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dancingdonatello · 8 months

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ello,, Can i see a donnie x reader where reader has some (concerning) self worth issues 💀

basically a fic where reader gets badly injured trying to save donnie, and when they wake up Donnie’s like “bro why would you do that” and reader is like “donnie, you have an actual life ahead of you. you’re great, you, you are everything! but i, i am nothing. I’m useless, and I’m no worth to you guys. but you’re so amazing-“ and Donnie’s just watching like 😨

donatello x gn reader

Waking up to angry dark brown eyes boring into yours was honestly pretty scary.

But having a sharp pain travel through your body when you jolted in shock was even scarier.

“Ow—What?” You melted onto the soft bed you were on, confused. You looked around, finding yourself in Donnie’s bed. There was a white towel under you, stained with blood but protecting his sheets from it. “Huh?”

“Sorry I couldn’t take you to a hospital,” he said dryly, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to see a giant turtle drop off a half alive human.”

He seemed angry. You shrank back into the mattress, staring at him warily.

What could have happened to make him this mad? You thought quickly, avoiding his piercing gaze.

“Um…”

And then you remembered.

Oh. That was why. You shrunk further into the mattres, even going as far as to grab a pillow to shield yourself from him. He ripped it out of your grasp and threw it behind him.

You grabbed another. He threw it again. This happened one more time before you ran out of pillows.

“Well? Anything to say for yourself?” He crossed his arms and you winced.

“Look—” You tried to sit up but he pushed you back down onto your back.

“Don’t. Lay there.”

Even when you nodded meekly, his hand didn’t leave you. Instead, it travelled to your arm and held it.

“Now. Explain yourself.”

“Well… I mean, if you were… taken down, then who would fight? I’m not a good fighter. But since I took your place, you could still fight!”

“But you got hurt.” His shoulders tensed. You could hear his foot tapping the ground.

“I would’ve got hurt if you got hurt, too. I’d be next after they got done with you. It was the right thing to do.”

“You could’ve ran.”

You sighed. “Don, think of it logically…”

His eyes flashed. “I don’t think logically when it comes to you.” His hold tightened on you before he let go of you and folded his arms over his chest. “I can’t think logically when it comes to you.”

You stared at him, a little bit in awe, as he looked off to the side as the skin on his face darkened.

You slowly opened your arms and he grabbed you again, pressing himself into every spot of yours that didn’t hurt. “Don’t you ever do that again!” he growled into your ear, but it didn’t sound as menacing as before. Especially with how he kissed you afterwards. Softy.

#rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #donatello x you #donatello hamato x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise tmnt x reader

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

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Can we please have dad Pierre

Celeste giggled and held her blanket to her chest while she walked into her parents bedroom. Smiling when she was able to open the door, she walked towards Pierre's side, her father lying with one arm hanging out of the duvet cover, prompting her to reach her arm out and tap his arm.

"Mmmpf", he mumbled and slowly opened his eyes, gasping when he was meet with a pair of identical ones to his own, "Chérie, what are you doing?" he asked, leaning up on one elbow and frown as he noticed it was nowhere near get up time. "How did you out of your crib, little angel?", he asked more himself.

The little girl blushed and looked down at her blanket, the rainbown pattern seemingly way more interesting, "Climbed out, papa", she tried to whisper but it came out as an excited shriek, and Pierre couldn't find it in himself to be mad at her when he saw her happy smile and heard the proudness in her voice.

You stirred in your sleep, making him look quickly over to your side and make sure you were still asleep. Looking back at his daughter who was leaning against the bed, big blue eyes looking at him full of hope, "Do you want a cuddle with papa?", he asked smiling, "but we have to be quiet so we don't wake mama up".

Celeste nodded and climbed on the mattres, using Pierre's arm to pull herself up and then laying down near his chest, "Sweet dreams, Celeste," he whispered, placing a hand on her back and kissing her forehead as the little girl drifted off to sleep.

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

#pierre gasly blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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lookinghalfacorpse · 1 year

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ttdtn extra scene 1 (?)

honestly surprised that i haven’t written any extra scenes for ‘the trees deny themselves nothing’ yet! everything has just kinda fit inside the main fic.

i’ll be honest, idk if this will be an extra scene or if it will be part of the sequel. so, if it’s part of the sequel, then enjoy the preview i guess!

read the full fic on ao3 here, info and trigger warnings here

Chex was the biggest ram in the barn. Being a big ram didn’t mean much; he had a lot of respect among his fellow sheep, sure, but he still felt small alongside the horses next door, the mules they could see from their field, and even the goats across from them. He had a solid set of horns upon his head, sure, but he couldn’t hope to reach much further than a human’s lower thigh (or a piglin’s upper calf). But, neither the horses, the mules, nor the goats could reach him from within their enclosures, so Chex confidently trekked across the stall and bumped his dark snout against the feeders, wondering why they were still empty at this hour of the morning.

Philza was still in bed.

Technoblade was worried. Upon waking, he liked to play a game where he guessed what breakfast was based on just the smell. He was very good at it– sometimes he’d walk into the kitchen with his eyes closed, listing off the ingredients he recognized and the way he thought they combined, while Phil chuckled at him. But there was no breakfast that morning; not for Chex or for Technoblade. Philza was still in bed.

“Phil?” Techno pushed a knuckle against the slightly open, wooden door. Since Dream has been staying with them, Phil kept the door ajar in case he was needed throughout the night. But Dream wasn’t there anymore, and Philza was still in bed.

“Eh? Phiiiiil?”

Phil was lying comfortably on his side, hands placed gently on the mattress beside him, wings gently folded. Poised and beautiful, even in his sleep. Placing a knee on the bed, Techno’s weight indented into the fabric and dipped it, jostling his partner’s body.

“Philza…”

“Mornin’,” came Phil’s drowsy answer. His voice was a bit odd. Heavy with slumber, yet brittle.

“Mornin’.” Techno laid more of his body on the bed, reaching an arm across Phil so he could brace an arm against the other side of the mattress. He knew from experience that if he put too much weight on Phil, he’d hurt him, so he was careful about where he placed his limbs. It was difficult when he was bigger than the bedframe. “You’re still in bed.”

Phil stretched, pulling his body into a straight line, from his spine to his feet. Techno felt him shuffle, the fabric of his robe and blanket bunching up. “Nothing gets past you, hah?”

“Never. I’m brilliant and observant.” When Phil settled back into position, making no real effort to get out of bed, Techno nuzzled his head into Phil’s shoulder. “Chex is gonna be mad at you.”

“Mm.”

“And Saffron. And the chickens.”

"Mm-hm."

"And there's a big pig who, uh, is a bit worried about ya."

A smirk made an indent on the side of Phil's cheek. "Donna?"

Donna was one of their heavier pigs. Techno grinned as he answered, "Yeah. Donna. Totally."

"Well, I'd hate to make her worry. But my head hurts like a motherfucker," Phil replied, solemn and musing, "and I'm finding that I'm not all that helpful these days, anyway."

Techno worried that it was about this. A few days ago, Dream stormed off into the forest, limping with his wooden prosthetic, and they haven't heard a peep from him since. Not even a letter. Techno knew his old roommate well, and he knew that Dream's shame was often misplaced. He assumed that the kid must be embarrassed or afraid of being a burden. Philza assumed he must be angry, which is an easy assumption to make when you’re also angry with yourself.

Techno rubbed the flat plateau of his forehead and snout on Phil's shoulder. "You were helpful." Techno responded in a low tone, "Not your fault certain people had ulterior motives."

Phil sighed as he rolled over, pressing his back against the mattress. He adjusted himself so he could meet Techno’s forehead with his own. “I should’ve known better.”

“He should’ve known better. I’m almost done fixin’ up your armor, you know.”

Phil hummed, satisfied, and let himself sit still under Techno’s warmth. Techno let his eyes fall shut, and they burned behind his eyelids. In truth, he didn’t sleep too well, either.

“Painkillers for your headache?” Techno offered.

“Please, mate.”

-----------

Dream was still in bed. He didn’t know why.

It wasn’t his bed. Not the bed he set up in the prison, which was a little bit too soft and made his hips ache in the morning (He wondered, sometimes, if there was something wrong with his hips. What are the chances he’d broken something?). Not the guest bed in the arctic, where he’d spend the night under a pile of dogs (He felt cold without them).

He was in Sam’s bed.

He didn’t remember how it started. They were arguing– no, debating– and then it turned into an argument when Sam raised his voice. The logic made no sense, and it was moving too quickly, as things usually go with the Warden. Dream knew this type of conversation well, and he thought he was good at navigating them and taking advantage of obvious inconsistencies. But Sam said something that really pissed him off (He didn’t remember what), and Dream pushed him back, and then somehow they were even closer. Dream was scared, and he was angry, and he was betrayed. It felt better when they were kissing.

He woke with a burning pain at the amputation site.

He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. Sleep was a favorite pain reliever these days, especially when he felt lethargic and heavy enough that he was able to ignore his body in favor of rest. But today, the pain gripped his lungs and made his teeth grind together, the muscles of his back contracting as he curled in on himself.

Sam seemed to manifest from nowhere. Pain made Dream’s mind fuzzy, which he hated, and he often missed important details such as when someone entered or exited a room. Perhaps Sam spent all night beside him, or perhaps he just walked in from the kitchen. Either way, he towered over Dream, eyes scanning along his body the same way he might look at a machine that wasn’t working. Dream was used to it.

Wordlessly, Sam took the blanket off of him.

It wasn’t an aggressive movement– in fact, it was actually rather slow and unrushed, but it was authoritative enough to convey a typical agreement of their relationship: “I will look at you now.” Sam took the stump of Dream’s leg in one of his palms and lifted it slightly. The incisions he made a while back were now pinkish scars, blending in well with all the other scars that littered the area. It was an ugly limb, Dream thought. But it wasn’t any uglier that morning than it was any morning before– no extra swelling, no leakage, and no redness.

“Does it hurt often?” Sam asked him.

“Yes,” Dream replied stiffly.

Sam’s expression didn’t change. Dream wondered for a moment if he didn’t hear him, or if his own voice was too hoarse to be audible.

Quietly, Sam raised the leg up even further, and Dream whimpered from the strain. He barely even felt as Sam pressed his lips, softly, against the scarred skin.

“I have potions,” Sam stated.

“Don’t,” came Dream’s stern reply.

#ttdtn #the trees deny themselves nothing #ttdtn extra scenes #dsmpshipping #awesamdream #c!awesamdream #dreblr #drabbles

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echantedtoon · 5 months

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Friskriel Week Day 4

Day 4: First Kiss

"How could you do something like this?"

Now some could consider this kind of question to be harsh, but the calmness of the voice chased away any thought of that happening. The vibrant yellow eyes looked over the state of the pale looking girl lying down on the mattres beside him. The lady sheepishly smiled and sorta sunk down deeper into the fluffy blankets surrounding her. Even if she didn't have awet towel on her forward or pale cheeks hed still be concerned about her, it was just a habit of his. He couldn't help it-

"I mean-...It was just a little rain-"

He scoffed. "A little? Frisk-" He gestered to the bed. "You got a fever and sound like a walrus drowning in quick sand. Thank goodness you had cold medicne." She gave off a nervous chuckle that ending in another round of coughing and him raising an eyebrow."My point proven."

"I-I...was only trying to help."

The guilt and puppy eyes she naturally gave off whenever she thought anyone was upset with her made him suck in a breif inhale of air. It was hard to be mad at her in general.....but the things she got herself into! He sometimes wondered how she could do these things but he guessed it came from her naturally caring personality. It was both a blessing and a curse.

"I-I really d-didnt mean to- *cough* get s-s-sick." She attempted to give off a bigger smile which ending in more coughing.

She would admit it now, it was kinda a dumb idea trying to bring in supplies while it was raining like crazy. She was only trying to help restock really low supplies, but no good deed goes unpunished down here I guess.

The goat monster sighed and reached up his hands to rub the end of his nose. "Well...hopefully you'll get better in no time."

"Yeah...Temmie offered to help with some things-" The small growl that came from the deer made her stop for a moment.

"Trust me when I say that i am quite capable of helping you much for efficiently than a fake-love struck pup. The last thing you need is him nagging you as you're trying to recover-"

He paused when he felt something grab his arm and when he looked down, the sight of a smiling human holding his arm with a gentle grip. He sorta froze at the gesture and slightly widened his eyes.

"I know...and-" Her hand slowly came up to cup the other side of his face. Still frozen as still as a statue, it was easy for her to lean him over from his sitting position on the bed side and gently placed a quick peck on his cheek."Thank you."

In an instant his cheeks blew up a bright pink across his face and after a few seconds his brain seemed to finally restart when he quickly leaned back up into a sit up position.

"Of Course." His voice came out in a strange sqeauky pitched voice. "If You Need anything, Im happy to help!"

"W-Well...Another b-blanket wouldn't hurt."

The speed at which he stood up and starting to the door wasn't surprising. "YeS! B-b-BE Back s-SHORTly!"

"Oh....ok."

She sat there and watched as the flustered goat made his way out of the room and into the hallway outside. Waiting herself for a few moments before slowly laying back down into her bed, slowly reality caught up and as before she dipped down into the blankets but this time covering her whole face and making a small whine sound.

She really had it bad didnt she?

-10 minutes later-

Hesitant steps came down the hallway back down towards the bedroom. A blanket resting under one arm. The footsteps soon stopped in front of one door on the right and the boy paused. It took a moment before he was able to reach a hand up to knock on the door.

"Frisk?", a voice forced out almost a whisper. No one answered so he knocked again a bit louder. ...Still nothing. So he gently grabbed ahold of the door knob and turned. "Frisk? I-I brought the extra blanket you-"

"....Oh."

The dark room made it hard to see but he could make out the sleeping figure over in the corner. Her chest rose and fell slowly in her sleep and a smile was present on her sleeping face. He hesitated for a moment, but decided it was best to keep his promise of getting her the extra blanket she asked for. So slowly stepping in, he gently closed the door behind him with a soft click-

He froze when she made a groaning noise but she didnt wake up, only buried her head halfway under the blanket. He sighed in releif before silently walking up to the bed, taking the blanket in both hands he flung it out. Then over the bed in the air. It gently floated down until it drapped over her sleeping form.

He stared down at the sleeping form of her for a moment, before gently smoothing the wrinkles out from the covers-

".....Asriel?"

He froze. .....Slowly his eyes shifted up towards the bedframe. A pair of brown eyes blinked back up sloppily at him, wild brown bed head around her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh. I..Uh-" He quickly pulled himself away from the bed embarrassed and cleared his throat. "I-I-I was just delivering t-the blanket you wanted. *ahem* ....I-Im sorry if I woke you."

She blinked at him for a moment, before shifting her eyes down to her body. Indeed a new blanket was over her. .....She then looked back to him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"It's ok. I don't mind."

"I- uh-....." God he could feel his cheeks growing more pink by the second. Her eyes and smiled always seemed to make him weak in the knees. Luckily he new exactly what to do- "W-Well I-I-Ill let you get back to sleep-"

He froze when something grabbed his hand. He soon found out what when Frisk, now slightly sitting up in bed pulled him back a little more.

"Um- Hey. W-Would you mind if we-..." Her eyes shifted to the side. Wait. Did she sound nervous? "Cu-.. Cuddle? Y-Yknow. J-Just as friends! I-Im s-still pretty cold from the rain and I thought- ..."

"Uuuuhh-" His eyes went back to them still holding hands.

" I-I mean. I-Its ok if y-you don't want to. " She let go of his hand-

"What?! NO NO!" She froze when he regrabbed her hand and looked back into his eyes. He seemed to freeze for a moment himself. "I-....I mean I d-don't mind it. I just...Im not sure if you would want to."

...She smiled. "Well I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't ok."

"Oh. W-Well...Who am I t-t-to deny a request from a friend?"

She smiled again, before shifting over to make room for another, patting the spot next to her. He hesitated for a moment but gulped down what worries he had left and slowly lifted the blankets, before climbing in. He sat there for a moment un sure, but his face lit up like a million christmas lights when he felt Frisk reassuringly huddle up against his side. He swallowed, hard, before allowing himself to lay back and lay a shaking arm around her. In response she shifted to lay into him more and sighed in comfort.

It looked like she wasn't the only one who had it bad. Frisk was getting more and more tired by the second but decided to be polite in her heavily sleeping state and sat back up making him look at her.

"Asriel?"

"Y-Yes- HMPH!!"

"Thank you."

Blurred by her sleep. Frisk mistakingly gave him a peck on the lips instead of the cheek but she didn't notice as she laid back down against him as he just sat there long ears and face jaw dropped and a bright pretty pink color.

#frisk x asriel #friskriel #frisk #asriel dreemurr #asriel x frisk #friskriel week #undertale

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hecatemoon87 · 1 year

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Part I & Part II

Warnings ⚠️ SMUT minors do NOT interact.

Leo appears to be in pain! The craving for blood is making him sweat and shudder. Oh, how you can not bear to see your hero suffer! With a split decision, you take him by the hand and lead him back to your sleeping quarters.

You shared a room with him in the castle. As you were too afraid to sleep alone. He, of course, did not share a bed with you. But this time, you guide him to your bed. You pat the spot next to you, entreating him to join you.

His eyes do not meet yours. You think, because he's embarrassed. You adjust your hair, moving it away to reveal your slender neck. Still, he is unable to look at you. So you extend your hand and gently touch his chin, facing him toward you.

"I can't. You are too pure. My bite will only corrupt you," he whispers. "One bite surely cannot condemn my soul," you reply, stroking his cheek. "Please, drink." You said, guiding his lips to your neck.

He is, at first, resistant. You then feel his lips skim softly over your neck line, sparking your primal urges. You feel your nipples harden beneath your night shift, and you unconsciously spread your legs ever so slightly as he tilts your head back.

He begins kissing your flesh, coaxing your body into accepting his fangs. You close your eyes as he wraps a strong arm around your waist. Then, you feel his mouth open, his wet tongue teasing the spot where he'd soon bite. You swoon, gripping his arms tight, "Do it, please," you whine.

He complies, and you feel two sharp pricks delve into your skin. You whimper, but soon relax as he drinks. You feel him stroking your upper arm with his thumb, him holding you close, all in order to comfort you. The pain quickly fades, and you begin to feel a sense of euphoria.

This was the power of the Vampire's Kiss. The victim should be fighting for their life, but the bite caused sexual gratification on an unimaginable scale. You do not want him to stop. "More, Leo...oh, pleaseeee," you coo, completely intoxicated with lust.

But he breaks off his bite, his face leveling with yours. "No more," he said, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. You are trembling with desire, your womanhood is throbbing, moist and craving for his touch.

You try to kiss him, but he places a finger to your lips. "It's because of the bite. Your emotional state will soon fade." He tries to reason with you. But you know it isn't just his bite. You wanted him for some time. And you can tell by his dilated pupils and tented trousers he too is trying to control himself.

You take his hand and slowly guide it under your dress, leading it up your inner thighs, letting his fingers brush over your lips. You groan, tilting your head back and widening your legs. Your mind is mad with want, and he crumbles when he feels your honey already gushing forth over your lips.

He works a finger into your greedy cunt. He then applies his thumb over your throbbing clit. You moan like a banshee, bucking your hips and holding Leo tight. He kisses you, and he tastes coppery from your blood. "Fuck me, I need your cock," your whine, rotating your hips over his thick finger. But your cunny needs more.

Leo, this time, does not hesitate and unzips his trousers. His impressive member is hard, the tip almost purple as his blood pumps it full with desire. He lifts your dress, grabs your hips, and mounts you onto his raging erection.

As he spears you open, you are filled with a delicious bite of pain. It stings as your folds are forced open to accommodate his girth.

"Bite me again, lover," you plead. He kisses you deeply and then gives you a nip on your neck. You hold him tight, and after he releases his bite, he begins to thrust. An explosion erupts between your legs, you are orgasming all over his cock as he ravages you.

You dig your nails into his back, his linen shirt loose about him. Then, you trail your hands down to take hold of his muscular buttocks. You hold on tight as he drills you into the mattress.

Your love making is intense, filled with unbridled passion, and you tell him you'd do anything for him, ANYTHING. He growls and pulls you up right so that you straddle him. As he rests on his knees on the bed, he hammers you. You grip his shoulders, and the night shift falls off your shoulders, revealing your pert breasts.

Leo begins to suckle your right tit, a hand resting at the nook of your lower back. You arch your back in ecstasy and moan loudly as his cock flexes with in you. He stretches you out so good, doesn't he?

"You are beautiful, my love," Leo praises as he returns to bouncing you up and down on his cock. Your tities bob in front of him and he looks down to watch. His eyes also take in how his fat cock pulls in and out of your aching cunt. "Good girl, take me all in," he groans and kisses you.

He grabs your hips, his strong hands bruising your dainty curves, and speeds up his thrusting. He then cums, the explosion of his hot semen filling your womb, both coating you and claiming you.

He gradually becomes limp, but he still holds you against him, your foreheads touching as he pants.

Whatever happens, if he returns as human or becomes a vampire...you would never leave him.

Fin

#tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fan fic #tom hardy smut #leo demidov #leo demidov au #leo demidov smut

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chaotic-bells · 7 months

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If you are careful you should not have problems. Just be sure to avoid sitting on busses, metro seats... and never put you luggage on the ground and espacially on the bed!! If the place you stay at has a shower/bath put your things there and only take them out when you use it.

Also make sure to check you bed/mattres using a flashlight and if you see small stains call the home owener/hotel manager immeditely.

Thank you so much anon! We’re looking into the issue and while it seems a bit of a nightmare, it seems that with enough precautions it should be possible… I’d hate to miss this trip, but I want to be sure it’s actually a good idea and not fan-driven madness 😂

I hope this info is helpful for more people!

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kiddzyslimevs · 8 months

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youtube

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jellychu · 2 years

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You seem to be someone I can ask about this, I hope it's okay to ask

Whenever I go out somewhere I'll bring a bit of playdough because its an easy way to keep myself calm, but playdough keeps drying out and its really tough to work with

What kind of similar things would you recommend that are small (or can be small) that I could bring with me that wouldnt dry out after like half an hour?

hi, thanks so much for reaching out ╰(▔∀▔)╯

something that i think would be really good for you is this stuff called "mad mattr" that you can buy on amazon! it's like a combination of kinetic sand and play-dough! from my experience, it won't dry out and it's very soft. you can break it into small pieces to bring with you ~ it's squishy and malleable, and not really messy either ^0^

i hope this helps! 💕

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aesthrex · 3 months

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it's one of those days when the sun hits and blinds me with coldness. the sheets feel like metal grates and my flesh twists itself around my spine. my head feels like a lead ball and my shoulders crumble over its weight. i know nothing will help. not a tea, not a talk, not a bath, not a stupid face mask, no pedis, none of that bullshit self-care. i went to bed with the thought of you and when the sun shed its pain on the horizon, the first rays a blood-lusted river against my eyelids, i found myself wailing for your pain. i kept asking of my mom. i want m mom and i want to find her. i want to be cradled and hold. i could barely move myself to the bathroom, my legs are chained with gravity. the horror mask in the reflection is not my own. these minutes of passing time do not belong to me. this never-ending nightmare is not my life. yet it is. it's always been. i cannot make peace with God he's dead to me. this mattres does not hold my weight when i'm seated and it feels like i've been loaded, years upon years, with more pain than my spine can handle. life just keeps unloading horror upon me and my eyes sting from all this madness. minutes pass by and the sun drudges its body against noon. then night. then noon. then night. deadlines attack me from all directions and my defense is a flimsy shield of optimism - not even I believe the words that come from my mouth. i wail for you and i wail for your pain. i wail for the torture you're putting us through. putting me. putting me. i wail for this great misfortune of destiny, this error of mishandling, malpraxis from the "great" provider. i am continously subjected to such errors, such deviations of fate. i cannot say "such is life". i can't say anything because it hurts - it maddens me. i am insane with pain. everywhere, in every crevice of my cerebrum, every storage of memory, every compartment of thoughts, every cell of my body. it's maddening, maddening. i'm asking for you

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aroace-hoe · 6 months

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i'm tired of being the one waiting

waiting for a text, waiting for the right time to call, waiting for the right time to vent, to talk to feel to be there for you.

im tired of always being available, always being the one that's always free! "im here whenever you need me!" and i cant even be mad when you take it for granted, because its true. i am always going to be here for you, no mattr what, forever and ever and ever andeverandeverand

but im getting tired of always being available for you, who's always busy with life

and of course i get it! life is hard! life is tough! its hectic! i wouldn't expect you to keep your life on hold just to talk to me!

except i do.

everyday, all day, i will be there waiting

because im scared will never talk again if i dont. im scared months will pass until you remember me. im scared that if im not available at any given second, we'll never have a real conversation again, im scared that im not enough for you to WANT to put your life on pause for 20 minutes to text me back and tell me about your day. im scared of stop waiting and miss those 20 minutes, if they were to ever come

im tired of waiting, but im too scared of what'd happen if i didnt

#im tired #i hate it here #im just tired #i dont wanna wait #i wanna die #mental health #you came you called #having bpd sucks

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statiifilia · 1 year

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The Absolutely Huge and Incredible Injustice in the World, BY RON PADGETT

What makes us so mean?

We are meaner than gorillas,

the ones we like to blame our genetic aggression on.

It is in our nature to hide behind what Darwin said about survival,

as if survival were the most important thing on earth.

It isn't.

You know—surely it has occurred to you—

that there is no way that humankind will survive

another million years. We'll be lucky to be around

another five hundred. Why?

Because we are so mean

that we would rather kill everyone and everything on earth

than let anybody get the better of us:

"Give me liberty or give me death!"

Why didn't he just say "Grrr, let's kill each other!"?

A nosegay of pansies leans toward us in a glass of water

on a white tablecloth bright in the sunlight

at the ocean where children are frolicking,

then looking around and wondering—

about what we cannot say, for we are imagining

how we would kill the disgusting man and woman

at the next table. Tonight we could throw an electrical storm

into their bed. No more would they spit on the veranda!

Actually they aren't that bad, it's just

that I am talking mean in order to be more

like my fellow humans—it's lonely feeling like a saint,

which I do one second every five weeks,

but that one second is so intense I can't stand up

and then I figure out that it's ersatz, I can't be a saint,

I am not even a religious person, I am hardly a person at all

except when I look at you and think

that this life with you must go on forever

because it is so perfect, with all its imperfections,

like your waistline that exists a little too much,

like my hairline that doesn't exist at all!

Which means that my bald head feels good

on your soft round belly that feels good too.

If only everyone were us!

But sometimes we are everyone, we get mad

at the world and mean as all get-out,

which means we want to tell the world to get out

of this, our world. Who are all these awful people?

Why, it's your own grandma, who was so nice to you—

you mistook her for someone else. She actually was

someone else, but you had no way of knowing that,

just as you had no way of knowing that the taxi driver

saves his pennies all year

to go to Paris for Racine at the Comédie Francaise.

Now he is reciting a long speech in French from Andromache

and you arrive at the corner of This and That

and though Andromache's noble husband Hector has been killed

and his corpse has been dragged around the walls of Troy by an

unusually mean Achilles,

although she is forced into slavery and a marriage

to save the life of her son, and then people around her

get killed, commit suicide, and go crazy, the driver is in paradise,

he has taken you back to his very mean teacher

in the unhappy school in Port-au-Prince and then

to Paris and back to the French language of the seventeenth century

and then to ancient Greece and then to the corner of This and That.

Only a mean world would have this man driving around in a city

where for no reason someone is going to fire a bullet into the back of

his head!

It was an act of kindness

on the part of the person who placed both numbers and letters

on the dial of the phone so we could call WAverly,

ATwater, CAnareggio, BLenheim, and MAdison,

DUnbar and OCean, little worlds in themselves

we drift into as we dial, and an act of cruelty

to change everything into numbers only, not just phone numbers

that get longer and longer, but statistical analysis,

cost averaging, collateral damage, death by peanut,

inflation rates, personal identification numbers, access codes,

and the whole raving Raft of the Medusa

that drives out any thought of pleasantness

until you dial I-8OO-MATTRES and in no time get a mattress

that is complete and comfy and almost under you,

even though you didn't need one! The men

come in and say Here's the mattress where's

the bedroom? And the bedroom realizes it can't run away.

You can't say that the people who invented the bedroom were mean,

only a bedroom could say that, if it could say anything.

It's a good thing that bedrooms can't talk!

They might keep you up all night telling you things

you don't want to know. "Many years ago,

in this very room. . . ." Eeek, shut up! I mean,

please don't tell me anything, I'm sorry I shouted at you.

And the walls subside into their somewhat foreverness.

The wrecking ball will mash its grimace into the plaster and oof,

down they will come, lathe and layers of personal history,

but the ball is not mean, nor is the man who pulls the handle

that directs the ball on its pendulous course, but another man

—and now a woman strides into his office and slaps his face hard

the man whose bottom line is changing its color

wants to change it back. So good-bye, building

where we made love, laughed, wept, ate, and watched TV

all at the same time! Where our dog waited by the door,

eyes fixed on the knob, where a runaway stream came whooshing

down the hallway, where I once expanded to fill the whole room

and then deflated, just to see what it would feel like,

where on Saturday mornings my infant son stood by the bedside

and sang, quietly, "Wa-a-a-ke up" to his snoozing parents.

I can never leave all the kindness I have felt in this apartment,

but if a big black iron wrecking ball comes flying toward me,

zoop, out I go! For there must be

kindness somewhere else in the world,

maybe even out of it, though I'm not crazy

about the emptiness of outer space. I have to live

here, with finite life and inner space and with

the horrible desire to love everything and be disappointed

the way my mother was until that moment

when she rolled her eyes toward me as best she could

and squeezed my hand when I asked, "Do you know who I am?"

then let go of life.

The other question was, Did I know who I was?

It is hard not to be appalled by existence.

The pointlessness of matter turns us into cornered animals

that otherwise are placid or indifferent,

we hiss and bare our fangs and attack.

But how many people have felt the terror of existence?

Was Genghis Khan horrified that he and everything else existed?

Was Hitler or Pol Pot?

Or any of the other charming figures of history?

Je m'en doute.

It was something else made them mean.

Something else made Napoleon think it glorious

to cover the frozen earth with a hundred thousand bloody corpses.

Something else made . . . oh, name your monster

and his penchant for destruction,

name your own period in history when a darkness swept over us

and made not existing seem like the better choice,

as if the solution to hunger were to hurl oneself

into a vat of boiling radioactive carrots!

Life is so awful!

I hope that lion tears me to pieces!

It is good that those men wearing black hoods

are going to strip off my skin and force me

to gape at my own intestines spilling down onto the floor!

Please drive spikes through not only my hands and feet

but through my eyes as well!

For this world is to be fled as soon as possible

via the purification of martyrdom.

This from the God of Christian Love.

Cupid hovers overhead, perplexed.

Long ago Zeus said he was tired

and went to bed: if you're not going to exist

it's best to be asleep.

The Christian God is like a cranky two-thousand-year-old baby

whose fatigue delivers him into an endless tantrum.

He will never grow up

because you can't grow up unless people listen to you,

and they can't listen because they are too busy being mean

or fearing the meanness of others.

How can I blame them?

I too am afraid. I can be jolted by an extremely violent movie,

but what is really scary is that someone wanted to make the film!

He is only a step away from the father

who took his eight-year-old daughter and her friend to the park

and beat and stabbed them to death. Uh-oh.

"He seemed like a normal guy," said his neighbor, Thelma,

who refused to divulge her last name to reporters.

She seemed like a normal gal, just as the reporters seemed like

normal vampires.

In some cultures it is normal to eat bugs or people

or to smear placenta on your face at night, to buy

a car whose price would feed a village for thirty years,

to waste your life and, while you're at it, waste everyone

else's too!

Hello, America. It is dawn,

wake up and smell yourselves.

You smell normal.

My father was not normal,

he was a criminal, a scuffler, a tough guy,

and though he did bad things

he was never mean.

He didn't like mean people, either.

Sometimes he would beat them up

or chop up their shoes!

I have never beaten anyone up,

but it might be fun to chop up some shoes.

Would you please hand me that cleaver, Thelma?

But Thelma is insulted by my request,

even though I said please, because she has the face of a cleaver

that flies through the air toward me and lodges

in my forehead. "Get it yourself,

lughead!" she spits, then twenty years later

she changes lughead to fuckhead.

I change my name to Jughead

and go into the poetry protection program

so my poems can go out and live under assumed names

in Utah and Muskogee.

Anna Chukhno looks up and sees me

through her violet Ukrainian eyes

and says Good morning most pleasantly inflected. Oh

to ride in a horse-drawn carriage with her at midnight

down the wide avenues of Kiev and erase

the ditch at Babi Yar from human history!

She looks up and asks How would you like that?

I say In twenties and she counts them out

as if the air around her were not shattered by her beauty

and my body thus divided into zones:

hands the place of metaphysics, shins the area of moo,

bones the cost of living, and so on.

Is it cruel that I cannot cover her with kisses?

No, it is beautiful that I cannot cover her with kisses,

it is better that I walk out into the sunlight

with the blessing of having spoken with an actual goddess

who gave me four hundred dollars!

And I am reassembled

as my car goes forward

into the oncoming rays of aggression

that bounce off my glasses and then

start penetrating, and soon my eyes

turn into abandoned coal mines

whose canaries explode into an evil song

that echoes exactly nowhere.

At least I am not in Rwanda in 1994 or the Sudan in '05

or Guantanamo or Rikers, or in a ditch outside Rio,

clubbed to death and mutilated. No Cossack

bears down on me with sword raised and gleaming

at my Jewish neck and no time for me

to cry out "It is only my neck that is Jewish!

The rest is Russian Orthodox!" No smiling man tips back

his hat and says to his buddies, "Let's teach

this nigguh a lesson." I don't need a lesson, sir,

I am Ethiopian, this is my first time in your country!

But you gentlemen are joking. . . .

Prepare my cave and then kindly forget where it was.

A crust of bread will suffice and a stream nearby,

the chill of evening filtering in with the blind god

who is the chill of evening and who touches us

though we can't raise our hands to stroke his misty beard

in which

two hundred million stars have wink and glimmer needles.

I had better go back to the bank, we have

only three hundred and eighty-five dollars left.

Those fifteen units of beauty went fast.

As does everything.

But meanness comes back right away

while kindness takes its own sweet time

and compassion is busy shimmering always a little above us and

behind,

swooping down and transfusing us only when we don't expect it

and then only for a moment.

How can I trap it?

Allow it in and then

turn my body into steel? No.

The exit holes will still be there and besides

compassion doesn't need an exit it is an exit—

from the prison that each moment is,

and just as each moment replaces the one before it

each jolt of meanness replaces the one before it

and pretty soon you get to like those jolts,

you and millions of other dolts who like to be electrocuted

by their own feelings. The hippopotamus

sits on you with no sense of pleasure, he doesn't

even know you are there, any more than he takes notice

of the little white bird atop his head, and when

he sees you flattened against the ground

he doesn't even think Uh-oh he just trots away

with the bird still up there looking around.

Saint Augustine stole the pears from his neighbor's tree

and didn't apologize for thirty years, by which time

his neighbor was probably dead and in no mood

for apologies. Augustine's mother became a saint

and then a city in California—Santa Monica,

where everything exists so it can be driven past,

except the hippopotamus that stands on the freeway

in the early dawn and yawns into your high beams.

"Hello," he seems to grunt, "I can't be your friend

and I can't be your enemy, I am like compassion,

I go on just beyond you, no matter how many times

you crash into me and die because you never learned

to crash and live." Then he ambles away.

Could Saint Augustine have put on that much weight?

I thought compassion makes you light

or at least have light, the way it has light around it

in paintings, like the one of the screwdriver

that appeared just when the screw was coming loose

from the wing of the airplane in which Santa Monica was riding into

heaven,

smiling as if she had just imagined how to smile

the first smile of any saint, a promise toward the perfection

of everything that is and isn't.

#The Absolutely Huge and Incredible Injustice in the World #ron padgett #poetry #public lecture

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