#Agony April Day 18

[violetsiren90]

Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭💕; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others.
You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer. 

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like. 

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again. 

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks.


~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place. 

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name. 

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit.


~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen.
 

-Fin-

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 13: TEGAMI

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your mouth is a thin line that he wants to kiss. He knows better, though. The distance he’s standing away from you is a demonstration in patience itself.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , masturbation, implication of bdsm, angst... AND fluff <3

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: soooooo sorry for how long it's been here's a love letter about satoru being a sad down bad pathetic wet kitten for you. disgusting

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

April, 2011

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s pathetic, really.

He realizes that even when you were just a ghost in his house, helping your mother with her duties, you were still there. Ever-present, always available for him to play with when you were kids, to stare at as a teenager. Even when he decided he’d ignore you, you were still there. Always. It was what he was used to. It was what made him believe that you always belonged to him.

He hates being wrong.

It had been two months since he’d last seen you, and to say that he was in agony was a fucking understatement. 

Shoko would never hear the end of it. Satoru knew that he was beyond annoying, always has been, but lately, Shoko’s patience was a frayed thread. 

“She needs to be her own person, you leech,” she’d snapped at him the day before.

The amount of gin and tonics she had couldn’t even cover the amount of hours she had to tolerate Satoru, who wasn’t even being an emotional drunk at the moment. That, she could deal with – he was a lightweight after all. He’d probably knock out eventually. But no, he was this annoyingly lovesick while sober.

“She is her own person! She can be her own person next to me!” he whined. 

“You know what I mean, idiot. She couldn’t do anything without you glued to her leg. The space is probably good for her.”

“Well, it’s miserable for me,” he muttered under his breath. 

Bribing Shoko with alcohol wasn’t nearly enough for her to continue listening to his woes. There were times she thought about relaying the information to you, suggesting that you’d throw Satoru a bone just so he could stop being so fucking whiny about you, but she knew both of you better than that. She dropped some hints but was mostly met with an eye-roll, which… was fair. It was about time the strongest got over himself.

He knows he’s obsessive. He can’t help it when it comes to you.

It wasn’t like you fucking died – yet there he was, stewing in his own grief. He’d go on his missions and exorcise curses with the intention of bloodshed. Beyond grief, he often only felt rage, and it was the only thing that felt close to good. 

The only thing as violent to him as love was rage. When love was tumultuous, it shook his world, felt indescribably pivotal in the context of his life. It was pathetic, the way he felt about you. 

The missions weren’t enough.

He’d tried everything — smoking cigarettes (he hated the taste), smoking other things (his brain would be fucked and so would his cursed technique), and drinking (Shoko had to cut him off one too many cocktails far too many times). 

Fucking other girls didn’t work. They would irritate him to hell, smelling much too sweet, being way too loud in a way that would grate his ears. It’s not like anyone else could touch him the same way you could, either. God, he hated it when they would try to take control and put their hands where they shouldn’t. Manicured hands grabbing at him that felt foreign. 

He couldn’t tolerate it. It was always better when he could shove them into the pillow, pretending their muffled moans were yours. He could think of you in enough detail to cum.

Satoru had already heard through the grapevine that you were fucking that Zenin brat. He remembered having to deal with Naoya at clan meetings when he was younger — perhaps it was ingrained in his birth that Zenins were his natural enemies. Either that or the fucker was genuinely that annoying. Probably both.

Every time he thought about it for too long, he wanted to punch something. The only reason he didn’t bother to warn you because you were already deep in it, the naive little girl you were. You were too stubborn for your own good, always. There was no use. 

He should probably just kidnap you. Handcuff you to his damn bed, even if you’d hate it. 

But he won’t. Not any time soon, hopefully, if he can control himself. You’ve successfully ignored his texts (maybe you blocked his number?) and definitely threw out the bouquets he’d send (he watched you do it the first time and it took everything in him to not confront you right then and there).

He doesn’t know what to do, truly. So for now, he lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about your eyes. The image of them finds him anyway, along with your nose, your mouth, your—

Fuck. He shouldn’t.

Yaga would absolutely give him shit if he was late for the meeting, but he doesn’t care. He’s already half-hard in his trousers and he’s only thought about you for less than two minutes. It’s about time he’s had a cathartic release — he’s been dreaming about your hot, panting body underneath him for weeks.

He spits in his mouth while his other hand frees himself from his pants. He groans when he palms himself, imagining your delicate hands, your eager eyes. After all these years, you would still look at him with a certain innocence as you’d palm him, your mouth watered. He missed it desperately.

Do you still think about him, now? He had been your first, your only for so long. He had to be at the forefront of your mind when you touched yourself, when your cunt got wet at all. Right? 

Maybe you’d even thought about him back in high school. Satoru likes to imagine this, that ever since you were child, you had a little schoolgirl crush on him. He tries not to think about how it’s the other way around, that his desire for you had been there since he’d known you. 

He misses the shape of your mouth when you gasp his name. He can almost hear it now as he strokes himself, his groans mixing with the wet sounds of his cock rubbing against his palm. 

You’d always been a little shy about being loud, ever since your first time. He remembers it so vividly. 

S’good. Feels good. Come kiss me.

His mind wanders to the image of Suguru’s hands on you. Suguru’s cock deep in your pussy as his own cock rutted into your mouth. He groans at the faint memories. He hates that he can only chase them like a distant mirage. 

The warmth that pools in his stomach threatens to rise and choke him. He feels feverish everywhere as his hand moves faster. He’s so fucking close — he thinks about himself ramming into you. You whining as you clench around him. Your hands all over him.

He grunts your name as he cums. Satoru rolls his eyes back as he spurts, covered in himself. When he comes down from his high, he gasps a few short breaths as he stares at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Body flooded with ecstasy, then shame. Enough shame for his insides to twist uncomfortably, as if he feels the need to go to confession for the mere act of what he did.

The warmth in his body only lasts for so long.

June, 2011

The handprint on your thigh stings. You’re used to rough treatment, could argue that you might even like it. You’re not, however, used to being degraded. 

You’ve always liked the feeling of being wrung out. Satoru and Suguru had liked you pliable, a vessel for them to turn inside out. Soft insides. Soft enough to bruise. 

You should’ve known that when you started living alone for the first time, some men would take advantage of that. You didn’t realize that you could meet a man that was even more demanding and childish than Satoru. 

“You have too many clothes on,” Naoya mutters, pawing at the strap of your bra. You had taken the day off because of the heatwave. Kyoto was rising to ungodly temperatures, and you were hoping to spend the day lying on the floor in front of the fan. Of course, the fucker had other plans.

He was much more charming after the many encounters you’d had at the bar. Now, it was embarrassing to be with him. You weren’t exactly with him, though Naoya thought you owed him a few crumbs after the occasional dinner date. The sex fulfilled the deepseated desire you had for more pleasurable times, but to think about those times would only make the void inside of your chest ache. It was ultimately better to be used up, distracted.

“I should make you a fucking clan princess,” he murmurs, nibbling on your ear. You’re only half-conscious during your second round. Your attempts at redressing were not met kindly. 

He laughs when you whimper. Knows how much you hate it when he talks like that, how it probably reminds you of the Gojo brat. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m going to be the head after all.”

He’s all talk. Maybe he means it, maybe he doesn’t. You don’t care either way. At this point, you’re just using his dick to get off. The violence is a little cathartic. You’d forgotten what tenderness felt like and refused to turn back, as if to punish yourself.

Naoya was always quick to mount you, making your thighs feel whipped. Flesh all lashed from his grabby hands. He was a little drunk tonight, which made it all more annoying.

Luckily, he comes fast because of it. 

“You’d make a good wife,” he says as he lights up in your bed, billowing smoke in the direction of the fan. 

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. Sweet girl,” he grins, lip curling. “I’ll be a good head, too. You can be my right arm.”

You look at him, half-amused, half-pissed. “I’m good.”

“I know,” he scoffs. “Everyone in my clan’s an old fucking fart. You’d probably be into my cousin, to be honest, if he didn’t fuck off like a runaway.”

You pause. “Why’d he run off?”

“Dunno. No one’s heard from him in a while. Maybe he’s finally dead from trying to kill sorcerers. Toji was basically useless without a technique anyway.”

You freeze at the name. You think of getting pistolwhipped, of a mouth scar. Zenin Toji?

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothing,” you dismiss, fiddling with the buttons of the blouse you’re putting back on. “I don’t blame him for running off.”

July, 2011

You’ve always loved the myth of Tanabata. It was a story your mother loved to tell.

Star-crosssed lovers separated by the Milky Way, only bound to meet once a year. It reminds you of someone when it shouldn’t. You shouldn’t yearn for his presence. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him. 

You’ve moved on. Maybe.

You’re lost in thought about the myth when you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. When you look up, you see Utahime leaning on the door of the greenhouse, watching you cut saplings and fill egg cartons with dirt. 

“You’re not going to be cooped up in here for the whole festival, are you?” 

“Hm?” You look up to see her smirking at you with her arms crossed. 

“Gakuganji gave us the day off. You know that, right? For Tanabata?” she raises a brow.

“I know that,” you huff. “I’m just… catching up on stuff.”

“You’re finding excuses to not leave campus. Shoko’s visiting.”

Your ears perk up at that. You hadn’t seen Shoko in months. Admittedly, you didn’t often pick up the phone, let alone text back. You tried not to be on your phone too much at all, otherwise you’d look through old photos and messages that you had no business reminiscing about. It would be nice to see her. 

“When is she getting in?” you ask.

“In about two hours. Get your kimono on and meet us at the school entrance? We’re gonna go write wishes at Kiyomizu-dera.”

You nod in agreement. It would be nice to go out. You consider the barren state of your room, the empty bottles of plum wine under your bed collecting dust and spiders. Anything was better than holing yourself up there, especially on a holiday like this. You’d always enjoyed watching the fireworks, at least. 

Your heart feels a little lighter when you get to hug Shoko later that night. She’s wearing a pink kimono with a floral pattern, something more feminine than you expected. You almost don’t recognize her without a cigarette in her mouth and lab coat draped over her shoulders. When she’s with Utahime, her face is brighter. You’re almost envious.

“Wish for anything special, baby?” she taps your cheek, feeding you a skewer from her yakitori.

You think of your messy handwriting scrawled onto a red tanzaku. You imagine one miles long enough to fit a whole letter. Maybe you should start journaling.

“That’s a secret, isn’t it?”

She grins knowingly. “I missed you. I didn’t just come here for Hime, you know.”

“Don’t worry, I begged her to come for you, too,” Utahime quips, fixing her braids. 

“You did not beg,” Shoko scoffs. “You know I’d never miss an opportunity to see my girls.”

You feel too warm in your kimono. Part of it is the heat, part of it is that Shoko was rather reliable in getting you a fix, meaning that you were immediately treated to a round at an izakaya before heading out to the festival. While the buzz through your skin doesn’t exactly translate to comfort, it’s enough for you to wade your way through the crowd without a care to get yourself some takoyaki. 

You freeze when a warm hand touches your shoulder. You’re stopped by him before you can even round the corner.

His hair’s a mess, white tufts spiked up in haphazard peaks as if he’d just woken up. The black sunglasses make him look out of place, so does his entire aura. Satoru was always a lean giant, legs going on for miles with a grin like a cowboy. Normally, you’d fall victim to it. Right now, you’re mostly in shock.

“I could’ve paid for that, angel,” he coos.

Your stomach flips. Satoru was very good at having horrible timing. Maybe it was the universe itself taunting you, but the Six Eyes has always been more calculated than that. He must’ve planned on seeing you.

You swallow back the taste of something acrid crawling up your throat.

“What are you doing here?”

Before he can respond, the girls had already caught up to you, staring in disbelief in a distance. When you glance back at them, Shoko mouths an apology before pulling at Utahime’s arm and ushering her away.

“Why did you—”

“I didn’t come with Shoko,” Satoru interjects. He shifts uncomfortably like a teenager telling a lie. “Most of the Gojo clan is in Kyoto, remember? My, uh, parents wanted to come for the festival.”

Your mouth is a thin line that he wants to kiss. He knows better, though. The distance he’s standing away from you is a demonstration in patience itself. 

He doesn’t have to tell you that he’d arrived the day before, stalking the Kyoto campus just to see what you were up to. He chalked it up to boredom, the same as checking up on an ex-fling on social media, if hovering around the greenhouse for hours was considered casual.

“It’s good to see you,” you say. You tell yourself it’s a lie, just a filler for politeness. You know that you’ve been aching for him since he had kissed you in the winter.

His heart flutters in his chest, begging to burst, but he doesn’t show it. 

“It’s good to see you, too.”

You smile at him awkwardly as you play with the fabric of your kimono. You clear your throat. 

“Have you seen Shoko or Uta yet?”

“No, not yet.”

His voice is wary, like he’s walking on eggshells with you. He searches your face for any emotion beyond indifference. The slight smile on your features is mild, and he’s sure you’re only putting it on for him.

Satoru is sure you’re begging for a way out. Truthfully, he wants to steal you away, take you to the shore so he can pin your body down to the ground, feel the softness of your skin. He’s had too many wet dreams about it that it almost feels like a prophecy in his head. 

So he lets you lead him to Shoko and Utahime, who both smile politely but maintain a visible proximity to you. He doesn’t blame them.

He should be tired. He almost rejected the offer from his mother to go on “vacation” for Tanabata since he’d come back from a three-day long mission — Yaga had attempted to arrange a sort of mentorship between Satoru and some new first-years. It was mostly a bust considering a special grade had emerged after the initial grade twos. Satoru was forced to hold his weight, of course, so he came back exhausted, too tired to go away.

When his mother mentioned that they’d meet with the clan members from the Kyoto quarters, he was suddenly eager to go.

Now you are here in front of him and his heart feels like it’s going out of his ass. You look beautiful as ever. He notices how much you’ve grown, staring at you with reverence. It’s not like you look so different than the last time he saw you, but it’s been a while since he’s seen you like this. In something more formal. 

You’d only wear kimonos on holidays. He remembers watching your mother sweep up your hair with little sticks, jade charms hanging from your ears. He couldn’t be around you then, back when you were kids. Not when he was stupid and hormonal and trying to get over you in high school. His chest hurts in the same way as it did back then. 

You share your takoyaki with him as you walk to a quieter part of the festival. There’s a garden by the large festival grounds, hydrangeas blooming and kissing the archway of a gate. They’ve been everywhere you see in Kyoto since the rainy season ended. 

Satoru clears his throat. You raise a brow at him. 

“What?”

He stares at you, his mind blank. You don’t look like you’ve missed him. You don’t look at him the same way you used to, with that certain tenderness that he always liked. He almost reaches for you.

“You look…”

“Hm?

He swallows hard before continuing. “Beautiful. You, uh, look beautiful. That’s all,” he mutters. 

“Thanks. You look good, too, Gojo.”

Gojo. When was the last time you called him by his last name? Not since you were in his estate, sweeping his damn floor. It stings more than any disparaged look you could give him. At least when you’re a little cold to him, he feels the need to rile you up. He’s always liked to challenge you that way. 

You not even using his first name is a harder blow than anything else.

“Oh, wow,” he chuckles meekly. “Big downgrade, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“You called me, uh–” He coughs nervously. “Just– nevermind.”

Your stomach twists with guilt. He looks like he’s about to cry. 

“I missed you,” he blurts out. The distance between you two is driving him insane. 

“Uh, I know. Shoko told me.”

“You smell like cigarettes.”

“Yeah?”

His palms feel sweaty. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, can only list stupid facts like that’s a fucking conversation. You’re smoking too much. You look beautiful. I’ve been dying for months because I haven’t been able to kiss you.

“And… amber. You still wear that perfume I got you?”

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

His eyes brighten so quickly it’s almost pathetic. He blinks at you wetly like a child, resisting the urge to pull you into his arms and bury his face into your neck. To inhale you. 

His skin itches. 

“Sorry for being weird.”

“You are being weird.”

You didn’t anticipate seeing him. Hell, you never do, even when you were together and sleeping in the same bed as him. His presence was like a lightning strike, unbearable to look away from, beaming with so much light that it hurt your eyes.

You almost feel ashamed when your stomach flips at the intense eye contact.

Satoru is at a loss for one of the first times in his life. He doesn’t know what to say. Wants to say it with his hands instead, his mouth. He shouldn’t. He bites the inside of his cheek, softly grimacing at the way you’re speaking to him — it’s so unlike how you used to be. Quiet and warm and soft. 

He huffs. “Yeah, well. S’your fault.”

You roll your eyes. His lips twitch into a smirk. Finally, a reaction from you. He’d like to make you react more, push your buttons. At least then you’d give him attention. 

“Do you even care that I missed you?” he complains, pouting.

You smile lightly at that. “You always miss me. Even when you saw me every day, you missed me.”

Fuck. 

He really, really wants to touch you. His face heats up slightly, his hands twitching again. Aching to feel your skin.

“Yeah,” he says without shame. “Because I always want you.” 

He continues to stare at you. You know he’s being genuine, but the way he’s always been so candid with his feelings felt like he was taunting you. It’s always been a bit of a game for him, seeing how far he can go before you break. But he knows you’ve always seen through him. You were the only one who could, besides —

"I’m not used to not having you around,” he confesses. 

“I’ve lived in Kyoto for like a year. You survived, no?”

The look he gives you is mildly offended before he snorts. It’s a stupid thing for you to say. He’s not a child. He can survive just fine without needing you around. It doesn’t matter that you would take care of him after missions before, that you’d take care of him out of obligation when your mother had worked in his estate. He didn’t need you. It’s what he tells himself every night before he dreams about you. It’s a lie that he repeats in his head, hoping it will stick eventually. 

“Survived is a bit of a stretch. I’ve been miserable, Twigs.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He hums and tilts his head. 

“Why?” he says, taking a step towards you. “You don’t like it when I do?”

You say nothing. He’s gotten so close to you now that his body brushes against yours. The height difference is a bit more stark now, and he’s looking down at you with that same cocky expression that you’re used to seeing.

 “I like calling you Twigs,” he almost whines. 

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” He reaches out to you, his fingertips tracing down your jawline, then your chin, tilting it upwards ever so gently. 

“My pretty little Twigs,” he says in a soft voice, as if talking to a child.

“Satoru.”

“Finally calling me by my name, huh?” he grins at the way it sounds from your mouth, even if you’re irritated. 

He thinks that you could be screaming it, threatening him with a fucking weapon or your cursed technique, and his eyes would still be as big as the moon with twice as the amount of love.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t listen. He’s too preoccupied by your face, by the feel of your skin under his touch that he’s missed for so long. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip as his fingers still hold your chin. 

“Still as beautiful as ever,” he murmurs.

“You always do this,” you scoff. “I tell you I need space and you don’t give it to me. It’s like you enjoying disregarding my boundaries or something.”

He scoffs back at you. “Or something,” he repeats.

Satoru takes another step until you’re fully pressed against him. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers playing with the edges of your hair. It’s satisfying when you give him a reaction, and your expression of annoyance makes him want to grin widely. He holds it in, not wanting to make you outright angry.

“Your boundaries are inconvenient,” he says. “And pointless. And I don’t like them.”

“I don’t care.” 

“Why do you care so much about boundaries, sweetheart?” he teases. “You used to be such a good girl. Always doing what I said.”

Your breath hitches. God, you need to fucking get out of here. At least out of his grip.

He notices it immediately as your body responds to his proximity. The little gasp you make, the way your eyes flutter a little faster than you mean to. It encourages him. Makes him cocky. His hand moves from behind your neck to your waist.

“Always letting me touch you,” he continues saying lowly in your ear. “Letting me do whatever I wanted. You’re still my good girl, aren’t you?”

“You’re a fucking dick.”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m still hot when I’m pissing you off?”

You stare at him coldly and his smirk falters. The look on your face stuns him a bit.

“You’re actually upset.” It’s not a question.

"Yes, I am. Because every time I see you, you just treat me like a fucking toy. It's exhausting."

“Toy,” he repeats, his jaw clenching. “That’s what you think I see you as. A toy?”

The idea of you thinking that he’d ever see you as just makes his chest tighten. It reminds him of when he first started seeing you. The pitiful look on your face whenever he would be stupid and careless, nothing but a fucking toy. He’d like to think that he was better than that, that he could be better for you. He loved you too much to ever actually think of you as a toy.

"I don’t like it when you say things like that. I’ve—" He stops himself halfway. He’s on the verge of giving you too much — of being too truthful and baring too much of himself. “Fuck. You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get, Satoru?”

The words are on the tip of his tongue. He can feel them, how desperately he wants to say it. But he can’t do it. He huffs instead, and turns his head away from you. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” you spit back bitterly. “Of course.”

You’re angry but it isn’t enough. Even with the tone of your voice, you were still rather nonchalant. It’d be better if you cried or yelled or pushed your small hands to his chest. 

Anything other than the sardonic treatment he was getting. You’ve always been a little too calm for his liking, even when you were upset. It reminded him of when he would fight with Suguru. You must’ve gotten it from him. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Satoru says, almost pleading. Bleeding with desperation. He takes your wrist in his hands, turns it over so he can trace your veins.

“Sorry for what?”

“For disrespecting your boundaries, and for being a dick, and being so dismissive when Suguru left. For being selfish about you, for wanting you all to myself, for talking to him without letting you know. I’m so sorry.”

He’s prepared for you to walk away as he looks down at you nervously. There’s a heavy silence between you, the distance a growing chasm that he doesn’t know how to bridge. It had all crumbled so long ago and he fucking hates it. He hates how everything has changed. He hates how despite all the pain, he can only stare at you and be enamored by how beautiful you look even when you’re pissed off with him.

You do the last thing he expects. You hug him.

Your body is flush against his and his heart races. It’s like a dam breaks, the way he tightens his arms around you, almost crushes you. Satoru nearly kisses you. The ache in his chest hurts so much. 

“God, Twigs,” he mumbles into your hair. “I missed touching you. I missed everything.”

“I know. I do, too.” 

You stay like that for a while. Quiet. The sounds of cicadas and street vendors and children from a distance are background noise outside your little bubble.

“I feel like I've been bound to you since we were kids,” you whisper. “I'd hate it. Even when I'm in love with you, I hate it. I just... I wanted to try to be my own person."

His breath catches in his throat at your words, because he knows exactly what you mean. He’s felt it before, too. The strange pull that ties the two of you together no matter where you go. No matter how much time passes, it still seems to bring you together.

“You are your own person,” he says, his voice muffled against your neck. “You’ve always been your own person. And I—“ he swallows, gathering himself. Trying to calm down the heavy thrum of his heart. The dull ache in his head. “I never wanted you to feel trapped. Never.”

You nod, pulling away. You look away from him, your eyes fixed now on the moon. You think of the wishes you made, if anything you wanted would ever come true. If you should be ashamed that all you ever wanted was Satoru. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly.

“Tanzaku trees,” you whisper. 

“What did you wish for?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” you roll your eyes. 

He pouts. “You never tell me. Even when we were kids. C’monnn, you can tell me. Is it something naughty?”

You laugh and Satoru feels like his body is starting to soar out of itself. Like his spirit jumps out of his skin. Beaming.

“Well, what’d you wish for?” 

“You. Like always.”

You scoff, wanting to hide your face in your hands. It almost makes him grin wider. He steps closer to you, his large frame surrounding you, his height blocking the moon from your view. 

“I used to wish for you when we were kids, too. I’ll probably wish for you every year.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face. He’d always had a way of getting to you. You suppose he always will. His white lashes flutter at your reaction and he steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He’ll keep pushing his luck for as long as he can if he can at least see you smile like that every so often. 

He’d be damned if he ever gave up on you. His persistence was exhausting. It was one of your favorite things about him, even when he was unwelcomed.

“Are you surprised or charmed?”

“Neither.”

You sniffle. Dry tears making your face sting a little, but the moonlight helped conceal them. You could feel the weight of his stare making your insides melt and congeal like a hard rock. You’d let yourself reunite with your lover just like the deities.

You used to believe in angels and spirits and eyelash promises. Satoru Gojo at the forefront of it all, every small desire, even if you refused to admit it. 

You felt impulsive. It was the banter that you missed. It didn’t even take a drink or two like it usually did, not the proximity that Satoru forced out of habit. Yes, his persistence as annoying. Your willingness annoyed you even more.

You look up at him. Always stupidly tall, white hair blocking the moon from your view. It’s a view you’d seen so many times, wishing you could capture it with a camera, but photography would never be able to do the little halo any justice. Stupidly beautiful, stupidly prophetic-looking. It was like the stars were hung just to complement his eyes.

Your lips touch his gently and it satiates him at first. Calms down the manic need until starts back up again, a groan rolling from his throat as he finds his bearings in your waist. Satoru tries to keep it slow, but fuck, he feels like a virgin again. Heat drunk. As if he wasn’t having pussy every other day of the week to distract himself from the way your hair smells.

You pull away when you hear a faint moan, the brush of something thick against your thigh. You almost laugh.

“There’s your damn wish.”

“What about a buy-one-get-one? Tanabata special?”

“That was a gift. Don’t be greedy.”

“Please, baby?” He ignores your warning, already has kisses trailing down the length of your throat. Dandelion-soft to tease you, but to also restrain himself from biting. “It’s been so long. Let me have you for the holiday. You can be my little weaver girl.”

“Are you going to say the whole poem now?”

“Sure. Something something, Heavenly River. Ano natsu no hi, kirameku hoshi,” he sings, purposefully offkey.

“Is that the fucking closing credits song from the anime we used to watch?”

“Yes,” Satoru deadpans. “It references the folk tale, duh.”

You look at him incredulously. He smiles with all his teeth, blinding white. Too perfect. You should punch the lights out of him, really, but you find your grin matching his.

“Jesus, you’re a nerd.”

[wrestlingarsenal]

In the early Aughts, my favorite Tag Team was "America's Most Wanted" -- James Storm and Chris Harris. These two studs were booked nearly every week to suffer some incredible beatings on TNA Wrestling. In 2004, they were involved in a Handicap Match which I wrote about on my old Wrestling Arsenal website 20 years ago today, on April 11, 2004 (and continuing the following week on April 18, 2004).

It seems James Storm had injured his shoulder and couldn't wrestle, so the promoters booked his partner, Chris Harris, against one guy from their rival tag team -- the Naturals. Harris won, so the Evil Promoter forced him to immediately wrestle the other member of the Naturals! THEN THE POOR WHIPPING-BOY WAS FORCED TO WRESTLE BOTH OPPONENTS AT THE SAME TIME in a HANDICAP MATCH! (I's all worked up because I love unfair 2-on-1 tag team beatings.) TNA was notably homo-erotic in those days, and also got good ratings. Hmm, I wonder if those go hand-in-hand?

To revisit and update my old static images describing this sadistic scene, I went and found this episode of TNA Wrestling (which aired as a pay-per-view on 2/25/2004) and created this edited video, focusing on the "Wildcat" in agony. I mashed the two preliminary singles matches together with the Handicap Match to make it seem like one long, glorious, two-against-one torture scene. I must say, Chris Harris looks great selling in his tight blue trunks and tall shiny boots, and his partner is adorable outside the ring worrying about him, looking like a chubby Jordan Catalano.

[mania-sama]

find a time machine and take me back to when i was six

Nate - NF

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairing: Kaeya & Klee ❧ Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, gratuitous descriptions of pain, character study ❧ Summary: The story in which Kaeya is affected by the events of the quest, "Requiem of the Echoing Depths." ❧ Word Count: 938 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 18 April 2022

It started as a pull in his chest. Kaeya ignored it in the beginning, figuring it was a simple spike of anxiety from the close quarters of the confinement room he and the Spark Knight of the Knights of Favonius were trapped in. Klee took his mind off of it as she told an incomprehensible story about Dodoco and Inazuma.

That was the thing about little kids– they don’t have a great sense of understanding of the world around them. When something happens, it’s hard for them to retell it back to an adult in a manner that makes sense. Klee was no exception to this rule, no matter her title and position within the Knights of Favonius. Kaeya found it entertaining nonetheless. At some point, Yoimiya had helped Dodoco draw a picture… he thinks. Sometimes it was better just to nod and agree as if he understood what was going on.

The ringing in his ears became apparent suddenly without warning. Kaeya couldn’t hear Klee anymore, only able to watch as her mouth moved in continuation of the story. The stone walls seemed to start to move inwards, closing the already tight space of the confinement room. He tried his best to hide his growing panic from Klee, although it was clear he wasn’t doing a good job of it. She looked worried and said something, but he wasn’t able to read her lips due to his blurry eyesight.

Gloved hand pushing against the stone wall, Kaeya attempted to stand up from his previous sitting position in the corner of the room. His muscles instantly began to burn, pulling him forward and backwards at the same time. It felt like all of his internal organs, his flesh and bones included, were trying to burst out of his outer layer of skin. He groaned involuntarily, gritting his teeth against the biting pain.

Kaeya’s knees hit harshly against the floor as he collapsed forward. He could barely see Klee as she was undoubtedly shouting at him or to someone else. His head buzzed like a swarm of bees, effectively shutting off all his senses outside of the feeling. All of that, though, was being occupied by his nervous system.

He pulled at his hair, willing for the pain to stop and for his body to remain still. He was not aware of where he was in the room anymore, his uncovered eye squeezed shut as if it would help reduce his agony. Now, instead of combusting in on itself, his body seemed to want to go downwards. Kaeya didn’t know what was down, other than the damp cave systems already explored and unnoteworthy.

The palms of his hands pushed against his temples, and his breathing had become a pattern of uncomfortable hyperpnea. His entire being still wanted to go down, down where the ground would not give under his weight, so his body was retaliating against the pressure.

It got worse, somehow, when he felt the stinging of his covered eye. A thousand needles prickled against his eye, yet his two hands were already occupied protecting his head. Kaeya couldn’t apply pressure even if he wanted to. 

He was convulsing as he suffered nothing short of torture. Kaeya wasn’t sure how long it went on; it could’ve been a few minutes, an hour, a day. It was all the same to him as his soul tried to break apart every cell that held his body together and tried to scatter the stardust that made up his core being. It was with complete certainty, though, that he did pass out cold in the confinement room. Whether that be during the process of torment or after was of no difference. What mattered was the dreams of a distant life Kaeya’s mind supplied him during his time of unconsciousness.

Kaeya did not have many memories of Khaenri’ah. He was six years old when his life turned upside down, or rather, rightside up. He remembered the destruction the archons had caused as they laid waste to his homeland, but not the halls of the castle he once roamed. It was only during the times of sleep that he could recall what he once had before he was ultimately abandoned.

The past was the past, though. His eye was the only remnant of Khaenri’ah he still retained. Home was not the decimated nation– home was the little girl crying in his arms when he woke up in a comfortable bed. Klee took notice of the consciousness of the Cavalry Captain and immediately launched into a story recounting the events. Unfortunately, he remembered the agony all too well, and phantom pain prickled against his skin.

Home was the red-haired bartender, a man Kaeya still believed to be his brother, looking at him with a completely blank stare in the doorway. Home was the acting grandmaster sitting in a chair by his bed, making unsuccessful attempts at pulling Klee off of Kaeya’s extremely exhausted body. Home was the chief alchemist in a snowy land miles outside of Mondstadt, studying the alchemy that Khaenri’ah once excelled in.

Home was not Khaenri’ah, and Kaeya was okay with that. It did not explain why his body suddenly broke down and his soul attempted to flee his body. It did not explain why his unconscious brain only thought of the nation after the torture. However, not all things need an explanation. Kaeya was content with this information– if he received more in the future, then so be it. If he didn’t, then that was fine as well. As long as he could remain home, nothing else, especially not Khaenri’ah, mattered.

[maddys-nerd-blog]

Maddy’s Top Five Favorite TMNT Episodes from Every Series!

Welcome to my ranking list! My first of many, hopefully! I even spiced things up and made it all fancy with the different font! 😂 god I’m getting old.

A while ago I made a PowerPoint presentation for fun about the history of the TMNT and the franchise. From that point it led to me gaining a spot in a YouTube video series discussing the movies leading up to the premier of Mutant Mayhem, and it’s been one of the best things to happen to me despite the terrible stuff I’ve gone through.

TMNT really saved me at the lowest point of my life in the winter of 2022. It inspired me to go back to Tumblr. I met and befriended incredibly talented people in this fandom. And I’ve found a reason to be happy again because of it. The pain of losing my big sister still aches, and I miss her more each passing day, but I know she’d tell me to get off my ass and do what made me happy.

So for my birthday this weekend, I’ll share this with you guys to celebrate something that brought me joy through all this pain. ❤️‍🩹

Let’s talk turtles! 💙💜❤️🧡

Lemme explain the criteria for this real fast;

The episode had to have come from a current/ up to date show. It has to be fully completed!

The episodes have to catch my interest and the plot needs to be gripping! The angstier the better!

Any of the series episodes are candidates for a win! Except for certain ones that I’d rather not watch 🤣

SPOILERS BEWARE! Cuz… well, I dunno who’s finished the shows and I don’t wanna ruin the surprise for others!

Also, this never would have been possible without @jadethest0ne for inspiring me! Thank you for all you do in the TMNT fandom, your art/ analyses are wonderful!!! Please go give them support!!

Onto the list proper! Starting with the series that started it all: 1987!

The Maltese Hamster ( Season 3 Ep. 4 ) An excellent Donatello solo episode that takes the tone of a detective noir movie, but keeping the fun vibe of the show! Donnie gets to take center stage for once, April gets to use a laser gun, and the shift in tone sets the mood really well! It’s downright harrowing to watch a building collapse on Donnie and see him limping away from the scene in agony, passing out at Irma’s feet, trying to save his brothers despite the odds. Donnie’s my favorite turtle for a reason!

Raphael Meets His Match ( Season 4 Ep. 17 ) The first appearance of Mona Lisa, and I can see why the fans adore this ship so much! The chemistry between Mona and Raph throughout this one episode is really telling of how impactful one character can be to a franchise! Mona is really fun! She’s not just a token ‘girl character’ trope or an archetype, she can handle herself and kick ass alongside the turtles, plus she and Raph have some pretty witty banter together!

Beware The Lotus ( Season 3 Ep. 28 ) The introduction of Lotus Blossom! It’s speculated that the inspiration for Karai came from Lotus! Lotus and Leo had great chemistry together, it's a shame we only got two episodes to spend with her. She really is an interesting character with loads of story potential about finding your place in the world, discovering who you are, changing your destiny to make it what you want. This is me basically saying I am now part of the Lotus Blossom Fan Club.

Cowabunga, Shredhead! ( Season 3 Ep. 18 ) This is one of the fan favorite episodes, and after I watched it for the first time I could not stop laughing. James Avery does his best Mikey impression while playing the over the top Shredder, and everyone just accepts it??? It’s downright genius! The meme material from this one is plentiful!

Michelangelo Meets Mondo Gecko ( Season 5 Ep. 4 ) The introduction of Mondo himself, and he’s got a really cool design! On first viewing I was pleasantly surprised by his unique color scheme and his character! He’s a bad guy that gets a redemption arc by the end of the episode! I was rooting for him the whole time! It was this debut that made me adore Mondo, and he’s since become my favorite mutant character of the franchise!

Honorable Mentions are Donatello’s Duplicate and Turtlemaniac!

Next up is a controversial one, but I gotta be honest… ‘03 isn’t my favorite series for a lot of reasons, but I will admit! When this series had fantastic episodes, they were AMAZING. So I gotta give credit when due and give kudos to these wins!

The Shredder Strikes Back Parts One and Two ( Season 1 Episodes 17-18 ) Nothing really tops how good this show was in the first season, and these episodes take the comic storyline of Leo’s beatdown and bring it to life masterfully. For Leo’s segments of part one it’s spent mostly with no dialogue— the animation and music carrying how serious the scene is as Leo has to fight for his life against the Foot and how desperate he becomes as he grows weaker and weaker. The second episode is non-stop action as the rest of the turtles, Splinter, April and Casey have to fend off the Foot and Shredder as they fight for their lives in the antique shop. This is one of Michael Sinterniklass’s BEST performances as Leo in these episodes. The stakes are higher than ever before, the animation is gorgeous, and everyone gives it their all for this epic mid-season finale.

Same As It Never Was ( Season 3 Ep. 21 ) This is the episode I would tell people to watch if they think TMNT is just kiddie trash.

Bad Blood ( Season 6 Ep. 12 ) Probably the Fast Forward concept I wish got expanded on instead of giving it two standalone stories and dropping it entirely. It’s a cool idea that I wish got touched upon more often because, yeah, what would evil clones of the turtles look like? What kind of abilities could they have? There’s infinite possibilities! I could live without the new catchphrase ‘It's Ninja Time’ though. While Fast Forward is flawed, this episode was the one I thoroughly liked!

Insane in the Membrane ( Season 4 Ep. 19 ) The infamously banned episode, and all I have to say about it is two words. Holy. Shit.

The Real World Part One ( Season 3 Ep. 22 ) Any team-up with Usagi Yojimbo is a good one, and this was such a delight! It’s loosely based on one of the Usagi stories from the comics, and I loved how badass they made both Usagi and Tomoe! Leo and Usagi have great chemistry as always, and you can tell they have a strong bond with one another as warriors! Or boyfriends depending on how you interpret their relationship but honestly I totally see where everyone is coming from, THESE TWO ARE ADORABLE DORKS.

Next up is my all-time favorite incarnation of the franchise, 2012!! I have A LOT to say about so many of the episodes but alas, I could only choose five to discuss. One day… one day I shall make a thesis about it 🤣 for now however, here’s my top five faves from this series!

The Yojimbo Trilogy ( Season 5 Episodes 7-9 ) Oh. My. God. YES. The love letter to Stan Sakai’s comics, the beautiful homage to vintage Japanese cinema with the camera framework and action, and OH MY LORD, THE COLORS AND SHADING DURING USAGI’S FIGHT WITH JAY IN THE FINALE???? THAT’S CINEMA! Excellent voice acting by Yuki Matsuzaki, which was his first English speaking role and personally chosen by Sakai himself to play the ronin rabbit! My only complaint is that I wish we’d gotten more of the Yojimbo characters in here, like Tomoe or Gen! Otherwise I can watch all three of these episodes on repeat and always get excited!

Lone Rat and Cubs ( Season 5 Ep. 10 ) The final appearance of Splinter, the episode Kevin Eastman wrote, and a beautiful send-off to this character. It’s a flashback, yes, but this is the episode we get to see Yoshi adapting to his mutation as a rat, raising his boys, trying to be a good father and struggling to survive from the Krang. It’s a part of his life we rarely ever get to see, and this episode shows us why he was a great father. Basically it's a try not to cry challenge. For me, THIS episode is the series finale because it’s just a perfect conclusion to Splinter and his story.

Requiem/Owari ( Season 4 Episodes 25-26 ) The finale to the overall series, the finale to this overarching story, and it’s just as heartbreaking and suspenseful as you’d expect. The writers don't hold back their punches, and it shows that the gloves have finally come off. The characters we’ve come to love and care for are at their breaking point, the Shredder is the most threatening he’s ever been, and the team decides it’s time to put the monster down for good. Whoever thinks this show was just ‘kiddie trash’ needs to be sat down and shown this two-parter, because GODDAMN. Ciro Nieli treated this with so much care and respect. I cannot help but adore the team who put this together because the stakes have been raised to an all-time high, and the final showdown between Shredder and the turtles here is hair-raising, all reaching its climax when Leonardo finishes Oroku Saki by beheading him. It’s powerful, it’s devastating, and it’s a damn excellent showcase of why this series was the best iteration of the franchise to date.

The Fourfold Trap ( Season 3 Ep. 23 ) Yet another homage to a horror movie, only this time it’s a lot more intense. Based on Saw, this episode makes you sit on the edge of your seat as you can only hope that the turtles will escape the traps Karai’s put them in. It’s all nerve wracking to watch on a first viewing experience, POOR DONNIE OH MY GOD, CAN WE STOP PUTTING THIS BOY IN ELECTROCUTION DEVICES???? He still manages to create a plan to save his brothers even while he’s being electrocuted! Also, SPLINTER IS BEST RAT DAD. This episode will teach you the meaning of ‘angsty dread’ and ‘overwhelming anxiety.’

Trans-Dimensional Turtles ( Season 4 Ep. 10 ) THE TURTLES FOREVER WE DESERVED BUT WE DIDN'T GET UNTIL CIRO NIELI HOOKED US UP WITH THE BEST CROSSOVER WE’VE EVER BEEN BLESSED WITH! The OG turtles are all so much fun to see again both in and out of 2D, Gilbert Godfried is always a delight, the 2012 turtles in traditional 2D animation is awesome, and ALL THE OG VOICE ACTORS ARE HERE AND CLEARLY HAVING THE TIMES OF THEIR LIVES. THE ROB PAULSEN JOKE IS LITERALLY A BLESSING XD I only wish it had been longer!

Honorable Mentions are Slash and Destroy, Pizza-Face, Within the Woods and Mutant Gangland!

And rounding it off is the last— but certainly not least— series, Rise!! I adore this one!! It’s right behind 2012 as my favorite TMNT series just for the stellar animation!! It’s such a shame that this one had to end so unfairly, but today I’m giving it the love it deserves!! Please note that I have yet to complete season two of ROTTMNT cuz my life has been crazy hectic and I haven’t had the time, but once I do, I’ll go back and update this section if I find more episodes I liked!

Raph’s Ride Along ( Season 2 Ep. 8A ) Ummmmmm the 2012 VA’s playing parody versions of their turtles as yokai criminals??? HELL YEAH. If only they got Astin to play a character though! Then we would’ve had a reverse Turtles Forever reunion! I came out of this episode really loving the Mud Dogz as characters and wanting more, especially Dastardly Danny cuz Rob Paulsen is always a win! Too bad this show got canned before we could really get to know these guys. BUT HEY! That’s what the fandom is for! 🤣

Insane in the Mama Train ( Season 1 Episode 25 ) When I watched this series blind, this episode blew my mind. Seeing something so well done had me screaming in joy with how expertly this episode was crafted. The stellar action choreography, the great comedic elements splashed in to lighten the tense mood, the ANIMATION OH MY LORD. Disney, take notes. And that ending leaves a pit in my stomach every time, like OOOOF, those expressions! That sudden tonal swap!

Mystic Library ( Season 1, Ep. 20A ) Probably my favorite comedy episode! The timing for the jokes in this one specifically is so well done, and every single one had me in tears. I’ve been trying to commit Donnie’s library rap to memory but alas, I’ve been failing.

The Clothes Don’t Make The Turtle ( Season 2 Episode 10B ) THIS. MORE OF THIS PRETTY PLEASE. It's just SO MUCH FUN. I really don’t have anything else to say other than this one is a great treat, also, the reanimated fan cut of this is spectacular!!

Snow Day ( Season 1 Ep. 23B ) This, for me, is the Christmas special of the series even though it’s in no way related to the holiday or has anything to do with it BUT I DON’T CARE LET ME DREAM. I love this one for the adorable interactions and the bonding! Seeing the characters goofing off and having fun, enjoying the weather and spending time together outside of the angst? I CRAVE FLUFF LIKE THIS.

And Tada! There it is! I hope you liked this!! It was tons of fun to compile all my favorite episodes into one project and share my thoughts! This fandom has been nothing but fantastic and I’m proud to be in it!

Thank you to all who have inspired me to keep going and pursue my dreams. You guys are great! @queen-with-the-quill @tending-the-hearth @wasted-and-ready @tmnt-tychou @mermmarie @figuringitoutasigoalong @lameboobah @zandiiangelspit @pumpkinpie59 @indieyuugure @angelicdavinci @imagine4000

And thank you to my IRL friends who have pulled me to my feet and supported me. Not only are you guys the best people I know, but I consider you guys family. You really saved me last year. I’m honored to call you my friends 💓

What are your favorite episodes?? Lemme know!! 😁 Maybe I’ll do a movie ranking next!

Cowabunga!! Have a great day!! 💚💚

[bethanydelleman]

Each Jane Austen Hero Writes a “Wentworth Letter”

We all love Wentworth’s famous declaration of love:

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W.

"I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.” Persuasion

What if Austen’s other heroes wrote similar declarations of love?

Charles Bingley to Jane:

(“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.”

“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.” Ch 10)

Fitzwilliam Darcy to Elizabeth:

Scene: Darcy is back in London after not being able to speak to Elizabeth at the Longbourn party (Ch 54). He begins to write Elizabeth a letter

Miss Bennet,

I cannot be a slave to opportunity; I must speak to you by what means are within my reach. Angry and resentful I might have been after we parted in Kent, but that has long since taken a more proper direction. Upon your arrival at Pemberley, my object has been to show you every civility within my power. I have loved none but you. I went to Longbourn to attempt to penetrate your feelings. Please tell me if you feel as your did last April, a word, a look, will be enough to silence me forever.

I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it. You alone have brought me to Netherfield. For you alone, I deliberate and arrange. Have your bright eyes not perceived this? How can your quick understanding not comprehend my wishes? I can hardly write. You are too good to trifle with me. If you do believe in true attachment and constancy among men, believe it most ardent and undeviating-

(The letter is left unfinished as Lady Catherine is announced…)

 Edward Ferrars to Elinor Dashwood:

Scene: Marianne has just noticed the hair ring that Edward is wearing, he lies and says it is his sister’s hair but it is really Lucy Steele’s (S&S, Ch 18). He writes this letter:

Miss E. D.

I can no longer be silent; I must reveal the truth to you that I have hidden for too long. I love you, more completely and wholly than I myself believed possible. Yet, I cannot offer you a heart that is completely your own. Long before you were known to me, I bound myself to another. I am engaged to Lucy Steele and have been these last four years. I know you could not love me if I betrayed my honour and therefore, I must live in agony, without any hope of future happiness. Weak I have been, inconstant I have been, but you are too good, too excellent a creature. I could not help but love you.

I was young and foolish when I proposed to Lucy and I have learned better since. You have taught me what an amiable woman can truly be, but it is too late. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. Why did I come to your home without any hope of securing you as my own? I cannot think and plan, I can only exist in acute misery. I must go, certain of my terrible fate. When next I enter your mother’s house, I fear it will be sealed forever.

Your friend, E. F.

 Colonel Brandon to Marianne Dashwood:

Scene: Marianne is in bed sick and Elinor has requested that Colonel Brandon retrieve Mrs. Dashwood. This letter is written before the horses are ready. (S&S Ch 43)

Miss M. D.

I write this in haste before I depart. You are too ill to be seen or spoken to; I cannot remain in silence so I shall speak to you by what means are within my reach. I love you with all of my soul. Dare not believe that there is no such thing as a second attachment! That I have loved before does not diminish the strength of my affection for you. My love did not have an early death. I would offer myself to you with a heart all your own, despite the tragedy that almost broke it, many years ago. Is it not more wonderful that a fire, extinguished thoroughly by disappointment, may be reignited? Believe when I say that a first flame, alluring as it may be, is little when compared to a deep-rooted admiration.

You alone have brought me to Cleveland, for you alone I hope and plan. Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I can hardly write. I am almost overpowered when I think of how much wrong has been done to you. You are too good, too excellent a creature! I would do you justice. He was never worthy of you- but I shall not dwell on resentment. If you can still believe in true attachment and constancy among men, believe it most fervent, most undeviating in me.

I will go, uncertain of my fate, but I will return. A word, a look, will be enough to decide if I shall remain in your company or quit your society forever.

Yours eternally, Colonel Brandon

 Mr. Knightley to Emma:

Scene: Mr. Knightley is in London, writing a confession of his feelings to Emma, when he finds out that Frank Churchill is engaged to Jane Fairfax.

Emma,

I could no longer listen to you and Mr. Frank Churchill’s flirtations in silence. I went to London to teach myself to forget you. It is impossible. Tell me I am not too late, that your precious feelings are engaged forever. You are too good, too excellent a creature- perfect in spite of your imperfections! I would not have stayed away these ten days if I thought you indifferent to him. I can hardly write. I cannot imagine Hartfield without you.

He is engaged to Miss Fairfax? Abominable scoundrel! He has deceived us all, but you will hear nothing but truth from me. Shall time heal the wound? Do I have hope of succeeding -

(Mr. Knightley put down his pen and ordered his horse instead, despite the rain)

 Edmund Bertram to Mary Crawford:

Scene: Edmund is visiting London where he sees Mary Crawford several times in large groups. He writes this the next day.

Miss Crawford

You pierce my heart! I can go on no longer in silence. Your friends are wrong. They are completely unaware of the nature of love. Every word they say oppressing me- do not say that happiness is based in fortune. Do not think that mercenary goals are virtuous! If only I could detach you from these mercenary and ambitious friends! They are corrupting you and encouraging your weakness of character. You were better at Mansfield, everything proper and caring as a sister. The habits of wealth and luxury are too strong here in London. Only you would have brought me here. I can hardly write; I am every instant remembering something which makes me grave. You do us no justice! There is true attachment and constancy among men.

You are the only woman in the world whom I could ever think of as a wife. I offer myself to you with a heart completely your own. Tell me that I am not too late; I regret every day that I did not come to the point before you left the Parsonage. Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I have loved none but you.  For you alone, I think and plan. Can you accept the house I mean to fit up for you and the income that will furnish such a second son? I live between hope and agony. I will go to Mansfield, uncertain of my fate.

Edmund Bertram

 Henry Tilney to Catherine:

Henry is never uncertain of Catherine’s affection, so this one is just for fun.

Scene: Henry has just arrived at Fullerton and is listening to Catherine argue with her brother (not James, a different one) about whether men or women love the longest. Basically, the same conversation Wentworth overhears Anne and Harville having. He cannot join in because he lost his voice.

Catherine,

I can no longer listen in silence. I need to be a part of this conversation. If only I had not lost my voice! This is agony! I have so many helpful examples to bring to the discussion. You cannot comprehend how disagreeable it is to be silent. I am every instant hearing something for which I have a rebuttal. Why is no one bringing up Romeo and Juliet? That is a true example of how both sexes can feel passionate love. And Cordelia’s love for her father in King Lear, another excellent example of woman’s constancy in the face of opposition. But you just dismissed the Bard’s entire compendium and all literature in general; it could have really helped your argument. More robust than women? Does he not consider what your mother has endured? You know how very highly I think of all the women in the world, especially those with whom I happen to be in company. Never mind, I shall survive. I am capable of not contributing.

I am slightly worried from your manner of speaking that you are doubtful of my love for you. Too good, too modest a creature! Catherine, you alone have brought me to Fullerton (really, what else could?). I am bound to you by both honour and affection. I would not have waited these two hours but that your brother will not leave us alone. I offer myself to you with a heart all your own. You must be made aware, however, that my father does not approve and I have told him my feelings explicitly. That was the cause of my voice failing. For you alone I ranted and stormed.

I know that your heart is mine, but if you wish to assure me of that fact, it can never be repeated too often. I shall sit quietly now, certain of my fate.

Yours affectionately, Henry

[iliketodecompose]

tag game 🫧

thank u b @cankersoregirl for the tag :-3 heehee

1. why did you choose your url?

it's a hobby of mine.... i am the rotting corpse she told u not to worry abt

2. any sideblogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

NOPE. all in on this one babey. u have to put up w Everything

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

this blog! april 2021. that was when i came back to tumblr properly after like 3 years lol.

4. do you have a queue tag?

noperino

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

uhhh i wanted to leave mxtx twitter lol. i was on there at the height of the agonies. it was fun but it's easier to curate ur experience here lmfao. my first ever post was a rb of a hua cheng fancast!! awesome

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

i lov jellycat, i lov bnuy, i love pinmk. it's me i look like that.

7. why did you choose your header?

i love the eighth sense!!! and episode 6 has some of my fav colouring/shots in any show. so. one of the Classics. :)

8. what is your post with the most notes?

me going to war over the choice to not see li ming & heart kiss in moonlight chicken. i saw some ppl being rlly weird over it like .. there r 2 other adult pairings that kiss and also fuck. u don't need to see the minors kiss it's fine calm down. i was 17 when i posted it i think, so myself a minor. JUST. i don't think it's necessarily weird to see actors who r minors kiss? but if the decision was made to not show the audience here then i think that's also fine. i think it's hardly Censoring when, AGAIN, two other adult couples kiss and fuck. yea. im still pissed i think lmfao.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

idk! 6/7? :)

10. how many followers do you have?

;;)))) i like being mysterious

11. how many people do you follow?

196 lol

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

obvi

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

at least twice/3 times a day. i've been trying to limit myself to how much time i spend online lol.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

yes abeit a small one in the comments of my moonlight chicken post. i think of them and seethe.

15. how do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

so gross!!! lol!!! i hate them

16. do you like tag games?

YESSSS WHEEEEEE

17. do you like ask games?

i love playing and having fun yes

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

hm....... i shan't say ;)

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

romantically no. platonically yes. <3 LOL

20. tags?

anyone who sees this post n wants to :))))) hehe. u can say i tagged u.

[tiny-buzz]

Sneak Peek at the Hottest Hot Sauce Names in 2019 😤👺🍗

- Wild Dog Presents: Angry Sauce

- Jon Hamm Has A Hot Sauce

- How's THIS for a hot take?"

- Jackass 2.5 DVD Extras The Sauce

- War of 1812: the hot sauce

- Sean Spicer Presents: Spicer's Cinnamon Sauce

- Nero's Fiddle Roman Fire Sauce

- Stinkin' Dave's "Pain = Good" Kentucky/Louisiana Hot Sauce

- Radiohead presents a concept sauce. pay what you want.

- It Will Be A Beautiful Day When The Air Force Has To Hold A Bakesale To Buy A Stealth Bomber And The School's Of America Get All The Hotsauce They Need (Garlic Edition)

- Big Butthole Bitter Bomb

- Christ is Risen and his Butthole is on FIRE! Fat Pete's Stanky Wanky 5-Alarm

- Uncle Pete's Burnin' Fire Angel Flamewar Sauce, (Nuclear Level: 5 out of 5): "Hold onto your butts!!!"

- John Cena's Five Alarm Ass Habañerocaust

- Lance Stephenson's Fireball Bucket Juice

- Buggy Bottom’s Ass Plaster

- Uncle Butthole's Nuclear Flamewar

- Señor Dave’s Poopchute Ruination

- The UNAUTHORIZED David Koresh Crucible Juice

- Uncle Eternal Torture's Flaming Holesauce

- Stinky Jim's Diarrhea Elixir

- Cousin Blitzkrieg's Bayou Assblast

- Unkle Stinkball's Bottled Butt Genocide 18+

- Barfing Randy's Bottled Felony

- This Sauce Kills Fascists . . . And Kids Under 18!!

- Ernest Goes To Your Rectum

- Roaste Sheene of Beaffe with a divers assortatione of well dressed Egge Yolkes in Syruppeh with kidnee of rabiit seasoned with Coriander, Graines of Paradise imported Aprille last on the good ship Gallante Turde from the Dutch Easte Indies and a sauce of Butthole Agonie prepared bye thee selfsame Reverend AssBlaste

- Miss Behavin’ III, the hot sauce

- El Diablo Crybaby Butthole Sauce

- Fayre Winds II: The Santa Ana Private Reserve Boathole Flamewar

- M'Lord, Your Anal Hellscape Kingdom Awaits

- Tower Defense Game but the pathway is your colon and the invaders are our patented 18+ only ID-required Schedule 1 hot sauce.

- "Put This In Your Butthole And Smoke It"

- Hootie and the Butthole Fissure

- Winking Devil Colon Hell Safari

- Buffalo Pete's Wing Sauce

[killed-by-choice]

“Sandra Roe,” 18 (USA 1971)

The teenager known only as Sandra Roe was one of many killed by New York’s early legalization of abortion. Her case is especially sad— and a stark reminder of the exploitation and negligence of the abortion industry.

Sandra thought she was in the first trimester when she paid for a surgical abortion in New York. She came to the abortion facility for her appointment on April 15, 1971. The facility either didn’t adequately examine her first or didn’t allow her to see her own test results.

Mental health problems after abortion are real and well-documented. Sandra suffered from severe trauma and talked about her crippling guilt, telling people she’d killed her baby. She needed immediate help that an abortion facility would never give to her.

After enduring three days of psychological agony, Sandra killed herself on April 18, 1971.

A report published in a medical journal later told Sandra’s story, including the truth she was never told. A critical fact that would have changed everything was withheld from Sandra, even when she should have been told this from the start.

Sandra had not been correctly examined or tested before the abortion. After her death, the pathology results came back showing that either she had been lied to or the abortion facility was incompetent enough to miss a crucial fact.

She was never pregnant to begin with.

“Maternal Mortality Associated With Legal Abortion in New York State: Jul. 1, 1970 – Jun. 30, 1972; Berger, Tietze, Pakter, Katz, Obstetrics and Gynecology, 43:3, March 1974, 321

[rpxgifs]

[ kathryn newton | she/her | 23/24 ]  rumor has it that SLOANE PALMER has been seen wandering around town. they are a VAMPIRE/WOLF who is one of the RESURRECTED. they are known to be ARGUMENTATIVE but deep down they are REALISTIC. when it comes to the brewing conflict in new orleans they’re on the side of THE MASQUERADE

Name: Sloane Joelle Palmer Age: 23/24 Birthday: April 19, 1986 Species: Vampire/Werewolf Gender: Cisfemale Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Bisexual Hair color: Blonde Eye Color: Blue

Family:

unnamed older half sister

mirabella tanner ( half sister )

devin tanner ( brother-in-law )

oakley tanner ( niece )

aspen tanner ( niece )

ryan tanner ( nephew )

Sloane was born the youngest of the family and the only child from both of her parents’ second marriages.

Sloane had a fairly normal childhood, with the exception of her dad disappearing once a month under the guise of having to work late. Being a daddy’s girl, Sloane tried to stay up and wait for him, but he wouldn’t come home until the next day. 

Her suspicions began to grow as the kids grew older and started telling stories of the creatures that walked the night, the wolves that hunted children on a full moon. She realized that her dad would get called into work even on the weekends. And he wouldn’t take his work badge, but only took a duffel bag he kept in the garage.

One night, at the age of 11, she decided to sneak into the back of his car to see where he was going and found herself at an abandoned warehouse. It was that night that she would learn of her werewolf heritage.

Since that night, Sloane asked her father to tell her all about being a werewolf and it was no longer a secret of the family. Even her human mother and half sister knew. Sloane learned everything there was to know about the world of the supernatural over the years.

It was at the age of 18 that Sloane triggered her curse and from that moment on, she was destined to turn at every full moon. Each one became harder than the next as she began to dread the agony that she knew she was about to experience as every bone in her body broke For five years Sloane went through that torture month after month.

Sloane was grateful for the community that being a wolf and the month transition had created, but having people around who knew the pain didn’t make it any easier. One night, Sloane was told of an opportunity that one of her friends had taken to avoid the threat of transitioning every full moon. That was all she needed to hear and she was in. She didn’t care what the catch was as long as she didn’t have to transition ever again if she didn’t want to.

But we all know that being one of Klaus’ hybrids could never be that simple. Sloane underestimated just how powerful the sire bond was and each time she tried to fight it and each time she failed. When news of the ability to break the sire bond reached Sloane, she was initially hesitant as the main reason she became a hybrid was to avoid turning. And the only way to break the sire bond was to do exactly that over and over again.

Ultimately, the lack of free will got to Sloane and she joined all the other hybrids of Klaus in breaking their bonds and eventually met her untimely end when Klaus learned of the packs’ betrayal and slaughtered each and every one of them.

[transgender-daemon-faerie]

Hey I’m sorry but I’m going to do this on main. Usually I would save venting for my private blog but I can’t this time.

Tw ⚠️⚠️ death, drugs, overdose, grief, loss of a family member, heroine, suicide mention, mental health⚠️ ⚠️

I’m sorry if this gets through your filtering, I tried to be as thorough with trigger warnings as I could.

18 days ago, my brother died. Or rather, 18 days ago they found his body. They aren’t really sure how long he was dead before they found him.

He died of a heroine overdose. He was in active addiction for a long time. It wasn’t suicide, but it might as well have been.

I last saw my brother when I was 7 years old. In April of 2011. And for thirteen years I have wished I got to say goodbye. But due to circumstances outside of either of our control, I left the state with my biological parents who did not bother to tell him we were leaving. He didn’t find out until we were hours down the road.

Ensuing events lead to me being adopted, and discouraged from speaking to anyone from my life before that for safety reasons. Despite my arguments otherwise, my brother was lumped in that group. He was 12 years older than me, already an adult.

It is not lost on me that I am now the age that he was when I was adopted.

A large part of me resents my parents in light of this. I resent my biological parents, for causing us to be separated, for being the reason I had to be adopted, for being a huge part of the reason my brother was an addict in the first place. I resent my adoptive parents for not allowing me to seek him out sooner, for fearing my brother who did nothing wrong. There will always be a part of me that wonders if it might have helped him if I had found him sooner.

I know that a huge part of his addiction was caused by poor mental health. The life he was raised in was worse even than mine. Our birth father was in active addiction when my brother was young. Our birth father was the one who introduced him to drugs. His parents were divorced, and neither home was ideal to live in. Living with his father, he got to see his younger siblings. But he also had to deal with his father and stepmother (my birth mother) who were horrible parents. Losing connection with 3 of his siblings caused him to cut the two of them almost entirely out of his life.

I know that he had a long term partner, who struggled with many of the same things he did. She died of an overdose several years ago. They say that after she died, he was never the same. He actively struggled with suicidal ideation for many years. He gave up on life. He saw his mom and other siblings occasionally. But frequently, he hid from them so that they would not see him in active addiction. He believed it was best to protect them from himself.

I started looking for him last October. By then, it was too late. He had stopped going online or speaking to anyone he knew. No one could reach him to tell him I was looking for him.

For years, I have grieved the loss of the years I should have had with my brother. The milestones we should have seen each other reach. I used to lie awake at night, sobbing, and write him letters that I had no way to send. Just to get the feeling out of my body. So many of my friends never heard me talk about him, because doing so brought me close to tears. I have never stopped loving my brother or waiting for the day I would see him again.

That day will never come. He’s ashes now. His mom will give me some of them, and I will wear them. This grief will never leave me.

This feeling, that I have felt for the past 18 days is agony. There is a hole in my chest and a pit in my stomach. I constantly feel on the verge of tears.

I mourn my brother. I mourn the life he should have gotten to live. I mourn the relationship that was torn away from us. I mourn the experiences we did not get to share. My sweet brother, who loved so fiercely, who was wild and brave. My brother whose eyes are just the same shape as mine.

I do not know how to live with this grief. I feel that it is tearing me apart. I don’t know how it isn’t written across my very body, this breaking.

[sollunauniverse]

April 22, 2024

I woke up at 7 am, and that is an accomplishment these days. Poor young me, would not like that. I dreamt of being more than what I am now. I am 21, my hobby is bed rotting, watching mindless short clips, and crying at every random sad songs and movie lines. And that what annoys me the most is that I am not really proud of what I have become. Seeing this account made me feel like I had aspirations to keep going and that even then, I was disappointed with myself. I thought the 18 year old me was happy. But, I guess this has been my mood all the freaking years. Now what changed? Why am I more angry and disappointed with myself? Maybe it's because I am becoming more self-aware. I know what I should improve. I know how to do it. I know I should not prolong this agony. I know I should start working on myself before it is too late. But bad news, I do not have any inch of drive or itch or whatever it is that will knock me out of this bad bad dream.

I think sometimes I fear that I am just trapped in a bad bad dream. These days, when I feel so heavy or when I feel like situations cannot be this bad. I do not used to feel this constant grief or anxiety. I pinch myself lightly (coz' I'm too afraid to feel in pain) and slap my face. But honey this is my life. My life right now is constantly worrying, and feeling burnout. Instead of finishing my tasks, I cry, eat, watch, sleep. repeat. again. I am constantly running from inconvenience or pain or having to think. I am not proud of this. I used to be more. I used to be happy. How will I find fulfillment in something I no longer enjoy? Why can't I stop bitching about how hard it is to study?Why cant I stop obsessing about him? How can I accept and find peace with Papa being dead. How can I find peace with living like I do not like who I am? How do you piece yourself back together? How can I go back in the past and just enjoy how things were before?

I'd make sure to never let myself go. I'd make sure to love you right the way you needed before. I'd make sure my father would know how much I love him.

[serynitea]

Thursday April 18, 2024

Sleep: Slept around 6 Hours last night. I'm going insane. Guys help me. I can't take this anymore. Please... End this agony. End this pian. Help me. HELP ME......

Ate: Ate a danish and had an iceblendz at BruinBuzz for breakfast. I had lunch with Ms. Trinity Ho, we got chicken tendies at Lu Valle (they were nasty) Ms. Ellie Yun then bought me a protein bev and i slurped it up. Yum. Then had din din with ms emma le at epicuria. slay

What I did today: I woke up today with ringing in my ears. I climbed down, fell off my ladder. My head hit the wall. And I knew I was falling down. I shattered my leg on the carpet floor. My head bleeding. JK .... MWAH :kiss: NO BWALLZZZ!!!

Rating of Day: 6/10 really fun but so damn fucked for my MATH 32A QUIZ HELPPP

Time Stamp: 8:17 pm

[gentlemyosotis]

Aphrodite April days 18/19/20

18. Which aspect of Aphrodite do you connect with or work with the most? I think honestly, it’s a mixture of her as the goddess of love and her connection to the ocean. I’ve mentioned it a lot in the past posts but those are the aspects of her that I usually give offerings to.

19. Share a poem/lyrics/quote that reminds you of Aphrodite?

“You’re a lighthouse, guiding me home And I’m sailing the waves that will crash on the stone”

and from the same song;

“Send me a lullaby, gods up above End my own agony delivered from love-”

-It’s You, It’s Me, It’s Us by Reinaeiry

20. In honor of the New Moon, what’s something new you’d like to bring into your worship of Aphrodite? I’m not sure. I’ve not been able to do much worship, so maybe just more worship in general, to be honest!

More about Aphrodite April: https://www.tumblr.com/teawiththegods/713372040686665728/happy-aphrodite-april-my-sweet-starlings?source=share

[kafkaesque-philocalist]

Confessions in April

I can still remember the knee jerk reaction I’d had when a man named Daniel texted me if I wanted to hangout that Saturday. I’d just broken up with my previous boyfriend turned missionary the week before and thought why not date around, it’s not serious or anything, right? Daniel was good looking and we’d had the same interests so it couldn’t hurt; besides he was my exes’ brother’s friend so I should be able to trust him. Even with the knot forming in my gut, I said yes. It was every single day he’d bring me to his house and try to convince me have sex. I was so naive as an 18 year old, I honestly believed that when you say no it meant no. How foolish of me! 

Staring at the stormy carpet in the low lit office of my therapist, I told her about a writing challenge I thought would help me come to terms with that day in November. She said she loved that idea, it’d allow me a good space to finally see where I was with everything. She also wanted to see what I wrote to make sure I didn’t ruminate too much. We both didn’t want a repeat of what happened when hypnosis came up a couple weeks prior.

Like all good things in this modern era, I’d found BookLeaf Publishing’s Write Your Heart Out challenge on Instagram among the selfies and Elf makeup ads. For it, participants had to write a poem each day for 20 days which they would then publish, specifying that they would need a payment of $50 beforehand. Days earlier I’d put in my 2 weeks at FedEx without a backup job in the works at the advice of my family and therapist, and would very soon not have an income. Sitting in the four grey corners of my room on the white island of my bed I thought. My mental health had taken a turn for the worst after a date at a guy's house months prior. With my limited money, was it worth spending that much on such a luxury? Was the thought of showing the world my story worth possibly getting scammed?

Yes.

The last day to register was May 12, 2021 giving me breathing room between my last day and the start of the challenge to think. Days felt like years during that period, forcing my mind to relive the moments I’d blocked off for months for the artistic cause of writing my pain. I thought a lot about the times I told him no and that I didn’t want to the entire week prior to the event. Much like when I’d gotten into therapy earlier that year, I self-isolated. And yet writing during the competition was so much worse psychologically.

That competition was the first time in all my years of writing that I did not want to face my agony. The faces of my cousins saying their last goodbyes to their brother after he’d shot himself, my struggles with self harm, watching my sister’s battle depression, I wrote all of it with a fire only those truly alive have. It wasn’t fiery or venomous; instead it was days of locking doors and abrupt panic attacks. Every time I tried to write it head on, I managed to find myself in the bathtub trying to shut every little thought off.

It was after having a friend of mine review some of them that I really put into perspective what I wanted. For months I’d lived in the shadow of the assault, so scared of this new title I’d now have to adorn. I remember him messaging me, telling me that just because I’d finally opened up this wound doesn’t mean the world was entitled to it, especially if it triggered me to the point of sickness. I knew he was right. With his suggestion I focused on looser and free floating topics. The expression of my mental health as a young adult, pressure to go on and marry, failed relationships, and agency. 

After I’d written and submitted 21 poems, BookLeaf compiled all of them digitally, then asked me what I wanted the cover art to look like and the title. The amount of pacing I did that entire day, I’m surprised I didn’t burn down the house from the friction. Much like the text message, the title suddenly popped into my head: my birthday. April was my birthday month and coincidentally the same month I started therapy that eventually led to me writing the poetry book. 19 was also the age I turned that year, marking yet another chapter in my young adult life; it was perfect. 19 in April became a symbol of my metamorphosis from blind youth to somewhat of an emotionally stable adult. What happened didn’t have to define me, no one thing had to define me in fact; I was free in that moment. 

I like to think that I’ve grown out of my edginess, that I’ve learned how to deal with some of the worst tragedies an individual can in their lifetime. Reading 19 in April even today I can still trace my fingers against each poem and find some semblance of understanding. Every word, every phrase no matter how amateur and flimsy was a testament to a girl finding herself in the wreckage of her life once again. I felt pain, betrayal, a loss of identity and still chose to express it through writing and eventually turn it into peace. I never made money from it- I didn’t expect to in the first place- finally having everything out in the open and bare for the world to see was the best feeling I’ve ever had. If writing has taught me anything, it’s that life is a constant bittersweet symphony of events. When I imagine a stormy carpet, I no longer shed a tear.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Day 18: Alt 7: Edges

Undeserved

Warnings: Captivity, torture, restrained, gagged, blood, knives, wishing for death (to escape torture), language

This is part of a series. If you haven't, I suggest starting at Day 1.

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Damien was awake when the door to his cell opened. He was still sitting against the wall, because it made breathing slightly less unbearable. His head snapped up and he stared at the corner, shielding the door from his view. Perhaps it was someone else. The keys on a ring jingled. Another guard, to bring him some water. Footsteps sounded on the hard floor. Perhaps the queen had returned earlier, and they came to get him. Something heavy was put down. Perhaps… perhaps… please, anyone, anything other than this Gaston coming back.

Of course he wasn’t this lucky.

The moment Damien recognized Gaston, the breath he had held escaped him with a quiet whimper. Ignoring the pain stabbing in his side, he pulled his legs closer, trying to shrink into his corner. There was no strength left in him to pretend he wasn’t absolutely terrified.

“Did you miss me?” Gaston asked. He walked into the middle of the cell, then paused to look at Damien. “I personally lay awake half of the night, thinking of all the possibilities.” He continued his way to the wall, brushing his hand over the chains hanging there. “Unfortunately the fact that they want you alive,” he said, unlocking one of the chains and pulling it down, “severely limits my options. Get over here.”

Damien didn’t move. He couldn’t move. All he could do was stare at the chain in Gaston’s hand, eyes wide in horror.

“Get over here, or I swear by the Seven, I will break every bone in your body and then drag you here myself.”

Fuck, there was no doubt he’d do just that. Perhaps not all of them. That surely wasn’t compatible with ‘want you alive’. But there were enough bones that could be broken without killing him. Damien shivered as he reached out, trying to find some spot on the rough stone floor to hold onto. There was no way he’d manage to stand up and walk. When he pulled himself forward, weakly pushing his legs against the wall, the pain in his side flared up. It almost made him sink to the ground, but he clenched his teeth, forced himself to continue. The wall at his back kept him from falling over as he made his way across the cell. It was harder to push himself forward, now that he was away from the corner. It was just as hard to drag himself forward, when every bit of weight put on his trembling arm seemed to tear his side apart.

He had barely made it when Gaston bent down and grabbed his forearm. Damien yelped at the pain in his side as his arm was yanked above his head. Gaston linked the chain to the magic suppressing shackle around his wrist, then looped the other end though one of the rings embedded in the wall. As he pulled on it, Damien’s arm was lifted. He shuffled closer to the wall, trying desperately to keep up. Way too soon he couldn’t possibly get any closer, but the chain kept lifting his arm higher and higher. 

“Almost,” Gaston said, sounding way, way too keen. 

A sharp tug on the chain lifted Damien’s left hip off the floor. He screamed, scrambling to try and keep the weight off his strained shoulder. He moved one leg beneath the other in the hopeless attempt to lift himself up a bit. It was barely enough. The shackle still cut into his skin, his side still pulsed with pain, but at least he wasn’t solely hanging on his wrist anymore. He craned his neck, trying to see if he could grab the chain, to hold himself up. His fingers twitched uselessly, barely scraping the metal. Fuck, fuck, he couldn’t reach it. Tears of frustration and pain welled in his eyes as he tried again. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to get a bit higher, in the desperate hope he’d manage to reach something. He didn’t. After a few seconds his strength left him and he dropped down with a pained groan. The edge of the shackle was already sinking deep into his wrist. He couldn’t take the pressure off it, couldn’t possibly stretch himself any further.

“Beautiful. And we haven’t even started.”

Gaston’s voice made Damien’s head snap back. His eyes widened as he saw the knife in the man’s hand. It was placed on his chest, above the collar of his shirt, the tip barely touching his skin.

“No, no, please… 

“Shut the fuck up.”

Damien managed to stay quiet as Gaston grabbed his shirt, lifting it. He managed to only whimper quietly as the knife cut through the fabric, splitting it in half. He even managed to do nothing but take sharp, gasping breaths as Gaston tapped the knife on his chest. Left, right, left, right, just pressing the edge of the blade against bruised skin. But when he paused, when the pressure increased, when blood welled up in the cut, Damien couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Please.” His chest heaved in a desperate sob. “Please, don’t.”

Gaston lifted the knife. There was nothing reassuring about this gesture. Damien didn’t believe for even one moment he’d suddenly listen to his pleas. He tried to blink against the tears in his eyes, so he could watch Gaston grab the left half of his shirt, stretching it. With a quick motion, Gaston cut through it, hacking away at the resistance at the hem. Then he placed the knife on the ground, holding the fabric with both hands.

“Open your mouth.” 

No. Fuck no. Damien pressed his lips shut, knowing that the defiant glare he hoped for would look more terrified than anything else. Like fuck he would.

“I said…” Damien saw the punch coming. There was nothing he could do about it. Gaston’s fist sank into his stomach, cutting off his scream and leaving him gasping for air for one second. Then his fingers were on his mouth, forcing it open, pushing the fabric in. “Open your fucking mouth. Was that so hard?”

Damien started to choke as the rough material touched the back of his throat. He tried to turn his head away, but Gaston pressed him against the wall, pushing the gag further in, forcing his jaws apart. For a short, terrifying moment, he thought it might even block his airways. Damien’s heart was beating up to his throat, eyes wide in panic. Fuck, he couldn’t even swallow past that thing. He tried to calm down, to relax his tongue, to fucking breathe. 

His efforts were in vain when the knife returned, pressing into the soft skin on the underside of his jaw.

“If you spit it out, I’ll cut your tongue out instead. Understood?”

Damien couldn’t reply; he couldn’t even nod. All he could do was whimper as the knife nicked his skin, hoping desperately that it would sound like agreement. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t!

It seemed to be enough for Gaston, who lowered the knife, continuing to cut where he had left off. This time Damien couldn’t even scream. The pain left him shaking, breaking out in sweat at the absolute wrongness of cold metal splitting his skin. Gaston cut from his chest down to his stomach, twisting the knife quickly before lifting it. The cut wasn’t deep, but it burned in the cold dungeon air. 

Then the knife was back, resting on the left side of his chest. The pressure increased. Skin broke. Gaston drew three short lines, deeper this time, cutting into muscle. They bled more. The drops ran down Damien’s bare chest, making him shiver. He leaned his head against his strained arm, staring straight ahead. Trying not to see Gaston’s gleeful expression as he soaked up every pained gasp, every choked sob Damien couldn’t suppress. There was no point in fighting it. No point in trying to fight the tears blurring his vision, either.

Through the thin fabric of his shirt Damien could feel the edge of every single stone at his back. He shivered, pressing against it, as if he could somehow manage to get away from the blade, leaving another burning trail on his chest. 

Please.

The word died in his throat, muffled by the gag choking him. The knife slid over one of his ribs, splitting skin, drawing blood. Damien screamed.

Please stop. Please, please, stop this.

There were no words, leaving his lips, and no mercy to be found. For what felt like hours, Gaston carved one line after the other into Damien. Burying the tip of the knife into the muscles of his shoulders and stomach. Splitting skin in long, paper thin cuts. Scraping metal over bone. Making him scream and cry and fight to breathe through the pain. In between Gaston paused, watching Damien twist in agony, only teasing the skin with the tip of the knife, not breaking it.

It was worse on the left side of his body, where most of his bruises were. Purple skin split to reveal crimson blood as Gaston dragged the knife all the way from Damien’s shoulder to his navel. Damien made the mistake of looking down, squeezing his eyes shut in the desperate attempt to fight back the bile rising in his throat. He leaned his head against the wall, trying to breathe, to breathe, to breathe. It had become difficult as his tears clogged his nose and soaked the gag. Blood was running down his arm as well. The useless struggle had left his wrist rubbed raw and his fingers numb.

Please… Please just kill me. The knife dug between two ribs, slicing across Damien’s side. The metal tip grating along the bone made Damien shiver. Please, press it in a bit deeper and end this.

Of course he didn’t. Not with this cut, and neither with any of the ones that followed.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?” The knife twisted in the shallow cut it had caused, scratching against Damien’s left collarbone. “I have other things to do now.” Damien didn’t have any breath left to scream. He barely managed to keep breathing as the knife was dragged along towards the middle of his chest. “Fortunately we’ll have all week to continue this.” 

A week. He wouldn’t survive another hour of this. Despair gave Damien enough strength to struggle against the chain. It didn’t give in. Of course it didn’t. All his efforts were good for was letting new blood run down his arm. Damien’s shoulder burned in agony as he had to give up, his head dropping to the side with a desperate, defeated sob.

Gaston paused, studying Damien’s face. His nose was stuffed, his eyes swollen from all the crying, even though his tears had dried up a while ago. He could only breathe through his mouth, taking small, panicked gasps past the tear-soaked gag. Whatever Gaston saw, it made him smile and he lifted the knife; lifted it to Damien’s face, pressing the flat side of it against his cheek. He wiped off the blood that had not yet dried, smearing it across Damien’s cheek and into his beard. Then he got up, to reach for something at the wall. 

Damien screamed as the chain holding him was unhooked. His arm slumped down, setting his shoulder on fire. Gaston pulled the chain back through the metal ring, then tugged on it, making Damien fall forward. He tried to somehow keep the balance, to not use the stump of his right arm to catch himself. His left arm was pulled toward another metal ring, this one embedded in the floor. Gaston locked the chain to it, with barely any room for Damien to move. Damien stared at his hand, trying to ball his fingers into a fist. He couldn’t even feel them.

“And here.” Gaston shoved something into the cell from behind the corner to the entrance. A bucket, filled probably, with how heavy it sounded as it was pushed over the floor. A small thing followed, becoming clearer as Damien blinked the tears in his eyes away. A piece of bread. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought of finally getting something to eat. Gaston pushed both in the middle of the room, staring straight at Damien as he did so. “Enjoy.” Then he turned around and left. 

The sound of the cell door closing, of it being locked again, made Damien sob with relief.

Tagging: @villainsvictim​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​ @dont-touch-my-soup​ @teamwhump​