“In the ninja world, those who break the rules are scum, that’s true. But, those who would abandon even one of their friends are worse than scum” Courtney (NSFW) I’m 27! if you’re a minor don’t interact with any nsfw stuff
“why are you, as someone in their 30s, still on tumblr” oh so you think you’re gonna be normal when you’re my age? you think you’re gonna be CURED?? you think the witches’ curse will have been lifted by then?? cmon now
gather up all of the crew it's time to ship out bink's brew... 🎶
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25
♥︎ ݁ 𓏲 your bf forgets how to breathe when you're ignoring him
it starts with you not texting back for an hour. one single hour. and honestly, you weren’t even trying to ignore him—you were busy, or tired, or maybe just didn’t feel like engaging with his usual chaos. but he doesn’t know that. he only knows the silence. and the silence drives him absolutely insane.
at first, it’s subtle. a normal text.
>>> where’d you go?
then five minutes later, a second one.
>>> hello? did u die?
then thirty seconds after that—
>>> okay but seriously are u mad or did u get kidnapped bc if so send me like. an emoji.
you still don’t respond (you’re not ignoring him, you’re just… taking a breath), and that’s all it takes for something unhinged to click in his brain. you can practically feel the shift through the airwaves.
he starts calling. once. twice.
three times in a row like he’s allergic to the idea that you might be living your life without him. when you still don’t answer, he escalates in the most dramatic way possible: he sends an email. an actual email.
subject line: communication breakdown.
body text: i think ur ghosting me. i think u hate me. i think i’m going to pass away.
sent from his phone at a diagonal angle because he typed it too fast.
you laugh when you finally see it, but you still don’t respond—out of spite now, maybe, or curiosity. how far will he go? what’s the limit?
apparently there isn’t one.
because a few hours later, there’s a sound against your window. soft at first, like a tap. you frown. then another. louder this time. like a pebble. and when you pull back the curtain, there he is—standing outside like a romcom protagonist who’s lost the plot, one hand full of gravel, the other shoved into his hoodie pocket like he’s trying to look casual despite clearly being mid-panicked spiral.
his eyes snap up the second he sees you. he points at you with a dramatic gasp, mouthing something that looks like finally. you open the window an inch.
“are you serious right now?” you ask.
“you weren’t texting me back,” he says, as if that explains everything. “i thought you hated me. or died. or were kidnapped by, like, a cult.”
“a cult?”
“you never know.”
he drops the gravel and wipes his hands on his jeans before looking up at you with that stupid, earnest, too-intense expression he only gets when he’s been spiraling about you for hours.
“rapunzel, come down,” he says softly. “please.”
and the thing is—you can’t even stay annoyed. because he’s not angry. he’s not yelling. he’s not blaming you. he just looks… relieved you finally showed your face. relieved you exist. relieved the silence is over.
“you could’ve just waited,” you say, pretending your heart isn’t doing embarrassing gymnastics.
“I did wait,” he argues. “i waited like a whole hour. and then another hour. and then i used all three methods of communication known to man. i was about to send a carrier pigeon.”
you snort. “you’re ridiculous.”
he smiles—sheepish, crooked, kind of beautiful in that earnest way. “yeah. but you love me anyway.”
you roll your eyes, but your chest softens. because he’s right, and he knows it.
“come down,” he repeats, quieter now. “i just… wanted to see you.”
and something about the way he says it so gentle, so raw, almost old-fashioned in its sincerity, makes you grab your jacket without thinking.
because men like that, men who go a little insane when you pull away, men who can’t stand silence from the person they adore—they don’t make scenes to control you. they make them because they care too much. because you mean too much. because the thought of you slipping away feels like losing gravity.
you meet him outside and he immediately relaxes, shoulders lowering, breath coming easier like he’s been holding it for hours.
“hi,” he whispers, touching your cheek like he’s making sure you’re real.
“hi,” you whisper back.
he leans in. “please don’t ignore me again.”
“i wasn’t—”
“i know,” he says, forehead resting against yours. “but my heart doesn’t.”
i think it's important for most people's mental health to have a space where they can safely and unashamedly express being horny and i don't mean milquetoast tongue-in-cheek "oh step on me mommy" jokes or whatever i mean capital h Horny
this is wholly genuine btw. repressing aspects of your personality 24/7 is actively unhealthy and damaging and you have to accept that sexual desire does not exist separately from your other personality traits.
in the same way as it's good for you to have somewhere where you can express your anger or grief or joy without filtering it through layers of irony to make it palatable to an audience, most people stand to benefit from having room to be openly sexual in ways that the format of socially-acceptable "relatable comedy" doesn't encompass
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