#{i dunno. but you will if you're seeing this}

[worldweary-walker]

There's a bit in Dark Wizard Of Donkerk where the main character talks about this. We get used to working around problems, we stop seeing them as problems, and when they affect us we're caught off guard again- we think we fixed it, when really we just got used to it.

There's a bit of ADHD organization advice I've heard, the fifteen minute rule. If it takes you more than fifteen minutes out of your way to start a task, you're not going to do it. You just won't remember. That's not something you can solve by just deciding to remember, and it's not something you're going to solve by walking faster.

The best way to solve it, that advice says, is to change your path or to change your destination. If you won't remember to go to the gym, you might remember to exercise in your own home- weights, a yoga mat, some tactile reminder you can see. A five minute preparation, not fifteen.

I think the fifteen minute rule might apply to mental health, too. If you can identify the steps that make your struggle easier, or that help patch you up, then you can smooth the path to get there. Put a reminder to call your doctor on the fridge. Find a doormat that reminds you to go for walks. Make it easier to get the things you need.

I dunno. Everyone's situation is unique. But I think it's easy to get hung up on doing things the right way instead of the way that works, because the right way is something you can talk about and the way that works is something just for you.

[dirtyyoungthingg]

its been a long day. between school and extracurriculars, i am exhausted and stressed. i need a release. bad.

what better way to relieve my stress than fucking myself silly?

i walk into my bedroom, already smiling thanks to the plan my sweet little brain came up with. my smile drops when i realize you're sitting on my bed.

next to my toys.

"d-dad...--"

"what the fuck are these, hm?" you gesture to the two toys on the bed. i immediately shrink into myself, embarrassed.

"...dunno...."

"dont play dumb with me." you stand and grab a fistful of my hair, bringing my gaze up to meet yours. you glance back over at the toys. "do you even know how to use those?" nervously, i nod.

"i-i'm a big girl."

you can't help but smile a little. "yeah?" you throw me down onto the bed. "show dad. let me see you be a big girl, and maybe i'll let you keep these." i scramble onto my back, my heart pounding in my ears as i try to wrap my brain around whats happening.

my dad wants to watch me fuck myself.... my thighs squeeze together as you settle onto the foot of the bed. you tut at me and place your hands on my knees.

"don't be shy now. its nothing i havent seen before." your mind flashes back to our special bathtimes. how you loved catching glimpses of my sweet little pussy underneath the bubbles. how you'd use your special soap on me, as long as i didnt tell anyone.

"but dad--"

you spread my legs open suddenly, my skirt raising to show off my printed pink panties. "shut the fuck up. take those off." my face is flushed as i comply, sliding out of my panties. you grab them from me and bring them to your nose. "god... you always smell so good." i shiver at the cold air hitting my wet cunt. you set the panties down and reach to rub your thumb lightly against my sweet little pussy lips. your other hand moves to grab the first toy, a small bullet vibrator. you smile at it for a moment. "where'd you get this guy, huh?"

"th-the mall... one of the stores sells stuff like that in the back..." you turn it on, and a small but consistent buzzing sound fills the air. you raise your eyebrows as you click it back off.

"not bad." you press it into my hands. "go on. show me how you use it."

i feel dizzy, nervous. this is wrong, you shouldnt be making me do this. and yet, i'm so wet, and i was planning on playing with myself anyway... maybe its not so bad that dad's here.... i bite my lower lip as i turn the small vibe back on and begin to run it over my little pussy lips. a breath catches in my throat when i brush over my swollen clit. you take another deep breath from my panties as you watch, palming yourself through your pants. i press the vibe to my clit as i watch. "g-god... dad...."

"thaaaaat's right baby. just like that." you unbuckle your belt and pull your cock out, wrapping the soft pink fabric of my panties around the length of it as you begin to pump your cock with your fist. the sight is making me lightheaded with lust. i squirm as the vibrator presses harder onto my clit, letting out a moan. "good girl..."

you glance over at the other toy, a sizable dildo. you grab it with your other hand and look down at my glistening cunt. so small and sweet... "...can you even fit this in that sweet little hole, baby?"

i sheepishly look away, shaking my head no. "so-sometimes if i try i can get it halfway in, but it really hurts..." you can't help but laugh a little.

"you just need daddy's help, baby." you grab the vibrator and click it off. i can't help but whimper a little and squirm at the lack of touch. you smile. "turn over, raise that cute little ass up for me." i comply, rolling over onto my stomach and putting my ass up in the air. my skirt from school is still on, and you have to slide it up so you can get to my bare ass. yet another reminder that i'm your daughter, your baby... you shouldn't be doing this... and yet you continue.

you use the head of the dildo and lazily drag it over my opening, humming softly as you see the wetness that collects on the toy. "you're so wet... i'm sure we could fit this in if we tried. you're a big girl, right? thats why you have these toys?" i nod, too flustered to really speak.

"i-i'm a big girl..."

"that's right baby. you're a big girl. and that's why you're gonna take all of this, deep inside your sweet little kiddo cunt." you press the toy into me, slowly, working it in and out of my pussy bit by bit. my eyes screw shut as i whine. i'm still just so tight, so small... you bite your lower lip in concentration as you press the dildo even further inside me suddenly. i gasp and try to squirm away. it's too much, too deep...! i am met with a swift slap on my ass that makes me yelp and causes tears to spring from my eyes.

"ah-ah. that's enough of that, young lady." your tone is gruff, and makes me shudder inwardly. you manhandle me back into the proper position. "you wanted to be a big girl. owning these toys, fucking yourself with them. acting like such a whore. you're lucky this is how i'm choosing to correct this behavior." you smack the other cheek to punctuate your point. "i could've just thrown you down, raped you right here." you begin to thrust the dildo in and out of my cunt quickly, ignoring my pleas for you to stop. "coulda just taken everything ive ever wanted. your mouth, your pussy, your ass..."

i'm sobbing at this point as you relentlessly fuck me with the toy. "coulda treated you like the whore you are. traipsing around with those little skirts, those tiny tops that leave nothing to your father's imagination, much less anyone elses." you've driven the toy all the way into me at this point. i'm crying, my brain overloaded from pain and pleasure.

"t-too m-much--! p-please, stop!"

"shut the fuck up." you use your free hand to press my face into the pillows. "god, do you ever stop talking?" the toys pace is too much. you notice how much i'm clenching around it. "and look at that. you're close. you can't be having that bad of a time if you're that close to cumming while your dad plays with you how he sees fit." my cries are muffled by the pillows as i beg you over and over to stop, please god stop, it's too much.

"no, baby. i'm not gonna stop. not until you cum all over your special big girl toy for daddy. c'mon, i know you want to. you know you want to. cum for me. cum for dad."

and just like that, the dizzying feeling reaches its peak. i cum with the toy deep inside me, my sweet cries ringing out as i throw my head back. you slow your movements down until you stop.

"that's my girl." you slide the dildo out of my cunt. "i knew you could do it. and look at that! you took the whole thing! such a big girl for daddy, such a good girl."

i'm too much of a dazed mess to fight you off as you slide your pants down and position yourself over me. you line your cock up with my twitching cunt, humming softly.

"now i get to show you that you don't need those silly toys. all a girl needs is her father."

[silcoitus]

Erm hello. Idk if this has been requested yet by me or not but….

Silco x reader with a hand fetish maybe? Fingers in her mouth and all yk?

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Practiced Hands

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI

Tags: Young Silco, f!reader; hand and finger kink, semi-public sex, fingers in mouth, vaginal fingering, dirty talk

Word count: 1.7k

Betas: @juniper-sunny

You've always noticed how dextrous Silco is with his hands; the way he twirls his pencil or fiddles with his butterfly knife. One night, when you have The Last Drop to yourselves, you see just how good his hands truly are.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it.

Of course he doesn't realize. 

The man just oozes effortless swagger, innate charisma. Every movement is less like a gesture and more like a dance; everything he does somehow elegant.

You busy your hands, wiping down a tumbler with a rag, standing opposite Silco as he pours over his notebook. His eyes are pinned to the page while his elbow rests on the countertop, his butterfly knife twiddling between his long, deft fingers. He flicks it open and spins it around, not even looking at what he's doing. The metallic clatter and the swish of the knife through the air a steady rhythm, almost musical.

“Silco.”

“Hmm?”

He doesn't look up. The knife continues to dance between his fingers.

“You better be careful with that.”

“With what?”

He finally looks up, his hand still moving. Finally, his ocean green eyes look to his knife and back to you. He chuckles lightly before clicking the knife closed with a decisive flourish.

“What? Scared?”

You roll your eyes.

“Not for me. For you.”

“Please,” he says, picking up his pencil. He twirls that just as dexterously. “I can handle it.”

You let out a sigh before setting down the tumbler, throwing the rag over your shoulder and crossing your arms. Hip popped, you watch him return to his work as he idly fiddles with the pencil. 

Those long fingers of his move so quickly, so effortlessly, never once dropping the writing instrument. Something about the movement sends heat to pool in your belly and desire to rise in your chest.

He's been driving you insane ever since you joined the operation. His arrogance and dryness, his hot-one-minute-cold-the-next nature. You can't get a read on him, and yet you can't look away. And if that wasn't enough, the slight pout of his lips is begging for someone to kiss it—or better yet, lick it.

You shake off the thought, turning your back to him. As you tidy up the bar, Silco continues to work silently. A rare comfortable silence between the two of you, save for the jukebox humming lightly in the corner. 

Silco breaks that silence with a soft call of your name.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing after this?”

“I dunno,” you say without turning around. “Just heading home, I guess.”

You hear Silco stand behind you, the stool squeaking as it spins. His footsteps get closer and closer as he makes his way around the bar to join you. You're reaching up to replace a bottle to the top shelf, standing on your toes, when you feel something at your back. Soon, Silco's hand is on yours, taking the bottle from you.

“Here,” he says, his breath in your hair. “Let me get that for you.”

You turn, your nose brushing against the tip of his with how closely he stands to you. Your eyes dart between his two ocean green ones as his fingers wrap around yours, tugging the bottle free before setting it down.

“There you go,” he hums.

“Thanks,” you whisper, heels returning to the floor, making Silco seem even taller.

His hand lingers on yours, his free one snaking around to your hip. Your heart races in your chest, firelights in your stomach.

“You know,” he coos. “The rest are gone for the night.” His fingers intertwine with yours, bringing your hand down to rest on the counter. “We have the bar to ourselves.”

Your breathing grows shallow, anticipation building behind your ribs.

“That so?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, guiding your hand so it rests on your stomach, his thumb agonizingly close to the bottom curve of your breast. 

He untangles his fingers from yours, wordlessly instructing with a squeeze to the back of your hand to keep it still. You freeze, keeping your hand steady on your stomach as the pad of his middle finger glides up your shirt between your breasts. 

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he says, voice honey in your ears. “The way you looked at my hand earlier.”

That same hand is wrapping around your neck now, his touch featherlight. Those long fingers cover so much of you and you find yourself lifting your chin as he moves against you. His chest presses into you, and you're certain you can feel the hardened length of him against the swell of your ass. 

But all you can focus on are those fingers now cradling your chin, heading north.

“Did you enjoy it? The way my fingers move?”

His middle and forefinger rest on your left cheek, his thumb coming up to swipe across your bottom lip. 

“Would you like to know how they taste?”

Your hand at your stomach grips the fabric of your shirt tightly now, molten lava sent down to your core.

For a moment, you forget yourself, lost to his touch and voice. It takes you a second to remember he had asked you a question.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, nodding as much as his hand will allow.

His thumb swipes along your top lip now, your mouth hanging open to let out shallow, bated breaths.

“Go on, then,” he coos. “Indulge yourself.”

At that, you stick out your tongue, Silco's thumb coming down to press on it. As soon as he does, you close your mouth around it and suck, tasting the sweat on his skin. You hum around him, not even realizing that your eyes have fluttered closed.

“That's it.”

You drag your teeth across his thumb and he chuckles softly at that.

“How about some more?”

He pops his thumb out, replacing it with his middle and ring finger. You readily accept both, humming as you allow him to press them in as deep as they can go, fingers firm against your tongue.

“How long have you wanted these inside you?” He pulls his fingers back a fraction before sliding them back in. Your thighs press together as you picture that same movement between your legs. “Perhaps as long as I've wanted?”

You whimper around him, dampness growing in your underwear. And if his fingers in your mouth wasn't enough, his other hand is snaking down your hip, moving with purpose toward your navel.

“I should fuck you with my fingers right here in the bar,” he whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

You nod, whining a muffled whine.

Eyes half lidded, you feel drunk off him. More drunk than you could ever feel on any drink from the bar. His hand works quickly to undo your belt, fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants.

“How much do you want this?”

Your free hand flies to grab him by the thigh, fingers digging into his pants desperately. 

Right hand still working your mouth, his left dips beneath the waistband of your underwear, gliding down to your mound. And when the pads of his fingers glide through your folds, he finds them absolutely drenched.

You feel completely captive to him, his body encircling you and his fingers playing you like a puppet. Your walls clench around nothing as he massages a circle into your clit.

“Mmph!”

“That's it,” he hums, coating his fingers in your arousal. “Don’t worry. You're in good hands.”

At that, he presses two fingers into you. Your hips buck and your mouth falls open at the touch, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure shoots through you. Your toes clench and you scoot your feet apart, spreading yourself wide for him. His palm grinds against your clit as his fingers in your mouth press down on your tongue, middle and ring finger rolling against it like a steady wave.

You knew his hands were good.

You didn't know they were this good.

You already feel on the edge of ruin, hips shamelessly chasing the curl of his fingers inside you, grinding yourself against him. So blissed out, so overcome by want, you lift your hand from your stomach to grab your own breast, kneading it as you chase your high.

“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” he hums, his breathing almost ragged. He seems to be enjoying watching your undoing as much as you are enjoying experiencing it.

Your name is a prayer of praise on his lips, a quiet secret against skin. And as Silco's fingers continue to curl within you, his chest flush with your back and his palm grinding your clit, you wish this moment could last forever.

Silco shoves a third finger into your mouth, followed swiftly by a third at your core, stretching your walls.

A few more rolls of your hips, a few more curls of his fingers and then—

“Mmph!”

Your walls pulse around his fingers as you come undone, drool escaping out the sides of your lips as you pant and moan through your climax. It's impossible to tell which part of you is wetter with how slick both Silco's hands are. Chest heaving, clit throbbing, you feel as if every cell in your body is singing, crying out in unison one singular word.

Silco.

He eases you through your climax, both sets of fingers matching the rhythm of your spasming walls. And when finally your orgasm slows, he holds you in place, not moving a muscle.

Eyelids heavy, breath ragged, you feel exhausted all over. Silco's fingers remain inside you, a heavy, comforting presence within you. And when he pulls his hands from you, he does so only for a moment before bringing his left hand up to your mouth.

You can smell yourself on him and see the way his fingers glisten with your release. Wordlessly, you open your mouth and Silco pushes each drenched finger inside one by one.

You lazily suck on each of his fingers in turn, cleaning them as you try to piece yourself back together. 

Satisfied, he pulls his last digit free from your mouth and rests his damp fingers on your stomach possessively, both arms curled around you.

It's almost sweet, the way he embraces you.

But as your senses slowly return to you, you can feel the needy press of his crotch to your backside.

His chin tucked over your shoulder, his voice is a low rumble, a deep devilish purr at your ear. Your eyes flutter closed at the sound and warmth fills your body at his words.

“Why don't we continue this upstairs?”

A/N: Yes, a part 2 is already written 👀 Look forward to it.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

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[unknownati]

xiii. tap tap tap

a/n: im. Cooking. I swear

idk whether to finish my reqs first or my wips 😭 but lowkey i've been busy asf sorry 😞 i am slooowly chipping away at them

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no desc of reader's physical features, gn!reader, sub!ekko, crop top, living my truth, orgasm denial, handjob, short bleghhh, unproofread THIS ENDING 😒

_______________________________________________

a small groan rumbles in ekko's chest as he leans over his workbench, papers scattered across the wood surface in a chaotic organization.

"ugh," ekko's head shook, nose scrunching in frustration. nothing was adding up—none of the math circled back to the main problem.

his z-drive got messed up in a fight, and the whole thing was completely off now. not being able to figure this stupid thing out had his forehead heating up, his fingers flicking his pencil between his fingers, a constant rapping against the table reminiscent to a clock ticking.

a whole room over, the sound made your ears twitch at the familiarity, your mind's attention shifting from the book you were reading to that consistent noise.

you've asked ekko many times to try to not make that noise—it's a distraction, gritting to your ears. each word you read gets replaced with a 'tap tap.'

you know the context behind that noise too—so why not help him fix it?

you peek into ekko's room, the tapping filling your ears more clearly. your presence is thick, even with your lack of noise, ekko realizes you're there. he gives you a small grunt of acknowledgment, no time to think about anything more.

your chin rests on his shoulder, palms running up and down his forearms. your eyes pass over the work he has, not a clue in the world what any of this means. what your eyes dart to instead was that pencil. still tapping. you hum. "what's wrong, baby?"

his nose scrunches and he sighs, shaking his head. "i just can't figure this out."

you let the sentence linger in the air, squeezing his shoulders, fingers slipping to kneed his biceps. "hmm...well, what are you tryna do?"

his lips form a line and then he opens his mouth, explaining the entire plan out to you with reasoning, showing you pictures, showing you evidence, everything. you weren't listening to a word.

"but the thing is, i tried both, and doing the first one leads me down a complete different road. and i'm wondering if it's because—"

"mhm," you hum as he continues speaking, your eyes trailing up his gesticulating arms, then down. his shirt was cropped, his midriff peeking out from the angle you were at. casually, both of your hands begin snaking down. they both stop at his waist. he doesn't notice—it's a regular occurrence. you're always touching the visible skin when he's wearing a crop top.

you couldn't lie, the sight was tantalizing. every time he reached up for something, the shirt would raise and give you a larger view of his abs. something about the crop top was so much better than seeing him shirtless.

it wasn't until your hand started creeping up his shirt that he fumbled over his words. "what are you doing?"

"nothing, sorry. keep talking."

he cleared his throat, stuttering for a moment but then getting back on track to his sentences. he asks something, some question related to the papers in front of him.

"hmm, well i dunno baby. talk me through it, what do you think?" you throw the ball right back into his court. good thing ekko likes talking, because he immediately had an answer for you, his mouth running once again.

you give half-hearted noises of acknowledgment between pauses in speech, meanwhile, the hand that wasn't up his shirt was slooowly making it's way down his pants. once you breached the band of his boxers, he stuttered again.

"what are you doing?" he re-asks, more emphasis on his words. you shake your head.

"focus on what you have to figure out, not on me."

he doesn't respond, zoning out as your fist closes around his dick. it's slowly growing in your hand, twitching at your touch. the hand up his shirt taps. "focus." you repeat.

"um," he groans, picking up the next sheet of paper. "i just think that—"

his sentence was cut short by a gasp, since you gave him no time to prepare himself, immediately starting to stroke him. he thinks he knows what game you're playing.

"think that...maybe i should try thinking about it the other...way around...i–f-fuck..." his sentence trails off, shaky breaths filling the air and ghosting around him. the tapping grows weak until it finally stops, wood clattering and rolling against the desk.

"you...?" you pick the sentence off where it ended, your wrist flicking rapidly. his knees feel weak— he leans his weight onto his palms, which rest against the edge of the table.

"god, i–i don't know. i can't focus with you doing that..."

you allow him a few more moments of bliss, and you can tell he's close. you're leading him right into your trap, moving faster,

"ah,"

faster,

"baby, please, i'm-"

faster,

"oh fuck,"

...then it's all gone. the tight coil in his tummy simply...crumbled rather than unraveling. he almost collapses, arms wobbling to hold himself up on the desk.

"that's how i feel when you tap that pencil."

before he can even process his confusion, you're out the room, door shutting behind you.

maybe an unconventional approach—but you never heard that tapping again.

[certifiedsexed]

i’m positive you’ve answered this before, but what is a stone identity (if so you can just put a link if you don’t want to explain again)? and is there a more gender neutral term for it? like as in “stone butch” “stone femme” (those are just the two i immediately thought of) but for more gendernonspecific people?

i’m genderfluid, and personally don’t like the labels “enby” and “nonbinary” because of how fast my gender jumps around, like ill feel pretty lenient one day and then everything BUT this one pronoun feels gross and wrong (sometimes nothing feels right and ill seriously contemplate going by no pronouns). it feels sometimes i am within the binary (feeling very masc/manly for example) and then other times nothing can even describe my gender. the closest i can get is “creature” but that’s still far off. so its pretty hard to find terms to describe me sometimes, especially with the two more common gender neutral labels out of the running from the start 😬

thinking i may fall under the stone label because i don’t exactly like the idea of being pleasured myself (in the context of sex with another person), i moreso am interested in pleasuring the other for their reaction/expression. like i don’t even find erogenous zones very appealing but i would adore seeing/making a partner feel good like that, i dunno.

Well, I feel like some of the posts in my #Stone Education tag can explain it better but to put it simply, it's an identity that communicates sexual boundaries.

There's a lot of nuance to it, so take this definition with a grain of salt but for a lot, it means having specific boundaries around receiving/giving sexual touch/pleasure and penetration.

As for a gender neutral version of stone, there's Stone Top and Stone Bottom! What you're describing sounds like Stone Top, where you prefer/only top and don't like receiving sexual pleasure/touch.

By the way, your gender sounds very cool! I hope this helps. Let me know if you have any other questions! <3

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Sixteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

We Got Issues

Part Sixteen : Y/N soothes Cillian in his temper, and he admits he's lost his head. But anxiety looms over Y/N at night and, despite Cillian's best efforts, it holds her captive - even after feeling so loved. [Sexual scenes. Themes of severe anxiety.]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @meadowshelby @strangeions

......

Cillian has vanished entirely, but music upstairs tells you he's either up in the office space, or in the bedroom. While you leave Síle and Griff in the living room with a cup of tea each and the TV controls, you clear the table and load up the dishwasher. It takes you ten minutes to tidy through, neatening the kitchen back up as you go. You linger on your feet beside Síle and Griff, cosy together on the sofa, with the overwhelming need to go in search of Cillian and ensure he's okay, or at least get a view as to what he's thinking and feeling. But you don't want to leave your guests, either.

“We're grand here if you want to go up after himself.” Síle says, looking away from the TV, and you're amused both by her comment and that she seemed to have read your mind.

“Don't take his mood to heart,” you say to her gently. “He's so snappy.”

“Temper on him like a toddler when he wants.” Síle laughs a little, and you can't pretend you've never seen that for yourself. “I really didn't mean to upset him though. And I promise that Yvonne and I aren't like the best of friends or anything.” She says, defending herself. “It really is so I can check in with the boys.”

You shake your head and hold out your hand, “You don't need to explain yourself to me.” You tell her. You can completely see her stance, but you do have a niggling wonder why it's never been mentioned before now. You stand for another moment or two, then you gesture towards the stairs. “I'm going to…” you say, jerking your head a little. “Help yourselves down here, yeah? Just raid the kitchen.” You smile, and turn away.

You take the stairs quickly and find the bedroom door ajar and the light on inside. You know he probably wants time to simmer down, too, especially with the music playing lightly - a wind down aid for him for as long as you've known him - but you don't know the song this time, so you can't gauge his feelings. You walk towards the door and place the flat of your hand against it, pushing it open slowly. He's sitting on the edge of the bed and looks up as the door creaks a little bit.

“That was like a car crash.” You say and he rolls his eyes, then sighs loudly. “Why'd you get so mad?”

He shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes again. “I dunno,” he swipes his tongue across his lips. “It just felt like she was going behind my back, and like it proves that I don't know my sons anymore.” He sighs.

“I don't think she means that at all.” You say gently. You step fully into the room and push the door closed. “Honestly, I don't.”

“I know,” he nods his head. “I feel like a right prick.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn't go that far, but you definitely jumped on her harshly.” you give him a serious look. “I think you owe her an apology for that. And I think you're really tired and your fuse is shorter.” You walk across the space between you and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Immediately, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head against you. You run your left hand up and down against the back of his head, and he squeezes tighter against you. “I probably should have talked to you before I agreed to them coming, especially your first night home again.”

“No,” he mumbles into your top. “She's my little sister, she can be here if she wants. I'm just tired and she got it. I'll talk to her.” He sighs. “But I just don't understand why she's keeping up with her - there's no need, like.”

“No, I know what you mean. And I understand that that's why you got annoyed by it.” You validate him quickly, “But she made a clear point in that it was purely for the boys.”

“Y/N!" He moans. "She can ask me,” he lifts his head and looks at you, “You know? They're my fucking sons too.”

You nod your head, “I know, love.” You draw your hand down from his head and tap against each of his shoulders with both hands. “Come on, bite the bullet and we'll go down there and be better hosts.” You smile. “Say you're sorry, and we'll open another bottle of something.”

“Can't we stay here?” He says, petulantly childish, and it makes you laugh. “I can think of more fun things to do than apologising.”

“Well, if you can do those fun things quietly, we can do them later when everyone's in bed.” You smirk and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“How quiet?” He mutters as he drops his arms from around your waist.

As you step back to allow him to stand up, you laugh to yourself. “Oh, silent.” You offer, and laugh more when he frowns at you comically. “Just kiss me the whole time and it'll muffle every sound.” You suggest, grinning.

He raises his eyebrows again and you laugh a little more. He pulls down his jumper and nods towards the door, then reaches for his phone to silence the music. “C’mon.” he sighs. “Or I'll be extra stubborn and tell her to go home.” You know he's joking, of course, but you can see he's utterly exhausted and his pride is about to take a walloping.

You startle awake in the darkness of the bedroom, gasping with your heart thudding in your chest, and whatever the dream had been you can't recall it. You stare out, towards the wall, and try to settle your breathing. The bed shifts beside you and you feel Cillian's arm snake around your waist.

“Y’alright?” He asks in a husky whisper. His hand settles on your stomach, rubbing his fingers back and forth over your pyjama top, and he's spooned in close behind you. “Hey? Y/N, what happened? Are y'okay?” He asks. He's half asleep and his throat is grumbly, but he cares enough to try and see that you're okay.

“Yeah,” you whisper, conscious that Síle and Griff are in Malachy's room across the landing. “Dreaming, I don't even know what it was.” You say and push your body back against him. “Sorry,” you say, it being a second thought that your waking up was what has disturbed him.

“Ah, don't be sorry,” he mumbles, his face close to your neck. He moves his hand again against your stomach.

You reach out your hand and lift your phone from the nightstand. The screen immediately lights up and you can see it isn't even one am. You hadn't been in bed for even two hours, yet. And you wish you knew what the dream had been, because you'd woken feeling so afraid, so anxious, you know that it must have been fairly traumatic. You lay the phone back down. “Go back to sleep,” you tell him, shuffling your head on the pillow a little to get comfortable.

“Your heart's thumping.” he says quietly and pulls you even closer. “C’mere, I'll mind ya.” He’s smirking, you can hear, but you know he's exhausted.

“I'm okay, go back to sleep, Cill.” You say and rest your hand over his around your waist. But he isn't going back to sleep, and he makes it clear by pushing into you, his groin colliding with your backside in his slow movement forwards while his legs press closer in behind yours. “Cill…” you say quietly, your hand staying on top of his around your middle. His lips are pressing gentle kisses against the back of your neck, and you know it is game over for sleep for the time being. You remove your hand from on top of his and reach backwards, awkwardly turning your arm back and cup your hand over his arse, encouraging his movements. His penis is rapidly stiffening against the cleft of your backside and you feel the first stirrings of need between your own legs.

He moves his hand from your stomach and begins pulling at the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, and awkwardly moves his other arm around between you to help with the other side. You move a little, giving him easier access, and he slides your bottoms down to your knees. You reach your arm up by your head and bend it back to cup your hand over his head, and he lays kisses on your cheek at his odd angle. His hands vanish from your body for a moment and there's movement behind you before his body is quickly pressing back into you again. You can feel his skin against yours and the prodding of his erection at the base of your back. He nestles himself between your cheeks, gliding up and down with his slow thrusts against you, and reaches his hand back around your hip. He slides his hand slowly down past your belly button and softly through your pubic hair, then runs his middle finger down from your clit to your vagina. It's momentary, but he dips his finger inside before pulling back up and slowly rubbing circles around your clit. It's tender, assaulting but not violent, and you sigh and rest your back into his chest as his hand does the work. He rutts in slow movements into your cheeks and you know it'll be a sticky mess if positions aren't changed, but fuck it feels so good when his hands do their greatest work. You reach back your hand between your bodies, attempting to get your fingers wrapped around him, but the angle is awkward and you find it difficult. Though his fingers are skillful and only getting better at their task, you've been teased with the main event and you want it as much as he clearly does.

You bring your hand back around and place it on top of his, and while you spur him on for a moment - which makes him grunt into the skin on your neck, and you make a note in your mind that he likes when you help him help you - you then draw his hand away. You turn over, facing him in the dark, and find his face by guess alone. You kiss him gently, and his hands wrap around you and cup against the cheeks of your arse, putting you close to him. You feel the throb of his penis against your naval and all you want now is to feel it deep inside of you. It's like the dream never happened, now. He shifts and turns onto his back, and you know there's some silent, completely unspoken knowledge of what's intended. With him on his back, you awkwardly kick off your pyjama bottoms, as he kicks his own down off his feet, and climb up to straddle across his thighs. Despite the lack of wanting to draw attention should Síle or Griff be awake, you fumble at his nightstand and switch on the lamp, then slowly pull open the drawer for a condom. Seeing him in the yellow glow of the light, you smile as you look down on him from across his legs. His penis is twitching, back against his nest of dark hair, and he's watching you with lidded eyes and a half open mouth. You rip the condom open and quickly remove it. Holding the tip between your fingers, you take hold of his penis with your other hand and smile at the moan he lets out. You pump your fist three times before you hold him still and slowly slide the condom into place.

You crash down suddenly, comically even, with your hands planted by his shoulders, and steal a feverish kiss as you bring your lower body up a little higher. When you rise up again, onto your knees, you hover for a moment before reaching down and grasping his penis in your hand. Lining up unsexily, you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock, still throbbing as you remove your hands, and let yourself swallow him whole as you sink down fully. If he moans, as you assume, you don't hear it as your eyes close and your own sigh falls from your lips at the intense and satisfying feeling of being filled up. By all accounts, Cillian probably wouldn't be considered ‘hung’, but he was by no means lacking, and everything he did, especially with that slight curve, hit the spot perfectly. Taking him this way, being in charge like this yourself, allowed you to reach pleasures you didn't experience in other ways. You grind your hips back and forth, rising up just a little, and feel the doubly satisfying feelings of him inside you and your clitoris just about being tended to by the closeness of your bodies. His hands plant down onto your hips and urge you to move faster. You oblige, but only just - increasing your speed just enough for it to show on his face as his jaw falls open. He keeps his hands on your hips for a moment and then he slowly slides them up along your sides, then cups his hands around your breasts. A zap of excitement shoots through your body, and you rock your hips faster. His hands move back down, gripping around your hips again, and he guides you quicker and quicker. You want your mouth on his, to taste every sigh and moan he has, but the grip of his hands tell you to stay as you are, that he's on the home stretch, and that you're serving a purpose for him right now. Not that you mind the idea that he might be simply ‘fucking into you’ - it feels good, and you don't want it to stop. The speed is working for you, though, and your clitoral orgasm takes you by surprise a little, shuddering through your body and making you feel hot all over. You reach down your hands and almost claw at his belly, grinding harder against him, as your walls contact around his penis. It draws a whimper from him, and he sits up abruptly, balancing oddly, and wraps his arms around your back, pulling your head to his shoulder and your chest close to his. How he manages to rutt his hips up against you in that position is beyond you, but manage he does, and he groans into your ear as he cums, pulling you down as he thrusts upwards, and his sweaty body shudders. You can feel the jerking of his cock inside of you and you miss the feeling that used to accompany it. And you curse yourself for sullying an enjoyable moment with your darkness.

He breathes heavily against your shoulder and you keep your arms wrapped around him, soothing him through the trembles his body seems to be stuck in for a moment. You wonder if the masturbating he's done while away felt this good, you wonder if he's done it at all, by this reaction, and you move a little as his penis shifts inside of you. He cups his hands around your face and forces you to look at him. His eyes are sleepy but his pupils are blown wide. He kisses you slowly, softly, then draws your head back from his. “Fuck…” he whispers.

You smile, “Missed that.” You whisper back.

“Worth waking up for,” he says, and swipes his tongue across his lips. “Hope to fuck they're asleep across there.” He mutters, pulling a face as you lift up and shift over on the bed.

You watch him stare down at himself, his softened cock and a filled condom, and you wonder if his mind goes over the same things as yours. He turns his back to you, his legs dropped down over the side of the bed, and you hear the sickening snapping sound as he pulls the condom off and ties it before throwing it into the small bin beside his nightstand. He pulls his pyjama bottoms back on and it reminds you you're lying there half naked. You retrieve your pyjama bottoms and fix them on, and roll down the t-shirt that Cillian had pushed up under your neck.

It's been a long silence, but you answer his comment as you both stand, on either side of the bed, looking at one another. “It'll be an interesting breakfast if they're not.” Looking at him, though, you remember your dream and you feel a fluttering of panic in the centre of your chest as it flashes back into your mind.

You're heavily pregnant, standing on the deck of a ferry to England. And somewhere on the shore, waving you off, is Cillian with his hand laced into Yvonne's. She's pregnant, too, and his other hand is caressing her swollen belly lovingly.

You feel your breathing catch in your throat and you swallow heavily. You blink quickly and realise Cillian is staring at you. Focusing on his face, you frown. He's talking but you can't hear him. You breathe slowly, trying to be in control, but your ears buzz and your heart thumps wildly. You turn and sit on the edge of the bed, struggling to see straight, and you feel him beside you with his arms around you. He's pulling you close, and you can feel the vibrations in his chest of his talking but the words are lost. You feel dizzy, and your eyes are filling with hot tears. Why is this happening? It was a dream. You make a conscious effort to turn your head and see his face, and he looks so scared. “I'm okay,” you stammer, breathless. “.. I just…” you shrug weakly.

But you can hear him now, and you can hear the rasp to his voice that emerges when he's scared, and the soft words he's speaking are beautiful. “You're okay, girl, it's just a panic attack. I'm right here, yeah? I'm here, mo ghrá…”

“I'm okay,” you repeat, and rest your head against his shoulder. Slowly, you are becoming okay. And I can't even explain it. You turn your face so you can smell his skin and feel his heat, and he holds you even tighter and closer. “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened.” You say, and your breaths are evening out.

He sighs softly, “Anxiety doesn't always get explained,” he says. He's taken your brain in his stride again, and you're calmed by his love and acceptance.

But the dream is still right there.

[camoftarakas]

GETTING "BIRD GUY"-'D IRL

oh my fucking god narrow intended audience for this one but you know how Brennan Lee Mulligan got himself into being "Bird Guy" even though he is, according to people close to him, just that analytical about everything?

my autistic ass has been Bird Guy'd and i just put it together now i'm deeply relating with Guy who created DnD Show i like.

so people who don't know me that well have from time to time labelled me as a "weeb" for, IMO, very very silly dumb things. and i'm always like "demonstrably not true. first of all, you have no idea what you're talking about; weebs exist on a scale from 'orientalist' to 'cringe, but scholarly', but extrapolating from that i'm not even a fan of anime or manga or shit so what the fuck?"

so this thing: annoying, strange, incorrect, dishonoring a storied label for the weirdos (may they be /pos or /neg) amongst us who follow japanese media. but i reflected on this because on the internet, following artists and music and watching Dungeon Meshi, and in conjunction with the linguistic research i do on orthographies, i find myself slowly being able to read Kana. and i dunno about the weebs you know, but knowing Kana is like a thing Weebs try to do if they don't want to get into really learning japanese. so i thought "oh god. this thing that happens is gonna get more annoying but that's not fair! i'm like this with literally all scripts and languages!

...

>:O

my autistic ass. was SO foolish to open my mouth and contribute what i've known about Japan's history and language, probably in the same hour that i talked with them about Sailor Moon or Dungeon Meshi, and the FOOLS i talk to say "that there is 'Japan Cam'" BECAUSE THEY NEVER SEE THE PART OF ME THAT IS JUST AS PASSIONATE ABOUT TURKISH, TIBETAN, AND AFRIKAANS. WELL LET ME SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT:

I LIKE LANGUAGE, CULTURE AND HISTORY. AND ALSO I KNOW EVERY COUNTRY'S FLAG

[theonethatstoleyourshit]

I'm here just to HELL NAH on this tumblr aaaa take.

I don't see Tim as asian cuz I don't fuck with fanon, I don't fuck with ANY headcanons, any fanfics, any nothing.

But this person is bullshitting.

No one who fucks with it says "TIM IS SMART SO TIM ASIAN!!!!" you say it. Maybe you're not the white saviour you think you are and rather racist, hell, white saviourism is racist to begin with.

Also, "this hairstyle is prominent in this culture, wouldn't it be cool if?" isn't racist. YOU'RE GRASPING. There's literally no way for that to be racist, its so bogus you didn't even explain HOW the fuck its racist cuz you dunno yourself how it is. "Fulana wears a lot of peruvian clothes like ponchos in Mengano's show, wouldn't it be cool to make her peruvian or with heritage in my headcanon?" not at all racist, its just an idea. Usually I just block peeps like you and move on to get yall out of my algorhythm, but this is weaponizing racism claims just cuz you don't like someone's idea.

Maybe its just me but that shit is racist. The oppression peeps face is systematic and too real for you to banalize it like this, its like you're making fun of us. But eh, maybe thats just me who sees weaponizing racism claims as racist, it IS manipulative.

Just say "I don't like the Tim asian headcanon, I don't think its original, also, what does changing someone's appearance really do for their character?" To which I'd reply "no idea ngl, but idc, I mean, if people wanna draw let em draw what they want. Damian is often made much darker than peeps his mixed ethnicities actually are but I don't complain. Their pen their choice"

I confess that I hate the Asian (Korean) Tim headcanon. They have racism so internalized that they don't realize it.

"He's Korean, look how he combs his hair."

Don't you realize how racist you are? Or have you internalized it so much? It's normal in your life, Tim, the smartest Robin, is now Asian according to the fans.I don't know how they don't realize it.

Well, but do you want Asian characters? You have Cass and Damian

[pestercide]

Decided to revisit my Minecraft spooky guy designs

Old designs here

[somegrumpynerd]

Oh my god. I wanna hit something THEY'RE SO FUCKING CUTE ARHHARGHHAGHA HHHGHYH TUHHHH

OH MY GOD HE'S SO PRECIOUS I MUST PET HIM HE'S SO STOOPID AND GOOFFYY AND ARGHHHHHH

FUCK. HIS BEADY LITTLE EYES FFGGFFFFG HE MUST BE PROTECTED AT ALL COST

Ahsukdbsbjkb I'm so glad you like them!! They're one of my favourites hehe :D

Ignore the fact that I almost forgot to draw them cause I got so caught up planning sprites for everybody else lol

Unfortunately you cannot pet Killer (yet) because he will bite, but you can hold Cross as much as you want (he still doesn't purr but he is having a good time I promise) (ignore the tears he's just not used to so much attention)

[jasminexbaudelaires]

Jaz: GOOD. You're like one of my best dudes. I didn't want to have to kill you. Who would I scream with about Silo? Jaz: ALSO. WE HAVE TO WATCH LANDMAN TOGETHER. Jaz: I dunno if you've seen it yet, but if not we need to watch together. I saw some Billy Bob Thornton clips, and now I gotta see it. Jaz: But also - I feel you on that about what BW said. He's just clearly mistaken. Jaz: Definitely not enough z's. You need like 50 more. Jaz: I've been okay. Busy with the ranch and trying to find a space for a clinic. Jaz: How have you been?

Matt: NO FIGHTING!! I agree it's a Christmas movie! The director or Bruce Willis said it's not but what do they know hahahaha Matt: Jazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Matt: I don't think I used enough Z's there. Matt: how's it going?

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[defender-of-jouvente]

[You want to be their rock, don't you?] [Their shoulder to cry on. Someone they can always turn to. A person who can love them unconditionally.] [Don't you?] [Don't you?] [Then put that smile back on your face. They're still watching.]

[foryoupeko]

Thanksgiving Attack Part 2!

Toxic Yuri Attack!

[pestilentbrood]

VERY long Ramble incoming

honestly now that I'm looking at the auraboa lore situation, I'm just disappointed. There was such POTENTIAL in the idea of the Loop and the horror of a new generation inexplicably being disconnected from it, forcing the newly hatched children into a world totally separate from that perceived by their parents (I mean, hell, they perceive TIME differently!).... but then the writer(s?) just fell ass backwards into Icky Tropes.

I feel like I can see what the idea was, especially with the recent alterations to the Encyclopedia entry... It seems like staff fundamentally understands the true Horror potential here, but... Instead, through the short story, they proposed it through the lens of a condescending outsider character, turning the fears of the older generation into something trivial. And also weirdly demeaning the Auroboa's situation by portraying them as overreacting.

Why... why would you do that? Like, from a storytelling perspective? What's gained from that? Why not embrace the true horror and even Emotional significance of that disruption? Why instead go for "ohh we NEED outsider help we NEED to be saved because we are so helpless and it is so Silly that we, creatures who have never experienced such things, do not know what sleep is"????

And if they WANTED to have a condescending outsider, I feel like they COULD have done that, but it would have to have that character realize the horror at some point. And make it obvious that their attitude towards distressed parents and children facing Eldritch Shit and the Sudden Deconstruction of it was not cool!

(or at the very least be a bit more...idk. Consistent with said outsider character? Juniper just goes from "omg I am so honored that the fascinating creatures of the behemoth have chosen me to speak to" to "oh their wasting my time because they don't know what sleep is. I'd rather be sleeping!! 🙄" like girl... c'mon now. Why are we trivializing it like this. Do you want me as the reader to be invested in their plight or not.)

I mean come on. They're beings connected through one networked hivemind-like system, yet each still maintains a silver of individuality that allows them to move freely throughout the Behemoth that they care for. And they've got an eldritch understanding of time that no other dragon could understand. They're seeing the future, past, and present unfold simultaneously. They're witnessing the birth and death of the world at the same time, and have no way to communicate it to other dragons. The best they can do is maintain their home, and even then, they see its roots spread and decay all at once.

And then the newest generation is suddenly disconnected. An inherent link between parent and child and all dragons in-between, that has existed since the creation of their species, is just suddenly GONE for the newest births. With NO explanation for it. The children have no easy way of communicating with their parents. The children are experiencing time in a way that was not meant for their species. They've forcefully been shoved into a circadian rhythm that they are Not! Built for!

The only way a parent could communicate properly with their child would be when the latter is sleeping, something that is also completely foreign to this species. It would be terrifying for all involved!!!

They are literally experiencing eldritch horror from the perspective of the eldritch being forced into the mortal.

Like why WOULDN'T there be panic!!! And why would that panic be trivialized! Why are we only shown the perspective of an outsider who looks at this situation and goes "Oh the silly tree beasts are being so silly over nothing, it's no big deal!"

That and the way the auraboas talk to outsiders. Like. There was such potential there. Real opportunity to explore how ancient, time-bending beings would communicate to someone who couldn't even BEGIN to understand the intricacies of it.

Instead we got what feels more like baby talk (even described as though they were hatchlings enunciating their first words, which... I dunno man, maybe we don't want to compare them to children like That) and less like... Beings that experience all of time at once. I mean, the hatchlings and the adults speak the exact same way, and that doesn't make any sense given the literal time barrier going on.

I totally get why people thought there was just a language barrier and that auraboas had their own language, thus causing the disjointed speak, and not that it was because They Do Not Experience Time Like We Do. And I feel it would've been far easier to get it across by just... I dunno. Do anything else?? I saw someone on here suggest they speak in the "wrong" tenses, or using multiple tenses in the same sentence, which I think would've been far more clear.

Like, as opposed to "saplings wilt! saplings silent!" just "the saplings will wilt in silence, they've wilted in silence, they are wilting silently." Said all at once like all things are true simultaneously. And if we're going for hivemind, have each auraboa speak in a different tense, all at the same time, and have them switch it up every time. Have our outsider get confused and be like "which is it? are they wilting now, or have they already wilted?" and the cluster of auraboas respond in a cacophony of yes's, no's, and maybe's all at once.

Would've probably gotten across the "alien" vibe they were supposedly going for far better than wide-eyed desperation for an outsider's guidance conveyed through disjointed, in-world described as baby speech.

And also maybe would've had less accidental connotations. Because as it stands, I completely see why people have made the connections to the real world where they have. This doesn't read like eldritch timey-wimey intrigue, or even a respectful look at how younger generations can become detached from their families' cultures over time and the struggles that come with it. It reads like a culture being perceived by an ignorant outsider who (despite supposedly respecting these dragons) scoffs and rolls their eyes because the tree beasts with their funny words are being silly again, and that Hey, isn't it actually a great thing that the children are fundamentally different in all manners now? Because now they can join the rest of us in the "real world."

Yknow. Ick.

(I Personally think it would've been better to have the perspective be one of the Auraboas themselves, especially one of the children, to really understand what was going on here. Give us the full brunt of the mind of a creature experiencing all of time interwoven as one shape. The waters fall and the oceans crash with waves. They've now fallen to drought. The ocean has yet to be born. Caves have been carved out through the waters' currents. And when I break from this timeline, I open my eyes to see a child, the child not yet born, the child born now, the child born yesterday. Why can't I hear it? Why couldn't I hear it? Why won't I ever hear it?)

I dunno. People more qualified than me to speak on this matter have already torn the lore apart, I'm just... dropping my own two cents. Potential got weirdly squandered and we ended up instead with unfortunate implications and tropes that could be connected a liiiittle too awkwardly to irl situations.

*Also, before anyone points out: Yes, I know the hatchlings aren't COMPLETELY detached from the Loop and can join it when they sleep. But the fact is, these thangs never had to sleep before. That wasn't in their species' nature. So that's still weird and foreign for them on both sides. And since the hatchlings now have a circadian rhythm, they can't stay connected to the loop permanently. And also Also, seeing as the previous generations aren't experiencing time linearly, who's to say they even recognize when their child joins the loop? They'll speak with an echo of their child when that child was last asleep ages ago, not knowing that it's not them presently, because there is no 'present' for the older generations.

[charlidrawz]

Sonic Saturday.

I won't respond to every message. I won't always have the perfect response planned for every submission...

That doesn't mean your voice isn't heard.

I believe that better days are coming- somehow, someway, someday-

"Every world has its end.

I know that's kinda sad, but...

That's why we gotta live life to the fullest in the time we have.

At least, that's what I figure."

We're gonna get through this.

To everyone who's sent me a message, is struggling, or just feels alone right now...

I believe in you. I believe in us. This isn't gonna keep you down, I know ya'll are stronger than you think.

If The World Chooses To Become Our Enemy, We Will Fight Like We Always Have.

Your perseverance is admirable. Your strength to withstand the worst of our nightmares is uncanny.

For those of us who struggle to find ways to help make a change, I hope you know... you're seen.

You inspire us.

Keep the spark alive in yourselves... we see it. we're cheering you on.

Not lookin' back

Not givin' up

Not letting go

We'll keep on running.