@tither // the mother.
“I get lonely when you aren’t around. Luckily, it feels like you almost always are.”
Spirit picks at her toenails.
“Is it wrong to say sometimes, still, I miss you?”

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@tither // the mother.
“I get lonely when you aren’t around. Luckily, it feels like you almost always are.”
Spirit picks at her toenails.
“Is it wrong to say sometimes, still, I miss you?”

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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For the tick content-a-thon -- Arthur week
This is my constant mood
@tither for chell
“Oh, this is nothing! I died twenty-three times in space. Bring it on! Death. Sounds scary. Isn’t. It’s nothing, really. It’s... it’s...” static would spread in Wheatley’s core processor, interfering with his ocular system, sprouting like a tumor every rotation around the Earth when the sun slowly slid behind the blue planet. Clarification: every system was interfered with but in the empty, weightless cradle of space the sole novel stimuli is optics. Touch? It’s space, can’t touch space because it’s—get this—space. Taste? Never heard of it (funny story, Wheatley was given the ability to internally taste water, just water, for cooling system leakage purposes, but water, as I’m sure you know, famously TASTELESS, bloody pointless waste of a circuit board (only, it’s worse than that, there in space, the cooling water floats in him; is free range, no caged water here; cruelty most definitely NOT free, it hurts, some droplets have drifted out and sprinkle his wiring like painful, shocking, pin-prickly dew)). Speaking of hearing, awful, space is polluted with high pitched radio waves. Except, one time, Beethoven. That was good. A good minute. Smell, not bad. Space smells like burnt almond cookies. Got old after the first day. He would be cut off from solar power charging for about six hours as he maintained (i.e. failed to defy) a medium orbit altitude and with no other power source available to him (no outlets in space), proceeds to die. Cold, alone and senseless with no senses. No metaphorical light to go towards. Just a very literal one. 93.513 million miles away. That his lifeless husk hurls towards. Until he has rung around the back side of the Earth and the sun is once more in view and his system flickers to life. “—nothing. A lot... of nothing... yeah.”
@tither liked x.
“ i die, but i come back. “ amelia snaps a couple fries back. “ what do you make of that? huh? “
@tither said: this is bennie, so very sleepy, with her arms spread wide for a hug goodnight. (because he deserves so much love)
unprompted.
he feels bad. he doesn’t think he could stomach a hug, not tonight. he knows she wouldn’t fault him, that she’d respect his boundaries. still, something sharp tugs in his chest. he’d hate to let her down. his teeth take harsh purchase of his lower lip, considering.
he knows what to do. it might not be what she’s looking for, but it goes across exactly what a hug would. at least, he thinks. he thinks she’d realize how significant him being comfortable enough do it, anyway.
he takes her hand, and squeezes it really tight. “ ‘night. “

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“I think.”
Julie says this with all the air of someone who knows absolutely everything. The kind of person who is talking about something and is completely correct, and why hasn’t this been changed?
“Eight a.m. classes should be outlawed universally, globally, and. Cosmically.”
She eyes some other students’ coffee. Drink. Whatever. Wishes she got one of those. God. She’s tired.
@tither / kinley
Stamps AND envelopes! 🙌🏾😆🙌🏾 @alsneed2 #AboutLastSundaysSermon #Tither #IAmSACC (at South Austin Community Church)
#life #love #faith #trustgod #tither #storehousestory #bible #kingjamesversion #God (at Jagged EDGE Salon)