#Function-Oriented Tags:

[alchemiclee]

I still don't understand how instagram works fhdnhdnse I was told by multiple people that it's easy and useful and and good I should post my art and stuff there but I never figured out how it works and it's been useless to me lmao I ALSO CANT STAND HOW IT CROPS PHOTOS (my number one complaint)

[gray-gray-gray-gray]

Let's Talk About The Overlap Between Autism, ADHD, and Schizophrenia

I've been wanting to make a graph like this for awhile, about the overlap between these three disorders. Tagging @auschizm because it's highly related to that blog :D

Text transcribed below the cut because it's long!

Title: Can We Talk About The Overlap Between... AUTISM, ADHD, AND SCHIZOPHRENIA?

Description: You always hear people talking about AuDHD, but schizophrenia has the same if not more overlap with these disorders, and it's not talked about!

Let's start boosting schizophrenic people's voices. There's more to the disorder than just psychosis!

Graph based on my personal experience with schizophrenia, my experiences with autistic and ADHD communities, and the words of people with AuDHD themselves.

Made by @gray-gray-gray-gray on tumblr.

Schizophrenia Only

Typical age of onset between 15 and 54 years old

Before the onset/ first psychotic break, there is a "prodrome" where you have a drop in functioning

Reoccuring episodes of psychosis (Hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, etc)

Likely had less noticeable or covert symptoms pre-onset

Often daydreaming, 'in their own world', hyper-self-reflective, 'space cadet'

Autism Only

Need for familiarty & routine

Sudden disruptions to routine are highly distressing

ADHD Only

Craves new experiences & novelty

Autism & ADHD (AuDHD)

Interest-based nervous system (meaning attention & focus is activated based on personal interest, not how important something is)

Onset in very early childhood -- before age 12

Autism & Schizophrenia (Auschizm)

Self-soothing via repetitive behavior

Higher rates of catatonic symptoms

Social withdrawal or exclusion

Difficulties filtering speech

Flat affect

Alogia

Concrete and/or literal thinking

Higher rates of personality disorders, dissociative disorders, and trauma

Internally oriented behavior

Difficulties wording what they

want to say correctly & disorganized speech

Difficulties with insight into what is part of the disorder and what is neurotypial

ADHD & Schizophrenia (SchizoDHD)

Impulsivity & hard to sit still

Difficulties regulating attention & focus, also causing social cue difficulties

Difficulty keeping a daily routine

Jumping around or out of sequence speech

Forgetfulness

Failing to reach a clear end goal or point in speech

Less coherent progression from start to finish in stories

General difficulties with thinking clearly

Drawing blanks / losing train of thought often

Difficulties finding motivation to do things

Lots of energy some days, no energy other days

Troubles multitasking

Planning poorly or not at all

All Three

Stimming

Echolalia, echopraxia

Executive dysfunction

Sensory issues & overload

Emotional dysregulation

Interconnected/webbed thought

ND communication (infodumping, connecting ideas, shared interest bonding)

Increased risk of victimization

Hyperfixations

Higher rates of depression, anxiety, OCD, BFRBS, bipolar, suicidality, sleep issues, eating disorders, and substance abuse

Eye contact differences

Difficulties switching tasks

Masking

Hyperfocusing

Restlessness

Prone to boredom

Memory issues

Social situation difficulties

Time blindness

Difficulties with school, learning, and following tasks

Chronic disorder

RSD

Anhedonia

Alexithymia

Interoceptive difficulties

[roksik-dnd]

For everyone who asked: a dialogue parser for BG3 alongside with the parsed dialogue for the newest patch. The parser is not mine, but its creator a) is amazing, b) wished to stay anonymous, and c) uploaded the parser to github - any future versions will be uploaded there first!

UPD: The parser was updated!! Now all the lines are parsed, AND there are new features like audio and dialogue tree visualisation. See below!

Patch 7 dialogue is uploaded!

If you don't want to touch the parser and just want the dialogues, make sure to download the whole "BG3 ... (1.6)" folder and keep the "styles" folder within: it is needed for the html files functionality (hide/show certain types of information as per the menu at the top, jumps when you click on [jump], color for better readability, etc). See the image below for what it should look like. The formatting was borrowed from TORcommunity with their blessing.

If you want to run the parser yourself instead of downloading my parsed files, it's easy:

run bg3dialogreader.exe, OPEN any .pak file inside of your game's '\steamapps\common\Baldurs Gate 3\Data' folder,

select your language

press ‘LOAD’, it'll create a database file with all the tags, flags, etc.

Once that is done, press ‘EXPORT all dialogs to html’, and give it a minute or two to finish.

Find the parser dialogue in ‘Dialogs’ folder. If you move the folder elsewhere, move the ‘styles’ folder as well! It contains the styles you need for the color coding and functionality to keep working!

New features:

Once you've created the database (after step three above), you can also preview the dialogue trees inside of the parser and extract only what you need:

You can also listen to the correspinding audio files by clicking the line in the right window. But to do that, as the parser tells you, you need to download and put the filed from vgmstream-win64.zip inside of the parser's main folder (restart the parser after).

You can CONVERT the bg3 dialogue to the format that the Divinity Original Sin 2's Editor understands. That way, you can view the dialogues as trees! Unlike the html files, the trees don't show ALL the relevant information, but it's much easier to orient yourself in.

To get that, you DO need to have bought and installed Larian's previous game, Divinity Original Sin 2. It comes with a tool called 'The Divinity Engine 2'. Here you can read about how to unstall and lauch it. Once you have it, you need to load/create a project. We're trying to get to the point where the tool allows you to open the Dialog Editor. Then you can Open any bg3 dialogue file you want. And in case you want it, here's an in-depth Dialog Editor tutorial. But if you simply want to know how to open the Editor, here's the gist:

Update: In order to see the names of the speakers (up to ten), you can put the _merged.lsf file inside of the "\Divinity Original Sin 2\DefEd\Data\Public\[your project's name here]\RootTemplates\_merged.lsf" file path.

Feel free to ask if you have any questions! Please let me know if you modify the parser, I'd be curious to know what you added, and will possibly add it to the google drive.

[lacewing-if]

Resources to put your Choicescript demo onto Itch.io

Hey guys, at this point I’m pretty sure everyone has heard about the shutdown of Dashingdon. In light of this event, I would like to share some resources for my fellow authors to upload your Choicescript demo onto Itch.io.

There is a little bit more hurdle to get through, but not much, and I do think it’s worth it. The website is pretty convenient, actually. You can see the statistics of your viewers, and there is some extra visibility from people from Itch. Not to mention, you can customize the main page on your own.

Step by step tutorials here:

catt-nuevenor’s guide

ChanceOfFire's guide, including how to install save function

Other resources I have used to upload my demo on itch.io:

How to install save function (a separate post)

Itch.io game page image guide

Additionally, @hpowellsmith recommended to use the *ifid command so that progress won't be lost when players close the tab.

Also, a few notes when uploading your demo on Itch.io:

Game files compiled by CSIDE won't work on Itch.io. You'll have to compile the game using ChoiceScript tool.

Utilize all available tags for more visibility. (You can actually see how much viewers you get from your tags.)

Make sure to set orientation to portrait and enable scrollbar (and fullscreen button).

I hope this is helpful to you guys.

Tagging @interact-if for more exposure to ChoiceScript authors

[smuttysabina]

"I am" a Bitch

(Rei x Male Reader, 3.3k Words) Tags: Pretty Little Risky Baddie, What A Brat, Wow She Is So Spoiled, I Sure Hope She Doesn't Get Her Butt Stretched Out, Anal Sex, Brat Taming, Lots Of Complaining, Rough Sex, Too Much Teasing, Chaebol Obliteration

Rei is a spoiled brat. Like most of IVE, she had been pampered until her pretentiousness had swollen to absurd heights; her every whim was to be fulfilled without worry of the consequences. She fully expected that her demands would be followed, especially those pertaining to the bedroom. Though Rei was not the worst of the bunch, her sexual appetites were still incredibly skewed in her favor; the pleasure of her partner was very much so beneath her notice. So she was rather unforgiving when her "lover" failed to satisfy her obnoxious orders, but not in an enjoyable way. Perhaps you should have known better, but truly, who could blame you for dumping the fattest load of your life balls-deep inside of Rae's precious asshole?

You had mostly known what you were getting into when you applied to work for IVE, every Kpop group had its own distinct quirks regarding the hired help. Itzy were renowned for their rapacity when dealing with the "interns", and their older sisters of Twice were famous for their fetishistic forced-breeding schedules. Le Sserafim were a popular choice, mostly due to their extremely laid-back and open attitude towards sex. Positions at Blackpink were the most sought after of course, though they remained permanently open, their turnover rate was less than a week. And IVE... well IVE were notorious for treating their employees like utter garbage. Which was hardly unusual if truth be told, except for the fact that this mindset extended to include most of the staff, not just the sex pets. It was by unwritten agreement amongst idols that the more integral staff members were to be left unravished; after all, it is difficult for a music company to function when their song writers are too busy pumping the idols full of cum all day to write anything. Most importantly however, the cleaning staff were to be left entirely unmolested; if not for those brave souls, the number of injuries caused by slipping in puddles of sex-fluids would skyrocket. Even that insatiable goddess Jennie, who would fuck almost anything with a pulse, would greet the janitors with a bemused smile before continuing to drain whatever meat-dildo she was currently sending to heaven.

Unfortunately, IVE had no such distinctions; if Gaeul wanted to have the producers lick her pussy all day, then that's what they did. It was a dark miracle that the group managed to continue putting out comebacks, let alone the sort that would be astoundingly popular. So to say that the atmosphere at the IVE mansion was a bit stressful would be an understatement. But all of that negativity was on the back of your mind when you showed up for orientation at the mansion; your adoration for IVE drowning out any concerns you may have felt reading up about them. Led through a tastelessly expensive entry hall, you and many other new hires were ushered into a drab side-room for your training. After only a perfunctory introduction though, you were seamlessly sorted into being an assistant for one of the girls; and sent on your way. You are directed to a large, stately bedroom, its footprint greater than most people's entire homes, its door embossed with its owner's name. The debris of an artist occupies an entire corner of the vast room, painting materials stashed haphazardly alongside expensive electronic drawing devices. The bathroom fills the rest of that half of the room, an opaque wall covering what looks to be a standing shower as well as a sizable hot tub. The sleeping area is conjoined with the living area, cluttered with clothes, books, and entertainment devices; with an enormous television planted in front of a deep couch. The bed is sturdy, dowered with an expensive mattress and covered with an eclectic collection of blankets; and laying upon it is the owner of this gilded cage: Rei.

The idol rests upon her stomach, delicate feet kicking in the air above her head, perusing her phone with every appearance of absolute boredom. She gives you unhappy glare as you approach, her heavily-lidded eyes showing you nothing but contempt as she takes in the details. Rei lets out a petulant sigh, "So you're my new assistant huh, why do I never get the cute ones? Whatever, drop your pants, let's see what we're working with here." You hesitate at this bizarre and sudden demand, only complying after she irritable motions for you to proceed, "Hmmph, I guess you'll do, at least you don't have a needle dick. Please tell me you aren't one of those premature guys, I swear most boys have zero endurance. What? Put that thing away, I'm tired of looking at it already!" Blushing furiously from Rei's barbs, you haul your pants back up and wait for further instructions. After several minutes of pointedly ignoring you, she finally deigns to glance back up in exasperation, "Well don't just stand there idiot, do something useful like... cleaning or something? This place is a mess!" Which, to be fair, it absolutely was. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly, towers of empty food cartons were everywhere, all manner of trash was scattered about, and sticky stains on the carpet were more common than clean portions.

So you get to work, while Rei lounges about on her bed, yelling dubious advice and shrill instructions at you while you labor. Her phone either blares annoying videos, except when she is video-chatting with her fellow idols; in which case she yammers away just as loudly as the bitches getting railed in the call. And of course, she masturbates constantly, her fingers squelching away beneath her sweatpants as she watches her friends engaging in all sorts of sexual activities. That or porn; and if you are honest with yourself it's difficult to tell the difference between the two. Not that Rei takes kindly to be watched during her "Private Time", nor the fact that the sight and scent of her pleasuring herself has an arousing effect on your own genitals, "You fucking pervert, stop watching me! Ugh what kind of assistant are you? And are you getting hard again? Stop that! I didn't say you could get horny, so stop looking and keep cleaning!" An attitude which was annoying in the extreme, especially since it was a touch difficult to bend over with a hardon bulging out of your pants. Your irritation only grows as Rei continues to rain abuse on you for doing what you're told, particularly when she went into hysterics when you got around to picking up and sorting the massive pile of underwear heaped against a dresser. You are starting to see why IVE had be having trouble retaining their staff...

After several grueling hours of labor, you finally finished restoring order to at least one portion of Rei's expansive living area; and so lay down to take a break on a couch. Not five minutes had passed before you were being poked awake by Rei, scowling down at you with her hands on her hips. Who haughtily announces that she was going to take a bath, and that she required assistance; now. You groan before hauling yourself after the idol to the bathroom section, where you are stunned to find her stripping carelessly in front of you. You stare at Rei in shock, your foul mood entirely dispelled by the magnificent sight before your eyes; she merely sniffs as you gaze at her. Her surprisingly moderate bust perks boldly outward, the soft curve of her hips descending towards a deliciously full ass, her lithe legs supported by her delicate feet. Now this made her earlier abuse almost worthwhile, surely such a goddess could be allowed a few flaws? Surely it was her due to be given such slavish attention, surely you had deserved such ill-treatment for not paying proper homage to Rei? The illusion of divinity is shattered however, when Rei responds to your adoration with scorn, "Ew, could you not look at me like that, it's weird. Also, get naked already, didn't I tell you to listen you moron?"

So you gingerly remove your clothes, wincing as you strain your sore muscles, and by the time you are finished Rei is already standing in the luxurious hot tub. With her hands on her hips, she gives you an exasperated look, and you scramble up into the bath to avoid another irritating tongue-lashing. You sit down with a sigh, decompressing in the soothing warm waters, water-jets massaging your aching back in a most pleasant fashion. Your momentary calm is cracked somewhat when Rei proceeds to plop down into your lap, her ample bottom squishing up against your groin as she reclines against you. You are rendered speechless by her sudden intimacy, and surprisingly, she is just as quiet. Rei seems content to use you as furniture as she relaxes, and in this moment of tranquility you take in your surroundings in more detail. A sprawling plethora of bottles precariously perch on the further edge of the hot tub, while the rim to your right is taken up entirely with sexual accessories. The bathroom area itself was relatively clean, but clutter was gradually overrunning every available surface; most noticeable was the trash can overflowing with condom wrappers, Rei was obviously a healthy girl...

Rei starts slightly as you harden, but otherwise seems content to ignore the fact that your cock is currently digging into her butt. She wriggles a little to reposition, then relaxes once more, until eventually she sighs and stands up out of the water. She glances back at you, "Your size?" Rei asks as she reaches towards the boxes of condoms. Nodding at your answer, she pulls out a string of them and tosses them at you before ordering you to close your eyes as she fiddles with some sort of tube. You hear Rei let out a soft curse, "Ugh, it's so cold..." then water churns and she grumbles at you, "Well, put it on already!" You open your eyes to find her scowling down at you, and you hurriedly hoist our crotch out of the water so you can slip a condom onto it. You reach towards Rei, only for her to slap your hands away, "Hey! No, sit back down! And don't you dare move, I hate it when guys act like they're not just dildos." With that out of the way, and giving you one final glare in warning, she turns around and lowers herself once more onto your crotch. But this time the burning heat of the water is replaced by the much more subdued warmth of Rei's insides, as she slowly slides your length into herself. Her plump ass squirms as she settles into her new perch, and she is soon gently rocking back and forth in your lap while her hands are busy between her thighs. Her pink hair tickles your face as she grinds on your bulging cock, teasing it endlessly as she pleasures herself. Rei's entire weight is pressed onto your cock as she lifts her legs, the roiling water supporting her as she precisely orients her body to force you as deep as possible. Then Rei lets out a sudden squeak, and she quivers against you, her hole clenching tight around your now painfully erect member.

Rei shudders, her asshole palpitating as she relaxes back against your chest, breathing heavily as she eases her weight off of your manhood. After resting against you for about a minute or so, oblivious to your cock as it throbs inside of her, she pushes herself up off of you in a cascade of water. You get a faceful of ass, and as she bends forward her slightly gaping brown anus is revealed, glistening wetly and flushed from use. Rei notices you staring and quickly turns around, covering herself as she does, "What, it's not like I would let you fuck my unused pussy, I'm saving it for my beloved!" You highly doubt that Rei's cunt had gone unstretched during her stint as a trainee, but you are far more focused on the fact that you had not been able to finish. The bratty idol gives you a confused look as she notices your demeanor, "Oh, did you not cum...? Feel free to jack off into the condom or something, just don't make a mess!" Humming cheerfully, she clambers out of the hot tub and is soon ensconced in an oversized fluffy towel; whereupon she putters off towards the living area, dripping water everywhere. Grumbling, and still staggeringly erect, you dry yourself off before following her, finding Rei sprawled on her couch flicking through channels. Not even deigning to glance at you, she reminds you to clean up all the water you got on the floor walking over there. Rolling your eyes you obey, though not without complaining under your breath, by the time you finished up and returned to your spoiled mistress she has already switched to watching porn. Loud moans and squeals blare from the enormous television as some woman is getting absolutely railed on screen. Rei is already masturbating shamelessly upon her discarded towel, her dark nipples starkly erect.

The idol glances over as you approach and nods in satisfaction as she notices that your dick is still hard, she scrambles around so that her plump posterior is pointed right at you, "Grab a condom, but follow my orders exactly, okay? My butt is very delicate." Sheathed once more in latex supplied from an ever-present condom box, you gently grasp her hips, "Okay, so put a lot of lube in, gently, then slowly ease your dick in, got it?" Instructions which you ignore entirely, as you simply shove your cock directly into Rei's vulnerable asshole. Whose back arches up as she shrieks in surprise, wailing as if she had just been poleaxed. The bitch was obviously exaggerating however, your dick had slid smoothly inside of her, only catching a little at the entrance, evidently Rei had squirted so much lube inside of herself earlier that she still had loads of it coating her insides. Not that she sees it that way, "YOU DUMB FUCK! TAKE IT OUT TAKE IT OUT!" she howls, clawing at the couch for support as her legs shudder. But you are done taking orders from this entitled brat, and pull back, dragging a solid inch of her insides along with you, Rei barely has time to gasp out "Oh thank-" before you slam your entire length back into her guts. This time she is only able to let out an outraged gasp, unable to comprehend how a lowly fan like you could possibly disobey a chaebol of IVE.

Of course, most other idols would not have stood for such treatment either, Yeji would have been clawing your back into bloody ribbons, Rose would have been beating you mercilessly, Jihyo would have pinned you down and firmly forced you inside the proper hole, Dami would have had you biting the couch as she pummeled you with a gargantuan strapon. Instead, Rei, scion of a renowned idol training program, promptly bursts into noisy tears. Normally a girl sobbing would have given you pause, and caused you to rush to give her comfort, but this bitch had been abusing you for hours now, and it seemed a bit of an overreaction; so you continue. Rei blubbers as loudly as the girl on screen, bemoaning her fate and tepidly demanding that you listen to her. But by now you were getting into the swing of things, and to be completely honest her asshole was practically sucking you inside after every thrust. Her thick ass-cheeks clap loudly as you slam yourself against them again and again, providing a meaty cushion that was almost begging for a thoroughly rough plowing. So you give it to them, violently pistoning your cock into her guts, causing her to squeak plaintively and writhe in your grasp as you firmly hold her steady. Then Rei starts to shake, her ass shivering in a familiar way, you don't stop moving though, even when she suddenly starts to scream shrilly, spittle flying onto the couch.

Something hot and wet slops onto your balls, sticking tight to it and smearing deep into its folds. Surprised, you pull out, leaving Rei's asshole gaping enough to show pink and sputtering foully, and beneath that, a shaven pussy absolutely slathered with cunt cream, connected her sex to yours with glistening streamers. She whines in embarrassment, looking back at you in disbelief at the mess she had made, her squeezable cheeks flushing bright red. Before Rei could make any excuses however you had crammed your cock back into her sloppy ass, causing her to groan and bite the fabric. A glow with satisfaction with yourself, you fall back into your rough rhythm, plowing away with enough force to make her ass-cheeks jiggle with every thrust. The steady slap of skin fills the room as you relentlessly fuck Rei, drowning out the depravities taking place on the TV, (by this point the woman appeared to be taking four cocks at once). But Rei wasn't an idol for nothing, and even after such ungentle treatment her butt still devoured your manhood voraciously; squeezing it tightly without any sign of tiring. Your tip grows warmer as you continue to pound away at her hole, it even starts to feel a bit wet within the rubber. The added stimulation is enough to make your heartily sore balls finally start to pulse, and you feel pleasure emanating from the base of your cock, urging you to go deeper. Groaning loudly, you haul Rei back as hard as you can, squishing against her butt with all your might as you climax spectacularly, filling your condom with thick reams of semen. Rei moans in sympathy, but a note of confusion turns her sweet tones shrill, "Oh fuck yes- WAIT. Wait you idiot you're fucking cumming in me! Oh fuck there's so much! Pull out fuckwit, pull out!" Startled by the sudden vehemence in her voice, you abruptly pull out of her, her unplugged asshole sloppily burping your seed out into the creamy filth already coating her sex. Now that it is exposed, you are able to clearly see the issue, your sex had been so violent it had torn the condom open, allowing your cum to surge into Rei's unprotected asshole; who is not taking it well.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck! It's so slimy and gross! I fucking hate cum! How fucking dare you cum in me! Ugh I feel like I'm going to puke!" she staggers upright, scowling furiously at you as she stumbles towards the bathroom. She points angrily at her door, "Out! Get the fuck out!" she screams, pulling herself onto the toilet and squatting upon it like a gargoyle. You quickly dress under her glare, as she starts to shit the vast amount of semen you had pumped into her. Once out the door, you report to the staff member, who seems unsurprised to discover that she had kicked you out of her room. They instruct you to return tomorrow, apparently the assistants were quietly cycled between the girls until they caught on and demanded their removal permanently. You are utterly shocked the next day then when you are once more ordered to wait upon Rei. Led to her familiar door, you find the brat hunched in front of a tablet, morosely jotting upon it with a stylus. She grunts as she sees you, frowning unhappily, rolling the stylus nimbly through her fingers as she ponders something deeply. Finally though she sighs, and demands that you strip once more. You nervously comply, worried about what sort of depraved revenge Rei has in store for you. But instead she simply stalks over to her bed, casting off her clothes as she goes, whereupon she bends over, looking back at you with annoyed trepidation.

"Well, what are you waiting for, idiot? You had better not break your condom this time! Oh and- um," Rei blushes in embarrassment, seemingly mortified that she has to say this, "please be rough again..."

[fatehbaz]

Originally I had attached these tags about British imperial forestry to a post about United States treatment of forests, Indigenous peoples, and land administration from 1900-ish to 1935-ish, during a transition period when clear-cutting logging was threatening profit so the US turned to a German- and British-influenced "sustained yield" forestry paradigm:

And in response, someone added:

In the midst of the first Empire Forestry Conference of scientists, academics, and administrators in 1920, the chairman of the Forestry Commission of Britain, Lord Lovat, said that forests were "grown for use and not for mere ornament ... Forests are national assets only so far as they supply the raw material for industrial development."

Rajan (in Modernizing Nature) directly quotes professor of forestry at Oxford, R.S. Troup, who had been influential in the Indian forest service; at the same forestry conference in 1920, Troup promoted sustained yield like this: "Conservation was a 'wise and necessary measure' but it was 'only a stage towards the problem of how best to utilise the forest resources of the empire'. The ultimate ideal was economic management [...], which regarded forests as capital assets, fixed annual yields in such a manner as to exploit 'to the full interest on this capital [...]' and aimed for equal annual yields so as to sustain the market and provide regular supplies of timber to industry."

One of the big - and easily accessible/readable - summaries of the shift to sustained yield and rise of US and British administrators embracing "economic management" of forests:

Modernizing Nature: Forestry and Imperial Economic Development, 1800-1950. S. Ravi Rajan. 2006.

Concise look at the trajectory from East India Company and Royal Navy timber reserves; to British foresters training in Germany and/or in German traditions (including sustained yield) before joining as officers in the powerful British-Indian land administration bureaucracy; to US scientists being trained by those British administrators; to 1920s/1930s Empire Forestry Conferences promoting industry while identifying forests as essential to power.

---

This has also been covered by:

Vinita Damodaran, Richard Grove, Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, Jonathan Saha, Gregory Barton, Rohan D'Souza.

More summaries of the situation (shorter length, accessible):

"Imperial Environmentalism or Environmental Imperialism? European Forestry, Colonial Forests and the Agenda of Forest Management in the British Empire, 1800-1900". S. Ravi Rajan, In: Nature and Orient: Essays on Environmental History of South and South East Asia, 1998.

"'Dominion over palm and pine': the British Empire forestry conferences, 1920-1947". J.M. Powell, Journal of Historical Geography, Volume 33, Issue 4, October 2007.

Elsewhere, Elizabeth DeLoughrey and George Handley described it like this: 'These forest reserves [...] did not necessarily represent "an atavistic interest in preserving the 'natural' [...]" but rather "a more manipulative and power-conscious interest in constructing new landscapes [...]."' While Sharae Deckard adds: '[T]he subversive potential of the "green" critique [...] was defused by the extent to which growing environmental sensibilities enabled imperialism to function more efficiently by appropriating botanical knowledge and indigenous conservation methods [...].'

---

And the book:

Commonwealth Forestry and Environmental History: Empire, Forests and Colonial Environments in Africa, the Caribbean, South Asia and New Zealand.

Edited by Damodaran and D'Souza, with work from conferences hosted by Grove, in 19 chapters including:

"Worlds Apart? The Scottish Forestry Tradition and the Development of Forestry in India" (K. Jan Ootheok); "Redeeming Wood by Destroying the Forest: Shola, Plantations and Colonial Conservancy on the Nilgiris in the Nineteenth Century" (Deborah Sutton); "Nature's Tea Bounty: Plant Colonialism and 'Garden' Capitalism in the British Empire" (Jayeeta Sharma); "Industrialized Rainforests: The Ecological Transformation of the Sri Lankan Highlands, 1815-1900"; "Forestry and Social Engineering in the Miombo Woodlands of South-Eastern Tanganyika" (Thaddeus Sunseri)

---

Rajan also points out (again in Modernizing Nature):

"[An] extremely important aspect to the repackaging [of forestry science and management] [...] [and] a critical principle that stands out here is that of sustained yield, or sustainability (Nachhaltigekeit). This concept was fundamental [...]. By the turn of the [twentieth] century a large pan-colonial [British-United States] scientific community was in existence, trained in the German and French tradition of forestry [...]. Following the revolt of 1857, the government of [British] India sought to pursue active interventionist policies [...]. Experts were deployed as 'scientific soldiers' [...]. Dietrich Brandis [...], considered the founder of Indian forestry [...] married Rachel Marshman, who was [...] also the sister of the wife of General Havelock, a close friend of Lord Dalhouse, the then governor-general of India. On Havelock's recommendation, Brandis was put in charge of the forests of [...] Burma [...] and was subsequently appointed inspector-general of forests of India. [...] He also trained prospective foresters of the forest department of the USA, including Gifford Pinchot. [...] Chancellor Bismarck gave the visiting British Prime Minister Gladstone an oak sapling [...]. Prussia prided itself on helping devise [...] modern forest management. [...] [T]he Forestry Commision [...], [or] [t]he Imperial Visionaries, as they became known, believed that an increase in primary production in the tropical dependent empire would result in the growth of the British economy. [...] They deemed their own job to be serving the imperial economy."

---

And also:

Empire Forestry and the Origins of Environmentalism. GA Barton, 2002.

"Colonialism and Green Science: History of Colonial Scientific Forestry in South India, 1820-1920". VM Ravikumar Vejendala, Indian Journal of History of Science, 47:2, pages 241-259, 2012.

"Imperialism, Intellectual Networks, and Environmental Change: Unearthing the Origins and Evolution of Global Environmental History." Vinitia Damodaran and Richard Grove, in Nature's End: History and the Environment, 2009.

"The Reconfiguration of Scientific Career Networks in the Late Colonial Period: The Case of Food and Agriculture Organization and the British Colonial Forestry Service" by Jennifer Gold, and "A Network Approach to the Origins of Forestry Education in India, 1855-1885" by Brett M. Bennett. Both chapters are form Science and Empire, 2011.

Triumph of the Expert: Agrarian Doctrines of Development and the Legacies of British Colonialism. Joseph Morgan Hidge, in Series in Ecology and History, 2007.

Nature and Nation: Forests and Development in Peninsular Malaysia. Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, 2005. And also: "Peninsular Malaysia in the context of natural history and colonial science." Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies, Volume 11, Number 1, 2009.

"Empires of Forestry: Professional Forestry and State Power in Southeast Asia, Part 1". Peter Vandergeest and Nancy Lee Peluso, Environment and History 12, no. 1, pages 31-64, February 2006.

[porcelainseashore]

OC Deep Dive: Wynter della Passaglia

Art by @surmatants

Tagged and dividers by @diableriedoll, including:

@toreadorcaretaker @mortifying-macaroni @hlozt @informaltorching

@swoomoo @dostoevskybignaturals - Thank you, I love you all so much! <3

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Wynter has plenty that haunt her. One of her greatest fears is being fully consumed by Aila—a prisoner to the doppelgänger where life moves on without her, and she would be invisible while Lettow neither notices nor cares. Another is that she was truly born wrong, and no one, including Lettow, will ever accept her after knowing the actual monster she is.

Other fears concern her past catching up to her. Firstly, having to face her sire, Violetta/Chiara, whom she burned bridges with and in turn, The Family, who will always want something from her. It’s not a question whether it happens, it’s a question of when. Secondly, she's scared to think if Lucien is dead, as a life without his existence is unimaginable. However, if he is alive, will he show up unannounced and secrets be spilled?

Do they have any pet peeves?

Are you the touchy-feely sort? Don't, just don't. It’s an old habit, but she avoids touch and it takes a lot for her to get accustomed to it. Some never feel right at all. She's also suspicious of people who are friendly or over-familiar, quickly resorting to her death mask, cold-hearted and impassive, emanating an unworldly aura to keep them away. Finally, if you talk too much (looking at you, Julian 🤨), then you’re really asking for a barbed remark that’ll shut you up.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

... The very same rosary she used to pray with Lucien as a child, hung haphazardly alongside a black satin bra by the dresser.

... An assortment of weapons, including her Nighthawk Custom and a sniper rifle, modelled after her father’s old hunting rifle.

... Stashed within a bundle of clippings is a torn off news piece, yellowing and curled at the edges, in faded print, detailing a terrible incident at her old family mansion.

... (Bonus) An evidence board of suspected Sabbat hotspots in Cairo.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their pulse points and heart rate, where their blood is rushing to, weak spots, what makes them uncomfortable, how do they hurt, what can she use to her advantage?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

A pretty high number in general? This girl has had weird bodily aches and pains since young, things that she couldn’t control or understand. On top of that, experiencing the Hecata Kiss as a mortal is quite something. Violetta lingered an extra few, sadistically or not, to remind her of suffering and what The Family could bring if she didn’t take heed. Although Wynter works as a courier, she’s a hunter, first and foremost. She’s had her fair share of battles and the marks to prove it. Finally, Wynter is aware of the immeasurable pain that exists on a different plane to the one we live in.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (or freeze and fawn)

Fight, but she’ll toy with you and do you dirty from the shadows, keeping her distance and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Don’t worry, she plays the long game and can sure hold a grudge.

What animal represents them best?

A parasite. Wynter has always felt like an entity living in a host, so much so that she’s even jokingly referred to her body as a “skin bag,” or the “skin I wear.” It has a function and purpose, and does the job. This is possibly why she has an interest in the Kuei-Jin, and wishes to find out more about her ancestral ties with them, when the Della Passaglias traded in the Orient.

She also has a methodical approach to things, and the patience to infiltrate without much fanfare. Take the auction house in Night Road for example. Let’s just say she got in and out with what she wanted, no drama except leaving Chiara and Edouard in the dust to argue with each other about whose fault it was for being blindsided.

Others see her as a parasite for latching on to Lettow, enjoying the influence that he has, where she’s the gold digger and he’s her sugar daddy. She pretends not to be affected by this, but wonders if one day she’ll drain him dry.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

“Stuck-up, pale ass bitch who gives me the heebie-jeebies. I swear, I didn’t even see her enter the room and she’s right behind me, standing there like a fucking statue. Would look prettier if she smiled.”

— Individual was found dead later due to an unknown cause.

Do they have any hobbies?

Joyriding in the desert with Elena (and Gretchen?? 😱), long walks in the outdoors (either accompanied by Lettow or alone), collecting scraps and trinkets linked to her past.

No pressure tags:

@medeaft @garygoldenbignaturals @lordturkish-robomallcop @milk-crafting

@auspex @lydia-too-late @lgbtmi @its-sixxers and any who want to do so!

[dykewithbenefits]

Hi everyone!

Welcome to my little side blog, where I'll be indulging in my orientation play kink! None of the stuff on here is to be taken seriously, but if you're not into orientation play, I do recomend blocking this blog for your own good.

Feel free to send me asks or DMs :3

Kinks & tags

I have a lot of kinks, some on the more unusual side. So that you may still enjoy this blog even if all of them aren't your cup of tea, I do my best to tag everything appropriately. Please use the tag filtering function if you want to avoid certain stuff.

Orientation play (#orientation play, #dykebreaking, #gaybreaking, #acebreaking, #straightbreaking)

Detrans & misgendering (#detrans kink, #ftm detrans kink, #mtf detrans kink, #misgendering kink)

Trans supremacy (#trans supremacy)

Common sense change & hypnosis (#hypnosis, #mind break)

Femboys (#femboy)

Force-feminization (#forcefem)

Breeding (#br33d1ng, #impreg)

Oblivious and/or casual free use and cheating (#fr33use, #cheating)

NC (#rap3 kink)

Incest/fauxcest (#1nc53t, #fauxcest)

Scents & smell (#scent kink, #girlstink, #boystink)

Watersports (#urophilia)

Zoophilia (#k9)

Gas (#eproctophilia)

Limits

This is a queer blog by a queer person for queer people. Actual homophobia, transphobia, misogony, etc. will not be tolerated.

Claimed anons

💖, 🐾, 🍑, 🫀, 🌹

DNI if you don't have your queer identity and age in your pinned post or bio. I will not respond to cishet men. Minors will be blocked on sight.

[incognitopolls]

Tag directory

#Not polls – everything on this blog that's not a poll. Includes answered asks, administrative posts, etc.

–

#Polls about the Bathroom – toilet usage, human waste, public restrooms, and other bathroom habits including brushing your teeth; many of these have the #unsanitary or #gross tags

#Polls about the Body – anatomy, physical attributes, bodily functions; many of these polls reference genitals

#Polls about Brains – mental health, neurodiversity, thinking,

#Polls about Clothes – what you wear and how/when you wear it

#Polls about Critters – pets, wild animals, bugs, etc

#Polls about Ethics – moral questions, right & wrong

#Polls about Etiquette – politeness, social rules/scripts

#Polls about Health – medical topics, medication, dentistry, illness, disability

#Polls about the Home – housing, living situations, housekeeping, cleaning, home organization, etc

#Polls about Interests – catchall tag for media and hobbies including books, tv shows, music, fanfiction, etc

#Polls about the Internet – website features, app usage, internet safety

#Polls about Jobs – work, employment & unemployment, bosses, coworkers

#Polls about Language – linguistics, pronunciation, foreign languages

#Polls about LGBTQ+ Stuff – gender, sexuality, romantic orientation

#Polls about Money – money, finances, savings

#Polls about Polls – poll meta

#Polls about Relationships – friendships, family dynamics, dating, sexual relationships, etc

#Polls about School – any and all education & learning

#Polls about Sex – sex, masturbation, horniness; most of these contain adult content

#Polls about Showers – showers & bathing

#Polls about Sleep – sleep, dreams, bedtime, bed arrangement, etc

#Polls about the World – geography, demographics, and worldwide questions

#Miscellaneous polls – anything that doesn't fit into a more specific category listed here

[simtleman]

The Venice Express (Download Tray Files & CC)

So I've been receiving a few DMs asking me whether my lots are up on The Gallery or somewhere else to be downloaded. To be more specific, my Grand Express (Columbia Station) Lot seems to be getting a lot of attention (which I'm so, so glad!).

As you may already know if you follow my Tumblr, my game and therefore my save file is kinda messed up ever since the last update (mostly my UI), so unfortunately I don't think I'll be able to share that lot with you guys. However, I've decided to create a brand new train from scratch and finally contribute somehow to this thriving historical Sims 4 community I'm loving so much. I may not have the talent to create CC myself, but as a former stylist I sure can put things others have created together to make 'em look nice lol. Without further delay, allow me to introduce you to The Venice Express!

Clearly inspired by the legendary and breathtaking Venice Simplon Orient-Express, the lot consists of a three wagon train (two of them with private cabins, the third one featuring a lounge bar and a small kitchen), a log cabin and a recreation area with a wooden arbor. Here are some screenshots:

Private cabins (they're all practically equal):

Lounge bar wagon/kitchen:

Log cabin:

Before you go ahead and download it into your game, a few IMPORTANT disclaimers:

The lot is a 50x50. If you want the enviroment to look just like my screenshots, make sure to place it in the big lot on top of the hill on Mount Komorebi.

I use ReShade in all my screenshots, so lighting/colors may vary from what it looks like on your game.

I used items from a few expansions and packs (listed in picture below), so if you don't own them those items might be replaced with others.

Like all my builds, this is a heavily CC based lot. If you don't have a powerful PC, it might get laggy while trying to play with it.

Regarding the CC, I do not own nor take credit from any item included within this lot. All credit goes to their amazing creators.

The .ZIP file (3.19 GB) includes two folders: one for the Tray Files and another one with all the CC. I'm 100% sure all the CC I used is already public for everyone; if it's not, it's been definitely longer than three weeks since it has all been in my game and you (the CC creator) shouldn't be putting content behind permanent paywalls to begin with ;)

I did use bb.moveobjects on while building and have NOT playtested it, so you might have to move some items for them to be functional.

The lot is currently set as a Residential, but you can certainly change it to anything else... including a Residential Rental and perhaps making each cabin a different apartment.

That's all for me! This is the very first piece of content I share for others to download, so if you run into any kind of issues do not hesitate to let me know and I'll try to help best I can :)

If you do like it, please make sure to like this post (maybe even comment on it if you feel kind enough!) and please, please, PLEASE do tag me on your screenshots if you share them here on Tumblr. I'd love to see what you guys make with it!

Download: Mediafire

Enjoy ♡

[ireadwithmyears]

Looking Out for You: Part 3

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem reader

Part 1 | Part 2 |Visually impaired reader masterlist

Tagging: @tazmbc1

Word count: 4.7 K

Tags/warnings: visually impaired reader, Angst, confrontation, disability based discrimination/ableism, mild hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, Fox (and reader for that matter actually) are both bad at feelings

Summary: When things start showing signs of getting confrontational when you’re just trying to get a ride home from work, Fox, as is seeming to become routine, saves the day. Now if only you could save yourself from falling even harder for the man who you’re certain, without even having to ask, does not feel the same way about you, things would be just perfect.

Authors note: Surprised I got this up before the new year? Yeah, me too. Planning to have the final installment of this up sometime in January, though with me, you really never know what’s going to happen until it does 🤣 I’m not good at scheduling when it comes to writing. Things are only going to happen when they’re ready to. But without further ado, I hope you enjoy this one, and I’m wishing everyone a happy new year🎊

The third time it happens, Fox is imbued with a vengeful, murderous rage.

Is that an exaggeration? Only slightly. But honestly, it doesn’t take much to set him off these days, and this, he thinks—striding through the twists and turns of the Senate Building’s hallways with tightly clenched fists and a contemptuous glare on his face that he hadn’t even bothered to conceal with his helmet before storming out of his office—has certainly done it, no question

*

It had all started a couple of weeks ago, a few mornings after you and Fox had gone on your breakfast date. No—he adamantly refuses to call it a date. But regardless, after that, several events had occurred in quick and notable succession.

The first, the morning after you had returned to the Senate Building after you had been given a day off in compensation for your working overtime the night prior, you arrived to find a new and fully operational orientation and mobility droid, photoreceptors blinking and waiting for you outside.

Fox, after doing some research, found that they were a very useful and highly sought-after navigational tool for the blind in the workplace, assisting with guidance, orientation through different spaces, and generally aiding by describing visual markers, signage, inaccessibly formatted documents and other things you might encounter.

He had come to find, sifting through Senate-issued requisition forms, that you had been approved to obtain one, fully covered, weeks ago. He made some calls, pulled some strings, and with some degree of satisfaction boosted you to the top of the waitlist and made sure that the droid had been fully set up and functional by the time you returned to work.

Two days later, the first box of baked goods mysteriously appeared outside his office door.

Fox, ever the skeptic, had been wary and had even gone so far as to take the first box of deliciously powdered donuts to one of his medics for screening just to make sure it wasn’t some Separatist trick filled with poison. 

That was proven to not be the case, and his brothers, laughing at him for being so paranoid, had swiped the remaining donuts, converging around the box like a swarming hive of bees eager to taste the first drops of a flower's nectar, eating whatever they could reach.

Fox had glared at them and pretended to be annoyed at his loss, but then the food kept coming. 

Baked goods were sent down to HQ or his office anonymously every couple of days, and if he had been suspicious before—considering he had only just spoken to you about how little exposure clones actually had to food—exiting his office to find your visual interpreting assistant droid, Via, resolutely marching down the hallway with a tin of Coruscant Guard-red frosted cupcakes held in her metallic arms with the logo of the small coffee shop he had taken you to just over a week ago made the pieces come together with a satisfying click in his mind.

“Via,” he had called out, voice colored with fresh surprise and bafflement. “What are you doing?”

“I am delivering a parcel on behalf of my mistress,” she had stated with that tone Fox privately thought droids always used when they believed a human was asking a stupid and redundant question. “As you are the benefactor, I shall relieve myself of it and hand it directly to you.”

He had taken it, utterly lost for words and filled with a mix of confusion and strange, totally foreign delight knowing that you had been the one delivering these gifts.

It was thoughtful, he had mused. Kind. And he really should insist that you put an end to it, because it was unnecessary. But, stomach growling as he looked down at the clear-plastic topped box and turned back to his office to set it down, he found that he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to do so.

*

Come on, Via, hurry up.

The singular thought chases around in circles in your head, anxiety increasing with every tap of your foot against the pavement-covered ground. 

As a rule, and on the recommendation of a certain clone commander, you weren’t in the habit of waiting outside the Senate Building on your own anymore, which is why the droid had shown up at precisely the right time. Rumors were abound that the Senate abductions were still occurring, and even though the Guard was closing in on a specific lead, the suspect was still at large. The situation was made worse with the sun beginning to set earlier, leaving you in almost complete darkness by the time you started making your way home most nights.

But then, things like this would happen, and it made you all the more grateful for the droid’s unexpected but welcome company at the end of the day.

You had explained on her first night waiting with you to catch your ride home from work that sometimes situations like this would arise. 

“And how am I to assist if things were to, as you say, ‘get ugly’?” she had asked, photoreceptors blinking as she looked at you.

“Nothing you can do, I think,” you had shrugged, and when that response had only elicited the mechanical equivalent of a dissatisfied sound from the droid, you had conceded. “I suppose you could get the nearest member of the Coruscant Guard to intercede,” you said, thoughtfully biting your lip. “An uncooperative driver might be more inclined to listen if it’s coming from one of them, though I would prefer to try and handle it on my own first. After a moment’s pause and almost as an afterthought, you had added, “Preferably, get Commander Fox.”

You couldn’t explain why, other than you just trusted him above all others to make sure that if you were ever in a tight spot like this, you got out of it without trouble.

“Excellent,” Via had chirped, straightening with a now satisfied air. “Then that is what I shall do. Though let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Well, a few days later, it did. You found yourself frantically depending on the droid that had, out of nowhere, arrived outside Senator Organa’s office, clearly denoted as being meant specifically for you.

She had her uses, you had to admit. Outside of the usual—getting you to where you needed to go inside the often tricky-to-navigate Senate Building—she could also run errands for you, and that, you had found, was very useful—even if it was for a more personal nature than had originally been intended.

Via had, with the help of your descriptions and admittedly blurred memory from your sleepless night, helped you locate the coffee shop Fox had taken you to, and if outside of work hours, you had required her assistance to help read the menu and place large orders of baked goods to be shipped down to his office or Coruscant Guard HQ…well, no one had said anything against it, and it made you happy knowing that Fox and hopefully some of his brothers would be able to eat food that they would also be able to enjoy, an apparent luxury that they had never been afforded, to your disgust, by their seemingly cutthroat creators.

You had also taken advantage of her translating abilities, which became especially helpful during Senate meetings and also when you had asked her what the kriff “cyar’ika” meant. Your ears turned pink every time you thought about it, and your lips couldn’t resist curling upward into a small, endeared smile whenever the commander came to mind after that.

At this moment though, you certainly weren’t endeared. 

“Who are you to tell me my rights as a driver?” 

The furious shout rings through the quiet parking lot and you swallow, heart picking up in speed as you reach down to run your fingers through Mandalore’s soft fur at the top of her head. She nuzzles into your hand, well practiced in your number-one technique to self-soothe and ground yourself by now. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm of your pets, the way her fur feels beneath your fingertips, and find that for once, it’s not helping.

Especially not when the driver—apparently sparked into a rage at your audacity in telling him that it was against planetary law to deny service to beings purely because they were accompanied by a service animal—opens the drive’rs seat door, the click of his seat belt unbuckling unmistakable and ringing in your ears as he gets out of his speeder.

Oh, boy, you think, tentatively taking a step back as he steps into your field of vision on the sidewalk. This has never happened to you before.

“Look,” you manage to get out through a panicked swallow, the rhythm of your hand smoothing against Mandalore’s head too fast, too uneven. “I am simply stating that there are laws in place. If I were to take this to court—”

“You’d what, take away my license?” He’s menacing as he takes another step forward, and you physically recoil at the smell of stale caf that you catch on his breath as he invades your space. “I bet you think you’re untouchable because you kiss Organa’s ass, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

He reaches out, you think maybe to grab the badge that denotes your name and position within the Senate, but you’re stepping, no, stumbling backward, Mandalore jumping to her feet and shoving her way in front of you as her ears perk upward in consternation, intuitively sensing your growing unease.

She’s trained to be well-behaved, to remain calm and unaffected in even the most chaotic situations, yet right now she senses a clear threat, and you don’t scold her for acting on it. Hell, your hands are shaking so hard that you can barely keep a grip on her leash, let alone reach for her harness.

And then the double doors of the Senate Building come swishing open behind you and a voice—steady, sure, and with the cutting edge of a deadly knife—fills you with such a sharp, distinct sense of relief that it nearly brings you to your knees. 

*

“Do we have a problem here?”

It’s strange and distinctly unsettling for Fox to catch a glimpse of Mandalore giving voice to his internal rage with her expression alone. But he realizes as he steps out from the shadows that he’s only ever seen her happy and calm, a far cry from the tense, highly alert, and looking like she’s about to pounce canine that stands in front of you right now.

He understands though. He understands her all too well. If Via’s report on the rapidly escalating situation she had briefed him on as they speed walked hadn’t been enough, than this—hearing the tail end of the confrontation and seeing that the driver had looked to be about to lunge for you—well, sufficed  to say his blood is boiling, and his heart is beating loudly in his ears.

Fox takes a breath, flexes his fingers, and wills himself to calm down before he speaks again. When he calls your name, it’s still gruff, but softer, wanting only gentle words to be directed your way. He’s relieved to see that despite your already tense shoulders and your shaking hand clutching at Mandalore’s leash, you don’t flinch when he addresses you—a small but resounding victory in his mind.

“Stay right there,” Fox murmurs, his voice steady, coaxing, and soft, making it all the more  obvious when he directs it away from you. When he speaks to the man that still looms menacingly over you, his words are anything but soft.

“You,” Fox barks, pleased to watch the man cringe at the hint of a snarl in his voice. “You’re going to take five large steps away from her right now.”

Before the driver can get any foolhardy ideas of turning tail and diving back into his speeder, Fox allows his hand to drift to his hip, though he’s not reaching to draw. His fingers tap against the holster, not even having to lift it or look down as they adeptly prime the weapon to stun.

There is an audible swallow before the man slowly complies, taking the required amount of steps away from you. Fox nods, satisfied as he clears the distance, immediately putting himself between you and the driver, now allowing the man to know what it feels like to have someone much bigger looming menacingly above him as he glares.

“Now,” his next words are quiet, calm…deadly, “you’re going to get back into your speeder, and you’re going to do exactly as your job has directed you and bring this lady, accompanied by her service dog, to her place of residence.”

He senses the objection coming, and he growls lowly, reaching to grasp at the man’s collar, giving a small tug to enunciate his next words when he speaks them.

“And perhaps,” he says, his words biting in the chilled air, “if you do your task satisfactorily, I will consider having the suspension I’m going to place on your license as soon as you’ve dropped her off reinstated after a week instead of a month as I had originally intended.”

“A month?” the man practically squeaks. “That’s preposterous—”

“And did you really think she was joking about the 5,000-credit fine for service animal access denial?” Fox asks, cutting him off. “I’m sure I could pull some strings and still work that in on top of the suspension if you’d like.”

“Technically, the fine could be doubled to 10,000,” Via pipes up, her mechanical footsteps coming to a stop as she stands beside Fox. “I have recorded evidence that you attempted to physically engage with my mistress without her expressed consent.”

Fox has to restrain the impulse to give the droid a full-out grin as the driver, twitchy and squirming as he already is, falls silent, biting the inside of his cheek before letting out a breath and mutely nodding his head, and as Fox releases the grip he has on his collar, he scurries back into his speeder, opening the back passenger door with a remote as he does.

Is he supposed to use his rank as a Marshal Commander of the Coruscant guard to deliver personal vendettas like this? No, but he’s certainly already exploited his position to do much more ambiguous and morally questionable things, and one lone speeder driver attempting to rat him out for this one will, in all likelihood, fall on deaf ears. So, weighing the odds, he’s satisfied and feeling just pissed off and petty enough that he’s willing to take the risk.

“Fox,” your voice escapes you in a breath as you move forward, catching his arm and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s all sorted,” Fox says, trying to sound reassuring as he places a hand lightly over yours. “He’ll get you home with no trouble.”

“But, I…” despite your inability to articulate, he sees it. A single glance you throw towards the speeder displays the anxiety and fear still very real and present within your eyes, and Fox understands, the pieces clicking together in his mind like a puzzle.

Fox can tell just by watching the man through his window—fumbling with his keys and sending nervous glances over his shoulder, as if he’s concerned that Fox might change his mind and instead demand him to surrender his license on the spot—that he’s eliminated the threat. What Fox hasn’t done though, and what he should be wholly focussed on right now, is eliminating your fear.

“You don’t feel safe with him,” he states, watching as you nod your head.

“No,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Of course, you don’t. Fox internally kicks himself. Why would you even under normal circumstances feel safe in a speeder with a man you’ve never met before, let alone one who’s angered and personally confronted and threatened you within the span of several minutes. And that’s only what Fox had witnessed.

Right, he thinks. Time to fix that. 

Fox gives the hand that’s still curled around his bicep a small squeeze, feeling how unwilling your fingers seem to be to let go, and as he looks up, watching the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, an idea sparks.

“Bet you thought you were going to drive away from here and get rid of me,” Fox mutters darkly, startling the driver as he ducks inside the back of the speeder, shifting to the other side of the seat. “Not a chance.”

“Come on, Cyar’ika,” he calls to you, voice warm as he invitingly pats the available row of seats at his side. “Let’s get the two of you home.”

*

“Mandy.”

Your voice is a soft, quiet call within the silence, and even the sound of it makes you startle slightly and flinch, eyes uncertainly flicking towards the front of the speeder. You desire to make yourself small and inconsequential, as inconspicuous to the unwilling and already annoyed driver as you possibly can.

Angry people are unpredictable, and you have no desire to be in his targeting range. But you also, despite the fact that there is a fully trained and armed clone commander sitting at your side, need comfort. You need the reassurance that you’re not alone and that you’re safe, and sometimes only your guide dog can do that, making the nights feel less dark and the paths you wander never lonely because she’s there leading you through them and standing at your side, as constant as the air that you’re breathing.

When her head pops up from where she’s been lying down at your feet, eyes shining through the evening’s encroaching darkness, you smile, though it’s strained, and reach down to stroke one of her long, soft ears. 

“Hey, girl,” you whisper, leaning forward to bump your forehead against hers. The proximity is familiar, the feeling of her fur imprinted on your memory like the back of your own hand. “You’re so good.”

“You call her Mandy?” Fox asks, his voice low and amused at your side as he watches you.

“Sometimes,” you say, straightening as you continue to pet her fondly. “It’s one of her many nicknames.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you speak, looking at each other as the traffic blurs by outside the windows. 

“Do you have any?” you ask, suddenly seizing on the opportunity for conversation, craving any kind of distraction from this mess. “Nicknames, I mean.”

“Not really,” he responds, shaking his head before pausing and glancing down, his cheeks warming with a slightly embarrassed heat. “Well, sometimes my brothers call me ‘Fox’ika,’ just to piss me off.”

“What does it mean?” you ask, privately suspecting that it’s another term in Mando’a, but not wanting to reveal to him that you knew of his prior slip up.

Right now, what he had called you can exist in your mind, and you can smile and blush about it all you want. But if you said anything, if you let him know that he had given voice to the feelings you were becoming more and more aware were stirring within you for the commander, it would become real, and with reality comes the knowledge that it was probably nothing more than accidental.

You’re not ready to let that go, not just yet. The fantasy that he could think of you in that way, that he could want you in that way is just too good, too enchanting—enough to give you butterflies every time you think of that one, simple term of endearment that means everything to you but probably means absolutely nothing to him—to let go of just yet. So you don’t.

“Adding ‘-ika’ to a word makes it more diminutive,” Fox explains, oblivious to your inner mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings. “Little. It would be like calling me ‘Little Fox,’ you know?”

“That is kind of cute,” you can’t help but admit, your smile cheeky as you look up at him.

You’re imagining this tall, well-built, and highly competent clone commander as nothing more than an adorable, little fox looking up at you with wide eyes, and you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, please,” Fox groans, placing a hand on his heart. “Your betrayal has wounded me grievously.”

His voice is so stoic, so serious and deadpan that you can’t help but snort, a small giggle slipping past your lips before you can stop it. Fox pokes you in the side, which makes you instinctively slap his hand away as you begin to laugh more, until there’s a small, but audible huff of irritation from the driver's seat of the speeder. You stop, all of your previous safety and feelings of starting to be at ease retreating in an instant, your previous anxiety and discomfort snapping back like an elastic band being pulled to its limits and rebounding.

Fox notices your sudden stillness, your startling and abrupt retreat back within yourself. He frowns, and before you know it, your hands are intertwined with his. Your eyes widen. You’re taken off-guard for an instant because while the warmth of his hands and their steady, reassuring weight against yours has become familiar to you, the barrier of gloves in between is gone, and the palms that cradle yours are soft, warm, and grounding.

He lifts one of yours, guiding it until the palm is flipped face down, lightly resting against Mandalore’s warm, soft forehead.

“She’s here,” he states, lightly stroking the back of your fingers before letting go, leaving your hand settled against the guide dog’s soft fur.

The warmth of his touch completely surrounds and envelops your hand as he cradles it, taking the one remaining between both of his and guiding it to rest against his thigh, making no move to push you off or retreat as he looks down at you.  

“I’m here,” he says, his voice a low, soothing rumble that’s just above a whisper in the darkness.

He presses your hand against his, and you feel the rough calluses built up from years of handling blasters and weapons as his fingertips trace against your knuckles. 

“You’re almost home, Cyar. Just two more minutes,” he murmurs, glancing down at his comm as it tracks your progress on a map. “And me and Mandy aren’t going anywhere in the meantime.”

You swallow, shifting closer to him and nodding your head. You should be relieved, should be happy that you’re almost home and you can finally get away from this speeder that smells of stale cigars and dirty old caf cups and from the driver who has done nothing but make you feel uncomfortable and unsafe this whole time.

But all you can think as you look up at Fox and continue holding onto his hands, is consequences be damned. You really just want to lean forward, press your lips against his, and kiss him until the two of you are breathless right now.

*

“Are you good from here?”

You give Fox a small nod of your head, but make no move to extricate your arm from where it’s nestled in the crook of his elbow. Truthfully, you had been good some distance ago, as soon as the speeder had pulled up in front of your house. You knew where you were going, but he had still offered out his arm and guided you down the pathway, up the steps, and straight to your door with such uncharacteristically gentle attentiveness that you found yourself unable to refuse him, and since your hand is still shaking and you’re still throwing glances over your shoulder as the speeder drives off, so what if you’re enjoying someone fussing over you just a little? Right now, you’ll take it.

“You know, we will sort this out,” Fox says, voice quieter as he glances down at the hand still looped through his arm, sensing your hesitation. “This won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

In all honesty, Fox is fully preparing himself to march straight up to Senator Organa’s office, because he knows that out of most of the fools who work in the Senate Building, he will at least respectfully listen and take the security concerns towards his lower staff members seriously when Fox informs him of them. If nothing else—if your right to having consistent, accommodating transportation to and from work isn’t enough—then surely the knowledge that the Guard still hasn’t managed to catch the culprit behind the abductions surrounding his committee and the fact that you have to travel in unregulated and unsecure transports will be.

“I know,” you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Reluctantly, you let your hand fall away from where it’s been holding onto his arm, turning to unlock your door. “Thanks for getting me home. I don’t think I would’ve felt safe without having you there.”

The door opens, and you raise one foot to step through the threshold. Then, possessed by some reckless, unthinking urge, you turn around, clear the distance between the two of you in several quick, small steps, rise up onto your tiptoes. and with one of your hands holding onto his shoulder for leverage, press your lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss.

Fox’s brain short circuits. One minute, he’s thinking about speaking to Senator Organa and potential breaches in security, and the next all of his thoughts are swept away and instantly consumed by you, the hand that holds onto his armored shoulder feeling so light and inconsequential, and yet even through the plastoid, the touch is present and poignant, burning through his skin to the bones that lie beneath.

When your lips meet his, he feels the way in which they part, making way for a soft exhalation of breath that brushes against his own skin and his eyes widen, surprised and all at once wanting. He lifts a hand, undecided between whether he wants to tug you closer by one of your hips so he can indulge himself in knowing what it feels like to have you pressed up against him, or to lightly and with a gentleness he didn’t know he wanted to have, lift his hand to brush his fingers against the soft cheek unmarred by scars as his is and hold it within the gentle press of his palm as he cradles the side of your face, keeping your lips pressed against his exactly where he wants you, where he needs you, with a sudden fervor and to the very core of his being.

Fox isn’t given the chance to do either of those things. 

Mandalore, evidently impatient to get inside so she can finally be relieved of her work duties, gives an exasperated shake, jingling the metal in both her leash and harness as she waits by the door for you to return. You jump back, looking for all the world like you have just been caught doing something completely inexcusable. Fox doesn’t understand the twisting, sinking feeling in his chest when he catches sight of your expression, and you don’t give him much time to investigate it further.

“I…forgive me, Commander.”

Your words come out in a barely there whisper, and before he can respond—before he can even think about the over half-a-dozen responses in his head, ranging from a casual “nothing to forgive,” to a “please, do it again,” to just taking you by your fidgeting hands, spinning you so that you’re pinned against the wall and pressing his lips against yours until you’ve forgotten all about your previous apologies—you’re turning and scurrying away, eyes widened as if you’re a frightened tooka, and retreat back into the safety of your house, the tap of Mandalore’s paws click-clacking against the hardwood floor following after you, seeming to echo the accompanying silence, the abrupt and startling standstill that takes place in Fox’s mind as soon as you’ve disappeared behind the door.

Fox stares, eyes equally wide, at the panelled wood that now stands between the two of you, his breath caught in his throat. His lips are still parted, still eager, and still waiting to be given another kiss that he now knows is not coming.

It takes him a long, long time to summon the energy, the willpower, to turn and step away from your door and slowly descend the three porch steps.

Fox doesn’t know how he manages it, but, coward that he is, he walks away, hating himself more and more with every step that he takes as he leaves you behind.

•Thank You to @strangergraphics-archive for these adorable puppy dividers

[the-fluff-piece]

Catching Smoke

A long Smoker romance fanfic where he gets to be the strong, grumpy, hot marine we know and love, falling for his capable sexy secretary(you!) that keeps him functional and saves his ass about as many times as he saves yours.

It's a secret enemies to lovers slowburn longfic that I will try to update every Sunday. Comment below to be tagged with every update!

Part 1 - where you land in the marine base g-5 and meet Smoker for the first time!

The last thing you saw was a giant paw, then you flew in this strange way for three days - and things went black.

When you woke up again, you were in some kind of hospital, but all the other beds were empty. Your head was aching and spinning, but you had to get up, get back to your friends, help them against the marines. You needed to get back to sabaody.

You limbed to the only door you could see and opened it, daylight blinded your sensitive eyes and sent a bolt of pain through your head. Blinking, you tried to get some orientation - and saw marines, lots of them. They ignored you for the most part, only a few especially ragged looking specimen wandered towards you with lopsided grins.

"Sleeping beauty woke up! Hey dove, wanna have a good time with me?" A mean looking soldier said in the grimiest voice imaginable. He had long, brown hair and wore his uniform a bit more lose than the others. He would have been handsome if not for the disgusting expression on his face.

"Fuck off!" Was your only comment as you moved, painfully slowly, in the opposite direction, down a corridor. Even you could handle a few of those conscripted losers. You were half sure. Were was your weapon?

"What was that?" the soldier grunted behind you.

"Kitten has claws" commented another one.

"We will show you what it means to-" the first one added, but was cut short by a female voice.

"Ah, there you are miss! Sorry, may I pass?" A woman with a sword approached. Her black hair was cut short. She squinted and studied your face - you didn't know her. You hoped she didn't recognize you - you may not have a wanted poster, yet, but after being involved in that kind of shit show? You couldn't be sure anymore. She was holding up a stack of papers and seemed to check your face against a picture- fuck!

Panicking, you tried to make out a way to escape before she would throw you into the hellhole named imple down. Would your friends save you? Were they even alive?

"You're an applicant for the position of secretary?" She finally asked, holding up the paper so you could see the picture. It looked nothing like you.

"Uh, sure" you answered.

"Excellent! I am captain Tashigi. Please follow me!" She turned and briskly walked away.

It looked like she was your ticket out of this situation, so you trotted off behind her - shooting the asshole soldiers a deadly glare. You hoped she would lead you around the base and that her obvious bad eyesight would give you plenty of opportunities to escape.

The base was enormous. A labyrinth of hallways, doors and stairways.

Tashigi, you knew that name from your crew mates. She was always partnered with the white hunter, Smoker. Fuck. That one was mean. A logia user that was set on capturing the strawhats. You had to get away before he saw you, he was a not called a hunter for nothing. There was no chance you could escape him.

You tried to assess your position - you were in a marine base, the blind swordswoman thought you were applying for a secretary position. Who ever you would be talking to - they would get you out somehow after the interview was over. Maybe you would have to be shipped to a civilian harbour, from where you could plot your return to sabaody. Your head was killing you, but you didn't have to give them a good performance. Surely this was just with some captain or low ranking service personnel.

Tashigi stopped at a door and knocked. A deep, growling voice answered: "come in".

Tashigi opened the door and you followed - and it took all your willpower not to curse loudly.

In a chair behind a huge wooden desk sat a man with white hair and two cigars in the corner of his mouth - Smoker. His jackett was open and he didn't wear anything underneath, his hands were in dark gloves and folded on top of the desk. He looked annoyed and angry. And, in a scary kind of way, really handsome. His broad build and white hair were unusual, but interesting. Next to him, your crewmates looked like scrawny boys.

You froze and swallowed.

"Commander Smoker, this is another applicant for the position of your secretary!" she informed him, saluting.

"Ah, I thought we saw every one of them! Of course, please, sit!" His demeanor changed somewhat, he now seemed nervous. His eyes widened and he bend a bit, like he wanted to make his enormous body a bit smaller.

You sat down on a ragged chair in front of the desk. Smoker sat down opposite you and Tashigi next to you. Trapped. Fuck.

Gathering all your strenght and acting ability, you managed to plaster a broad smile onto your face and said with the softest, most professional voice you could manage "pleased to meet you, sir!"

He nodded.

"Welcome miss...?" his voice trailed off as he was shifting through the pile of papers on his desk.

"Y/n" you answered. You were now sure that he didn't know your face. It was unlikely he knew your name. He nodded again. The angry expression returned to his face, like it was the default state his face took, whenever there was no other emotion to transport.

He continued digging around the absolute chaos covering his desk, eventually giving up with a sigh.

"I don't have time to coddle you, Miss, so I'll cut to the chase. Can you help me and captain Tashigi with this" he gestured towards the mess of paper on his desk like it was an unsolvable problem, "so that we can do our jobs?"

You were so perplexed - you nodded out of habit. And fear. All your head was filled with were the stories of your crewmates parading through your head. He beat them, all.of them. He beat Luffy. He was smoke. Couldn't be touched.

"Great. You're hired. That's all." He hit the top of the desk with his hands and almost broke it in the process, ripping you out of your panicked thoughts.

"WHAT?" you screeched, shocked.

"Miss?" he seemed confused.

You coughed and tried to calm yourself, you needed to come up with something.

"Oh I am not sure. I'll think about it and call you in a week or so. When is the next ship away from here...?"

Smoker and Tashigi looked at each other.

"Next ship off this base for civilians is in three days. Please Miss..." he seemed a bit overwhelmed, going with his fingers through his white hair "just try it out, Miss. I promise this will be a great opportunity." He seemed to try hard to sound calm and nice. Tashigi added, much to Smoker's annoyance: "all the other candidates ran off. We're really desperate!"

"Tashigi shut up!" He barked at her and she froze.

"Give us three days, Miss. You won't get back sooner anyway. Let me show you around." He stood up. You were still dizzy - and hungry. Your stomach growled. His eyes wandered towards your midsection.

"I'll show you the mess hall. Lunch is on me." Smoker said and already stomped out of the room. You and Tashigi followed, half Jogging, to keep up with his long strides. You were always a little jealous that all the others had bounties and wanted posters except for you - now it came in handy. Big time.

The mess hall was huge, filled with marine soldiers gulping down typical army rations. Not very appetizing, especially after being pampered by one of the best cooks in the world, but food was food.

Every soldier who saw the three of you saluted and greeted Smoker, he seemed well respected among marines. He nodded in response. No one dared to even look at you inappropriatly.

"If you want to, we can go to the captain's mess, food is a bit better there." Smoker said, looking a little puzzled.

"No, here's fine" you answered. Best not to overplay your hand. The food line was moving remarkably quickly and when it was your turn your realized why: there was one meal handed out. Some kind of brownish stew with potatoes. Well.

Smoker, Tashigi and you sat down on a bench at the long tables, right in the middle of the soldiers, it felt quite odd not to be shot at and attacked by those uniform wearing bastards.

Smoker and Tashigi started planning the rest of their day: training, stretegic meetings. Or rather, Smoker was barking at her while she nodded and made the occasional comment.

You tried the food - fortunately, it was quite tasteless. This was no fun, but it filled your stomach. The portion was so huge, you couldn't finish it. Looking around, you started to realise what being a marine really meant - and how massive the organisation really was. All those people, supply chains, organisation. All that material.

"If you don't like the food, we can find a solution!" Smoker said as he saw you laying down your cutlery. Both Smoker and Tashigi seemed concerned.

"No, it's fine" you answered, hearing a sigh of relief from both of them. They were desperate.

"So tell me commander" you tried to sound as business as you possibly could, "you seem to have run out of options for the position, why is that?" You asked, getting interested in the inner workings of the marine.

"Well uhm...we need someone for the paperwork, but this particular base is not so popular." Smoker poked at his food with the fork. "They're good men, but they lack manners. All the office personnel capable of doing administrative jobs has quit." He scowled. "But I assure you that you are under my personal protection, and the rules for soldiers of course don't apply to you. Headquarters is willing to pay a good salary and you will not have to participate in drills or such things." He explained.

You felt a little sorry for those two, they seemed like okay people at least. And you had to get along with them for three days.

"I'll have a look" you said, earning a smile from both.

"And I won't wear a uniform!" you told them, getting a little bold.

"Of course not!" Smoker reinforced his promise not to treat you like a soldier.

The three of you returned to what was clearly Smoker's office again. There was no one to explain the system to you, not even Smoker or Tashigi. They pretty much left you to get an overview by yourself while they trained and drilled their soldiers.

You started to look through the mess of papers, forms and memos. It was quite informative. Since he was commander of the base, the paperwork on his desk included lots of classified information and an excellent insight into the organisation of the marine as a whole. There were memos about the whereabouts of high ranking officers, troop movements, supply shipments, secret news - a whol cornucopia of secrets you could use against them.

This was a gold mine of information. Information that could be useful in the future for a pirate. You sorted and stacked the papers by type and date and just a few hours later, the office looked a lot tidier. You were putting away some uninteresting files in what seemed the proper place when Smoker returned, his jacket flung over his shoulder. He was glistening with sweat and showing off his muscular chest without seeming to notice how appealing he looked. For a short moment, your face must have been a grimace of shock mixed with a sleazy smile. You jumped up, trying not to look at the hot marine soldier in front of you and pushed around some more papers while greeting him nervously "wel-welcome back commander!"

He nodded absent-mindedly and threw himself in a big comfortable leather chair in the corner of his office. He let his arms hang down the sides, sighind deeply. Like he was posing for you, presenting his broad chest with deeps breaths.

He looked around, one of his cigars almost fell out of his mouth as he probably saw the surfaces of the tables for the first time ever.

"I see you already got to work!" He nodded in admiration. "I didn't expect to see order so soon!" Relieved, he leaned back with his arms behind his head, showcasing his chest even more.

"If you continue like this, we will get along excellently. And I will finally be able to do my real job." he leaned back, relaxed and self-content.

Even though he provoked lewd thoughts about licking his torso from the gutter of your mind, it bugged you that he treated you like this thing was already settled.

"You will have to keep order as well, commander. It is your office." you sternly stated, immediately causing his brows to crease again.

"That is not how you talk to me Lad-" he berated you - or tried.

"You have responsibilities here. Act like it." you shut him up, crossing your arms in front of your chest. You knew that you had to win a few powerplays with him to get his respect - and not get trampled under his demands.

He ground his teeth, almost biting one of his cigars in half.

"I am going to let that slide - for now." he begrudgingly said.

"I have put all the communication marked with "urgent" on your desk. That is, all that are still relevant. Some are months old" you pointed to his desk.

He got up and moved to inspect your work, visibly reigning his anger in.

He sat down and started to look at the papers, angrily puffing out clouds of smoke.

"I don't need to know all that crap" he said- and froze. There was a memo about Luffy's involvement at Sabaody - it surely interested him.

It sure as hell was interesting to you. He, and the rest of the crew, were missing. You prayed that they landed on friendly islands and not marine bases. The more meat-headed of your comrades would be in real trouble, otherwise.

You watched as his face derailed into an expression of utter shock.

"STRAW HATS! DEFEATED???" he barked at the paper in his hands.

"FIREFIST ACE - CAPTURED???" He grunted as he got to the Next page.

"AND THE EXECUTION IS IN 2 DAYS?" He sunk back into his chair, exhausted by the news.

"And your attendance is required" you informed him, smugly.

He answered with a puff of smoke and a defeated grunt.

"Well, we still have enough time to get there. I'll leave tomorrow morning"

"If you don't keep order and read the news from headquarters, you'll miss such things" you rubbed his shortcoming into his face. Powerplay - won!

"Dismissed." Smokers brown eyes glared at you as he barked the order.

He knew he had lost, you were sure of it.

You trotted out with a spring in your step, getting greeted by Tashigi, that proceeded to show you to your room.

Smoker

Smoker slumped into his chair after he ordered his new secretary out. Compared to him, she was small. No doubt she had never been in a real fight. But she stood before him and didn't flinch. She had spunk. It was hard to admit it, but as he excelled as a soldier and a hunter for pirate bounties, he was lost amidst all this bureaucracy, rules and politics.

And it was time to admit that if he wanted to stay on top of things, he needed help.

He needed her, and she had shown that to him today. His hand glided nervously through his hair. For some reason, he felt giddy, nervous. Excited. Their little exchange had been something new. Tashigi rarely stood up to him, and never like that. He looked forward to what she would present him with in the future.

He needed to think about how to make her stay. It was not his forté.

-----

This one has been in my wips for a year...I planned to post it once it was finished, but I don't think this will happen anytime soon if I don't give myself a weekly deadline....

I recently saw that a smoker was cast for season 2 of life action. Smoking hot.

See you next Sunday for more smokey

[blkkizzat]

I've been holding this in for a while but the latest "lets flood the x reader tags with posts complaining about what writers write" has pmo to my limit. allow me this please and i will put the rest under the cut...

for the love of god please stop calling people on tumblr, especially smut writers/enjoyers, 'porn addicts' because you sound like an uneducated, highly sheltered, dumbfuck.

i'm sorry but you sound slow and like you have zero life experience. and it seriously makes me question if you are a minor hiding behind an 18/19 age tag. (because it is always y'all especially saying this).

do y'all know what addicts are? have you ever had an addict of anything in your life? do you know what that entails?

What IS a porn addiction.

being an addict means your entire life is centered around your addiction.

it means your work, school, home and general relationships with everyone in your life is being negatively affected by this addiction

It means if you are driving/taking public transport, you watching porn.

out with friends or dinner with family? you're sneaking away to consume porn or reading smut.

At work/school, you watch or read in the background (think of all the stories of kanye west in adidas boardroom meetings literally having porn playing in the background while they discuss shoes... insanity and i can only imagine the amount of paperwork HR had to do to ensure no one would gets sued).

Overall, you are constantly consumed by the urges to consume smut/porn and its the main priority in your life. THAT is addiction.

What is NOT a porn addiction:

It's not after a long stressful day of work, school, and just surviving in this fucked up world (especially if you support yourself 100% and pay bills) wanting to decompress and escape by writing, consuming or enjoying smut/hentai/porn about fictional characters.

hell it ain't even a porn addiction if to fall asleep or decompress you need to self-soothe rub one out to it at night to relax to smut or hentai or porn links.

It's more of a reflection of a fucked up world who majority of people are so stressed because they can barely afford a living or have no access to mental health services, let alone medicines, or maybe they have all that but they also are just trying to exist in a country that either wants to take all their rights away or see them d3@d. it could be literally anything that causes them stress and they just want some relief and endorphins. that is not an addiction. sure its not the solution to their issues, but its helping them get by and they are perfectly functional without consuming porn.

now COULD there be some people on this app who do have porn addictions? Sure, but those aren't the people you know about who are taking the time to write fics, or engage with others or be apart of the community. they are likely just blank accounts liking/reblogging so they can just binge all day.

and low key the once or twice i did see someone say "they had a porn addiction" they literally just sounded like the actual root of the issue was depression and using smut/porn as an avoidance to dealing with issues. BUT it didn't quite qualify as an addiction because they were easily able to disengage cold turkey and not have it negatively effect them when they did decide it was getting to be unhealthy. thats also not an addiction, maybe heading towards it but not there yet. addiction means dependency you dont have a dependency if you are able to give it up easily.

wanna hear about someone who actually had a porn addiction i've personally seen? so storytime...

i've worked in media most of my career. at one point i worked for the mouse's sports company (think about it lol should be obvious). for orientation i was flown out to big HQ. everyone is given a tour of the facilities where they film everything at. also we saw behind the scenes. you know in tv/movies you see those dark rooms where producers/editors sit during a live broadcast? those rooms. so at this company they allow people to see into those rooms without disturbing them (as they could be live on air) as there is a dark one way type of mirror so you can see in, but they cannot see out/see hallway light that would be distracting.

one of the jobs in the production rooms at this sports company is a sports analyst. now this aint no easy job to get, it is probably one of the hardest jobs in the entire company to get, harder than executive interviews, as they open applications once a year and there is probably 6K+ applicants for that ONE position. your job is to feed the sportscasters sports facts live as they are on air. 95% of what you give them has to be off the top of your head, so you literally just have to know hundreds of random sports facts and just be able to give that to them at a moments notice. its a very respected job in the company cause these guys know their shit and study sports facts for years to get this position.

so wouldn't you know one of them had a porn addiction.

on my tour, literal first day at the job, and we were walking by one of production rooms. there sitting at the back row, so the row we can see the easiest that is in front of the windowed mirror. he is literally sitting there with three monitors: whats happening live on air, random files/notes, and then hardcore porn of this woman getting fucked from all angles by like different men. He wasn't even jerking. He wasn't even looking at it. He was just doing his job like having that porn up was the most normal thing in the world, like it was a fuckin podcast lmfao. LOL our tour guide was so scandalized, she immediately rushed us away from there and phone in on her walkie talkie. (it was a kiiii though me and this other guy were trying not to laugh but i was literally in tears trying to hold it in. i think other people thought i was crying cause i was upset but it was just too funny but i had to play it off cause people got yelled at for laughing).

but the sad part is i heard later that the guy didnt even realize he had it up. that watching porn was just so normalized to him and something hed do all the time he didnt even think that he had pulled it up at work. Now he fucked up his dream job and is unemployeed with a super niche skill having to provide for his family and i think he had like 3 kids too. He'd studied 5 years straight to get that job and he blew it. THATS what addiction looks like. That's how it can utterly destroy your life. Even an addiction that is not drugs can physically destroy you can still tear apart your life.

I don't think anyone who calls people reading smut on tumblr 'porn' addicts understands that. nor do you have the proof to know what people do outside of this app to know how it is or isnt consuming their life.

this was long and alot but i needed to get his off my chest cause some of y'all really be pmo by how ridiculous you sound throwing around the term 'porn addiction' please grow tf up, quickly.

imma start blocking y'all saying it too cause regardless of your age im going to assume you are a minor cause theres no way an actual adult with any kind of education or life experience is saying this shit.

cut it tf out.

xoxo, Kali.

p.s. this also includes haters of twt porn links saying people who like/enjoy them have addiction. im callin' your dumbasses out too.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Laughter & Humour

Just a few notes on laughter and humour that I compiled to help with writing about characters laughing or joking or having a sense of humour. References I used are included at the end.

Most of the laughter we produce has nothing to do with humour.

We use laughter for various communicative functions, such as to show agreement and understanding or to ease social tension.

Laughter is also a form of conversational punctuation, often occurring at the end of sentences and phrases.

Laughter vs Humour

“Humor is an evoked response to storytelling and shifting expectations. Laughter is a social signal among humans. It’s like a punctuation mark.” (Carl Marci, MD, an assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School and the director of social neuroscience in the Psychotherapy Research Program at Massachusetts General Hospital)

Humans have 2 Distinct Types of Laughter

Duchenne laughter: an involuntary, reactive, and emotional response. External events and positive emotions drive this laughter.

Non-Duchenne laughter: more voluntary, controlled, and deliberate. Although Non-Duchenne laughter is used more in conversational settings, it is sometimes referred to as “the dark side of laughter” as it is sometimes used to mock and degrade others.

Different Types of Laughter

Tickling

Taunting

Sniffing

Schadenfreude: Expressing pleasure about someone's misfortune

Through nasal cavity

Nasal cavity open

Laughter phrases

Joyful/friendly

Inhalation and voiced

Inhalation and exhalation

Fricative: Involves friction from the throat, with strong consonant sounds and grunts or pants

Vowel-oriented: Laughter is usually of longer duration and employs song-like properties. Typically begins with a "ha/he/ho" sound.

Cough-like

Affiliative: Expresses mirth, social bonding, and cooperation. It is a sign of social acceptance.

De-escalative: Relieves discomfort and dissipates the stress in the room. (E.g., Laughing at an inappropriate joke signifies that no offense was taken and is meant to assuage social interactions. It also signifies to others that it is okay to laugh, and the environment is non-threatening.)

Power laughter: An expression of superiority. It reinforces the power dynamics of social interactions and conveys mockery. (E.g., bosses often use this type of laughter with employees who are less powerful.)

Humans Experience the Humour of a Joke in 3 Phases

The listener encounters some type of incongruity: a punch line that seems out of place compared with the joke’s set-up.

Following a cognitive construct called surprise and coherence, the listener tries to resolve this incongruity.

The listener’s brain determines the joke’s sense—or lack thereof—and decides whether or not the joke is funny.

“The body sends a signal to the brain that says, ‘Hey, that’s clever, that’s worth it,’ and we laugh.” (Carl Marci)

Instead of "laugh" you may write:

VERBS: chuckle, giggle, express mirth, roar with laughter, chortle, guffaw, snicker, titter, snigger, cackle, break up, split one's sides, roll in the aisle, howl

NOUNS: guffaw, giggle, chortle, burst of laughter, roar, cackle, peal of laughter, mirth, glee, snicker, snigger, horselaugh, belly laugh, ha-ha, ho-ho

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[peskellence]

Shot In The Dark

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, New Years Party, Mutual Pining, Workplace Romance, Humour, Fluff, First Kiss

AO3 Link

Summary: Exhausted from watching her best friend continually torture himself, Tina reminds Gavin that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take—and that three years of hopeless pining is long enough. The question is: will Gavin finally do something about the unspoken tension between himself and his partner? And just what, if anything, could possibly go wrong in the process?

[NYE fic taking place post pacifist ending]

Word Count: 5.6K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

"This is getting sad now." 

Gavin shuffled on the balls of his feet, grip tight on the half-drained glass he was absently swilling. 

Laughter and chatter swirled around the crowded hall, the buzz of voices merging into a single, deafening drone. Flashing lights from the dance floor caught against streamers above, casting dizzying reflections onto the drink Tina had provided.  

It was obnoxious, disorienting—and did absolutely nothing to ease his foul mood.

In addition to the strobes, his own expression was reflected in the liquor—a downtrodden visage defined by a scowling mouth and tired eyes. The warm amber liquid was brought to his lips, and the image drained away.

"It's not sad," he challenged, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

"You've been waiting for the right moment since Hank's retirement." Tina scoffed, taking a more conservative sip from her glass. With lips still poised on the rim, her brows raised before she added in a mumbled, sing-song lilt, "And then there was the Christmas party…"

The mere mention of the function inspired a visceral response. Gavin tensed, stomach flipping like someone was playing jump rope with his intestines.

A flood of unwelcome memories charged him. 

The echoes of bad karaoke. Streaks of red spilt across the front of a pristine white button-down.

The long, angry yelp—followed by hellish silence—as he clumsily tried to orient the mistletoe between himself and his partner. Only to discover it was holly and that he had managed to poke Officer Person in the eye with it.

He dismissed the nightmarish blooper reel with a firm shake of his head, choosing happiness over further analysis. "Let's not talk about the Christmas party."

Tina snorted. "Look, all I'm saying is that our ‘Single at 40’ pact is dangerously close to expiring. At least for you, my geriatric friend."

"Respect your elders, wench."

"As enchanting as our lavender marriage might have been," she began in a low, mocking simper, "there's a very good chance that I’m getting hitched for real..."

The woman gestured to the nearby bar, specifically at an ST300 standing by the register. It was impossible to hear her over the persistent noise humming through the room, but she appeared to be engaged in a conversation with the bartender. Judging by his exuberant nods and smarmy grin, he was deeply satisfied with the arrangement.

"My stunning future bride," Tina wistfully announced, her airy voice trailing into a sigh.

"You've been dating for six weeks," Gavin reminded.

"True love doesn’t run on a schedule. Your heart is cold and black; I wouldn’t expect you to understand."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Gavin clutched his stomach in pantomimed nausea, although this didn't dismiss the more tangible unease present. His own attention had wandered, locking squarely onto his partner.

He had his back turned to him, facing Connor. The two androids existed as mirror images, wearing matching versions of the same hand-knit sweater. These items had undoubtedly been produced as part of some misguided Christmas crafts project—with their plus one, who was currently skulking his way around the buffet table, crammed into the same garish red.

The woollen fibres looked itchy and lumpy, mis-stitched in several places. Gavin would have deemed the whole display sickening if Nines hadn't still managed to look mind-bendingly fantastic.

As though feeling the weight of his stare, the android glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly—a fleeting moment charged with something unspoken. His lips twitched upward, almost imperceptibly, before he turned back to his conversation.

"—For God's sake." Gavin's hopeless pining was interrupted by a firm jab to the ribcage. "At this rate, you’ll be spending the rest of your days writing poems about his jawline. Just shoot your shot. Seriously, what have you got to lose?"

"Everything," he hissed sharply, rubbing at the dull ache now pulsing in his sternum. "I have everything to lose. He's my partner—and best friend."

"You wound me, Gav."

"Fine. One of my best friends," he begrudgingly corrected. A lingering droplet still remained at the bottom of his glass, which he dutifully swept onto his tongue.

"I just don't want to make things weird. If he's—you know—not into it."

Tina made a long, heaving noise, pressing a hand to her mouth—an act of vengeance for his mockery of her own display of sentiment.

"You sound like a teenager—

Come on, the guy is disgustingly into you. You can see the longing stares from space. It's like the Great Wall Of China but with gay pining."

"You can't see the Great Wall Of China from space. It's a myth."

"Go. Now." Tina clapped him on the back, firmly pushing forward. "Shoot your shot before Janey the Intern beats you to it. I can smell her loins burning from here."

A rush of panic hit the detective. 

He thought of Janey, her dimpled smile and impossibly long, shapely legs. She was a lovely girl. Every time she propped herself against Nines' desk and fluttered her thick, dark eyelashes, Gavin wanted to throw her out of a window.

"Okay, okay, fine, I will, just—" His gaze dropped back to his thoroughly drained glass, a flimsy excuse beginning to form. "Need a refill."

He scurried his way through the jabbering masses, pressed between swaying bodies as he narrowly avoided spilt drinks. Half-hearted apologies were muttered, completely inaudible over the harsh din of laughter.

If he was going to consider fronting the plastic underwear model he called his partner, he needed another drink. Badly. A whiskey to steel his gut, settle frayed nerves, and preemptively dull the sting of rejection—should it come to that.

When he approached the bar, he was met with a much frostier reception than the previous customer. The bartender was a short, bulky man with sagging jowls and a prominent gut scarcely concealed beneath a stained apron. His beady eyes narrowed, looking the younger man up and down before he spoke in a sharp, gravelly tone that reeked of impatience:

"Yeah? What can I getcha?"

As the question was asked, Gavin was struck with two simultaneous revelations. The first was that a single whiskey wasn't going to cut it. At all. The second was that he’d left his wallet at home—meaning he had 25¢ and a breath mint to his name.

This limited his drink options.

His mind attempted to churn out a solution to the current dilemma. Gaze flitting across the bar, he scanned for anything useful before settling on a lipstick-stained tumbler.

He recalled a trick his dad favoured, passed down as a sagely nugget of wisdom: Chris Reed's foolproof strategy for securing a drink after draining your bank account.

"Hey, buddy. Rough night?" The process began as he propped an elbow on the bar, tutting in feigned sympathy. "You sound pretty beat."

The bartender ignored him, grabbing a beer stein from the counter in order to wipe it ‘clean.’ It broke its tacky seal on the wood with an unpleasant squelch. 

Gavin swiped the tumbler before it could also be removed. He then reached into his pocket, palming the coin briefly before slipping it under the dimpled base.

"I have an idea to spice things up." He spoke with a grin, exuding as much charm as was feasibly possible. "If I can get this coin out from under this glass without touching either, the next drink is on the house."

The barman arched an eyebrow. There was a flash of something indecipherable behind his contemptuous gaze, like a faint glimmer of amusement, before it was promptly snubbed.

"Oh yeah? What's in it for me?"

"The phone number of the girl you were just talking to."

Gavin paused for a beat, choosing his next words carefully. Of course, he had no intention of giving away anyone’s phone number—especially not to a man who looked like his big toe—but that was on a need-to-know basis.

"I have a connection," he concluded, shrewdly omitting the detail that the ‘connection’ was her lesbian lover.

The older man let his attention wander to the ST300, who was now talking with Tina at the edge of the dancefloor. Gavin grew worried that an overt display of PDA might jeopardise his plan. Fortunately, the ladies succeeded in the unlikely feat of keeping their hands to themselves.

Suspicions remained low and the bartender crossed his arms, accepting the terms of Gavin's wager with a curt shrug. "Sure thing, Houdini. Show me what ya got."

Gavin licked his lips, rolled his shoulders and prepared his opening move. He hovered a hand over the glass, fingers sprawled, ready to wow his cantankerous audience.

This did not happen, as the motion stalled, and he realised he had zero recollection of what he was supposed to do.

Something about a napkin? No, that was later. Was I supposed to blow on the glass? That didn’t feel right, either...

His younger self had never bothered to pay much attention to the intricacies, too busy savouring the taste explosion of salted peanuts and warm Capri Sun.

Panic settled, all the more pronounced as the ‘crowd’ grew agitated. Fingers drummed on his meaty forearm, a phlegm-filled snort informing that his sparse engagement was slipping fast.

Gavin decided to improvise. Grabbing a cocktail stick, he slid it into the gap between the glass and the counter, attempting to flick the quarter. It clung stubbornly to the wood, held by sticky residue that had formed a makeshift cement.

After loudly declaring the conditions unfair, he requested the surface be wiped, to which the barman begrudgingly complied. He placed the glass into position a second time before crouching down to inspect it, as though observing it from a different angle might trigger some grand epiphany.

He concluded the issue was that the glass was empty.

After a small deposit of whiskey was added, he once again failed to shift the coin—and a line was beginning to form behind him. He could feel his face burn in exasperation as he frantically combed his memories for something other than the flavour of tropical fruits and artificial sweetener.

His trick was attempted several times, each ending in miserable failure. A verdict was made that the glass itself was the issue, to which he was offered a champagne flute.

The coin still didn’t budge, so he blamed the carbonation for uneven weight distribution. Still, wine fared no better. Neither did cider.

By the time Gavin announced that the camber of the bar was skewed—and had snatched a serving tray from over the counter to create a flat surface—his reluctant spectator had completely lost interest.

"I got other people to serve, buddy."

The younger man was too stubborn to admit defeat. He rearranged his hodgepodge selection on the tray and attempted a bizarre ping-pong ricochet with a wadded tissue ball.

This ended with the paper submerged in red wine. 

There were too many drinks. 

He had already forgotten which one the coin was under—if it was still present at all. In one final, desperate gambit, the detective opted to shift tactics.

"Alright, you know what?" He threw up his hands, punctuating the action with a long, theatrical sigh of defeat. "Forget it, you win. I’ll just—Oh my God—!"

He pointed wildly toward a patron at the far end of the bar, his voice rising with falsified urgency. Heads swivelled in unison as the bartender and half the room turned to look.

"Is that guy choking?"

A DPD mailroom clerk, who paused mid-sip of his beer, froze in confusion as a concerned bystander started to whip him frantically across the back.

"Not choking—! Not—" He wheezed, pained, as a particularly exuberant slap propelled him from his stool.

Gavin seized his opportunity. Using the cover of the ensuing chaos, he snatched the tray of drinks. A shifty raccoon stealing scraps from the garbage, he turned from the bar, scampering into the night with his ill-earned spoils.

The scenario struck him with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. This might have been the outcome of at least a few of his father’s ‘skilled’ bar hustles.

His victory was nearly usurped as he stumbled into a sign mounted to the side of the bar. It pinged back, narrowly missing his face, as glasses teetered precariously. A couple tipped over, and in an effort not to lose any more precious cargo, he firmly kicked his assailant.

The metal pole clattered to the floor, its cheap black frame lying flat, revealing a hastily scrawled notice:

PRIVATE EVENT (DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT)

OPEN BAR — GUESTS ONLY.

Channelling his inner octopus, he carried what remained of his winnings further into the venue. Glugging from multiple drinks simultaneously, with only a few more ending up on the ground. This was deemed a successful venture. 

The tray was eventually abandoned on a fold-out table as he scanned the nearby dance floor. Through a blur of flailing arms and strobes, he somehow managed to spot Nines—tucked into a less blindingly lit nook beside the DJ booth.

Radiating his usual effortless poise, he swayed gracefully to the music. Connor, in contrast, clung with enthusiasm to his forearms, presumably encouraging him to liven his pace.

A plan of attack formed. After a final bracing gulp from one of the straggling glasses, Gavin waded into the throng. He intended to cut between the brothers, stealing his desired target away for a private dance.

Okay, here we go. Moment of truth. No turning back—

In his travels, the detective encountered a group of coworkers. While not dancing, their collective mass occupied an egregious amount of space. They stood huddled together, one member extending his phone, ready to take a picture.

His outstretched limb posed a prominent hazard, as several inebriated partygoers ducked and veered to avoid it. The man himself was blissfully unaware, showing a complete detachment from the concepts of personal space and social courtesy.

Gavin redirected his movements, doing his civic duty to ensure this sin would not go unpunished. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and forcibly inserted himself into the frame. 

Disrupting the composition of heights and dazzling his newest, unwitting friends with the blinding white of his flash. Having left the group to gather themselves following the sweeping assault, Gavin stared down at the photo. The gaudy flash had caught the curve of a solo cup—one that was planted squarely over his face.

He lowered the screen, only to find the same cup now seated in his hand. He had no recollection of how it had gotten there and briefly attempted to retrace his steps before concluding the details didn’t matter.

It was still half full, beads of condensation wetting his palm. Taking a swig from the concoction, his mouth was accosted by a horrifying mix of raspberry liqueur and grenadine.

It was something a weaker man might have dubbed a ‘cocktail,’ but what could more aptly be described as a vicious affront to alcohol.

Trying his best to distract from the taste, Gavin turned his focus back to the corner of the DJ stand. It was now empty, save one extremely drunk forensic officer, loudly and persistently requesting tequila shots from the figure manning the booth.

Shit.

Gavin swivelled clumsily, the room spinning in tandem with an eclectic fog of lights and booze. He squinted through the haze, zeroing in on two shifts of maroon heading for the cloakroom. 

The twin flashes of LEDs confirmed their identities.

Shit, the silent profanity repeated, but somehow with greater conviction.

It was time to move on, and he did just that—fighting valiantly against the sweaty tide rising before him. He didn’t make it far before he was knocked by one of the bodies, stumbling back from the force of Collins’ ample weight.

The older man was writhing around in a frantic gyration that Gavin initially mistook for a seizure. Opposite him, Brown was engaged in equally bizarre flailing.

It was only then that the detective realised what he’d stumbled into. A ring of onlookers had gathered, hooting and hollering as the two officers tore up the floor in distinctly uncoordinated ways. 

Gavin stood in the centre, his inactivity drawing its own breed of attention.

Naturally, there was only one option.

Limbs moving independently from any conscious thought, he allowed the rhythms to guide him. Before he knew it, he was kicking, spinning, inventing shapes never before seen by mortal eyes.

Was it a daring fusion of jazz and shadowboxing? Some intrepid reinvention of breakdancing? Even Gavin wasn’t sure.

A sprawling pirouette ended with an inexplicable karate chop. He dropped into a squat, employing a quick shoulder shimmy that looked like he was trying to shake off a spider. The performance concluded with a finger-gun salute directed at no one in particular.

Jeers and claps died down as the audience stared. Heads tilted, eyes unblinking, struggling to process the masterful spectacle they had just witnessed.

They weren’t ready for his artistic genius. The man was a noble pioneer, decades ahead of his time.

Making history turned out to be thirsty work. He wobbled his way through a dispersing audience and back towards the tables.

His legs felt shaky, making it hard for him to move in a straight line. Stars were beginning to multiply in his vision, the combined influence of lights, fatigue, and deepening intoxication.

He picked up a drink that had been carelessly abandoned by one of his colleagues and took a lengthy sip. This one was another cocktail, albeit a much more palatable one.

The search for his partner recommenced, as was becoming the theme of the evening. He was investing considerable energy into this task—and was definitely not contemplating giving up and returning home to vent frustrations to his cat.

As though sensing the impending retreat, Nines re-materialised. Gavin had no idea where he had come from, his lagging mind and blurred vision omitting the finer details.

God, he looked incredible. It was about the only thing that he could still see in startling clarity. Stunning 4K resolution, standing against the backdrop of a grainy VHS tape—

Stop staring and move, you fucking idiot.

He had just about mustered the energy to stand, pulled up from his slumped position, when a party hat also appeared out of nowhere. It plopped clumsily onto his partner’s head as Nines smiled, politely accepting his ‘gift’ whilst readjusting the elastic.

The result was a soft curl of hair escaping the brim, cascading down his forehead. Slender fingers brushed it back, as pale cheeks tinged powder blue. 

Gavin forgot how to breathe. Something that persisted until, in desperation, he arched towards a passerby, claiming the shot glass that had been pinched in their grasp. The acrid liquid burned his throat and shocked his lungs back into activity.

Then, he charged forward.

Enough was enough. The grips of cowardice had dug their claws deeply, a hold which had endured for far too long.

He couldn't bear another three years of pretending to be content with friendship. It was an educated risk—mingled with wishfulness—that he would simply have to take.

Nines spotted him quickly, leading Gavin to conclude the android had been looking for him as well. This, in turn, inspired an anxiety he couldn't quite pinpoint, the burden of imagined expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders.

This was worsened by his partner's expression, which proved entirely unreadable. An enigmatic blend of concern and surprise—mingled with vulnerability.

Chin jutted and chest puffed in manufactured assurance, Gavin confidently entered his path. He then swooped around him in a wide arch, slamming through the doors of the nearby men's room.

The swinging doors propelled him forward, whacking his back and adding insult to the already pathetic display.

He didn't need to piss—but he was overdue a long, hard stare in the mirror.

Following this ritual of self-loathing, he filled one of the basins and proceeded to splash himself. The frigid blow of water stung immensely against burning skin as he muttered disparaging obscenities under his breath.

It wasn't long until his internal dialogue chimed in, levying the man with more targeted scorn, masquerading as advice:

Get it together, Reed. Ti’s right; you're acting like a lovesick schoolboy.

This is Nines. You know Nines. Even if he's not into it, you can laugh it off.

I mean, you gotta kiss someone at midnight, right?

Revelation hit like a truck as Gavin realised he had been presented with the perfect ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card. Should the worst possible outcome arise—and he threatened to implode their partnership through virtue of an unchecked boner.

Right. Midnight. We'll do it then. That gives me—

He checked his phone and scowled at the number displayed mockingly on the lock screen.

10 minutes of extra time. 

A final hit of liquid confidence was secured upon his departure. The victim in question was almost knocked flying by the violent propulsion of the bathroom door.

The drink had lined his oesophagus before he had even processed swallowing it. His head was flung back with such zeal that it left him incredibly dizzy.

Then came the taste—and smell—as they finally struck his delayed senses. Distinctly chemical, like battery acid.

Even in his dazed state, Gavin understood he had made a terrible mistake. He attempted to spit the fluid out, but discovered it was too late.

Bubbling heat rose in his gut, threatening to push back up through his throat, wreaking havoc on delicate insides. Apprehensively, he glanced at the cup, noting dregs of iridescent cobalt clinging to the bottom.

This had to be some form of cosmic punishment—atonement for all the chaotic undertakings he had perpetrated.

Glossing over the very real possibility that he had poisoned himself, Gavin stayed focused. The clock was ticking fast, and as the lights in the room began to dim, this was illustrated in foreboding clarity. 

Fuck. Where’s Nines?

Buzzing crowds grew hushed as the projected visage of a countdown clock was displayed on a nearby wall. The blasting resonance of the music also tapered until the room was silent. 

WHERE IS HE?

In another act of divine intervention—this time, less scornful of his insides—the big man upstairs did him a favour. Partygoers dispersed, and Nines appeared in the centre of the floor. Subtly illuminated by the rays of the overhead projector.

Then the countdown began, a ritualistic grunt that rose through the crowds, offering him unknowing encouragement.

10…9…8…

He wiped the lingering Thirium from his chin, having no time to check if it remained trapped in his stubble. 

Every step closer only seemed to highlight the android’s near-ethereal quality. Porcelain skin that effortlessly trapped every ray of light. Delicate freckles that he wanted to map with his lips–

7…6…5…

A body that could send him into a coma.

Those legs were already maddening enough to look at; he could only imagine how good they would feel wrapped around his neck—

No. Stop. Focus.

This was it. The single, decisive action that had the power to shift the tide of their relationship irrevocably. He desperately pushed this to the back of his mind, instead permitting himself to become lost in the moment.

4…3…2…

Gavin grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around before he had any chance to hesitate. Their bodies were close, with only the tiniest sliver of space between them.

After all this time, he was finally ready to shoot his shot.

1.

Happy New Year!

Lips met, pressed together with exuberant force. It was clumsy. Teeth clashed, noses bumped, and Gavin was fairly sure he had trodden on one—or both—of his partner’s feet.

Fireworks filled the sky behind them, flashing through his tightly closed lids as he felt equally zealous pops in his gut. He tried to convince himself these were butterflies and not of impending vomit.

He was too drunk to care, swimming haplessly through a potent mist of alcohol—as well as the enchanting sensations of the mouth pressed firmly to his.

The lips were soft, deliciously warm, with weight and form that seemed measured to absolute perfection.

He loved Cyberlife—loved them. Head Office would be receiving a handwritten letter of gratitude at some point during the year.

An orchestral score had begun to blast through nearby speakers, swelling in time with the climactic fireworks propelled into the sky.

He caught the end of their downpour as he slowly pulled back, tentatively opening his eyes…

Only to be met with a set of brown ones staring back in awestruck horror.

The warmth and satisfaction that had been coursing through his body vanished instantly, replaced by a creeping dread.

Oh, shit.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The two were left to gawk at each other, frozen, silent, suspended in a matched state of shock—like they were the lone survivors of a cataclysmic multi-car pile-up.

Connor was the first to speak, breaking the tension with a curt rejection:

"I'm not attracted to you."

"I’M NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU EITHER," Gavin shot back, much louder—and with far more defensiveness—than was required. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I've been standing here the whole time."

"Well, I—"

Gavin began to swivel haplessly as though searching for anyone—or anything—that could save him from his dire situation. He knew it was hopeless, so instead, he settled for a series of weak, half-formed excuses:

"I've been drinking…and the sweaters…and, shit, it’s dark in here..."

He caught a glimpse of Tina, who was staring at him from the fringes of the dancefloor. She looked completely dumbfounded, entirely dismayed before her bulging eyes and slack jaw were buried in her hands.

"It's an easy mistake to make," Gavin concluded, his jaw locked in a tense snap. "I'm sure it has happened plenty of times."

"This has never happened to me." Connor's eyes brimmed with accusation, simultaneously mournful and furious at Gavin for stealing such a significant moment.

The man stepped back, forced to acknowledge the audience that had amassed around them. It wasn't just Tina who had been looking; several other spectators had joined to watch the disaster.

Sweeping their faces, they sought to cover a staggering breadth of emotions, ranging from the faintly amused to frantic hysterics. One or two people had pulled out their phones, including the instigator of the group photo he had usurped earlier.

Then, there was Nines—the only spectator who seemed to match Tina in genuine dismay. His shoulders were slumped, and his grip tightened on the trench coat draped over his arm. He said something to the PC200 beside him, nodding a courteous farewell before turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

Gavin stumbled in his frantic attempt to pursue, gripping Connor’s face and shoving him callously out of the way. The force sent the android crashing into a group of onlookers, who scrambled together in their efforts to catch him. 

Then Gavin ran, weaving between furniture as fast as his shaking legs could carry him. Slamming through the doors of the event hall, he quickly became lost in the staggering maze of sweeping stairwells and winding corridors leading out of the venue.

He couldn't remember it being this complicated on the way in—although, truthfully, he couldn't remember much of anything.

Yet somehow, through sheer dumb luck, he stumbled his way onto the street. There, he spotted Nines, having already covered significant ground. 

He was halfway up the block, a small dot of movement tracked under the dim glow of street lamps—persisting at a brisk pace.

Damn him for being so fast.

Knowing his burning lungs could not withstand the additional strain required to catch up, Gavin instead cried out:

"Nines—!"

His partner didn't respond, although he knew damn well that he had heard him. He called out again. A fervent pitch that attracted the attention of more than a few curious onlookers.

"—Fuck, wait a second—"

He didn't care.

He had already spent a large portion of the night humiliating himself. At this point, it was a drop in the ocean—a meagre ripple in a deluge of terrible life choices:

"Just turn around, dipshit!"

The added assertion garnered the desired effect. Nines snapped around, and while his face was blurry from their current position, Gavin could tell the outburst had embarrassed him—a small flare of red visible on the side of his temple.

Slowly, he began retracing his steps, and the detective stood frozen, waiting, ready, hopeful he would be granted enough time to say his piece. His heart pounded in a frenzied rhythm through his ribs, growing more pronounced the closer he got.

He had resigned himself to whatever the android might have to say in return. All he wanted was some semblance of closure so they could both move on—

"Yes, Gavin?"

The man flinched, realising that Nines had already reached him. He stood a few paces away, hands casually tucked into his pockets, expression coldly apathetic. The only indication of anything unusual was the apprehensive yellow of his LED.

All the things he had wished to say promptly vacated his brain. Gavin stood, dazed and confused, desperately willing his slackened jaw to coordinate some semblance of speech.

"You forgot your coat. Inside."

Nines said nothing, just stared at him blankly before his focus shifted down the expanse of his chest. The stuttering light show on his temple was reflected in plastic buttons before he looked back up, neutrality replaced by bewilderment.

"I'm wearing my coat."

"Yeah, same."

Gavin had never wished for the physical capacity to kick himself more than he did at that moment. 

With a hissed breath, he started again. This time, hoping—albeit doubtful—that his drunken mind might conjure something less idiotic.

"Look, what happened back there." He concluded it would be best to get to the point rather than drag out the already excruciating process. "With Connor, that was a mistake. I fucked up."

"Indeed," came a frosty response, matched by the intensity of his steely gaze. "I imagine my brother would have appreciated his first kiss amounting to more than a drunken ‘mistake’. I would surmise you certainly did ‘fuck up.’"

The words pierced cleanly through his chest. Nonetheless, he pressed on, determined to address any misconceptions. Offence or resentment be damned. "That's not what I meant." Fuck, here we go, "I mean, there might have been two RKs at the party tonight, both dressed in the same ugly-ass sweater, and I might have… picked the wrong one." The narrowed slits levelling him with a ruthless glower promptly snapped wide. Nines was stunned, reeling from a realisation that threatened to knock him back.

Several emotions passed his face, each mirrored by the cyclical shifts of his LED. First came shock, then elation, before finally settling into a far less desirable disappointment. His eyebrows raised, and his head tilted in a look that spoke to the impressive idiocy his partner had displayed.

Gavin would have much, much preferred that the android be angry. This was vastly worse—something that took significant determination to power through.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who messed up tonight." He folded his arms, chuckling lightly. A casualness that in no way reflected the emotional turmoil plaguing him. 

"Some countdown, huh? I sure hope someone gets fired for that one."

"...What exactly are you referring to?" the RK900 questioned sceptically.

Having missed every attempt with spectacular ineptitude, Gavin acknowledged that this was it. One final, lingering opportunity to take his shot. The window for which was rapidly shrinking.

"I mean that the countdown was off. Can't get much worse than that, right?"

"No, I don't think—" Then, Nines paused. Brow furrowed contemplatively before the sunny casts trapped in its folds faded to cool blue. The deep-set frown that had marred his features finally relaxed as he understood the man’s meaning.

"...I see." His lips twitched and gradually pulled upwards—until they formed into a small, fond smile. "And this error in timing, was it delay or acceleration we experienced?"

Nines had begun to step closer, to which Gavin mirrored the action; their bodies moved as if compelled by a strong magnetic pull. This continued until there was only a tiny sliver of space remaining.

"Acceleration," Gavin declared as focus shifted from sharp grey, drifting to the gentle curve of distractingly tempting lips. "Big one—blew their load way too early."

"Alright then," the android hummed, his own attention drifting lower. "So when does the countdown start?"

"It just finished."

He should have realised sooner that the man at the party had not been Nines.

Because there had been none of the same intense, dizzying ignition he felt charging between them. An energy that spoke to the depths of their connection, each clawing grip and desperate sound a declaration of just how long they’d waited.

He clung to the back of his partner's coat, nails burrowed in coarse wool, as though worried he might vanish from beneath it.

Nines was the first to pull away, breaking the detective from his dreamlike euphoria as he spoke:

"Gavin?"

"Yeah, Nines?"

"Why does your mouth taste like biofluid?"