SUP BRAHS💥
Wanna draw the turtle fam ALL month long?! it’s your chance! Draw, Write, Edit, WHATEVER you want! Just have fun and be chill all month!
It starts on Oct 1st 2022! And use the Tag #TMNTtober #TMNTtober2022 for everything ya do so we can all see it!
Feel free to skip and change any of the prompts you want! No pressure just here to have sick time!
Also feel free to ask me any more questions if ya got em!
Weirdos and losers stay away! This ain’t for you 😋😋😋
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going to see the surgeon today to hopefully get the green light and date for my surgery this summer :] and then I'll hopefully only have one more shot to get in May before I'm off of it forever.
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Lol if Hawks sacrifices himself to take off AFO's mask i dont actually care
He sacrificed Jin for "a better future" but still isnt able to propoly apologize or show remorse
Any and all care for him i had is gone since a long time
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shaaaaaade any news on the next fftb chapter?
Hello darlin'
Working hard on the very last chapter right now (- the Epilogue)
It just keeps getting longer, I swear
I had this thing outlined with bullet points but I can't help myself, I keep thinking of spicy fun to add
I know I said this last week, but hopefully, by the weekend I can start binge-posting the rest of the chapters
this is roughly what I have left to publish, about 11K so far (and counting because of the final chapter that's still being written and the edits that I will undoubtedly have to do)
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something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.
not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.
you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.
but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.
you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.
but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.
you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.
you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?
you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.
you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!
you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"
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