#and I can't even do the thing that makes me feel remotely connected to folks

[sinkat-arts]

Tomorrow is my birthday.

I've never been a big birthday person... I mostly use it as an excuse to go out to the desert and have adventures or just enjoy some peace and quiet. But this year sees me alone (not by choice) at my mother's house across the country, where I've been since early July.

Two months of being away from the family I made, away from my dog, away from my things and my space.

Two months of being the primary caretaker for my mother as she bounces in and out of the hospital due to a surgery that went wrong in every way it possibly could as well as dehydration so severe that it wrecked her kidneys (and was on its way to wrecking her as a whole).

Two months of managing her life as well as my own. Calling doctor's offices, dealing with insurance companies, paying her bills, taking care of her house and her lawn, worrying over her short term disability running out... and then dealing with having to replace the air conditioning back home, my room mate / coparent losing his job, my son going back to school, and my general inability to be there to help them.

Two months of being out of work on medical leave and watching my savings dwindle away because, while FMLA protects my job, it doesn't replace lost income. The state of California has a program in place for caretakers to get some kind of financial help, but I haven't heard one way or the other on approval there.

I'm overstressed, exhausted, lonely, homesick, creatively bankrupt, and currently suffering from a sinus infection.

So yeah, it's not exactly about to be a very happy birthday, ha.

[atopvisenyashill]

what do you think IS the heart of winter? a physical or metaphorical place? it's one of those things that has me reeeeaaallly stumped

yeah i'm with you on the stumped thing. let's break it down a bit together. so this is the passage that references the "heart of winter"-

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him ... North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned his cheeks. Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder, now you know why you must live. "Why?" Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling. Because winter is coming. Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like spears. He saw the bones of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points. He was desperately afraid.

This is also that infamous "curtain of light at the end of the world" passage too. There's a lot of theories, a lot of analysis - this chapter, like a lot of the more magic heavy chapters, contains a lot of information that feels like it's going to be massively important in the endgame. So what the hell does it mean? Some bullet points-

foreshadowing Jon's death -> Jon is certainly cold at the Wall, but he hasn't yet left for any sort of excursion at this point. The combination of his skin growing "pale and hard" makes me think this is specifically about the moment he's killed.

showing us bloodraven's lil hide out -> I bolded the point about the spires of ice that are attacking him and the bones of other dreamers because we see this come up later - the cave. there are wights and bones surrounding the cave but they can't enter, very similar to the dead dreamers on the spires who couldn't fly.

the three eyed crow wants Bran afraid -> this section is just fear on top of fear on top of fear. Whoever the Three Eyed Crow is, what he wants more than anything is for Bran to be terrified of the Others and their coming.

the curtain of light and the heart of winter -> this seems like the "home" of the Others.

So what does "home" of the Others mean? Well, it could just be metaphorical. That winter - true winter, a winter that never ends - and its heart are carried with the Others, that as they approach everything turns cold and hard and dead. It might not be a physical, actual place so much as Bran trying to put into words the horror of the Others and the Long Night. Hell, maybe it's a weapon of sorts - the heart of winter travels with them and it is how they ensure that the dead rise again, perhaps even as a sort of parallel/foil/whatever to the concept of Lightbringer (fire and ice and all that).

OR....it could actually be their home, a physical place. An alternate universe (...pocket universe I suppose), kind of like a Pacific Rim deal, where the alien world is nestled within the human world in a remote location. Or its a physical place, the source of magic (a source of magic?), where the Others come from, not dissimilar from the Aos Sidhe and the Otherworld. Here's a lil explanation I'm just pasting from a book called "meeting the irish fair folk" by morgan daimler but you're likely to recognize the concept-

Called an Saol Eile in Irish, the Otherworld is a complicated place that may be best understood as a series of connected places rather than one contiguous location. Often in stories this is described as an island or series of islands off the coast of Ireland, which is generally hidden from mortal sight. These islands are unique to themselves but all have similar qualities in that they are outside the mortal world. The Otherworld may also be reached through the sidhe. The Otherworld has a different flow of time from the human world and is usually known for its lack of age or illness, although injury and death from conflict can occur.

So what he could be seeing is the Terros version of the Otherworld, where the sidhe of Terros live - again its that sort of "world within a world" thing that is very common in many faerie stories. What's interesting to me about that is that despite the very sidhe coded Others, and stories of being kidnapped by the evil fairies or left in the woods for the fairies (like Craster), we've never really delved into the concept of a Otherworld that is soooo common with this type of fae. The parallel culture, the magical realm, the lore of being fallen angels or corrupted humans, etc - our information on the Others is really missing here because the last Long Night was so far away and the Maesters don't believe in magic. It could mean that we simply won't get anything like this. COMMA BUT. Bran is very intentionally dealing with some odd ~timey wimey~ stuff right now and time passing oddly is a core aspect of most faerie land stories.

So....what is the heart of winter? Is it a physical place or a metaphor? Is it a weapon? Is it a pocket universe? If it is a pocket universe, can you access from anywhere or only once you've reached the curtain of light at the end of the world? Same as you, I'm frankly a bit stumped but I think that's on purpose. With a title like "The Winds of Winter" I think we're going to get some real answers to at least some of those questions in the next book (if we ever get it) though and I think the answers will come through Bran's narration.

[sainz100]

just emoting under the cut, I gotta get some personal feelings about tumblr off my chest ahh

I am so used to being alone that I've forgotten how to make friends!! which isn't to say I don't love talking, omg I love when you meet someone you can 'yes, and' with, who you can gush about your faves with, to create wild things together, and to listen to one another when things get hard ❤️❤️‍🩹

but as much as I love those things, the initial ice breaking for me in the virtual world is so hard, especially now since so many people I admire followed me back!! 😵‍💫💦 I feel like I'm behind glass but also so scared I'll do something annoying or wrong when I venture out, that people will leave and I'll be alone again

which is not true!! everyone should blog and create what's true to their heart ❤️ and everyone is free to curate their space (not being mutuals doesn't mean you can't be friends! maybe someone just has a certain driver who gives them the ick or maybe they want to follow only aesthetic blogs or maybe they only want close-close pals on the TL, etc etc!) being followed is not a sign of approval or validation that you're good, because you are! (I'm telling myself this!!)

It's more that, I get so nervous. Maybe I'll like and reblog too much or maybe I'll ask something silly. I feel like I am so woefully behind on reading especially, and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings that I can't catch up fast enough...or maybe everyone will move on to something new. which is fine, too! and good!! F1 especially with Daniel has been kinda heartbreaking recently. If it's not fun, folks will move on.

but for a few months, it felt so special. To be here for Spa, for Daniel's races, to feel good that I could find things that made people happy, to feel so close to being a part of something, it was so unreal!! ✨

now it's over. and I can keep diving into the past. (I do love to search [especially since it's something I can do at the office on the fly!! or when I'm so absolutely empty after work, mindlessly looking around for something] and I can search for things when the season comes back and I love to gif special events in the off season) but I keep opening this app and feeling so empty, like I'm doing it wrong

and when I do open up, I do it on other blogs, and I get so sad like "ahhh maybe I should've just done it here!!" instead of breaking up pieces of me all over the dang place and getting sad that no one knows who I am

anyways, I think I'm overthinking it! I am! It's not this deep, but it does mean so much to me. And I'm just scared I'll do something wrong, a self-fulfilling prophecy! I used to be so active in a fan discord for a musician (Käärijä, if you're curious!) and I got this same feeling of not knowing how to connect or feeling like I'd make a mistake when everyone there was so lovely 🥺 I kinda can't stand Käärijä anymore, so I didn't go back. I left when I was getting out of a hard living situation irl. I still feel so bad for not going back to properly say goodbye. Life just got so busy

and it is hard irl, I am always at work in an empty office (everyone else is remote!) and then I go home to an empty apartment (just moi!) and see friends on scant weekends (which I treasure!) but all that is to say that I'm sorry!! I'm trying to get life rebalanced, and I keep thinking I can't make friends until I've got life figured out!! also not true!! We're all figuring things out, and we'll be figuring things out forever, there is no "ahh I'm done growing! Now I can enjoy life!"

tl;dr!!!!!!! I'm still figuring things out ❤️ and I will try to connect while I grow 🌱 every kind message and tag and note means so much. I'm wanting to send more out to you too!! I want to reach out, and I'm learning how to do that again, so thank you for being patient with me (especially if you read all this ahh!! I love you!!) ❤️❤️❤️

anyways Autumn out!!!! and I'm not even going to overthink this big old post like I usually do (not every message and tag or post or fic needs to be overwrought like its make or break!!) it's just me. We're all just being ourselves here on tumblr and that's so wonderful, that's the part that matters most!! ❤️✨

[sirfleetfoot]

Sexuality and divinity (a incoherent rant not a fancy essay)

Overly posh title but here to write my thoughts before they leave me 🤡 oh. Also. Obviously this post will be talking about sex so. Don't read it if you don't want to see it. Honestly if you don't why are you still reading lol leave shoo

last warning 👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺

--->

On the physical plane I am aroace. I dont experience sexual desire or attraction or 'horniness' towards people, I do feel sexual arousal but it's not towards anything it's just kinda there. However the more connected to my divine aspect I feel...spiritually pan or bi, more bi in particular with a female lean since I find women more attractive. But some guys too. Namely Crocus - for some reason I recently can't stop thinking about him.

Its especially weird because if I weren't asexual I would consider myself straight, so thinking about a dude all the time, and bro I'm even feeling some heat on my cheeks about a dude- it's just so surreal to me. I feel a ache and loss over him - I guess I get to experience alloromantic/sexual folks feelings in a way even though my feelings are from another realm. Cool I guess.

Its definetly ...something for sure. Its like my attraction is limited to another plane and dosent translate over here but due to me often being in more than one things start to blur but it isn't something I feel in this realm.

I would like to explore these feelings more even though its like...another realm's sexuality bleeding into mine (I am very asexual over in physical, I have kinks but I hate the idea of someone doing them with me its like wtf no ew, which is...something because my kinks do centre around a specific type of person - which again if someone like that offered to act it out with me I'd absolutely HATE it!)

It is very interesting! I guess I'm just ace in one realm but I think one way to explore the other realm's bi-feelings is to do something like I would there here. Though ugh everyone in this realm who told me they were good with having one night stands without any romantic entanglement ended up admitting they are into me so. Fuck. This is actually happening so often I'm like (??) It's not even remotely a flex - when it say this people think I'm boasting but it's a geniune annoyance and I hate it.

Yea anyway some day in this plane I might sleep around some but istg I'm going to make sure my partners aren't lying about not being attracted to me. I would do it with strangers but I dont want any unpleasant surprises regarding BO and cleanliness. Whereas with someone I know i can just sniff them and since I know them I know they generally don't smell and wash regularly.

And yes I will indeed shower also.

-🪽

[peachyxreads]

Crossing the Line || M.M.

Pairing: professor!Matt Murdock x college!reader (afab)

Summary: You’ve developed a close friendship with Professor Murdock over the years, hiding your true feelings militantly. A few months prior to graduation, you come to him in distress and finally find out how he feels about you. 

Includes: fluff, smut, teacher/student relationship, no gendered language, no y/n, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, nondescript hormonal birth control, professor murdock

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: Thank you so so much to the lovely folks who offered to beta and proof my first fic, including @thegreengoop and @scarletsloveletter!! And please feel free to hit me up with comments or feedback, even prompts! Likes and reblogs also let me know you like my work :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: MINORS DNI. I do not condone the theft of content I create and share. 

Warmth, strength, a certain crispness of his pressed shirt or his fading cologne—you're not sure which—and tenderness. That is all you can feel, all you can take in from the world as he holds you in a gentle hug.

This hug, this warmth, with your arms under his, his left arm wrapped around your back and other hand squeezing your neck, this has come after years of wondering if he knew how you felt about him, if he felt the same way. You've also spent these years wondering if your feelings are real or if they're childish—some immaturity, some need for attention and validation you never grew out of. But looking into his brightening face and lifted posture every time you meet, seeing the wildness in him and yourself throughout all of your excited discussions, you know it's real. Whether or not he thinks about you in bed at night the way you do him, it's real. It's friendship, at least. Companionship probably not unlike what he's had with other students before. Or so you thought.

You've known Professor Murdock for a little over two years, taking his classes every other semester or so, visiting his office hours to chat when you aren't his student. The two of you have developed an easy relationship; you respect each other, delight in each other, never get too close but enjoy a comfortable distance—or rather an appropriate closeness—you found after a while. He knows your work and you know his instruction. Each of you knows the other's passions well, each of you knows the other's fears and holds them softly in your heart.

Matt's a young professor and a great one at that. Other than his obvious, somehow humble charm, the way he instantly connects with his students enchanted you from the day you met. He has the sharpness you and your peers strive for and hope is only a few years away, and he encourages you all, giving you the support and inspiration you need to get there. Though, he likes to tell you that you're sharp, that you're years ahead of him. Any compliment hinting at an equality between the two of you births a thousand butterflies in your stomach, and elsewhere. When you explain your latest research project or what you think of the last novel you read and he looks utterly captivated, you can't help but want him to get up, close the door, and lock it before returning to you in a passionate fever. Just the idea of the sound of the lock clicking, the shift in the air it represents, makes you swoon inside, drool like Pavlov's dog. Tick.

You went to him in need today, catching him after his smallest class as the room would be next in coziness and remoteness after his office. No office hours today. Today, the day you received a response from your dream grad school. Your application was denied. You applied to others, of course, but you can't help the tears begging to spring forward with defeat. You feel as though you've failed. How could you really be as sharp as he says you are? As sharp as he repeatedly praised you for being throughout the application process? You shared it all with him. And now it's ruined.

You walk through the door as the last few students part. He's gathering his things and readying to leave. He doesn't notice you right away, your steps gentle and voice paralyzed. When he turns to the door you break the silence.

"Professor Murdock…" you struggle to sigh, choked up. He recognizes your voice instantly, his frame rupturing in a small jolt and face taking a delighted, curious expression. This fades a little once he realizes the pain he heard in your speech.

"Hey, are you alright?" He sets his briefcase down and removes his glasses—he knows it's just the two of you now—before moving toward you with urgency.

"Yeah, n-no…I didn't get in. I was rejected. The others, I don't know, I'll probably get into one, but—"

He presses a hand to your shoulder, holding for a moment before moving for the door. He gently guides you away from the frame as he reaches to close it. You hear a tick, the lock. Nerves, arousal, fear, sadness, lust all rip through you and mix together. You're shaking and melting at the same time.

"It's alright, it's okay," he offers as he turns back to you, "I'm so sorry."

He hears your quiet sniffle and realizes tears must be coming down. He can sense that you're completely frozen. He steps even closer and wraps himself around you. A hug to thaw. You feel a hand on your neck, comforting, an arm around you, strong, his chest on yours and your face to his collar. You breathe him in and begin to release into it.

Fuck.

Years without this. Years without touch. Years without a hand to the arm or a playful shoulder nudge. You even skipped handshakes, too cordial. You would never have brought yourself to make contact. You didn't want to cross a boundary, you wanted to show respect, thought it should be on his terms. Or maybe you were just worried initiating a single touch would let him onto you, would make him wonder how you felt, pity you for your schoolyard crush and become cold. Now you're questioning whether that was the right choice. Fuck it all if this is how intoxicating his body feels.

With a final squeeze, he lets you go. He doesn't shift back or away from you, instead brings a hand to your chest. What is he doing? The flat of his hand is large, larger than yours. Looking down you see just how much of your chest it covers.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he almost whispers, bringing your attention to his voice, "your breathing is quick."

 You bring your gaze up, it's been too long since you looked into his face. The confrontation makes you release and look down again.

"Am I making you nervous?" He gently suggests.

You nod, releasing a small "yes."

"What can I do?" You feel his body tense a little, likely in fear of making the wrong move. He begins to move away, but you bring your hand to his wrist, keeping his hand pressed to your heart.

The two of you spend a moment like this, close but far apart, both unsure. As the seconds pass you bring your attention back to your hand on his wrist and start to rub his skin with your thumb, holding him just a bit tighter. He shifts forward again, an inch closer to you, and you look up to examine his face. Another moment.

"Do you want me," he pauses before finishing and lowers his voice, "to touch you?"

You nod and lean into him a bit, earlier tears making it hard to speak again. He smiles softly at the silence.

"You have to say it, yes or no. I need to hear you tell me."

You swallow, trying to break through your nervousness and arousal, out of your body, to talk.

"I want you to touch me," you produce with some mustered up confidence. It's one of the only things you're truly certain of right now.

With your approval he moves both hands to grip your waist. The pressure draws a sigh from you, encouraging him to rub your sides with his thumbs. You're completely submerged in his presence. The small movements send electric waves to your core. The feeling is so intense, he might be all you'll ever need.

Then you realize what's really happening. You place your hands on his chest to balance the contact between you. He's touching you. He wants to touch you. He locked the door. There is something in this. There is something in him.

"You…do you like this?" you ask, needing now to hear it from him. He furrows his eyebrows just slightly, stressing your nerves again. What if he doesn't?

"Yes," he starts with a timidity you're not used to hearing in his voice, "I do. I want to…I've wanted to. It's not- I couldn't…touch you."

You can't help but smile. There's total peace, total clarity. He's nervous too. He wants you. He wants to touch you. Not only that, he has wanted to touch you all the while you wanted to touch him. Neither of you could do it, could break the boundary, cross the line, show yourselves. The intimacy is more intense in the conversation between you than in the physical connection. The potential energy in the room has reached its height now that you know he feels the same way about you. You know the drop is about to come. You're prepared now. You're confident.

"I've wanted you since we met." You admit softly.

He recites with sincerity, "I've wanted you since we met. It's only grown."

You step an inch toward him, closing what miniscule gap there was. The two of you join in a kiss, linking perfectly. A soft, warm, inspired kiss, mouths like puzzle pieces, instantly wanting more. He wraps an arm around your lower back to lift your waist to his before bringing a hand up to rest on your jaw. You're deepening the kiss together into a slow, sloppy mess, well-choreographed and intoxicating.  It's all either of you need for a few minutes, quickening the pace and moving together, pushing and pulling, feeling each other, flowing with intuition.

You break from each other and he guides the two of you behind his desk. Resisting the magnetic force drawing you together, he slides the desk chair out and motions for you to sit. He kneels with a shining smile, using the arm of the chair to guide himself before you.

"Do you know what you want?" He asks, wanting to establish a serious level of understanding.

"I…don't know. I like what we have. I liked that," you grab his hand for more touch, "I like this. I want to be…us. It feels natural," the truth charms you as you speak it.

"It does. It feels natural. I love being with you, talking to you. The closer we got, the closer I wanted to be. I couldn't let myself reach out. I was afraid of doing something you didn't want, even if it seemed like you did want it."

Seeing him be so vulnerable, it's huge. You've always felt quicker to show that side of yourself. It's harder to draw out from him. He's the professional, after all. You want to show him he's safe, reassure him.

"I understand. I felt the same way. It's not something we could really talk about or…try. I couldn't touch your arm or reach for your hand like I would with any coffee date that's going well," that earned a chuckle from him, and subsequently you, before continuing, "I'm graduating in a few months. What if we saw each other off campus? I'm not taking any more of your classes this year."

"Yeah. I'd love that," he answers with a bittersweet smile, "but what do we do, now?"

His expression is disappointed despite the excitement, almost pained. It's hell to see a face that sad on him. You want to make it better for both of you, you know he'll only respond to your initiative. Maybe you should wait, give it a few days at least, but you can't. Not with him kneeling before you. You've been aching this whole time, trying to suppress the bubbling desire, but you can't. It doesn't have to be perfect, but you want to feel him. You just want to do it, save the slow and sensual for other times, create something out of the passion between you right now.

You slide the chair back out from under you and meet him on the floor. Wrapping a hand around his neck, you decide to pop the bubble.

"I want you, now."

With that you crash into each other, fiending for friction in a new kiss, pressing lips and bodies close together, both on your knees like sinners. You push against him but he wins out, pinning you to the floor. He begins to slide kisses along your jaw, down your neck, retiring at your collarbones. It almost tickles, his soft lips to such thin skin. As a hand of his feverishly traces your body, gripping around your side and rubbing down to your pelvis, you bring one of yours to the nape of his neck with the other around his body to hold him close. His thumb rubs the crease of your hip, the line that leads to your core, causing you to tug on his smooth brown locks.

"Matt…" you call softly.

"Mm?" he questions, lips still connected to your body.

"Come up here," you command, nearly breathless.

He complies, bringing his head up to meet your face. You lift yourself to connect and bring him down with you in another kiss, letting a hand search his trousers.

"Christ," he moans as you graze the strained fabric. His voice in such ecstasy is like music. No, something more than music. It's a heavenly sound that wraps you up in the same pleasure it expresses. You need to hear more.

"Need you, please," you whine, adding pressure to his crotch with your hand.

"Okay, fuck," he responds with a low, almost cracking voice.

The two of you begin to rise, him standing easily as you prop yourself up on your hands. "Matt," you call, prompting him to lean down, wrap an arm around your back, and lift you with surprising strength. You had noticed his build before, the toned shape of his arms through his shirts, but you had no idea he had such power. Realizing what that means for the moments to come has your legs fluttery and core aching.

"On the desk," you tell him.

His face lights with a ravenous grin. You sense an animalistic hunger in his voice despite the questioning tone when he asks if you're sure.

"Please," you add, and he reaches a hand out to find the desk before lifting you up onto it, again with a surprising, arousing ease. The second your ass reaches the wood you push off your bottoms and he helps pull them down and release them from you. Going in for another kiss he allows his hands to rub your thighs, inching closer and closer to your dripping center.

You bring him into a deep kiss, pulling on his lip as you part. You want him to know how starved you are for him, all of him. He begins to circle your folds, lavishly spreading your juices. As he circles your clit, you plead, out of breath. He gets the message and plunges in, working you with a rhythmic pace that draws blissful gasps unlike any you've made before. He uses his fingers masterfully, applying pressure where you need it and letting you bask in the pleasure for what feels like hours.

"Let me hear you," he moans into your ear, "tell me how it feels…being fucked by my fingers."

"Shit, Matt, so good…it feels so good," you answer him, reaching a pornographic tone.

It goes on, bringing you close but not there. You know what you need. You try to return your attention to the man in front of you through half-lidded eyes: you want him to feel the pleasure you do. You want to feel him fill you up.

"Need…" you gasp in reaction to his thrusting fingers and bring a hand to fumble with his belt, "more, please."

He grunts against your hand, losing reservation. You can tell he's about to snap, and you want nothing more than to see that side of him. To be on the receiving end of his crushing lust, to be desired and taken.

He digs his head into your shoulder as he urgently reaches for his belt, swatting your hands away. His belt is undone, his zip down, everything off in mere seconds. You can't do anything but sit there and watch as he moves frantically, clearly falling apart. You're drooling at the sight, your stomach turning with lust, your cunt throbbing uselessly against the cool surrounding air.

Taking his cock in his fist before you, he brings the fingers once inside you to your lips. He presses them into your willing mouth as he begins to pump himself. You swirl your tongue, taking in your own sweetness, and look down to see his tip already leaking precum. He removes his fingers, you brace against him, and he lifts and spreads your thighs. You whisper a sultry "fuck me, Matty" into his ear, and he finally snaps, pushing into you ruthlessly with a groan. You feel split in half, feeling his full length against your walls, filling every inch of you.

The thrusts are hard, fast, needy, sloppy. He's rutting into you and you're taking it perfectly. You can hear everything, so much you don't know what's what, whose moans are whose. The sounds engulf you, and you can only imagine what it's like for him. He's panting, grunting, breathing against your neck and jaw, attempting every so often to aim a kiss to your lips despite the crude pace of your bodies.

You lose a string of expletives in the ecstasy, responding to each thrust, "fuck, Matt, god…Matt."

He gives you praise between his grunts, moaning by your ear, "shit…you feel so good…you're so good…taking me…made for me…"

His movements lose even more rhythm, panting becoming strained as your own whines heighten. He's close. You reach for your wet, aching clit. Swirling effortlessly, you make hurried circles. The dual pleasure is beyond: you would see stars if the moaning man before you weren't a prettier sight.

"Fuck!" He shocks you with the exclamation, slowing his movements in frustration. Breathless, he struggles to blurt out "b-birth control?"

"Yes, Matty, please, keep going," you urge him to continue, assuaging his fear.

With that he slams into you hard, making you cry out against each thrust.

"I'm…" he fruitlessly tries to let the declaration escape.

"Me too, me too," you cry over him, digging your heels into his hips and working your clit fast.

Your orgasm hits. Warmth spreads from your core to your toes, ecstasy bursting through your body with such force you might break. In the delicious throes of your orgasm you feel Matt spill inside you, thrusting loosely through his own release. Hearing muted, you don't know what sounds either of you let loose at the height of pleasure, but you're sure you were practically screaming.

The two of you come down, panting and leaning against each other. Your heels keep him inside you, not ready to lose contact. Your exhales deepen and calm. Tucking in his chin, he presses a kiss to your neck before meeting your lips.

"Professor Mur-" you catch yourself, issuing the correction with some embarrassment, "Matt." You just want to feel his name in your mouth once more.

He smiles, but it quickly bursts into a grin, earning a satisfied giggle from you.

"That was…" he cracks through an uncontrollable smile.

"Amazing," you finish for him, adding, "thank you." You release him and hop down as he shifts back. He brings his hands to your waist once more, and you clutch his arms to rest in the warmth of his skin.

"Call me Matty again, please," he surprises you with the request, squeezing your waist.

"Thank you, Matty," you coo through a smile.

He nods softly. After a pause, he says, "you're going to be okay. You're going to be just fine. You'll be amazing at any program. It's you who makes it good, not the school."

You tear up quick at the consolation, overcome with adoration for the man before you. You slide your hand down his arm, pulling his fingers to your wet cheek and allowing him to swipe a streak with his thumb.

"Thank you, for everything, Matt."

"You're welcome. Thank you."

You give his hand a squeeze and release it so the two of you can re-dress yourselves.

"Would you like a ride home? I’ll call us a cab," he offers, grabbing his briefcase and replacing his glasses.

"That would be wonderful," you answer, buttoning your pants.

Matt moves forward and you approach him, stopping him with a hand to his chest. He leans down and meets your lips with his, connecting deeply like you both need it more than air. You part slowly and bring your lips to his ear.

"You're still dripping into my panties, Professor Murdock," you whisper, grasping onto the fleeting sense of lust.

Matt brings a free hand to grab your ass, replying, "would you like a ride to my home?"

"Yes, please, Matty!" You return with a playful cheekiness, as if all he offered were a homemade sweet or extra credit opportunity.

He snorts at your quip, muttering "you're too sharp. Let's go."

[gabessquishytum]

I am on a fucking roll, cause I got another trope for you folks! The remote fleshlight/onahole, yes people, we are going there, and what I love is that it is entirely possible for Morpheus to do something like this with his powers. I will die on this hill, don't @ me. As always, I love my noncon/dubcon Dreamling, feel free to imagine sexy roleplay instead. And also, I'm gonna add a loss of virginity here just for kicks.

In this scenario, Dream is finally willing to acknowledge to himself that he loves Hob but is unwilling to confess yet (and also he's still a possessive/obsessive jerk), so instead, he stalks the man's dreams, especially even his wet dreams. And 2 possible catalysts here, either Dream sees that Hob is dreaming of having sex with someone else and gets insanely jealous or he sees someone flirting with Hob in the waking world and gets insanely jealous XD. This is so Dream istg, as a king, he feels entitled to Hob and his time, and while he's trying to work up the courage to confess, he makes sure Hob can't get with anyone else.

What does he do? Dream fashions a fleshlight that is actually connected to Hob. The first time it happens, Hob is at home, he feels something poking his hole, then several thin somethings, moving around, spreading his pucker. He is panicking, cause what the hell is happening. And it should hurt (he's never had anything up there before), but it doesn't; he does feel something wet dripping from his ass, kinda like lube but that's impossible. The things suddenly brush against something inside him, and he jolts at the sensation, the things start attacking that terrible spot exclusively. And Hob is a mess, he's confused, crying, drooling, and finally cumming hard from the stimulation. He can feel the things sliding out, is it over? Nope, he then feels something big, thick, and insanely hard pushing its way inside, and it doesn't leave him alone until hours later. I love the image of Hob - face an absolute mess of tears, and drool - lying partially naked on the floor, frantically trying to find out what was going on, ends up with his legs spread, his own fingers up his hole to get the big thing out. All he gets for his trouble is the thing absolutely ramming his prostate as if mocking him, plus his own fingers adding to the pleasure. Good thing the walls are soundproof, cause man oh man the thing doesn't stop ramming his sweet spot until Hob is a twitching screaming mess.

And so Hob spends nearly every day getting absolutely railed by a phantom, time and place are random. He's had to excuse himself from class so many times to run into the nearest restroom to hide until the "episode" is over, all the times he had to bite my lips and hide his face behind his bag on the tube/bus. He has no idea what's happening, and he is still scared, mostly of how good it feels now. Maybe, maybe he could ask his friend Dream for help..... Dream will make the thing go away right?

Thank you and goodnight folks, I love you all.

-Yan Anon <3

Sskdkdjfjd I love you yan anon!!! I love all-powerful sex beast Dream and I LOVE me some virginity kink. Fucking yum.

So Dream uh. Doesn’t always make the best choices, right? Our Fave Is OCCASIONALLY Problematic. So I’m entirely willing to get on this train of Dream trying to like….. cure himself of his feelings?? get some relief from all the sexual tension?? By using Hob. Maybe he doesn’t even see anything wrong with what he’s doing! Hob likes sex, therefore he will naturally enjoy whatever Dream does to him. Right?? Dream has seen too many of Hob’s wet dreams to let go of his sexual desires by this point. It seems like every time he peeks in on Hob in his realm, the man is the middle of some explicit fantasy of fucking a pretty girl or guy. And well, if he’s so desperate for sex, why shouldn’t Dream be a good friend a help him out?

The thing is, Hob probably would jump into bed with Dream immediately if asked, but Dream is too stubborn. And he wants to be completely in control. Hence, the long distance fucking. What Dream doesn’t know is that Hob has never bottomed before (for whatever reason, maybe he didn’t get around to it yet, maybe he’s still nervous about being so vulnerable… maybe he’s saving himself for someone special).

And god. Hob is having a rough time. He’s weighing up his options: either he gets Constantine to exorcise his arse, or he goes to Dream for help. Ultimately he picks Dream because he trusts him the most. He asks his friend to come up to the flat, and he’s wringing his hands and biting his lip, terrified that it’s going to happen mid conversation… oddly enough, it doesn’t. He explains in fits and starts what’s been going on and Dream…… he’s basically having a mini stroke. It doesn’t show on his face, but he’s listening to Hob talk about the mysterious phantom in detail and he is fucking. Dying. He expects his sister to show up to collect him any moment. She doesn’t, but she is giving him a very stern look from a distance.

So Dream internally is like well I obviously can’t tell Hob that it’s me because he doesn’t seem entirely happy about this whole situation… so he comes up with an alternative. He tells Hob that he can get rid of the phantom, but there’s only one way to do it. Dream will have to fuck him.

And Hob is like oh?? That’s so simple!! As long as you don’t mind!! And he pulls Dream off to the bedroom. Because now Hob’s had a taste of bottoming from the phantom, he’s actually a bit addicted. He’s wanted Dream for hundreds of years, this is like the best possible outcome!! He’s on his hands and knees on the bed with his arse out within minutes, waiting for Dream to give him what he needs.

And it’s a funny thing, because Hob knows, realistically, that every penis is different… and yet Dream’s cock feels exactly like the phantom!! Same girth, same length, same ridges where his veins protrude slightly. It feels identical, and Hob isn’t complaining because it’s the best feeling in the world but still. A little odd. He mentions it to Dream afterwards but Dream distracts him moments later by fingering his sloppy hole and telling him that he’s such a good fuck, especially for a virgin…

And Hob can’t for the life of him work out how Dream would know that about him, but hey. It doesn’t matter as long as Dream keeps fucking him. If only they’d done this sooner!! ; ))

[eldritch-spouse]

Warning ⚠️: lots of Angst .themes of rape and abuse This ask gets heavy.

Please be careful with reading this!!

I got question about Lust Demons, Are they like Cuckoo birds? Like they try leave their young with overly affectionate species like humans and then leave. Like the young demons feed off of affection. While their young they can still influence their targets but can't controlto well do to their age . The young demons can cause humans to become super protective of them and make human neglect their own offspring. That why so many lust demons have are adamant on getting with humans. But just because they have a better understanding on humans then most other monsters doesn't mean they have easier time. Adults lust demons are seen as predatory sex beast and dead beats. That humans will often times avoid an ostracize them out of communities. Making the adults more aggressive with their flirting and more likely to commit rape.

With all this problems with the adults, the younger demons are even more looked down upon. Often having human guardians avoid their demon children and shunning them. Which in turn causes the young demons to become more aggressive because they crave the paternal affection of their guardians. Which in turn also causes younger demons to become depressed and hate themselves.

Is that why Santi feels so connected with Grimbly, he sees a younger abused monster with paternal issues that he to has faced.

😓 gee , that was dark sorry about that... umm if this ask makes you uncomfortable please ignore for you own mental health.

On a lighter note ,I also have a funny brain dump . When Grimbly is watching porn, he gets a pop-up add about local dilfs/milfs in his area that want to fuck him. And he sits all smug like. "See I knew that Dilf/Milf wanted to fuck me. 😍

[Grimbly very confused as to why all the local milfs/dilfs that wanted to milk him dry suddenly vanished when he got an ad blocker.]

TW: Mentions of suicide in one section, all prior warnings apply here as well. I get descriptive.

This one will get long folks!

Lust demons... Don't make for the best parents, no. Unless they're part of demon royalty. See, most concubi seek to hook up with demons of other casts rather than their own, and children is not really something the vast majority of them wish for. Sure, their breeding fetish may make them howl to get creamed/stuff someone, but we all know there's nothing remotely similar to consideration for possible pregnancy risks in their head when they're in the throes of lust.

Like I once said, lust demons have a natural, instinctual aversion to children that stems from a child's aura being too pure/radiant, thus making lustful ones extremely uncomfortable to be around one. Even if their child is a concubus, they'll still have to do a lot of mental work not to feel deep, hardwired discomfort around their own offspring. A lot of lust demons simply cannot overcome their base nature, and thus leave behind what would otherwise be a perfectly functional family. It is not uncommon to see another type of demon, non-demon monster or even human raising a concubus on their own. And, in fact, there's even some societal stigma towards those single parents, who are accused of being weak-willed and perverted for letting a concubus impregnate them without any forethought.

Lust demon children are thus often abandoned, left on their own to form groups and fend for themselves on the streets of frankly not very friendly environments. They often have to grow up too fast, enduring things that no normal younglings should. This was the case with Santi. Santi comes from a particularly poor succubus who chose to let go of her offspring rather than actually put in the work and better herself, face the consequences of her recklessness. His father is unknown. Not that the incubus knows any of this, Noph'ae does not genuinely remember either of his parents. In fact, a lot of his childhood is a blurred mess in his head. Remembering what he had to do to live another day would break this man. Santi does not want to be approached about this in any way, and will react negatively when someone mentions childhood trauma of any kind to him. He lives in the present, the past is nothing but an ugly stain in his life that Santi desperately wishes to scrub off the face of the Earth.

He did everything in his power to become his own person, sustain himself, help the friends that had been there for him through tough times. Santi had to be stronger, faster, so much more powerful than the nefarious people in his life. He worked to make sure that he was as impenetrable as a great monument, trying to grow as a person as well and not become the borderline sociopathic beasts he had seen some lustful demons turn into. It's safe to say the incubus is very proud of what he's achieved for himself. But the fact that he loathes going back to Hell and vehemently chooses to stay in the surface is enough proof that his self-control can and will falter, if he's shoved back into the same environments he was exposed to as a kid.

There's endless stigma in most societies regarding lustful demons, needless to say. They're seen as omens of bad luck at times, like sirens, heralds of personal tragedy. Home wreckers, perverts, child-neglecting monsters, icons of vulgarity and a stain on this universe. Naturally, stereotypes like these only ever end up perpetuating an already precarious situation, creating an increasingly negative feedback loop wherein concubi act out because society harms them and others take these explosive reactions as fuel to their fire, a justification for their rising hatred. Santi... Well, he lives with it. Fact of the matter is that most others are hypocrites, most others are selfish, and they will shut the fuck up about lustful demons being bad as soon as they have his fingers around their cock/inside their pussy. They're pathetic, and the incubus simply cannot take them seriously.

The reason Santi basically kidnaps Grimbly into being his strange quasi-son/friend lies vastly on two factors- Grimbly's appearance and past. You see, Grimbly and Santi share some physical similarities, mainly in terms of coloration and facial features, which gives them a silently-acknowledged kinship in the fact that there might have been demons of the same cast in both their families' histories.

Grimbly is the product of an affair between a male greed demon Icon and a simple female bat monster. And, well, how are you going to explain your illegitimate half-bat half-demon baby to the rest of your royal relatives? You can't. It would ruin his image, his entire family's honor. Of course Grimbly's dad was too greedy to let go of all that luxury. Grimbly's mother was threatened into either getting an abortion or sending the offspring far away, where he would never catch the eyes of other demonic monsters with influence. She chose the latter, and with endless grief in her heart, abandoned her own son at the doorsteps of an orphanage. Again, Grimbly is also not aware of any of this.

Grimbly lived his youth in much the same way Santi did, except the bat monster was not charming enough to make friends, and thus lived mostly on his own, roaming from place to place. Life was hard, he was understandably apathetic and weak, living through his days in a dull, dissociated blur, enduring whatever he had to just to make ends met. There came a point where Grimbly sincerely did not care if he lived or died. It would change nothing. If he were to throw himself off the ledge of a building to feel the wind on his face one last time or simply cease feeding until the hunger took him- If Grimbly were to simply sit on a sidewalk in a sunny day and let the sun scorch him alive, he doubted he'd shed a single tear.

It just so happened that, one day, the small bat monster crossed paths with Santi. They were both adults at this stage, and though Grimbly simply zombie-trudged his way past the incubus with glazed eyes, Santi was paralyzed staring at the other monster, a sea of emotions tearing at him. The incubus could tell, from just one glance, that the bat monster was exactly like his younger self, going through the same song and dance, alone. In an act that, to this day, Santi can't tell was born out of genuine charity or perhaps a desire to make amends with his own past, Santi follows Grimbly. He has to effectively give chase, because the small monster zooms out of sight almost perfectly. When the incubus finally corners Grimbly, it shatters his soul to see the smaller monster simply state that Santi could fuck him if he let him live, turning around and putting his hands on the wall- As if he had been through this before. The exact same pose Santi once had to take, the same dignity-shattering memories his brain worked so hard to erase yet never could.

The wave of abject horror, of nausea, sorrow, that coursed through the powerful incubus made him feel so broken and sick that he almost vomited on that alley.

Santi picked Grimbly up and brought him to his home, the two of them started living together from then on. Santi played a huge part in shaping Grimbly up to be the much brighter monster he is today, and Grimbly helps make Santi feel like an actual person, like he's not just some sex pest in a world that despises his kind deep down. The bond they share is symbiotic and stronger than the toughest diamond.

[pastryjay]

I wish people would understand that their attempts at being ‘woke' are usually useless at best or hurtful, often to minorities at worst. I honestly think that most people on here who preach about politics and wanting to prove how awful some people are don't care at all about helping people.

I have 4 main points/ examples to make about this. i'm sorry I couldn't put a read more break, I can only use Tumblr mobile.

1. Children dying is never something to want or celebrate

Sometimes people enjoy celebrating the deaths of bad people e.g. terrible politicians and billionaires. That in itself is not a bad thing, those who knowingly exploit others are often better off dead. This does not make it okay to wish death on anyone who is even remotely connected to bad people. A recent popular tumblr post saw a user celebrating the deaths of billionaires except that wasn't all they were doing. One of the events they celebrated was posted with this screenshot:

Yes. A person was knowingly celebrating the real deaths of two children along with other people on the flight e.g the pilots just because 1 (one) person on board was a billionaire. That is fucked up and you should agree. Similarly i've seen people explicitly saying they think the children of the British Royal family should be beheaded because of the family they were born into. Yes the British Royals have a host of issues too and i'm not a fan of them but that's never a reason to wish for toddlers to be literally brutally murdered, you sick fucks! Don't hate people for the family they were born into. I wouldn't hate a gay friend after I found out their father is homophobic. A child is never responsible or should be made to suffer for a parent's shitty actions.

2. Stop pretending bad things don't happen to fit a narrative.

Look. Minorites/ women aren't always perfect and good people, claiming they are both erases the experiances of victims of abuse and puts more people at risk by entertaining the idea of no danger.

Calling abuse 'straight culture' is bad because not only is abuse not a problem exclusive straight couples but lgbt couples are more likely to face abuse. I'm not straight and I don't give a shit about hurting straight people's feelings but acting like lgbt folks can't be abusive and don't face abuse in their relationships is partly why abuse is more common for us. If we don't know to look out for abuse, we may not know how to avoid it. Abuse in lgbt relationships is a genuine problem that shouldn't be ignored for jokes. People being abused shouldn't be joked about at all.

The same applies to thinking you're woke by treating all women as good and pure and all men evil and bad. Not all abusers are men and not all victims are women. In the UK more than 40% of domestic violence victims are men. But even the govenrment ignores this to some extent and treat male victims as lesser. There are 7,500 refuge places for women in England and Wales but only 60 for men and men are arrested and prosecuted at a disproportionately higher rate.

3. Don't focus on hating people who hurt others when you could be helping those who have been hurt.

There is way too much focus on calling out and hating people who do bad things e.g. are lgbt-phobic, racist or abusive compared to helping those who were hurt by that person/ group. Don't get me wrong, those who are bigoted deserve to be told they are wrong and should be punished and you can both call out people while helping those hurt... but most don't. If your only way of 'helping' trans people is calling out J.K Rowling, you're not helping. If your only way of 'helping' black people in response to police brutality is posting 'fuck the police' to tumblr then although your message is not wrong, you're not helping. If you hear that an individual or group has been hurt, your first thought always should be 'how can I help them?' Your response to hearing how black people are treated should have more focus on supporting black owned businesses, getting help for victims, listening to black people, supporting black creators, if you can donate to those who need it, support black politicians/ those who want to make a change e.c.t. That all does way more to help than just hating people, even though they deserve it.

4. You don't ever get a free pass to be racist, lgbt-phobic or a general asshole because someone did (or might do) something bad.

Never, ever insult someone's natural appearance, physical or mental disabilites, sexuality, gender/ gender identity, religion or weight because you don't like them. If a gay person said something racist, call them out for it but that is not an opportunity to call them a homophobic slur or attack their sexuality. Their sexuality is irrelevant to the argument and being homophobic in response simply makes you homophobic and no less homophobic than if it was directed at someone for no reason. I don't care if an overweight, unattractive person did something bad, don't insult their weight. All that does is show everyone else who is overweight that their weight is something bad enough to deserve shaming for. In the end acting like this hurts more people than it helps. I remember a post going round which involved a picture of two fat people and the OP decided to take the photo and post it with insulting comments because apparently they 'looked like Trump supporters'. No evidence, no reason, just judging based off their weight and looks. That's not woke, that's awful.

~

Anyways there are a host of other problems with internet 'wokeness'. These are just four points I don't see much concern about. All four are caused by people who use a being woke as an excuse to be horrible to others. They don't care about the cause they're supposed to be fighting for, they either simply enjoy being horrible and want a way of getting away with it or want to look good without much effort.

In general people need to put more effort into supporting and helping people than putting others down.

[matthillica]

Pandemic - Day 7 (Weds 3/18/20)

Not even sure where to begin this, suffice to say I've had a nagging feeling over the last few days that I need to document this as we all hurtle toward the unknown.

I haven't touched this blog in almost exactly 10 years, which is crazy to think about. Crazy that something I used to spend so much time agonizing over and pouring thought into has become antiquated and obsolete... only to become the one outlet that makes sense during this crazy time.

Yesterday I set up the Kinect on my Xbox, another obsolete piece of technology. Because I'm a nerd and always have to have the newest, hottest, flamingest shit, I got one of the first Xbox Ones to come out, which came with the second generation of Kinect sensor... you know, the one Microsoft tried to shove down all our throats relentlessly. Anyway, we basically used it as a voice operated remote to browse Netflix. "Xbox, pause" "Xbox, play" "Xbox, rewind"... you know, shit Americans are known for. Anyway, Microsoft eventually gave up the ghost and phased the Kinect out. Mine's been sitting on a shelf gathering dust for at least 2 years.

Now, it's a way (if I can get the damn thing working again) for us to use an outdated Skype app so that we can talk to Grandma on a daily basis. My daughter, Caroline is almost 2 (yes! I have a daughter now and have been married to my wife since September 2015). Grandma is in Kansas, set to move to be with us in Atlanta as soon as her house sells. She was supposed to come visit us 3/27, but it's looking like that won't happen now. I told her if she was able to get in the car TODAY and make the 14 hour drive, stopping only for gas and to sleep in her car, that she's welcome to come stay with us and ride this thing out. Tearfully, she told me she needed to stay in case someone wants to come look at the house.

Honestly, it's going to be safer for her there anyway. McPherson has around 15,000 people. Meanwhile Atlanta is set to blow with this virus and cases have started to double overnight. It's hard to know how many there really are simply because there's a shortage of testing. Personally, I think by this weekend, our healthcare system is going to be in the grips of the worst crisis it's ever seen.

I should also mention that my wife has some autoimmune health issues that are pretty unique. She suffers from Schmidt's Syndrome which is a combination of Addison's Disease and Hypothyroidism. It's something that can be managed with a daily regimen of drugs, but is a serious condition that can be exacerbated by illness. The story of her diagnosis and the things we went through to get to it could fill a book at this point. I have taken more trips to the ER in the last 5 years than I care to mention and many of them have been triggered by illness, whether that's a common flu or something given to my wife by Caroline from her daycare or mastitis... even the slightest thing can send her into adrenal crisis, which immediately requires a trip to the ER.

So... as you can probably guess... I'm pretty fuckin nervous about all this. Luckily, I have been quietly prepping and watching this story develop, so we have plenty of food, water, and meds to get us through the next 60-90 days. My concern is that if my wife catches this, which she probably will, we may need a trip to the ER... and that's the last place on earth I want to be right now or for the forseeable future.

I should ALSO also mention... my wife is 13 weeks pregnant with our second child. This means that now, not only do we get to navigate our way through a pandemic AND Schmidt's... but we also have to deal with morning sickness and fatigue, all the while playing the game of "Is this symptom just pregnancy OR is it your Schmidt's OR is it Covid?"

Anyway, the last few days have been rough and we're only at the beginning of this thing. My wife can barely stand due to fatigue. She basically moves from one flat position to the next... shuffling quickly from our bed to a sofa or from the sofa to the kitchen and back as quickly as she can. It's slightly horrifying. I've been trying to cram fluids and food down as much as possible, but it's hard when someone doesn't feel well. I got her a bottle that lights up every 30 min to remind her to drink, but that's not really helped much at all. I grabbed protein shakes from the store in an effort to find something high calorie with vitamins, etc. that she can drink easily. I basically had to hold a gun to her head to make her drink it this morning. I'm equal parts husband and taskmaster. It sucks.

Last night she said she felt the fatigue was getting worse and that it wasn't due to pregnancy. I can connect with her doctors via an app that allows me to send them messages... Laura was too tired last night to do this herself, so I fired off an email to both her endocrinologist and OBGYN. No response.

In preparation for a doctor visit today, which we assumed we'd be able to schedule, we drove to Laura's folks' house so they can watch Caroline while we go to the doc. We tried calling the docs on the way over, but it seems they're already trying to stem the flow of patients. It's worrisome when you're living with someone who has a life-threatening illness to see the system strained already when the worse is yet to come.

Anyway, not long after we got to my in-laws' house, Dr. Patel (endocrinologist) called me directly. After discussing Laura's symptoms with him for about 10 minutes, he said we need to go to the ER so that she can be given fluids via IV. I said, yeah... no I don't want to go there AT ALL. But he said really, we need to go as this is the only way to deliver IV fluids. I thanked him for calling us and he said he'd call back tomorrow to check in.

So... what to do? Do we drive into what we KNOW is a situation that will expose us both to Covid so that she can be given IV fluids and told she needs to eat more, which I can almost guarantee you is what will happen since we've been through this a dozen times before? OR do we do what we can at home, try to see if we can force fluids and food to make her feel better, then reevaluate tomorrow when, in all likelihood, the situation will be even worse at the ERs? Neither is a fantastic choice.

For now, we've decided to stick it out here at her parents and see if we can force the fluids and food for today. At the very least, tomorrow when we wake up if she is still not feeling better, we'll be able to say that we know she's not dehydrated and we know she's had enough food. I know it will be worse at the ER tomorrow, but if going there is a Covid sentence either way, seems like it would be smarter to delay that option as long as possible.

So that's the situation right now. We're all "working from home" at this point. I have a desk set up at home and have grabbed my monitors, so with the exception of the folding table set up in Caroline's playroom, it's just like my normal office setting, basically. It's interesting attending meetings and trying to handle the business-as-usual functions of our jobs while the world around us starts to crack and crumble. I can't help but wonder how long this routine will go on before each one of us is just in 100% survival mode, unable to track or even care about projects that have lost their meaning in the context of this incredible, unbelievable, worldwide crisis.

It's crazy to think that everyone... EVERYONE on EARTH... is living out their own versions of this story, complete with difficult situations to navigate and impossible choices to make. My own drama is consuming all of my mental real estate right now, so my heart is with everyone who is dealing with their own all-consuming drama as well.

Be good to each other over the coming days and weeks. Stay strong and as positive as possible. Take care and stay safe.

-Matt