so she got out her phone, settled onto the floor, and took a series of pictures of the boys with Helena and.... was Sally their great-aunt? It didn't really matter. She was part of their family. When Arthur reached his arms to Helena and said, “Up! Up!” Delphine switched to video mode.

“Oh, they are just too precious,” Sally said, not for the first time. “Yes, you are, you are such beautiful little boys, both of you!”

Helena did that little lip-biting smile of hers as she hoisted Arthur up over her head before settling him on her hip. “Yes, they are beautiful little boys. And they are getting much bigger.”

“Oh, yes. They grow so quickly at this age.” Little Donnie had crawled into Sally's lap, and she stroked his light brown hair. “This one looks more like you, I think, because I can see Cosima in him. Don't you think, Delphine?”

Delphine turned off the video on her phone. Honestly, she couldn't see much of Cosima in either one of them, but at least Donnie had brown eyes, while Arthur's were blue. “I don't know,” she offered.

“Well, I think so. Out of curiosity, what does their father look like? I assume he has blue eyes.” Sally shifted a little as she asked, apparently aware of the potential awkwardness of the question, especially since there had been no mention of a father in the five days they'd been here.

“Dead,” Helena said. “He looks dead.”

Sally's face reddened instantly. “Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked, I'm so sorry.”

Helena cocked her head. “Do not be sorry. It's good that he is dead.” The oven beeped then, indicating it was fully preheated, and Helena put Arthur back down so she could put the loaf pan in to bake.

As Helena walked away, Sally turned to Delphine, little Donnie still in her lap, and Delphine had to smile at her confused horror. “I...”

“It's okay. You didn't know.”

“Can I ask,” Sally whispered, “what happened?”

Delphine licked her lips and thought about skirting the issue, but Helena had never seemed ashamed of her boys' origins, or the fate of their father, at least not since Delphine had known her. “The babies weren't, euh... That is, the pregnancy was not 100% consensual.”

“Oh.... oh no.” Sally looked down at little Donnie, who had his head snuggled against her breast. “That's terrible.” Then she glanced back to the kitchen, where Helena was carefully punching the time into the over timer and licking batter from the spoon. When Helena returned to the living room, she noticed the look on Sally's face and cocked her head to the side again.

“What is up?”

“Oh, Delphine just told me...” She waved her hand around in a very Cosima-like way.

“I told her a little about, euh, about how you got the boys,” Delphine said. “Not very much, though.”

“Oh. Yes. They are science babies, like us.”

“Science babies...” Across the floor, Arthur used the bookshelf to pull himself to his feet, and Donnie crawled over to try it himself. Sally watched. “They're not clones, though, are they?”

Delphine didn't miss that Sally directed the question to her, rather than Helena, so she looked pointedly at Helena herself, letting her answer.

“No, they are not clones. They are miracle babies. Yes, Little Arthur, you are very tall!”

Sally's face relaxed some, and she smiled at nothing in particular. Still facing Delphine, she said, “You know, we used to call Cosima that. Our little miracle child.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It took us years to conceive; she might've told you. We'd almost given up, but a friend recommended this clinic all the way down in Bakersfield doing experimental treatements, and, well...” She held up her hands. “Nine months later we had Cosima.”

Delphine had heard parts of that story before from Cosima, and hints of it from Sally herself during their visit, and it always made her smile. As terrible as Dyad's cloning experiment had been in so many ways, the fact of Cosima's existence was always wonderful.

Sally laughed a little. “We just didn't know how experimental those treatments were, did we?”

Delphine smiled in return, but Helena watched very seriously. “You wanted babies very much, yes?”

“Yes, we did. We were looking at adoption, too, of course. Gene, especially, didn't really care as much about the biological piece, but I'd always wanted to have one of my own.” As she finished her sentence, Sally realized the reality of her words and her situation, and her smile slipped.

“Sestra Cosima is very lucky. She has a good mother.”

* *

After Cosima and Delphine dropped her parents off at their hotel that night, Cosima nudged her fiancée. “So we're waiting until we get to Paris to get engagement rings, are we? Is that your actual plan, or were you just shutting my family up?”

Delphine turned the ignition and shrugged. “Can't it be both?”

Cosima Niehaus surprised into silence was a rare enough sight that Delphine let the car idle so she could watch her gape.

“The specialty jewelers bit, too?” Cosima managed after a moment. “I mean, I know your parents aren't exactly peasants, but was that part real, too?”

“I was serious about seeing a specialty jeweler, if you're interested, but I might have stretched it a little saying my parents know them. They were recommended by a friend, but there's no personal connection. It was easier in the moment to just say my parents know them.”

“Recommended by a friend?”

Delphine took a deep breath and headed off towards the Rabbit Hole. “Yes.”

“You've been thinking about this.”

“A little bit.”

Cosima hooked her forefinger around Delphine's pinky and grinned that adorable Cosima grin. “So you're gonna claim me before the wedding after all, huh?”

“Only if you let me.”

“Oh, I'll let you. Don't worry about that.”

***

On Monday morning, Cosima's phone buzzed under her pillow while the sky was still dark. For a second, she cursed whoever was bothering her, but when she fumbled with the screen, she saw the alarm signal, preset to wake her up at 5:00 am.

“Chérie?” Delphine murmured.

“Shhhh, it's okay, love. Just go back to sleep. It's fine.” She kissed Delphine's warm soft face twice, then three times, before she crawled out into the cool basement air and padded to the bathroom. Once there, she peed in the dark and cursed the loudness of the flush and the faucet of the sink. Then, hands clean and bladder empty, she tiptoed through the living space to gather up her clothes, shoes, and car keys. The gorgeous woman under the covers, meanwhile, turned over onto her right side and then stayed perfectly still. After five minutes in the dark, when Cosima trusted Delphine to be asleep, she lay a note on her pillow, tiptoed up the stairs, and slid into the comic shop above.

Upstairs, she changed into the layers sufficient for Toronto winters but saved the shoes until she was at the door, to keep from making sounds. She unset and reset the alarm and let herself out into the damp early morning.

“Fuck, I miss Latin America,” she told the inside of their rental car as she waited for the heat to come on. The one upside to the cold, though, was that it woke her up. She would crash in a few hours, but for now she was practically bushy tail-tailed as she drove into the city.

Her first stop was the French bakery across town, where she arrived just as they opened their doors for the day. She ordered a mix of macarons, some chocolates (rather, chocolats), a few eclairs, and a cake-type arrangement that looked complicated and delicious.

“And a large coffee for me,” she told Monique at the register, handing over her personal credit card before she could even look at the total. She checked her phone as Monique poured the coffee. No messages. Good.

Her next stop was T's Florist, which was recommended by Felix. Justine, the woman behind the counter there, put together a lovely rose bouquet while Cosima drank her coffee and tried to remember why she'd decided to do all this so goddamn early in the goddamn morning. The bushy-tailedness of an hour ago was already giving way to bone-deep sleepiness.

“What's the occasion?” Justine asked.

“Hm?”

“What are the roses for?”

Cosima blinked at her for a moment. Justine could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty five, and she was way too perky for Cosima at the moment. “My fiancée's birthday,” she said.

“Oh, how sweet. Most girls don't give guys flowers. And a Christmas baby, too!”

Guys?!? At that, Cosima was tempted to take her business elsewhere, but all she wanted now was to get back home, and the flowers were quite nice. She put her card on the counter and watched Justine ring her up. “I didn't say they were for a guy. I said they're for my fiancée. With two Es. She's thirty-three today.”

Justine flushed and apologized, and Cosima raised her eyebrows at her, then took her card and the flowers and stalked out of the store.

Back in the car, she finished her coffee and wished it would kick in already. It was now 6:35, still an hour before sunrise and hopefully an hour before Delphine woke up. Most stores were still closed even if they had extended holiday season hours. Cosima checked her list on her phone. Pastries and flowers were accomplished, but not coffee for Delphine. Any coffee shop she went to was too far from the Rabbit Hole to ensure the coffee stayed hot, and reheated coffee was only acceptable when paired with day-old pizza or shellacked protein bars at 2 am during finals week. For Delphine's birthday, only fresh, hot, high quality coffee would do, which meant making it in the lab's kitchenette, which had no coffee maker.

She'd learned early in her time in Toronto that many homeware stores were closed on Mondays for reasons she never understood, so she headed for the nearest decent coffee house. They always had French presses and bagged coffee for sale.

When she got to Good Earth Coffeehouse, though, she stopped and stared at the darkened doorway. “What the actual fuck?” she asked the door. The hours posted said it opened at 6:30 Monday through Saturday, and it was currently 6:45.

“Oh, they're renovating,” a man said. Cosima swiveled and found him hunched under a pile of blankets in the next doorway over.

“And they couldn't put up a sign?”

He shrugged, only a small circle of his face showing. Cosima realized the privilege of being upset that a coffee shop was temporarily closed in a city of a hundred coffee shops. She pulled out the only cash she had, two dollars and five cents, and gave it to him.

“You take care, sweet heart,” he said. “Thanks.”

The nearest coffee shop was Rooster, which she hadn't been to since her first days in Toronto when she didn't know her way around and got lost on the way to Dyad. They opened at 7:00, so she sat in her car a few parking spaces away for seven minutes waiting for the door to open. While she sat, her brain drifted back to those days, when she'd just started to show symptoms, when she didn't trust Delphine but slept with her anyway.

Best decision of my fucking life, she thought, even as she remembered not believing that at the time. At the time she'd thought it was a terrible decision to sleep with Delphine, but Delphine was beautiful and her words could be intoxicating, and so Past Cosima pushed off the consequences to her future self, who was now awake before sunrise, four days before Christmas, getting Delphine breakfast. And they were going to be married. Cosima smirked to herself.

Pretty good consequences, if you ask me.

Thirty minutes later, when she parked the rental car around the corner from the Rabbit Hole, the sky showed hints of pink and the birds were chirping away. She gathered up the coffee supplies and baked goods, careful to keep the food upright, and tucked the flowers into the crook of her arm. She double checked that she had the car keys before locking the car, and stepped over the ice patches to the Rabbit Hole, where she had to carefully balance boxes on the iron window bars to get out her keys and unlock the door.

It was almost 7:30 when she got into the shop, so she didn't bother trying to be quiet this time. She carried everything down the steps, creaking in predictable places, and smiled when she saw the bed was empty. The note she'd left on her pillow was moved and the covers pulled back, and the bathroom door was closed. She had at least a minute, then, to get her shit together.

The pastries she kept in their boxes, but with the lids removed, placed at the foot of the bed. She got a pot of water cooking on the hot plate in the lab and ground some beans, getting so absorbed in the little bean grinder that she jumped a little when Delphine touched her waist.

“Is this for both of us?”

Cosima tapped the fresh grounds into the French press before turning and kissing her lips. “Only a little bit. Mostly it's for you.”

“For me?”

Delphine would never not be cute first thing in the morning, Cosima decided. Her hair was a mess, her shirt was crooked, and her normally brilliant, decisive eyes were bleary and soft with sleep. She wrapped her arms around Delphine's neck and kissed her again. “Yes. For you.”

“Mmm...” Delphine took a deep breath of the coffee aroma now filling the room. “It smells wonderful. And you got pastries and chocolates, too.”

“I did. From that French place you told me about, like, two years ago.”

“You remembered it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Delphine rested her cheek against Cosima's head and took in the sight in front of her – open bag of coffee beans, brand new grinder with coffee dust already collecting on it, hot plate with kettle, and French press full of hot brewing coffee.

“You know that's not actually French, though, right?”

Cosima smiled and put a little check mark on her mental bingo card of “Things Delphine Does,” which included speaking to babies and animals in French, effortlessly finding nice clothes that fit well in unfamiliar stores, and correcting people's misconceptions about all things French.

“Yes, I do know that.” She kissed Delphine again. “But I think it's gonna taste amazing anyways.”

Delphine yawned wide enough for Cosima to see the ridges on her palate, and stretched both arms over her head, allowing Cosima to slip away. Reaching back behind the computer monitor on the other table, she took the bouquet of roses and held them out to Delphine.

“Happy birthday, Delphine.”

#delphine's birthday #orphan black fanfiction #cophine fanfiction #I'm on a big macaron kick now

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kayscreations · 7 years

Photo

So...

Since I posted anything or posted any thrift hauls anywhere!!

Talkin’ about life and stuff under the cut but I’ll talk about the haul here.

I’m writing up some of this right now, but I actually got all this on Saturday the 16th. To the excited horror of my wallet I stumbled upon not one... not two.. not three.. but four Moxie Teenz. MT Tristen and Melrose were my first dolls that I got for myself (I... think? I think I got my first MH later...) so I’m a huge sucker for MT. There’s a good chance I’ll resell at least some of these, but this is my first Bijou, so I’m excited to have her! They were all $2.99 a piece and they each had like one or two other misc. dolls bagged with them.

Got the Prince Eric and Donny Osmond together for $2.99, mostly for Donny because I enjoyed the vintage quality and aesthetic. I just realized that his feet are all chewed up, though.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I got a bag that had AA Winter Rhapsody Barbie in it because I’ve been wanting to have a head that can be put on a DCSHG Bumblebee body, a la @cheshiretiffy‘s hybrid (I can’t find pictures/links for it??). Here’s to hoping I can still find a Bumblebee somewhere!

The miscellaneous dolls that were in with the Moxies included the Disney princesses and most of the dolls after them. The superstar girl is actually pretty cute and the Kira sculpt girl is adorable! Cute enough that I already popped her on a MtM body. I *think* she’s Animal Lovin’ Nikki. The Anna with the bun is my first Hasbro Disney doll and she’s pretty cute! I also really love that lone Disney fairy, her face is much more mature than all the other fairy dolls I’ve seen. Part of me would really like to repaint her in the style of a vintage Barbie.

The 17″ Pocahontas was $3.99 and is in fabulous condition. Her head is a bit weirdly yellowed compared to her body, for some reason? I’m tempted to rebody her onto a Barbie 17″ Magic Hair Kingdom body despite the match not being perfect, but I think I’ll hold off on it for at least a little while. Part of me still really wants that big vintage Pocahontas that exists...

The Disney Store Anna is a great body donor that was in another bag, and I got the three Livs for $3.99, also for their bodies.

The Ghoulia and Draculara were $2.99 in the same bag, and are 95% complete. They’re the true first edition originals and I got them to clean up and put away with my other older MH. Ghoulia has.... some interesting gunk on her and I’ll definitely have to wash her and all her clothes. It’s so sad seeing the original MH dolls and looking at the newest ones, seeing how far they’re come..... and not in a good way.

So, I think that’s it! I also have a whole haul from the Goodwill Outlet from the same day. Once I clean everything off, I’m hoping to post everything!

To be honest I don’t know if I mentioned it to anybody besides those close to me, but my Dad got injured at work in October of last year. It’s going to be almost a year since it happened and it’s really been a weird blur for me and my family the whole time. It’s agitated me into a lot of depression and anxiety, but! I also got a new job all the way back in May. While my new job has it’s own small issues, it’s absolutely wonderful, as my old work place was becoming legitimately abusive and was basically trying to fire me before I quit to start my new job. I also make a good bit more money than my old job (I mean... I’m not an independent millionaire now, but still).

So, during the course of all these events, thrifting has become a small haven for me and my Mom*. We started going to Goodwill Outlets (there’s one that’s actually super close to our house) where you can dig through bins and get stuff for dirt cheap prices, continued to go to Savers, almost completely stopped going to (regular) Goodwill because their prices are skyrocketing and their management is gross, and we also discovered an obscure little thrift store called 2nd Ave. This lovely little store is basically outshining all the other thrift stores. They have tons of doll, and different ones every time we visit. Everything they have is impeccably sorted and their clothes are organized so well! So yeah, this haul is from there. I have a few other finds from 2nd Ave. that I’d also like to showcase.

Basically I just wanted to say that I want to be more active on here and start interacting with dolly people again (er... although I’m not sure how social I ever was?), actually start working on dolls and projects that I’ve had waiting for years, and start having fun with all my collecting, thrifting, and hobby activities. @dollsahoy‘s videos have been a great source of relaxation and inspiration for me this whole time, as well as Anne Pecaro, who I recently just started watching. I love seeing all of @dolljunk‘s dolls and projects (as I have for years now) and I very much want to amass more Allans because of him. @dolldirt has infected me with with his love of the superstar sculpt for awhile now and I always love seeing posts from him. Part of me wants to do weekly videos about my dolls and just talking about dolly and thrift stuff, but I honestly need some guidance about using my camera and how to get good quality video. My camera is like 9-11 years old, so I suspect that it’s just not possible to film in 720p. But honestly I’m about as technically savy as a rock, so what do I know?

My apologies if any of this sounds weird, I just got a bit sick and I’m getting all sentimental and junk while writing this up.

*Me and Mom already thrifted before Dad got hurt, but thrifting has really been a was of escaping from our worries and relaxing now. I 100% admit that I’ve been giving myself retail therapy and soothing my depression and tumultuous feelings through thrifting.

#doll #dolls #thrifting #My posts #my dolls #katescreations

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