Hey y’all - I’ve been getting tons of likes, reblogs, messeges, and follows from many people - 1,771 of you currently!
With that said, I’ve also been feeling stressed and feeling like shit because a handful of you are getting annoyed or upset with me because I am not responding back.
PLEASE- do not take it personal if I’m unable to respond. I have a full time job, My primary and other men I’m seeing who I spend time with every evening after work, housework, spending time with my daughter (yes - I’m a Mommy). driving, and yes - having chill time for MYSELF!
I enjoy being here on Tumblr and sharing my forbidden sides and forbidden life with those of you who get it and can relate. I’ve enjoyed getting to know a few on a more personal level, I enjoy following others with similar interests and keeping up with them. I enjoy all the love and compliments I recieve from all of you.
But with 1,771 followers and growing - there is no way I can take extra time to write everyone back. I am slammed with messeges and comments every time I get on here. So please….understand I am only one girl who has a life outside of this app. If all you ever say is “hey” and your profile picture is blank or not you, I’m least likely to reply back. I’m just being honest.
Please, I don’t mean to be rude or snobbish to anyone. I’m very sensitive and take everything to heart so it hurts me when I get a pissy messege from someone here who thinks I’m purposely ignoring them. Trust me that isn’t the case at all. I’m just too overwhelmed to write everyone back and half the time, my messeges in this app are glitchy AF and I cannot view them all.
hey to be able to find the buried lightsabers in the desert with no geographical markers and without using the force, he had to have like. counted the seconds of the journey out to where he buried them and then away.
like accidentally too, right, because he had no intention of retrieving them ever. he just couldn’t not. because that was the final resting place of anakin—of obi-wan kenobi and anakin, Jedi, closer than brothers, etc etc etc.
so he counted the seconds there and back ten years ago and still remembered like he remembered everything else huh
A Vulcan named Stork works at the Terran adoption agency. Parents always request that he be the one to deliver their child to them.
It’s years before anyone explains it to him.
People keep gifting him robes with long white birds on them.
The fun thing is he would understand why people were getting him outfits with storks on them. That’s a word, it’s his name, straightforward. All the humans get him the same gag gift, but like, they’re putting effort in at least. This is a genuinely nice outfit. Stork will be a walking zero-effort pun sometimes, rather than waste a perfectly fine robe.
It’s fine. This is a readily comprehensible human illogic. Exactly the kind of thing he expected from moving to Earth.
Six years in he finds out about the stork bringing babies.
Stork has a good long meditation session about this myth, his name, his job, the outfits, the whole shebang (or whatever Vulcan concept is the equivalent).
And he decides he’s honored by it, in a humanly illogical way.
The humans are asking him to do what is after all his job, and specifically requesting him for the joy his name brings them on top of an already agreeable and satisfying task. He has no objection to engendering positive emotions in others. Harm hastens the heat-death of the universe, Surak teaches, so happiness must logically slow it down.
Plus, Vulcans of his generation love puns. There were two decades of punning competitions in colleges across the planet. So when he realizes that he is a walking zero-effort pun, and that the humans also love the pun, he is all for it. He is the Joe Cool of the entire Vulcan population in his city.
And via this pun, the humans are including him in a cherished and traditional myth, by casting him as the literal bringer of life and the expander of families.
There’s no downside. Stork wears his robes, pins, keychains, and other bird-related tchotchkes with genuine pride.
