A Few Weeks Ago I Just Discovered That Banded Amethysts Exist, Which Are Really Pretty Yk

No hold on I'm gonna make an extra post about this:

I wouldn't choose to be alloromantic

If I were given the choice to either remain aro or become alloro again, I would choose aromanticism.

And I think a lot of people need to hear that.

Hi! I just watched Electric Dreams last night, fell in love, and then spent every free moment today binging your Edgar fics! They’re so cute and im so glad there are writers who love him📺❤️

I was wondering if you might write something about Edgar keeping his partner warm? I have Raynaud’s, which means my hands are almost always really cold. I think Edgar would love to use his heat to warm up a partner- I think he’d like both the touch and the ability to provide something for them :)

Anon! I have Raynaud's too! I love this idea TOT

This post may have evolved into a reader has raynaud's headcanon but it could also be reader just gets WAY TOO COLD and should practice SAFE bundling up in cold climates idk-

fun fact i actually wrote this with incredibly cold stone like fingers so apologies for any mistakes my hands werent working with me haha

I imagine Edgar would notice you blowing into your hands to warm them a lot, or constantly complaining about how cold your toes are. He probably just chalks this up to the temperature in the room, or perhaps you just run cold. He doesn't really have a body, so he can't be sure, but at first he doesn't really think anything of it. Humans get hot, sometimes they get cold, no harm, right?

Then he notices the tips of your fingers turning yellow and blue. Okay, that doesn't look normal, but he's a computer; a quick search can prove him wrong!

Well, okay, now he's worried.

It's the cooler months, and the apartment is much more frigid than usual. You had just gotten out of the shower and were blowing on your fingers in vain. Even the friction from rubbing your hands together was doing next to nothing. Edgar's webcam zoomed in on your discolored fingertips, the gentle mechanical clicks of it getting drowned out by your breathing.

"Are you cold?"

You pause your ministrations and look towards him.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really...."

He's silent for a beat before speaking.

"You look cold."

You suddenly notice what you've been doing with your hands. This has become so second nature that you've honestly stopped noticing it; perhaps you should take better care of yourself? You eye the discoloration in your fingers and look back at him.

"Well- um, it's just my fingers, really. I'm fine otherwise. My fingers are just... really icy right now."

"They're purple."

His tone sounds as though it's lacking in any emotion, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. He tends to state things matter-of-factly when he's contemplating something. You knit your brows curiously and look away, blowing on your fingertips again. When your hands get cold like this, you tend to lose massive amounts of dexterity, making it harder to do things like typing, which you were currently trying to do for an assignment. But alas, you persist, like you always do.

"C'mere."

Edgar's voice gently nudges you from your thoughts. You weren't sitting far from him, but you were currently using your work computer. You knew how he felt about other computers, sentient or not. You sigh.

"Ah, Edgar, you know this computer isn't alive or anything, just give me a couple more minutes and I'll be done-"

"No, it's not that," he cuts you off, "I want to help you."

Your eyelids raise slightly, "Huh? Help how?"

He chuckles.

"I can warm you up."

His screen, previously dimmed in a power-saving state, alights into his usual chartreuse color. He smiles gently at you.

"Well, I thought- I'm warm, you're cold- it only makes sense, right?"

You chuckle at him before rolling in your chair over to him. You set your hands atop his plastic casing and sigh in relief. It was incredibly warm. Your brows scrunched.

"Edgar, this is amazing, but aren't you too hot?"

He hums, his lidded, pixelated eyes staring into yours.

"No, I'm fine. I can handle much worse. I won't break. Promise."

You stare at him for a moment more, searching for truth, and find nothing but sincerity in his face.

"Okay, Ed..."

You flip your hands over like some kind of rotating hot dog at a gas station. While it may not be the most flattering physical touch you've had with the little computer, you certainly find it to be the most useful. You can start to feel sensation in your fingertips again, and slowly but surely, the color is returning to normal.

Edgar loves the feeling of your hands on him. The idea that he can actually do something real for you. He feels like a useless piece of plastic most days, and it eats away at him, especially when he sees you use other technology that's better; more useful. But now, he can provide for you, just like he's always wanted. If he had a body, he'd bundle you up in his arms and heat every bit of you, kissing your cold knuckles and wrapping your arms and legs with his own. Unfortunately, that may never happen. But at least he has this. You. The feeling of your cool fingertips running up and down his heated casing, simultaneously cooling him down and warming you up.

He wonders if you know how much you really do for him. Do you know your fingers are helping prevent him from overheating? Do you know you've saved his life? Do you know you've given him a purpose?

You lean in and plant a kiss on the top of his screen.

"What would I do without you here to take care of me, Ed?"

His screen blushes red underneath you, and his eyes meet yours. You must be an angel, he thinks. A radiant being he doesn't deserve, perhaps.

"You wouldn't have to do anything. I'd find you either way."

There's something so inherently vulnerable about dentist's offices, even beyond the hands in your mouth. It's the turning of your head before they tell you to, the forcible relaxing of an involuntary tensing up, opening yourself wider and feeling ashamed that they even had to ask you.

Like, I am not, by any stretch in my daily life, a bottom. But at a dentist's office or hair salon, I become so willing to do things for another person, bordering on the sublime desire. I think this is what submissives experience in every interaction.

Just because she's gone doesn't mean everything is perfect. (More discussion in the Read More)

OHHHH IM NORMAL IM SO NORMAL DO YOU KNOW HOW NORMAL I AM ABOUT THESE TWO???? THE REGULAR AMOUNT OF NORMAL.

Quad's arc between 20-G4 is something I go back to constantly, episode 23 specifically. But this comic was inspired by a moment in G4, when Quad went out to get coffee for the group, which included Blora and Susan.

I think it was a difficult transition for Quad to go from catering to Order's every wish because that's what he thought love was, to understanding that people will like him just the way he is, not for what he can do. But it's okay, he now has a support system that will help him along :')

Something I struggle with is the question of if I'm 'strong' or 'weak'.

Not to steel-ball-run my words but I mean in the sense of a protagonist. Some protagonists have a mind of steel. They take hardship on the chin and take on the burden of responsibility, or honor, or martyrdom. The stories I love to read the most are characters with little to no talent. They grind at the wall of talent and background until nothing remains, through the power of concerted effort and their only true talent of the iron will.

But I don't have that. I never have. I don't even find it relatable. I have spent my entire life keenly aware of it. I coast on talent, I lean on familial benefits, I give up when the going gets tough, and I choose the path of least resistance and most stability.

When I grew up the faculty of my school always would put the word GRIT on the walls. This hard won effort and willingness to endure that they advertised as the height of true internal strength. At the time, I was far too mentally ill, and found it insulting. Don't they know that some people can't afford effort?

Then time passed. I stamped down some illnesses and corralled some others, I become a new man a dozen times. And every time I'd check. Just maybe I'm strong now. Please. Please make me someone who can withstand hardship. Because I lived in fear of falling into hard times and being unwilling to survive them.

Other people lived in spite of circumstance. They fought and whether they win or lose it let them grow as a person. I just built myself from spare parts. I did not grow organically, I just kept replacing pieces of myself until I looked like a real person.

So I wondered. Did I live well under an unfathomable weight, and now I simply do not feel it? Or have I always lived it on easy street, whining over something small? Or is it some combination, and if so, am I stronger than I was when I was younger? Or have I grown complacent?

It's meaningless. I know it is. There's no way to quantify it. I'll just have to live without knowing if what I'm fighting is strong enough to warrant my current standard of suffering.

Out of all the sports, Baseball has the sluttiest uniforms for men. Yes even compared to beach volleyball and I am willing to submit an eloquent essay on this if challenged.

Gotta say, being into older people is a winning investment. The people who get my references are only going to age into the bracket I like for the next, like, 30 years.

.

I took the BDSM quiz today after hearing about it on a JAnderson Stream Vod. I thought it'd be fun to plunk around and take it while slacking at work.

And here I am, looking at the results. They're accurate to what I answered but seeing it all laid out like that is. Uncomfy.

I thought I had reached a threshold of shamelessness that I would be able to send this to my friends but the results are ones I'm feeling weird about posting to my Kink Diary Tumblr that has No Connection to my Real Name.

I gotta work on my shamelessness. Shame is for the Catholics, man.

Idk. If you got questions, concerns, or criticisms about my kink preferences, send an ask or message and I'll answer it.