#kilo babble

[onelittlemac]

Whoa! I got tagged by my mutual to participate in this little game! @simsofstrawberryhill Thank you so much, Vicky! 💚🍓This is a fun way to learn more about one another! I really appreciate you including me! 🥰

1. my lockscreen (exposing myself as a swiftie lol, but my anxiety has been crippling the last few years and this lock screen was my reminder not to let it get in the way of joy - it's how I ended up with the courage to make this blog! So, make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it! You've got no reason to be afraid)

2. last song I listened to (I've been making playlists for my sims lately, and this is a song on a playlist for a sim that is somewhat based on me...it's for windslar's MBTI Legacy Challenge, but it's not ready yet. I was born in the 90s and am from Canada/Turtle Island, so I love me some Alannis!!)

3. last photo I took (I didn't take this photo, but it's the last one in my camera roll. My cousin just had a baby and they named him after my dad who just passed away in April. Baby's middle name is "Mack" which is what people called my dad. And I like to think the "K" on the end is for me hahaha! I cannot wait to meet him!)

4. last film I watched (I've not been watching movies, but I've been watching anything and everything on Dropout.tv! Especially this latest season of Dimension 20, Never Stop Blowing Up!)

I don't have many other mutuals, but I'll tag @growing-up-crumplebottom @seniorpollinationtechnician @stella-romano and my IRL friends @teejzr and @cvntygobbo

(please feel free to ignore this if you don‘t want to do it 🩷)

[jellybeansmud]

mannnnn i love cream

why is it so expensive tho. i want to have 17 cups of tea with cream a day. it would cost me a leg and an arm. no wonder we havent bought it in years

also found a bag of matcha behind all the teas and man its so good with cream too. i need to buy another bag

[katinkulta]

Puuta Heinää - Käärijä | English translation

Aah, everything is great

My finances are alright

I've got a new car, I've got a new watch

Everything is completely fine, or is it? Hahaha

I’m pissed off about those guys tooting their own horns*

Dude, don't come picking a fight

Don't come picking a fight

Dude, don't come picking a fight

You don't have any money on you, yet you're here drinking**

Dude, let me see you dunk

Let me see you dunk

Dude, let me see you dunk

This song is a forced rep

The Käärijä-EP is a must buy

A big boy came bragging and I flared up ***

My sleeves burnt up, now my shirt is ruined you punk (Yuck)

It's pointless to come boasting

The money is spent on stock exchanges ****

I don't have to be fit because I'm so fucking lit

Hey boy skip the Kismet^

It's a miracle if you see me spinning^^

I'm gaining weight slacking on a pleather sofa

I don't have the patience to ride an exercise bike

Because I don't want to pedal like a fool

I have enough money if you need a loan^^^

I can assure you my fishing permit is in order

It'll take less than an hour, even less than a minute

Before I'm sleeping on the tiled floor of the changing room yeah

I’m pissed off about those guys tooting their own horns

Dude, don't come picking a fight

Don't come picking a fight

Dude, don't come picking a fight

You don't have any money on you, yet you're here drinking

Dude, let me see you dunk

Let me see you dunk

Dude, let me see you dunk

The old men are babbling made up rubbish

Blablablah, blablablah, blablablah nonsense

The old men are babbling made up rubbish

Blablablah, blablablah, blablablah nonsense

Blablablah nonsense, you can babble like a phone subscription seller

There is a gang gang gang to fawn on^^^^

No need to munch on the cheapest convenience food (OK)

Thanks to your connections, someone else pays for your drinks yippee (Yippee)

How much are you ready to tip

To flex your loan (Loan)

You needn’t throw a fit

I don’t feel like fighting so come another time (See ya)

Oh, you’re not going to make way? (What)

Well, let’s go with that, let’s roll up our sleeves

At dusk you were already bragging at the door, dude

Then you entered the bar by skipping the line

At the end of the evening, I can't keep a poker face

By the taxi stand I observe you heading East by bus, damn~

I’m pissed off about those guys tooting their own horns

Dude, don't come picking a fight

Don't come picking a fight

Dude, don't come picking a fight

You don't have any money on you, yet you're here drinking

Dude, let me see you dunk

Let me see you dunk

Dude, let me see you dunk

The old men are babbling made up rubbish

Blablablah, blablablah, blablablah nonsense

The old men are babbling made up rubbish

Blablablah, blablablah, blablablah nonsense

I’m pissed off about those guys tooting their own horns

Dude, don't come picking a fight

Don't come picking a fight

Dude, don't come picking a fight

You don't have any money on you, yet you're here drinking

Dude, let me see you dunk

Dude, let me see you dunk

Dude, let me see you dunk

Footnotes

* I.e., praising themselves

** Boolata is referring to drinking alcohol

*** Literal translation: my sleeves burnt up

**** Kilot is slang for a thousand euros but is also the plural nominative of “kilo” (meaning kilogram)

^ the name of a chocolate bar in Finland

^^ As in indoor cycling

^^^ Literal translation of “jos tarvitset siimaa”: if you need some fishing line

^^^^ as in seek favour by flattery

~ Itään is referring to the Eastern part of town (presumably Helsinki). Translation of itään: to the East

Translator’s note

Käärijä’s song lyrics are written in spoken Finnish, therefore the words aren’t written “properly”. If there’s someone out there who wants the lyrics “transcribed” to written Finnish, please tell me!

[punkascas]

also, hi.

for all of you who have messaged me and tagged me and texted me and wanted to know if i'm okay and where i've been, a list:

i am very sorry i've been so ghosty and hiding i are bad friend i love you please forgive.

my brain decided to get obsessed (like, really obsessed; like we've not experienced this kind of fandom obsesssion since polar explorers back in 2010 — fckin 14 years ago) with the gay pirate show and that is all i want to talk about or think about autism brain goes gnaw gnaw delicious hyperfixation.

the gay pirate show re-awoke my pre-existent obsession with age of sail and tall ships and the history of that time, so clearly this calls for all the research possible as if i'm going to write a dissertation on some Grand Unified Theory of Pirates.

can you get a PhD in pirates?

the nice thing about the gnaw gnaw is i'm writing again. writing a lot and i've missed being creative and writing metas and fic, even if i haven't shared anything.

my position was terminated and i got laid off from my job. this came pretty well out of the blue for me, and it hit a lot of ouchie spots in the ptsd pinball machine that lives inside my brain. so i've been trying to work through a lot of grief and feelings of powerlessness and i have a bad habit of withdrawing when i do that.

i'm still working through the end of january, which means trying to finish several of the major projects on my plate months and months early because there's no one to pick them up once i'm gone. so work has not only eaten my face but my hands and forearms and it's started to chew on my shoulders now.

right before i was laid off, i adopted a new puppy. my 16-year-old dog died of kidney failure about a month prior. so to help distract from the grief and to always have a tiny tyrant running the hounds ragged, i got a silly floofball. he is very cute and tries to give snuggles by wiggling his entire body against my face and hair, but also possesses a single adhd brain cell and is super into biting and teething. he's figured out how to open the fridge, get up on the dining table and the kitchen counters, and jump any and all doggy gates i bring home, despite being only 4.5 kilos. like even to leave him unobserved for 90 seconds (i've timed it) is to bring destruction and tears. i love him but he is Death and i have no clue how he'll make it to a year old.

i've been in the process of trying to have a kid, and the assorted stress that comes with that, and between health stuff (i had my appendix out but there were complications that i'm still dealing with), mental health stuff (especially meds), job, pup, and other things, it's slow going and expensive and frustrating. and in general, it's just hard and shitty and draining.

i am out of spoons. even if you took every random, ugly, why-do-i-own-this, taking-up-space-but-you-never-get-around-to-donating-it coffee or tea mug from every cupboard in the world and turned it into a spoon and gave it to me, i still wouldn't break zero.

anyway, the point is: it's not you; it's me. every message and every attempt to reach out has meant the world and has helped keep my head above water.

keep reaching out please? let me know how you're doing. if you're cool with letting me babble to you about pirates, even better. i'm love you and i appreciate you and i'm grateful for you. ♥️

[alexisraine]

I love when the tumblr algorithm gives me a "based on your likes" post that's just fandom babble about something I've never watched and sometimes never even heard of. I've never watched peaky blinders and I have no idea what epic the musical even is but my dashboard is selling me posts about them by the kilo

[captain039]

PART 2 He’s down on his knees

Jared Padalecki x reader

Warnings: sexual, smut, oral, light swearing, age gap, praise kink, dom/sub, bondage, public sex, talks about sex/kinks, first times, self esteem issues, body issues, chubby reader Just real dirty unless I put feelings into it xD

Just a random movie I’ll make up for this.

I also live for gay best friend makeup artist

Last part <-

Jared frowned staring at the spot you used to be, did he do something wrong? He felt your body tremble and saw the panic in your eyes as you left. Confused he followed you out the back door worried.

You sighed taking deep breaths, this is fine? Everything is ok. The back door opened and you saw a worried Jared.

“Hey, what happened? You ok?” He said worried puppy dog eyes active.

“Fine,” you said stepping away from him when he came closer. He frowned hurt flashing across his face.

“Did I do something?” He asked genuine worry in his voice.

“No J, no I-“ you sighed wanting to bash your head against the wall and forget anything ever happened.

“I panicked ok, because…. Because that was my first kiss” you mumbled the last part highly embarrassed as you stared at the ground and fiddled with a rock with your foot.

“What?” He asked surprised.

“My first kiss!” You yelled without meaning to.

“It’s stupid I know, nobody’s sentimental about that sorta thing anymore, but it’s special to me ok! You’ve probably kissed a thousand girls it’s easy for you” you babbled hands flying around before resting on your hips. He didn’t say anything, he just looked surprised.

“Now you think I’m stupid” you groaned.

“I don’t think you're stupid,” he said frowning slightly.

“I think it's cute,” he said his cheeks going slightly red.

“What?” You asked baffled by his words.

“You’re a romantic type, first kiss should be sacred, like hiding under the stadium chairs with your first boyfriend, or under the sunset, or first date goodbye” he shrugged embarrassed himself.

“I just assumed you’d you know” he shrugged again and you frowned confused.

“Had boyfriends and done all that” he added and you flushed.

“Jared” you scoffed and he frowned.

“Look at me,” you said and he did.

“I don’t-?” He tilted his head.

“I am fifty kilos too heavy, I have a double chin, my skin isn’t perfect, and I am no actor model! In high school it was worse I got no male attention, suppose it’s good because my taste in men is not that, besides the point! I was not a girl boy or man notice” you sighed arms covering your stomach.

“I’m not someone they talk to or look at” you whispered feeling emotions take over.

“Nobody takes notice of me Jared, not even now, I became an actor to be seen, now though it just feels stupid, I love acting, I can be someone else, I don’t have to be me” you stared at the ground, frowning when shoes came in the view and a hand cupped your cheek.

Your words got muffled by lips on yours, Jared kissed you, really kissed you and your brain didn’t know how to react. Your body seemed to know, kissing him, hands clutching his shirt.

“Do not say that about yourself” he muttered and you went to argue.

“Don’t” he finalised.

“I notice you every single hour of the day, hell the minutes, I am in awe of you, your movement, your body, your voice, your being is intoxicating” he spoke with passion, and determination as his gaze held yours tightly.

“I am obsessed with you” he admitted in a quiet voice. His eyes looked away, to the ground in guilt and disgust with himself. You lifted your hand and cupped his cheek so he looked at you. You were confident at this moment, this giant man practically a tool under your touch almost.

“Prove it” you muttered shocked by the words that left your mouth. His eyes darkened at your words, mouth open slightly as he breathed heavily. His mouth smashed to yours and he backed you up against the house, the man was strong you knew he was, but didn’t realise he was this strong. His hands cupped the back of your thighs and you faltered but he growled softly and you jumped up. His kiss was intoxicating, his hands squeezed your thighs as he moved down to kiss along your neck and jaw. The dress had a high collar so he couldn’t get very far which made him grumble. His hips ground into you seeking some form of friction. You were so lost in the feeling you jumped a mile when the director called for you both. Jared jolted panting softly in your neck as you prayed he wouldn’t come outside.

“Five minutes!” He yelled and you sighed in relief. Jared let you down slowly and you felt a little wobbly but kept your balance. He chuckled lightly lifting his head to look at you.

“I forgot we were at work” he muttered running a hand through his hair.

“No shit” you mumbled and he smiled. He glanced down briefly cheeks reddening and you frowned looking down instinctively.

“I’m gonna- get water” he walked away adjusting his jeans as you flushed furiously. You had your first kiss and first, make-out sesh in the span of ten minutes. You went back inside also hoping to not look too dishevelled. One of the makeup artists came over and fixed your hair and costume before smirking and walking away. She knew, she so totally knew, you were dead, that’s it, end of your career.

“Ok let’s try this again where’s Jared?” The director huffed.

Jared sighed leaning against the counter in his trailer. His mind was going a million miles an hour, thoughts of you, what had just happened. He wasn’t lying about what he said he was obsessed, probably unhealthily so. He groaned his jeans too tight and body too hot, he would’ve fucked you there if he didn’t know you were still a virgin. Some dirty part of him found it overly thrilling and cursed softly. He gripped the counter too hard before locking his cabin door and tugging his belt open and jeans open. He palmed himself, moaning softly, he didn’t have long but he needed to deal with this. He pulled himself out of his boxers and began to stroke lightly. He sighed feeling some form of relief before he spat on his hand and continued. Thoughts of you crossed his mind, the feeling of your body against his, there was so much to hold, so much to feel but he couldn’t because of that stupid costume. His breath hitched as he quickened, and he hung his head and moaned softly. He bit the inside of his cheek, speeding up, movements getting out of rhythm as he finally came in his hand. He slumped against the wall and panted, he groaned slightly pushing himself off the wall and washing his hands. He tucked himself back in his pants before doing them up and heading back to the house.

Next part ->

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Christian Alzmann, depicting Din Djarin falling off the Jawa's sand crawler, having been hit by ion blasters. Takes place on Nevarro. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 2, The Child.

The Mandalorian couldn’t remember the last time he had been so angry and felt so helpless at the same time. He wasn’t afraid. Not even of the thump that would come at the end of the fall. He had promised himself that he would never be afraid again. He allowed himself anger, rarely, and irritation, almost all the time. He could disappointed, annoyed, impatient, and disgusted. But not afraid. 

He’d already had that experience and he refused to have it again. Then he’d been a boy. Silly. Happy. Paying attention to nothing but the dinner gong. After the Mandalorians rescued him, he swore that he’d never be afraid again. What was there to fear? Was someone going to hurt the people he loved? Too late. Hurt him? Also, too late. Flip his world upside down? Nope. Been there. Done that. There was no point in fearing what you had survived. 

But he was angry. That ship was his home. His comfort. His refuge. Those wretched Jawas had defiled it. Stolen it from him. Damaged it. Made it impossible for him to do anything other than what he had done and that hadn’t worked. Dank Farrik!

It wasn’t like he’d been gone for days. He hadn’t. It wasn’t like he hadn’t scanned the planet for lifeforms, villages, power sources, and all those other things a good bounty hunter checked for before they went to do a job. He’d done all that and more and wasn’t good enough. That’s what made him angry. At least that was the other thing that made him angry. 

He was also angry that he found himself saddled with a helpless kid who couldn’t even babble in Gal Basic. What the hell was that about? How could the kid be fifty years old? Sure the droid was right about different species aging at different rates, but still, who put a bounty on a child? What had this child done? Drool on someone?

Of course it wasn’t the kid’s fault someone had put a bounty on its tiny green head. It also wasn’t it’s fault that there were obviously two sets of instructions circulating on what to do about the kid. That the droid had intended to kill it wasn’t that shocking. A lot of fobs specified ‘cold’. But his didn’t. So was there one client or two? Or more? Why didn’t this client tell him that others were looking for the kid? Did they not know? Uff. It was a mess and Din Djarin had fallen right into the middle of it without realizing that’s what was going to happen. He hated that. 

When the Children of the Watch had taken over his care and education they had taught him everything he might ever need to know, he thought. He knew at least five languages fluently, and several others to the extent that he could find and retrieve his bounty no matter where they were. Of course his Jawa trade language was one of the ones that he wasn’t great at. He’d avoided them whenever possible because he knew they were a menace. He’d seen that on Tatooine. 

Now he was free falling because they’d outnumbered him and had just the right weapons to deal with a Mandalorian, bounty hunter or otherwise. He knew the greatest strength Jawas had were their numbers and he should have remembered that, but the anger had done its job and made him blind to all the risks he faced pursuing them. 

It had been foolish to pursue them like that. No plan. No back up. No thought as to how it would end. Just anger fueling action. He supposed that was also part of his training. He could run, walk, crawl, climb (if necessary), as long and as far is it might take for him to reach his goal. Mandalorians practiced that sort of thing. They drilled it. Forty kilo packs. Extreme temperatures. Night maneuvers. Force against force. He’d done all that and survived because there was no other choice. 

He’d had a choice here. He could have tried to talk to them. He could have tracked them. He could have hiked back to the Ugnaught’s ranch and asked him for help. He could have just sat in the hulk of the Razor Crest and taken a moment to just let all those emotions run their course and then developed a plan. But he hadn’t and now he had fewer choices and they weren’t any better than when he went running after that damn sand crawler to begin with. 

He’d have to go back to the Ugnaught’s place. He still had the child to watch over and that should have meant more to him than it had ten minutes ago. He’d see if Kuiil had any way to get the parts back. He needed the Razor Crest to be whole again. 

He had to get the kid back to Nevarro for whatever purpose the Client had. He needed that camtono of beskar even more, given all the damage that he had to repair. If that failed, he’d have to find another  way back to Nevarro. Those other hunters must have left ships behind. Somewhere. The Jawas couldn’t have turned them all to scrap? Could they? Uff. They were Jawas. Anything was possible. 

With that, the anger left him momentarily and he wished he’d had a flight pack. That would have really made a difference. 

Thump!

[homespun-stories]

Where Will The Baby Go?

For something that weighs around three kilos and measures in the region of 50cm, newborn babies sure do take up a lot of space. A little shy of three weeks ago, we brought our second baby back home—the same home we had brought back our first, just over four years ago. Many things have changed since then, not least the number of grey hairs on my head, but the one thing that has remained resolutely unchanged is the footprint of our apartment. 

The fact of this sat with me all through 2022 and 2023, as my husband and I journeyed down the path of growing our family and all the complexities (read: hope, loss, love) that kind of process often entails. But where will the baby go? I'd silently fret to myself before I was even sure I’d have a baby at all to hold in my arms again. Objectively speaking we live in a small apartment, with enough bedrooms for two-thirds of the current occupants, excusing our enormous house cat who cares not for doors or boundaries and considers any available surface her territory for a hard-earned nap. To be honest, I’d welcome that kind of laissez-faire approach to our sleeping arrangements, flopping from sofa to bed to rug, but social conditioning and my extremely Type A personality requires routines and structure. No, the baby would need a bed, just like the rest of us, and we would need to work out where that bed was going to go. 

It’s a profoundly modern and Western phenomenon, this suggestion that each individual requires their own bedroom or even their own bed. In the majority of countries around the world, co-sleeping and room sharing between parents and children is the standard practice of care, to the extent that it would be considered completely unreasonable to expect a child (let alone a baby) to sleep alone. In Japan, where co-sleeping ranks the highest in the world, sleep is described as a river, with the parents occupying the banks and the child as the flowing water held safely between. We co-slept with our daughter for the first six months of her life, although it wasn’t in the formation of a river but more like a motorbike (our bed) with a sidecar (her crib). Given the grunts, hoots and whistles she regularly emitted as she dozed, this analogy feels more apt than the backdrop of a babbling brook. In any instance, she was never more than an arm’s reach away during those thick, dark nights when every insane sound she made was heightened in the silence of a slumbering home. After that, we moved her into The Baby’s Room which we had decorated and furnished with playful odds and sods that said more about our whimsy of being parents than they did of any perceived personality trait of our child. It’s a curious thing, to decorate a room that someone else will occupy, without knowing a single thing about their tastes or interests.

The Baby’s Room had also been our study until that point, and when the time came to move the desk into the front room to make way for a changing table and crib, I felt slightly undone. I was ready to acknowledge that parenthood would come with an exchange of gains and losses, but there was something so bluntly literal about the act of becoming a mother that it necessitated my giving up a private place to write. I guess it’s a variation of that oft-debated line from Cyril Connelly: “There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hallway." The irony is that it was only once my daughter was born that I found the capacity within myself to put pen to paper in a more expansive way, and during my maternity leave I wrote the first draft of a book proposal. Perhaps it’s an even greater irony that four years later I am writing these words whilst my son is wailing in the room next door, as my husband tries to rock him to sleep. Perhaps, like nature, art will always find a way. 

One of the consequences of giving up our study in place of The Baby’s Room, was the associated shame (entirely on my part) that came with living in a home that appeared too small for all our needs and wants. I come from a country that places a great deal of emphasis on the Family Home, variations of which most of my peers now live in and are currently extending, remodelling or digging out extensive basements underneath. Family Homes have a garden, enough bedrooms for everyone, a guest room, more than one bathroom, and the kinds of open plan kitchen-cum-dining rooms that are increasingly of a single aesthetic that populates all our Instagram feeds. Family Homes tend to come with their own social media accounts, so we can follow our friends’ #HomeReno updates and post fire emojis under pictures of construction sites. I have spent a good many years reflecting on what makes us feel good, mad and sad about home, and I can tell you that the insidious rise of interior design content which is beyond the skills and budget of the overwhelming majority is making a lot of us fucking miserable about our living situations. 

After a while, the question of where will the baby go stopped masquerading as a concern about where, practically, the baby will sleep, and revealed itself for what it was: a shameful desire to meet some kind of social norm as a Family of Four. This revelation came to me in the winter of 2022, after a shockingly awful year pockmarked by loss. During this time we had tried, and failed, to sell our apartment and buy a house. For nine long months our home sat on the market, and most weekends we spent our free time cleaning and decluttering so the estate agent could bring one or two people over for a viewing that never materialised into anything other than a pass. That weekend, in early December, when we pulled our home off the market and accepted our fate, I wept. It was another grief, of sorts—the ambiguous loss of a life I had imagined in our new house; one with enough potential to become a Family Home. 

These days, when I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at home and in need of a reset, I roam around the apartment and find things to fix or do—packing toys away in their rightful boxes, folding laundry, changing lightbulbs, that kind of thing. Invariably, I’ll end up standing in my daughter’s room gazing at all the things that make this space sing with her personality that we could never have anticipated when we picked out paint colours—the paintings bluetacked at a wonky angle on the wall, the rock and gravel collection, the basket of teddies, the plastic box stuffed with countless beaded bracelets she’s made for us all. I can’t even remember what it looked like when it was a study, and I don’t care any more. I didn’t lose anything when I moved my desk out, because it was never a trade to begin with. The day we turned that room into our daughter’s bedroom, we simply dialled up the joy in our lives. I couldn’t see it for a long time, but now I know that I’ve been living in a Family Home all along.

So where will the baby go now that we are four and our home is still, resolutely, the same size as before? He’ll go right here, of course—with us. 

[flowers-n-felines]

Yo dude, how can I pre order 3 kilograms of co-

He wanted to ask, what are your favorite activities to do together?

"...Pardon? I didn't think Tira would have preorders the baked goods yet... 3 Kilos of cookies? Why would you need that many? I apologise but why would you need that much?"

"Ah. Well. Tiramisu and I don't do much, but we do like to relax in the house together. Usually with the radio on low, and usually one of the pigeons is with me. We try not to cause too much attention by going into town as of late my arm's joints are making the worst squeaking noise, and Tira is trying to-- Mmm. I seem to have babbled again. Pardon my brevity but, I think I'm done explaining my trivial health. Tira usually has a window open too, to let the birds sing. He installed some kind of shield so our pigeons when free-flying indoors don't go out our windows. Supposedly that's a common addition to windows in the States?" - D

[i-am-the-balancing-point]

I feel like I want to share and explain how I’ve been and what I’ve been up to in the past two(?) weeks but I don’t completely understand what my mind has been up to myself. wrote down some thoughts under the cut

but please don’t feel obligated to read or react, all optional of course:)

I was so busy with my date mate, I was rarely on my phone which was nice and I still feel super happy and full of love but I was also frustrated I did not have enough social energy for other things. It’s no one’s fault, I am just generally low on social energy and currently especially.

My datemate is amazing! Our relationship is causing me to bloom in a way that I never guessed would have been possible at the point I’m at. There is so much love inside of me and I’ve missed physically expressing that. Suddenly there is a new person in my life who has all my love and I can express it in all the ways that make me happiest. I’m so excited to learn new things about him every day and I’ve also been reflecting myself more than I have in a long time.

Yet I’m still in bad shape regarding my mental health. I never expected stepping back into the dating scene to fix me and I’m not expecting it now. Admittedly, the contrast of flying high on cloud nine and falling so low that I cannot stop my thoughts from revolving around suicide is exhausting. A lot of things that greatly impact me rn are out of my control and I can just hope for them to get better so I can too.

I wish I could give you all so many hugs! I know there is still mail I need to send out and I hope I find the energy to take care of it soon.

[asexualbookbird]

i fought some bread today and i won

[onelittlemac]

🛸 Dr. Orion Fox Moodboard

I started making moodboards to help me visualize my characters and find their aesthetic. This is the one I made for my legacy founder.

[jellybeansmud]

craving some matcha with coconut cream rn but nowhere to buy it :( literally nowhere in the city sells matcha and cococream is only in big stores and only in big cans. i can't drink a whole can in a few days and have nothing sealable to keep it in it. will go bad :( i ordered some but they're not gonna be here till.at least tomorrow and i wanna it now !!

[perhapsarat]

literally NOTHING helps my anxiety more than cleaning

[jolynesapphic]

a customer came up to me, stared at me, told me he was “as drunk as a skunk” then had the audacity to get mad when i refused to serve him anymore drinks!!!!

[sillyrabbit81]

Snow

Summary: Sy takes you and Tilly to the beach.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 750

Warnings: Mostly fluff, implied smut, hinted breeding kink, Dad!Sy, Husband!Sy

Authors Note: This is for @winter2112rose 12 + 1 Days of Christmas Challenge. Thanks for letting me participate. 🙏

This series will be a set of short (approx. 500 word) drabbles. They will be mostly set in Australia and consist of vignettes of your and Sy’s Christmas’s together. The reader is Australian, but I am still aiming to be as inclusive of race, and size as possible.

Thanks to @amberangel112 for beta reading. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

12 + 1 Days of Christmas Masterlist

Day 2 Snow

Laying in the early December sun, you relish its harsh biting heat as you wiggle your toes into the burning sand. It’s the first scorcher of the summer, and Sy insisted on taking Tilly to the beach and you couldn’t not tag along.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch the two of them building a sand/snowman. Well, Sy is doing most of the work, Tilly just keeps picking up blobs of wet sand and patting them onto the snowman’s rapidly increasing belly. She’s so sweet with her beach hat, rash vest, and those cute little frills on the bottom of her swimmers. Sy squats down low and brings her close to him, you see him pointing to a spot and together they add more filler to the snowman's head. Tilly's tiny hand and his big paw pack the sand in tight.

You find yourself nibbling on your lip as you perve on your husband. Sy is as hot as ever. He’s put on a couple of extra kilo’s since becoming a Dad. You like the slight softening of his belly, he carries it well, he’s the perfect size for a hot Dad bod. His arms and legs are still thick though, you can see the lines of his muscles even from this distance.

You lay down on your towel again throwing an arm over your eyes. You can’t watch anymore. Lately, when you see the two of them together, your body starts telling you to do things your mind is telling you not to. Your maternal instinct is in overdrive urging you to have another baby. But Tilly is only a few months past her first birthday, she’s not even completely weaned yet, still feeding from you at night.

The sun’s warmth is blocked by a large shadow, and you grin as a small weight plops on your tummy. “Oof!” you say looking up to see Sy grinning over you and Tilly sitting on your belly. She’s all smiles, babbling as she claps her hands together.

Sitting up you turn Tilly around so she’s facing the ocean and put her between your legs. You hum as you feel Sy sit behind you, and he puts his legs on either side of yours. Leaning back into him you rest your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Your snowman looks good, Noah,” you tell him.

Sy chuffs. “It was fun until Tilly decided I needed sand on my head.” You chuckle as she smacks at your open hands with hers.

A thought crosses your mind. “Do you ever think she’s missing out being here at Christmas instead of back in the US where it’s winter?”

You feel Sy move sharply, jerking as if surprised. “I ain’t really thought about it. Do you?”

You shrug. “Sometimes I think about it.” Laughing you add, “I always wanted a White Christmas at least once. All the books I read and movies I grew up watching always had snow on Christmas Eve and it seemed so exciting.”

“I never had snow at Christmas when I was growin’ up either,” Sy says. “Granted, it weren’t as hot as here. Shit, sometimes I think even Texas ain’t as hot as here.” You smile. “She’ll be fine, we both survived without snow.”

“It would be nice for her to spend a Christmas with her cousins though. Christmas is more fun when there’s lots of kids around.”

Sy kisses your cheek. “Yeah, that I think she’d like that. She ain’t got cousin’s here yet. Maybe when she’s a bit older we could spend a Christmas with my sisters. No point goin’ now, she won’t remember.”

“Yeah, I think she would like that.” You run your hands over Sy’s thighs, the coarse hair tickles your palms, but you like the sensation. “Maybe she wouldn’t feel so lonely if she had a brother or sister to enjoy Christmas with,” you say, as casually as you can manage.

Sy’s arms tighten around you, and you feel the rumble of Sy’s chest in your back as he growls lowly into your ear. “You sayin’ ya want me to knock ya up again?”

“Maybe,” you say coyly.

Suddenly Sy lets you go, and he falls back onto the towel, his hands cover his face. “Ya can’t do that to me, Sugar.”

You turn and look at him smiling. “I take it that means you want to too.”

Sy sits up quickly with a filthy snarl on his lips. His voice vibrates deep in his throat as his teeth nip at your shoulder. “I think it’s about time we go home. Tilly needs a sleep and we’ve got a baby to make.”