#I HAVE TO TYPE EACH LABEL IN INDIVIDUALLY

[ratkiing-a]

having a kinda crummy day and then i got some news abt a policy change at work and now i'm even more grumpy and i just feel like i'm gonna burst into tears at any moment

[greenplumbboblover]

[Download] Lyralei's Pose Addon (Early Release)

It's finally here! 🎉 An successor to Virtual Artisan’s incredible Pose Addon!

VA’s Pose Addon has always been an essential part of my game, but it’s no secret that it had a few quirks and issues. While fixing those, I couldn’t resist adding some exciting new features to take it to the next level!

DOWNLOAD:

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Requirements:

Cmomoney's Pose Box

Why Not Use Virtual Artisan's Pose Box with this mod?

This mod is an update to their original mod! Since it’s no longer available on their website, I decided to fully integrate it into this mod.

What does that mean?

This mod includes VA’s Pose Addon, so you don’t need to download it separately. Just make sure to delete the old version to avoid any glitches or conflicts! 😊

⭐ New Features:

Most things that are mine can be found under "Photo Shooting" > "Lyralei's Pose Addon".

👀Better Look at

Ever posed a sim to look at something next to them, but they do this weird "eye roll-y" and "nudging slightly to the left" type of look at?

Or maybe you simply wanted to make the eyes look somewhere and not the head?

Let's check it out:

Here we have Morgana, looking normally...

Left = Va's Pose addon - Right = Lyralei's Pose Addon.

To get started, first pose your Sim as usual! Once they’re in position, simply click "Look At..." to make it work.

Massive thanks to @thesweetsimmer111 for helping me on this!

Look at with just the eyes:

As mentioned, you can also just move certain parts of the body! In this case, the eyes!

(Left: No Look At, Middle = Looking left, Right = Looking up)

This is done with something called a "Track Mask". When selected, the only parts of the sim will move that fit the chosen trackmask.

For example: Track Mask "EyesOnly" will ONLY animate the eyes!

Blending Poses

Can't find a pose online that fits your needs, but you do have 2 poses that would totally fix that?

Not a problem anymore! With "Pose Blending" you can use a pose "base" and then overlay another pose to create your own dynamic poses!

Here are some examples!

On both cases, we have the "base" pose on the left. Then I have chosen to blend it with the pose in the middle, to get this as an end result! :)

How to:

First, pose your sim as you normally would

Go to "Photo shooting..." > "Lyralei's Pose Addon..." > "Utils..." > "Blend" > Choose whichever option you'd like to use! :)

Pick the Track Mask you'd like to apply. If you only want the upperbody to be affected, click that option.

Click/type in the pose you want to blend it with....

And tada!

Sitting/Laying poses:

Even that's possible! :) Keep in mind, though: The base pose HAS to sit/lay/etc. Otherwise, your sim will elevate!

Categorised Pose List

Frustrated because every time you want to grab a pose from your list, it takes 3455325352 years for the list to load? Well, wait no more!

Completely customizable through XML, you can now sort poses in their own respective categories!

Need a sitting pose? no problem! Just go to Lyralei's Pose Addon > Take pose From... > Common List > Sitting, and there you have all your sitting poses! :)

Can I customise this list myself?

Of course! I wrote a How-To here: Click me!

🕰️ Show History

The Add-on remembers your pose history!

Whether you’re a dedicated “Pose by Name” user or prefer the simplicity of “Show by List”, both options now display your pose history for quick reference.

Note: Each Sim has their own individual history list. This means you’ll only see the pose history for Sim X when clicking on them, and not for Sim Y.

What did I fix for Virtual Artisan's Pose Addon?

I've made sure to keep everything as it used to (and if I made a replacement for it, it's now labeled with "[LEGACY]" at the beginning of the interaction).

But, of course there were some bugs that came with it.

Changelist:

There is now an interaction that uses both look at & reaction simultaneously. (In case you don't want to use my look at interaction).

Fixed an issue where reactions would sometimes or never show on the sim.

Fixed an issue where sims didn't always want to look at the item.

Fixed an issue where certain poses get called twice, making it harder to keep reactions or even look at history data.

Optimised the code here and there.

Most interactions will now continue on posing your sim if you exited out of the interaction, rather than resetting it. (this counts for "Change Expression" and "Look At").

DOWNLOAD:

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[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Reasons Why Zayne and MC is now being labeled as "Husband and Wife"

Note: Just my opinion. Not intend to compare with other LaDS men. Just general observation on how Zayne and MC act with each other which makes them like a Husband and Wife.

It is a canon from the main timeline of the game that they do accompany each other on business trips and M/C willingly and even volunteered herself to go with Zayne.

They are constantly in touch aside from the time MC go to N109 zone. She never tell Zayne about it.

When MC thought she is about to die in N109 Zone, she thinks of Zayne. Zayne was the only other LaDS men that was mentioned in Long-Awaited Revelry.

The Akso Hospital Staff, Captain Jenna, Captain , and Carter all knew about them.

In Wander in Wonder event, they so natural in doing stuff. It naturally come to them to do things as a team. While Zayne carve the Jade Pendant, MC works to provide food and earn them enough money to buy the jade. They don't even have to talk about it. This is why I love Zayne.

He is never a hard ass guy with "I will do everything" mentality. In his eyes, they are always a team. Even though I feel that he have much say to their relationship, he let MC do what she can for them. He doesn't take MC's individuality and right to do what she wants and he guides her instead.

In there messages/phone call/memory post, MC is almost always the one to look out for Zayne. She knows that they are both busy and she always do what she can to take care of her and he do the exact the same. I was squealing to that one where they nap together, Zayne is overflowing love for MC.

In Moonlit Dream, he initiated the intimate moment with Zayne. Some might say that MC also initiate the intimate moment with Rafayel. But hear me out. With Rafayel "they are trying to convince the maids" outside the room about their relationship. I'm not saying that what they have is unreal, but with Zayne, she initiate and willingly give herself to him. Same goes in Hidden Motive when MC willingly sits on Zayne's lap.

In Doomsday memory with Zayne, they are so deep in relationship that they are already doing groceries together. And I am kicking myself because Zayne suggested that kissing will be their everyday thing.. OMFGosh!!! This man gone from cold to hot! His character development is so subtle that even I was shock but thrilled with our progress with him.

Magnificent!

And lastly, while Zayne is not fond of MC talking with his male colleague to much, he still let her socialize with them. He isn't the type to be impolite with everyone that talk MC. He even let her plan a not so surprise party for him with his colleague. This is such a huge progress for Zayne since he prefer to be left alone.

Won't you love a guy that was ready to compromise with everything with you just to keep you happy?

[p0orbaby]

A Tide of Tender Mercies

summary: oh, no, i think i’m in love with you

warning: SMUT 18+, oral, fingering (alexia receiving), some angst, reader being stubborn af

a/n: thank you to @muffinpink02 for helping navigate the sexy part ! also i’ve deffo repeated some bits but i cannot for the life of me be bothered to sort it out

word count: 7k

part 1

-

The chalet is…well, perfect. It’s the kind of perfect that only comes from meticulous planning, obsessive list-making, and a kind of restrained indulgence that most people would never understand. Set high above a tiny Swiss village known for its fondue and twenty-something millionaires, it sits against a backdrop of mountains sharp enough to slice the clouds. The exterior is severe, almost aggressively minimalistic: crisp white stucco, blackened wood shutters, and glass doors that could double as showroom installations. The effect is daunting, beautiful, and—if you’re being honest—a bit over-the-top. You chose it, naturally, because it’s the type of place where “just a fling” can occur without a single hint of domesticity.

Inside, everything is pristine, hand-selected, curated to within an inch of its life. You were adamant that the linens be Egyptian cotton, but not the gaudy kind; they’re 800-thread count, light enough to seem insubstantial but woven to feel solid, unyielding. They’re arranged in clinical folds on the bed, starched and pressed in a way that suggests they’re almost afraid to be touched. You’ll mess them up later, but for now, they’re an artwork of restraint.

And then there are the wines, selected with the sort of care that would make a sommelier weep. It’s silly, of course—Alexia doesn’t normally drink during the season, so she will hardly glance at the labels, but you’ve assembled an array that hints at depth nonetheless. An entire wall of Swiss Chasselas, a few rare vintages from Bordeaux, and an stupidly expensive pinot noir that tastes like dirt but cost enough to suggest you know what you’re doing. The idea is that if she gives in to something sophisticated, she’ll find it here. If she doesn’t, you’ll find her something else. Something that says you’ve thought of everything. Which, of course, you have.

The whole thing has a sort of perverse charm, really, how every detail has been obsessively pre-arranged to ensure that she knows you’re not in this for anything serious. And yet, here you are, flying her across Europe to the kind of setting people book for anniversaries and life-altering proposals.

There’s a sort of humour in it, if you’re willing to look. You even laugh to yourself, laying out the spa towels in the bathroom—too thick, too plush, a little too “I love you”—knowing full well she won’t notice them. She’ll think of them as “towels,” and if she does notice, it’ll be because she needs a new one. But that’s fine. It’s all part of the performance, all part of the thing you’ve constructed around this chalet, around her arrival, around the notion that this is—what? Casual? Fun? Whatever word fits it neatly enough to deny what you’re feeling.

And then there are the candles. Oh, God, the candles. You tried to keep them simple, restrained, the kind of scents that evoke a distant memory rather than a specific moment. Sandalwood, bergamot, a flicker of pine; nothing too floral, nothing that says “romance,” but hints of something just familiar enough to feel safe. You even toyed with the idea of an unscented option, just in case the pine felt too… suggestive. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve learned to lean into it, to control it, to package it neatly. If it’s planned, then it’s deliberate, and if it’s deliberate, then it’s just for fun.

“Why all this?” you imagine her saying, eyebrows raised, maybe laughing as she notices the excessive stock of Swiss chocolates in the cabinet. You have them lined up in neat rows, the artisan kind—no corner-shop Toblerone here—and each one is individually wrapped in foil that gleams in the dim kitchen light. You picture her rolling her eyes at the small mountain of truffle boxes, asking if you’ve stocked up for a wedding. And you, of course, would shrug it off, offering some deadpan line about Swiss tourism. Or a joke about Swiss efficiency. Or something suitably bland that keeps the tone right where you want it—on the edge of humour, a step away from real. You’ve prepared for every reaction, really. Which is pointless, because she hasn’t even arrived yet.

It’s the first time she’s been here. The place is new, purchased after a very well-timed therapy session that conveniently rebranded “self-indulgence” as “self-care.” The therapist’s exact words were “If you want to be your best self, find the spaces that let you breathe.” And you took that literally, flying up here for private viewings until this place caught your eye. Well, maybe not your eye. But it was one of those rare places that looked exactly like the pictures, maybe better, and it had the kind of aesthetic that screams “I need nothing from you” while begging for a sense of purpose. You bought it almost instantly.

And now, after weeks of fine-tuning, she’ll be here soon. You catch yourself arranging the books on the side table, pausing over which titles to leave out—a mix of philosophy and modern fiction that says “I read but don’t take it too seriously.” You laugh to yourself at the pretension of it, yet you leave the carefully selected titles exactly as they are.

It’s silly, really, because the goal here is detachment, the freedom to keep things light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that as you straighten the pillows on the sofa for the second time, catching your own eye in the polished mirror that hangs in the foyer.

“You’re being weird,” you say out loud, imagining her walking in, that quick smile flashing, eyebrows raised in a way that says, “Is this all for me?” You picture her laughing, maybe rolling those pretty green eyes of hers. But you have an answer for that too, prepared in advance, a casual shrug.

“Just a little atmosphere,” you’ll say, as if it’s nothing.

You check your watch. Thirty-two minutes until Alexia arrives. Thirty-two minutes to double-check that every single minutely considered, utterly detached detail says, I couldn’t care less—or, more precisely, I care in exactly the right amount of less. Because she needs to know that this is nothing. That this trip to an over-the-top chalet overlooking a town mostly inhabited by 19-year-olds in cashmere is simply an exercise in relaxation, togetherness, a concept you’re fairly sure you’re allergic to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but you bought the place partly to show her. Partly to remind her, subtly, that she could disappear tomorrow and you’d still have this. Because that’s the problem with Alexia, isn’t it? She’s not really yours. She’s something you can enjoy, display even, but never own. The complete opposite of the real estate you’ve added to your collection. You stand there, glass in hand, the Lagavulin you’ve graciously poured yourself warming your fingers through the crystal, staring out at the Alps with the vague thought that an obscene number of people have had their ashes scattered here, somewhere along this ridgeline. It’s an unsettling idea you rather enjoy.

She texts, something about a delay on the tarmac, and you stare at the message for a beat too long, analysing the exact wording like you’re looking for hidden subtext. As if there could be subtext in the word “delayed.”

A casual fling, you remind yourself, should never be complicated by subtext.

To pass the time, you scan the kitchen once again. The coffee is fresh-ground, of course, from a bag that cost as much as an entire year’s supply from anywhere normal. It’s pre-portioned in tiny glass canisters your assistant found online that look like vintage apothecary jars. The labels are printed in Helvetica Neue because you once read that it’s a ‘subtly superior’ font. Ridiculous. But also, it’s perfect. There’s also a miniature mountain of imported Spanish oranges on the counter, carefully arranged in a hammered copper bowl you don’t remember buying. You could make mimosas, you think, if you didn’t know she’ll insist on starting with a protein shake instead.

You put a bottle of Alpine mineral water in the fridge just for her, chilled to the exact 4.4°C she prefers. Yes, it’s an oddly specific temperature preference. No, she didn’t tell you directly. You overheard her mention it once, offhand, to someone else. Which is exactly why you’re bound to a polite indifference if she asks why it’s there. It’s simply what the fridge was set to. Nothing personal.

Just the thought of her walking in has you adjusting your posture as if she’s already watching. Alexia doesn’t miss a single detail. Once, she commented on the way you have a tendency to pull your sleeves over your hands. You haven’t done it since. Now, you check that every piece of clothing you’ve chosen is deliberately, carelessly oversized—but only to the point that still reads as flattering.

Then, at last, you hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. You scurry to watch from the window as she steps out of the car you sent, and she’s immediately caught in that glacial alpine light, her features so stark and defined that it’s almost cinematic. There’s a sharp thrill—one you won’t admit to yourself—in seeing her here, framed against this scene like she’s the final piece in some high-budget film. The coat she’s wearing is slightly too large, lending her a relaxed, indifferent air, as if she’d picked up the first thing she saw on her way out the door. Effortless, in that way that would feel studied on anyone else.

You stand back from the window just before she glances up, retreating into the comfort of shadows. Timing is everything. You’ve thought this through, down to each calculated second. It’s critical, after all, that she finds you not watching, but instead lingering at a perfect remove, preferably with a slight air of distraction. You’re aiming for a kind of aloofness, as if her arrival is the least interesting event of the day.

She’s about to ring the bell when you move, deliberately slow, to the door, letting it swing open just as she raises her hand. There’s a brief, barely perceptible pause as her eyes meet yours, a spark of something unspoken passing between you both before she raises an eyebrow, a look that hovers between amusement and challenge.

“Missed me?” she asks, dryly, though there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing. She’s close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest whiff of her perfume, something dark and woody and just the right side of familiar.

You tilt your head, giving her a slow once-over, and shrug. “Not especially,” you say, voice low, careful to keep the tone perfectly flat. But you let your gaze linger just a second too long on her collarbone, barely visible where her coat has slipped slightly, enough to make her catch it, her mouth curling up at the edge. It’s a deliberate game, one you’ve both played a hundred times, each move rehearsed, practised to the point of art.

She’s barely through the door when you feel it—that unmistakable tension, thickening the air between you. It’s almost tangible, a static hum just beneath the surface of polite conversation, something that pulls at you like gravity. The moment feels precarious, balanced on the edge of something you’re not quite willing to name, because if you wait too long, the feeling will settle into something more familiar. Something too close to comfort, which is the last thing you want.

She doesn’t seem to notice it, of course, her mind likely on dinner plans or the slow crawl of the evening. You, however, are already teetering at the edge of patience, every nerve just slightly too aware of her. She walks in, drops her bag by the door with a casual grace that feels almost too natural, like she’s done this a hundred times, like she could do this forever if you asked her to. And you wonder if you’d even want that—something so predictably domestic, the quiet comfort of a routine. No. You want her in ways that defy that kind of simplicity, in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

You watch her from the corner of your eye as she takes in the room. Her eyes linger on the minimal, curated details you agonised over: the leather-bound books you never plan to read, the art on the walls meant to suggest a taste for something more sophisticated than it is. She’s oblivious, seemingly caught up in the novelty of the place, and that’s exactly what you intended. She can’t know how meticulously you set the scene, how every pillow and chair is positioned with an almost obsessive precision. All she has to do is be here. You’ll take care of the rest.

There’s a slow, unhurried quality to her movements, an ease that’s infuriating because it’s so at odds with the pulse of urgency rising in you. She wanders over to the fireplace, running her hand along the mantel with a soft, idle curiosity. Her fingers trace over the edge of a photograph you don’t remember putting there, something abstract and distant, chosen for the way it says absolutely nothing about you. It’s maddening, really, the way she lingers in the space, claiming it without meaning to, as if her very presence could overwrite the hours you spent constructing it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice light, unaware of the way it cuts through the silence with a sharpness that’s almost physical. There’s a half-smile on her face, something unreadable that you can’t quite shake off.

You shrug, adopting an air of disinterest you’ve perfected over the years. “Thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery”

She raises an eyebrow, still oblivious, her focus now on the bust of Venus of Arles by the window. For a second, you want to laugh at the madness of it, how she’s here, right in front of you, while you’re clawing at the edges of your own restraint.

But she’s still gazing around, her fingers brushing the edge of a table as if she has all the time in the world. As if she doesn’t know what you’re holding back. You take a slow breath, exhale, feel the tension coil tighter inside, and think that if you let this linger for even another second, you’ll start to resent the calmness of it, the quiet rhythm that feels too much like waiting. Like settling into something you’re not prepared to face.

“Wine?” You ask in a futile attempt to keep things just this side of civilised. The offer hangs in the air, a thin layer of normalcy that feels like it could snap at any moment, but she only nods, glancing over with a slight smile, one corner of her mouth lifting in that way that’s halfway between polite interest and something more.

“Sure,” she says, her voice smooth, without a hint of awareness. “You pick”

You turn to the wine rack with an exaggerated casualness, scanning bottles you chose with this exact moment in mind. You could explain the notes of every vintage, how each one was picked not because it pairs with any particular food—because let’s face it, dinner’s not exactly on your mind—but because it suggests a kind of sophistication, a subtlety. You choose a bottle of red, something full-bodied and just slightly bitter, almost as if in silent commentary on the situation. You pour, slowly, setting the glass down in front of her with a kind of precision that’s both reverent and clinical. She reaches for it, her fingers grazing the stem, the gesture infuriatingly graceful.

The first sip seems to surprise her. “Good choice,” she murmurs, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the glass.

The silence stretches on just a moment too long, the air thick with something that isn’t quite tension, more like a coiled spring just waiting for one of you to press down. You feel it building as she shifts, glancing around the room, and suddenly, you realise she’s working up to something. There’s a certain deliberateness in the way she moves, a careful consideration in her stare, and you know—know—she didn’t come all this way just to admire the decor.

“Look,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, carrying a weight that tells you she’s not talking about the view. “I’ve been thinking—”

But you can’t—won’t—let her finish. Not when you know exactly what she’s about to say. You cut her off, leaning forward, your tone light, easy, deliberately dismissive. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to talk, Alexia”

She freezes, mid-sentence, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, a blend of surprise and—annoyance, maybe? But she masks it quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I thought you’d appreciate me being… honest,” she says slowly, as though testing the waters, watching you carefully.

“Honest? That’s what we’re calling it?” You let a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth, a practiced expression, something designed to be just detached enough to hold everything at arm’s length. “Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we?”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your deflection, but there’s still a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Better than what? Talking?”

Talking. The word hangs in the air, innocent, innocuous, yet loaded in a way that feels heavier than it has any right to. You shift, taking another sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down, hoping it’ll smother the way her eyes feel like they're peeling away all your practiced layers. It’s one thing to enjoy someone’s company, but the feeling creeping in now is something else, something you’re not used to. It feels inconvenient. Like an itch you can’t reach.

You try to fire back, something witty, something cool, but the words catch in your throat, your mind scraping empty. It’s frustrating, the way she’s caught you off guard, how she’s unraveled your carefully crafted reserve without even trying. You reach for your glass again, swirling the wine, stalling for time, anything to avoid that knowing look in her eyes.

But then it dawns on you, like a spark catching flame—there’s still one thing left to do to regain control. Something you can do that would put you back in charge, bring this uncomfortable vulnerability back into something physical, where you excel. You set your glass down, slowly, purposefully, letting the silence stretch taut between you both.

She watches you with that smirk, that trace of challenge, as if daring you to break this moment of stillness.

“Come here,” you say, low and steady, injecting just enough command to leave no room for debate.

“No”

She says it so simply, so carelessly, that for a moment you’re almost convinced you misheard her. It’s infuriating, really, that one little word has the power to throw you so entirely. Your pulse stumbles, and you feel the ground slipping from under you, just enough to catch you off guard.

“Alexia.” You give her a look that’s intended to be definitive, final, but it lands with all the power of a weak threat. Her smirk widens into a full, infuriating smile, the one that says she’s entirely aware of the effect she’s having on you.

“Just hear me out,” she says, with a kind of softness that’s more unnerving than you’d like. “You’re doing that thing. The thing where you turn everything into—” She pauses, gesturing vaguely with her hand, searching for the right word, “—into some kind of performance”

It’s an odd, unnerving feeling, this loss of footing. Normally, you’d have a witty reply ready, something cutting or clever, but instead, you feel like she’s stripped you bare, left you standing there with nothing but honesty, and you hate it.

“So now you’re the expert?” you reply, finally finding your voice, though it sounds sharper than you meant. “Since when do you—”

“Since I started actually falling for you,” she says, cutting you off, her voice low but clear. It’s not even particularly dramatic, the way she says it, and somehow that’s worse. Like she’s not trying to turn it into anything, not expecting any kind of reaction—just stating it as a fact.

You feel a flush rise to your face, and you mask it with another sip of wine, a hasty attempt to cover up the sudden jolt in your chest. She waits, just watches you with that maddening calm, as if giving you all the time in the world to come up with some kind of response.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with something unsaid and unfamiliar. You feel the urge to laugh, to make light of it, anything to disperse this feeling building between you, something dangerously close to vulnerability.

“You don’t have to make this into… whatever this is,” you say, gesturing between you. “Let’s not get sentimental”

“I’m not,” she says, crossing her arms, looking impossibly patient. “I told you I’m just trying to be honest. I thought that was allowed”

“Honest,” you repeat, as though the word itself is foreign. And maybe it is. Honesty has never been the thing you reach for. Honesty is for people who can afford to look foolish, who don’t mind slipping, stumbling a little. Honesty is… unnecessary. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s got you so rattled now.

You set your glass down, more forcefully than intended, and close the distance between you with a deliberate slowness, a silence that says everything you aren’t willing to say out loud. She watches you, unmoving, waiting, that infuriating patience of hers still intact.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “If youre falling for me, fucking show me”

Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of amusement mixed with something warmer, something that makes you feel like you’re the one being dissected here. It’s maddening, really, how effortlessly she manages to get under your skin, slip past all those careful layers. And yet you’re already reaching for her, pulling her closer, desperate to change the pace, to turn this moment into something you can control.

There’s a split second where neither of you move, holding the charged silence like it might be the only thread of control left. And then it snaps. You reach for her, not gently, fingers curling around her wrist with enough force that she has no choice but to be pulled in. Her smirk flickers, only slightly, and there’s something about the momentary surprise in her eyes that makes your grip tighten further, anchoring yourself as much as her. It’s a flash of vulnerability that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of bravado, one you’re keen to shatter.

You pull her toward you, and the air shifts, that faint hint of uncertainty cracking into something far messier. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair with a kind of reckless precision, not even aware of how tightly you’re holding on. You don’t waste time; you’re not even sure there’s time to waste. And as soon as you lean in, catching her mouth with a kiss that’s anything but tentative, you feel her resistance melt, her lips parting under yours with a roughness that’s almost defiant.

She meets you with equal force, as if each clash of mouths, each bruising press of skin, is a way to gain back her own control, and you revel in it, the give-and-take that feels as calculated as it is chaotic. Your hand slips to her jaw, holding her there, your thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth with a kind of ferocity that toes the line between possessive and desperate. You know it’s not going to be gentle; there’s a part of you that doesn’t want it to be.

You’re moving backwards, feeling the edge of the marble island press into your spine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s everywhere, her hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, blunt nails scraping against your skin as if she’s staking a claim, as if she’s finally caught on to the pace you’ve been trying to set and decided to match it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her words slip out like a slow, deliberate knife cutting through the air between you. The tone, sharp, unfamiliar, though has been the soundtrack to your late-night thoughts. It’s almost as if she knows, like she’s caught you in the act of something that’s always been just below the surface. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes darting between your face and the space between you two, as if trying to read the faintest tremor in your expression. It’s always a game with her, always a step too far.

Yes.

“No,” you manage, your voice betraying you—cracked, thin, like a lie too rehearsed. The words come out wrong, but they come out anyway, forced through a tightening chest.

The moment stretches, each second fracturing, bending and folding into itself. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a shadow—everything slips just out of reach, and the harder you try to grasp it, the more it seems to twist away, leaving nothing but the sensation of your own breath hitching in your throat. You fucking hate this. You hate the way her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to remind you of your place, of the expectations that have always followed you both like a silent, mocking echo.

No, you don’t hate her.

Fuck. You love her.

The thought is an ugly, dissonant thing, a weight that doesn’t settle easily, like a slow-moving tide pulling you under. The water’s cold. You can’t feel the bottom. You don’t know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that, somewhere along the line, you’ve let yourself drown.

Your pulse is almost deafening in your ears, hammering in time with your desperate need for air. There’s something about the way she stands before you—still and deliberate, eyes trained on yours—that makes the room feel smaller, closer. You think you can hear her thoughts. Feel them. It’s maddening, how much she seems to know you, how she’s always known the way you bend. How much she’s learned to manipulate that bend, until you almost forget what it’s like to be anything but this: a response.

You swallow. The taste of her is lingering on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once, like a bad memory. How many times has this happened? You don’t know anymore. The last time feels as far away as the first time—when she leaned in, the weight of her body an invisible promise. But tonight, there’s something different. It’s in the way she watches you, cold, calculating, her fingers still gripping the edges of your shirt, the only real connection between you two in the moment.

She inhales slowly, the rhythm deliberate, like she’s listening to a song you can’t hear. The silence is suffocating.

“You’re lying,” she says, low and accusing, with just enough venom to make you flinch. There’s a tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, something fleeting, something knowing. You want to reach out, to take her in your hands and pull her close, but the distance between you both feels like a universe. The space feels like a reflection of everything that’s wrong with you: the empty conversations, the meaningless gestures, the ache that’s always there, just beneath the skin. It’s maddening, this tension.

And yet…

You want her. Fuck, you need her. You don’t know if it’s because you love her or because she knows how to make you feel more alive than anything else. She’s become your addiction, your fire, the only thing you can’t quit.

Another shift in the air. Another breath from her, shallow and calculated. It’s not a question anymore, not a challenge—it’s an affirmation. She knows, and you know, too.

You close your eyes for a moment, just long enough to lose yourself in the fleeting memory of something that almost felt like peace. The sound of her voice, the taste of her, the way she touched you. It’s all a blur, a disjointed collection of moments tied together by one inescapable truth: you’ll never be able to walk away.

Not this time.

When your eyes open again, she’s still standing there, eyes not leaving yours, studying you. Everything feels slowed down, almost too slow. Like time is bending around her, twisting the seconds into something thick, sticky. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it holds you in place, an anchor, a force. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the dull tap of your own pulse in your ears.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t need to.

Her fingers slide along your chest, trailing down in that same slow, infuriating pace, until they settle on the edge of your shirt again, the same place they started. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving upward in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decide whether you want to hurt her or fuck her. And the problem is, you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like that might keep you steady, like that might stop you from doing the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

Loving something. Someone. Loving Alexia.

“What are you so afraid of?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost gentle, and it’s the softness of it that makes you unravel completely.

You don’t think—you can’t. One second you’re standing there trying to convince yourself you still have your palms wrapped around this situation, and the next they’re on her, pulling her in with a force that’s almost cruel. Your mouth finds hers, hard and unrelenting, and she gasps into the kiss, her fingers clutching at your shirt, wrinkling the silk, as if you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.

She tastes like spearmint gum and coffee. You imagine her shivering as she steps off the plane, teeth chattering in the wind, and too polite to mention it. But your driver notices, you pay him to notice, so before her luggage is out of the cargo, a café con leche is being pressed into her gloved hands.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. It’s a collision, hard and unrelenting, her mouth crashing into yours with a force that feels like defiance, like she’s daring you to stop pretending. To stop holding yourself together so tightly you’re liable to snap.

Your hands are already on her, pulling her close, so close it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t stop. You can’t make yourself pull away because then you’d have to look at her, really look at her, and confront the unbearable softness in her eyes. You’d have to hear her voice again, saying the one thing you’ve been trying to ignore since she first murmured it like a needle under your skin:

“What are you so afraid of?”

What you’re afraid of is this. Her. The way she’s stripped you bare with no effort at all, no grand gestures or declarations. She’s unravelling you with the weight of her presence, with the simple fact of her being, and you hate it almost as much as you crave it.

Your teeth scrape against her lower lip, harder than you mean to, and she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. Her nails dig into your shoulders, gripping onto you while you take your rightful place at the helm of this godforsaken dance.

And she’s letting you. Letting you press her against the edge of the table, her legs bumping into the thick, varnished oak. The table was handmade by some artisan you don’t remember the name of, its surface polished to a high gloss that reflects the warm light overhead. You’d spent weeks agonising over the purchase, debating wood grains and finishes with a level of scrutiny that felt absurd even at the time. It’s the kind of thing people like you do when they’re too scared to focus on what matters.

But now it’s just a table. A thing in the way, a thing that’s caught between you and her.

Her jeans catch on the wood as you push her back, and the sound is sharp, cutting through the fog in your head. You hesitate for half a second, your hands hovering at her hips, fingers brushing the cool metal of her belt buckle.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, her voice low and breathless. It’s not a reproach—it’s almost amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your head, and it’s ridiculous to her that you’re trying to wrestle this into something it’s not.

“I’m not thinking at all,” you say, and it’s true. Or it’s a lie. You don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

The belt comes undone with a soft clink, the leather sliding through the loops of her jeans in one smooth motion. You let it fall to the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile lost beneath the ragged breaths you’re both taking. Your hands are shaking slightly as you undo the button on her jeans, the metal cold against your fingertips.

She doesn’t help you. Doesn’t lift her hips, doesn’t make it easier. She just watches you, her gaze steady and unwavering, like she’s daring you to keep going.

And you do.

You yank the denim down her thighs, your movements jerky, almost frantic, and it’s not until the fabric crumples on the floor that you realise your hands are still trembling. She notices too, her lips twitching into that infuriating half-smile, the one that makes your stomach twist into knots.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something sharper, something that cuts right through you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels like a blow to the chest.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and the words make something inside you snap.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her thighs in one swift, unceremonious motion. The damp lace clings for a moment before it slides free, pooling at her knees before hitting the floor. You don’t stop to think. There’s no room for hesitation here, no space for the doubt that’s been clawing at you since this started.

Her scent hits you first, heady and intoxicating, and for a moment you freeze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. But then she moves—just slightly, her hips tilting forward in an unspoken plea—and it’s all the permission you need.

You press your mouth to her, your tongue sliding through her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that pulls a broken sound from her throat. Her taste is sharp, almost sweet, and it floods your senses in a way that makes you dizzy. Her thighs close around your head instinctively, caging you in, and you let out a low, involuntary groan against her skin.

“Fuck—” Her voice is high and breathy, her fingers digging into your scalp now, hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

You don’t. You press deeper, your tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre and circling it with a precision you didn’t know you had. She jerks against you, her body arching off the table, and you use the opportunity to slide your hands up her thighs, holding her steady.

The table creaks beneath her, the sound of the wood groaning under her weight mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your mouth against her. It’s filthy and raw, every sense overwhelmed, and you’re not sure if you’re doing this to prove a point or because you can’t bear to stop. Maybe it’s both.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat, and you want to mark it, to leave evidence of this all over her skin, but you can’t pull away. Not when she’s gasping your name, her voice breaking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You slide a finger into her, slow at first, just enough to make her hips stutter against your mouth. She’s tight, impossibly so, and you feel her clench around you as you add a second finger, curling them just right. Her moan is loud, sharp, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

“God, you—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t seem capable of forming words anymore, and it sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through you. You focus on her clit again, your tongue moving in quick, precise circles as your fingers work her open, the slick heat of her making it almost too easy.

Her legs tremble around you, and you can feel her getting closer, her breathing turning shallow and erratic. You don’t let up, don’t give her a second to recover, pressing her higher and higher until she breaks with a cry that sounds like your name.

Her whole body shudders, her thighs clamping tight around your head as she rides out her orgasm, and you keep going, drawing it out as long as you can until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders.

“Enough,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, and you finally pull back, your lips and chin wet with her.

You look up at her, and she’s a mess—her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. Her eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, slowly, she reaches for you, her hands shaking as she grabs at your jumper and pulls you up to meet her. Her kiss is rough and desperate, her teeth catching on your lower lip, and you realise she’s not done.

Her hands don’t go for your own clothes like you’d expected. Instead, they move to your thighs, her grip firm and commanding, and before you can comprehend what’s happening, she’s lifting you. The sudden change knocks the air out of your lungs, and you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist, locking you against her. The motion is seamless, like she’s done this before—or like she’s always known she could.

You try to tell yourself you hate how easy it feels, but you don’t. You can’t.

Your hands find her shoulders, her jaw, her hair—anything to ground yourself, but nothing works. You’re still dizzy, still untethered, even as her lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing controlled. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip, her tongue pushes into your mouth like she’s trying to devour you, and you let her because for once you don’t want to think about what comes next.

She’s walking, you realise belatedly, the steady rhythm of her steps making your body rock against hers. It’s disorienting, the way she carries you so easily, like your weight is nothing, like you’re the fragile thing here.

You kiss her harder to prove you’re not, nipping at her lip until she growls low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through you and pulls a small, involuntary moan from your lips. Her hands tighten on you, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, and it sends a sharp thrill up your spine.

The hallway blurs around you, the world narrowing until it’s just her—her mouth on yours, her hands gripping you like she’ll never let go, her body impossibly solid against yours.

When she finally kicks the door open and lays you down on the bed, it feels like surrender. Not hers. Yours.

You don’t realise how tightly you’ve been clinging to her until she pulls back, your fingers still knotted in the collar of her shirt. The fabric wrinkles between your hands, and for a moment you just stare at each other, the room charged with something you don’t have the words to name.

Her eyes are dark, searching, but there’s no smugness, no trace of victory there. Instead, there’s something softer, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady, and it undoes you more than anything else she’s done tonight.

It’s too much. The weight of her words, the way she says them like a promise, like she means it. Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, your fingers releasing her collar to press against her shoulders, keeping her at a distance.

But she doesn’t let you push her away completely. Her hands slide up your sides, gentle now, her touch a sharp contrast to the bruising grip she had on you moments ago. She’s watching you, waiting, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

You hate her for it. You hate her because she’s right.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracks, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t have to,” she says simply, and the honesty in her tone is unbearable.

You want to argue, to fight, to push her away, but your body doesn’t move. You just lay there, your chest heaving, your hands trembling against her. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

Because this isn’t about sex anymore.

It’s about her, and the way she looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. It’s about the way your body feels like it’s breaking apart under the weight of it, like you’re finally being seen for what you are—what you’ve always been.

A liar. A coward. Someone too afraid to let go, too afraid to feel, too afraid to love.

Her lips brush yours again, soft this time, barely there, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not enough to drown in. Not yet. But it’s close.

“Let me in,” she whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s an offering.

You close your eyes, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

[notherpuppet]

Do you think there's a right and/or wrong way to handle QPR? I know it's a tricky relationship, but it feels like most/some people kind of just slap the label onto a ship while depicting the ship as just romantic/having no difference with a romantic relationship. (this is why I was a little surprised when you said you do radioapple qpr when it reads a lot more like normal romance). Not meant as an attack or anything on anyone, just genuinely curious more than anything. Again, tricky relationship

So Imma put this link to info at the top of this post: https://taaap.org/2022/07/16/qprs-part-one/

Alright, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, because that's exactly what it is. One small bit of perspective in a mass of many people who experience QPRs in their life and/or are on an aro/ace spectrum. I also have NO QUALIFICATIONS on gender/sexuality theory, so my opinions are shaped by what I've learned and experienced personally. While people may identify with the same term, we are all still individuals with our own experiences. Words can help describe a phenomenon, but it doesn't make everyone who identifies with the word into a monolith.

So I've stated a few times that I navigate shipping Alastor similar to my own experiences as an aroace person. (I guess I'm sharing about myself with this post, but I think that can be helpful to just spreading awareness of an "alternative lifestyle"). So I'm romance-repulsed and sex-repulsed LOL but I'm also "positive" about those things. Like I view romance and sex as lovely, fun experiences people can have, but I've never been into it personally. It's fun for me to consume media about romance/sex, but yknow, it's also fun for me to consume media about violence or isolation. Doesn't mean I want to experience or engage in any of those things lol.

Anyway, I'm a huge people person and I love to party and yknow it seems most people are really wanting to fall in love or fuck or whatever pretty much all the time, but especially at parties hahaha. Normally, I'm pretty touch-averse, but I love dancing so much and it's a blast to dance with a partner (salsa especially!! i don't care for grinding for probably obvious reasons). And to connect the two previous sentences, people (whatever gender they are) would be very kissy-touchy on the dancefloor. Which i honestly dont really give a fuck about hahaha. I don't really get anything out of kissing but I also don't mind it. I just like to dance. It's all a pretty superficial--but still genuinely fun--experience for me.

When it comes to my deeper or more intimate connections, I have had friendships that have felt SO on the line of what was viewed as a romantic relationship. They were exceptional friends and we connected on a level that was deep and true, but it wasn't romantic. Sometimes we'd slow dance, sometimes we kissed, and it rocked. But it wasn't more than that, it was all that it needed to be. I didn't want more and neither did they (except one situation and so we had to stop being friends lol whoops). From the outside, people would even refer to us as partners in a half joking way, but we really were just friends. And I love those friends!! And a huge part of what made those relationships (which at the time were described as 'situationships' because we didn't know any of these terms haha) was their convenience. We either lived in the same building, worked together, or were neighbors LOL. I'm still friends with those absolutely lovely folks, but we don't live around each other, so our QPR just appears a lot more like any ole regular friendship. But it's not like there was a feeling that we transitioned into something different than before. It twas what it twas! (Had to take a pause while I was typing to reminisce fondly for a second, okay back to hazbin hahaha)

SO, whenever someone asks or it comes up, MOST OF THE TIME I do ship alastor through an aroace lens and experience with QPRs (specifically, MINEE because they were fun and I've never felt like doing this before I met a character like Al). And my XP is: "this isn't gonna be a partnership and we ain't fucking" LMFAO. so yeah!

When it comes to using a queer term like QPR, I just hope folks are considerate in their writing, but I also am inclined to just believe them if they say that's their intention because QPRs can look very different. Again, aroace and ace folks are not a monolith. The terms help to describe a human's experience. I'm inclined to think people are writing in good faith.

And all this being said, I want to just emphasize that I really don't think it's necessary to consider any of this shit if you want to ship a fictional character. I understand wanting to be protective of a character who shares an identifier with you (I personally don't wanna see romance/sex with Al in canon). But shipping is a fun thing a fandom does that often does ignore canon. Tale as old as time. I don't think anyone needs to be beholden to canon when they're writing fanfiction or having fun. If we did, I would have like--5 artworks on this blog hahaha. These characters are like dollies, do whatever you want. It's cool if people don't like it and I think it's cool if people do. It's just not that serious. There are ships I'm not particularly into or dynamics that I am not enchanted by, but whatever. I can just scroll or close my eyes.

TLDR; shipping in fandom doesn't need to be taken seriously at ALL. It can just be fun way for someone to play with fictional characters they like. That being said, I think it's good practice to use queer terms thoughtfully.

[naomi-main]

sfw, fluff, mental disorders such as ocd + germaphobia, satoru loves you so so much.

what do you mean you, the touchiest human on the planet, would wait forever for her to be ready for intimacy cause she thinks it’s gross but even if she would never be ready you wouldn’t care as long as you’re with her?

what do you mean you know the way she labels and organizes each individual cleaning supply alphabetically via company name with subsections for what type of product it is?

what do you mean you shower three times a day now, just like her, so that she’d feel comfortable touching you even just a bit?

what do you mean you carry your own little bottle of hand sanitizer just in case she ran out or forgot hers but you find yourself using it now too?

what do you mean you started looking through her purse before heading out to make sure she has everything she needs, like the headphones she wears when she feels too overwhelmed?

what do you mean you help clean her house her way (it’s already spotless) when you have no experience due to having servants growing up but you learned from watching her do the simplest tasks?

what do you mean you’re starting to enjoy the sounds of rain and thunder that plays on the tv at night because she doesn’t like sleeping in absolute silence, but you used to dislike those sounds yourself cause it reminded you of staying at home on a dark cloudy day but now it was like she was the only sun you needed?

what do you mean you know the exact placement she likes for every specific dish or utensil in the dishwasher and the proper place to put them back in the cabinets?

what do you mean you’d drop anything you were doing, no matter how important, if she sent you the slightest worrisome text because she will always be top priority?

what do you mean you got matching slippers to wear in the house with her since she doesn’t like the feeling of the cold floor or random crumbs under her feet?

what do you mean you’ve adapted to her lifestyle and you make sure that you don’t mess up anything so she doesn’t have to live her life in disarray like you used to before you met her?

what do you mean you make sure she moisturizes her hands every day—sometimes doing it for her if she’s comfortable with it just so you could feel her hand in yours—because her hands dry out from washing them too much since she feels like they’re dirty from touching something?

what do you mean the two of you always have the same conversation when you leave the house where she asks, “did i turn the living room lights off?” and you respond with, “yes, i double-checked and everything right before we left” because you know exactly what’s going on in her mind that now she doesn’t even have to ask anymore because you say it before she even has to open her mouth?

what do you mean you always open doors for her because you know how much she hates touching things that multiple strangers have?

what do you mean a spontaneous person like you cares to follow her plans to the dot because the woman you love always has a schedule for everything and you know how much stress it causes her when things don’t go according to it?

and what do you mean you’d always be patient with her cause of her tendencies and never complain no matter how many times she gets anxious about something so small because you understand just how big it is in her eyes?

[honeydewcorporation]

Some Things I Did Not Realize Until Later In Life

When it is sunny and miserably hot (>65F) outside and someone tells you to "enjoy the beautiful weather," they're not being ironic and genuinely think it is pleasant weather.

The default amount of pain most people are in is literally 0, not figuratively.

Most people feel a compulsory urge to breed with their preferred variety of people. Sex isn't supposed to be some kind of trial you endure to prove you love someone, and it's ok if you don't want any.

Polyamory doesn't have to be [people A-N in a relationship with each other at the same time] it can be (and is much more logistically feasible as [person A in a relationship with every person B-N individually]

If you think something is wrong with your body, follow that hunch as far as it will go. Your body doesn't just hand out warning signs for fun, those serve a purpose. Sometimes your body spamming you with warning signs for no reason is the problem in and of itself, and you should see a neurologist.

The golden rule is usually pretty good, but it can get you in hot water if you're autistic and trying to help someone. (I don't have a fix for this, just try to make sure people know your intentions before you speak to them.)

You don't need a "type"

You don't need a label.

You deserve accommodations for any disability you have, even if "it's minor" and you can live without them.

People tend to want to help each other out. Often you do not need to make it worth someone's time to ask for help, and they would prefer spending time to help you over spending time watching you flounder around without help.

It's ok to stop talking to people you don't vibe with, just be nice about it.

If you know someone who has a condition triggered by someone doing something they can't control such as Misophonia (when certain sounds send them into a panicky rage) triggered by a family member's eating noises: Neither of them are at fault, and it's ok to for either to ask the other to leave.

Equality is great in an ideal world but we live in a horrible bastard world where equity (certain marginalized groups receiving the aid they need before and in larger volume than advantaged groups) makes more sense.

Capitalism will always be at odds with general prosperity.

People give each other gifts because they like them. You should not feel obligated to give someone a thank you gift or feel guilty or indebted in any way. They would not like that.

Visualizing things from other people's perspective if you have low or no empathy is made easier by picturing it's you in their situation. A reminder that the world is complex and all those other people living in it are like you sort of.

Sorry this turned more into life advice! Hope it helps at all!

[cicerfics]

Having A Silly Thought about this post:

I think, at some point, Q-branch becomes very absorbed in the discussion of how Evil Overlord and Evil Consort are clearly two separate genders which bear no relationship to the gender binary of masculinity vs. femininity. A cis man can certainly be an Evil Consort! A nonbinary individual or a person whose gender presentation leans more toward the femme side of things can certainly be an Evil Overlord! These things are complex and variable and must not be restricted based on the artificial confines of the gender binary!

There is much discussion on this topic (a very normal topic of conversation in Q-branch, TBH). People begin analyzing themselves to determine whether they are more on the 'Evil Overlord' side of the spectrum or more on the 'Evil Consort' side.

(Soon, a small group insists that a third gender of 'Evil Henchperson' must be created as well, and this is accordingly done. A few other 'evil' genders pop up, too, as some techs choose a different label for themselves. But most people in the department are trying to decide whether they're more of an Evil Overlord or an Evil Consort.)

Graphs and charts are created to analyze the ratio of responses and to sift for patterns in the collected data. (Again, this is a very normal extracurricular activity in Q-branch.)

Q, everyone agrees, is an Evil Overlord and not at all an Evil Consort! This is understood. (Q does not speak to this himself, because he is busy finishing the annual budget, but his minions feel confident that they have assessed him correctly.)

And at some point, 007 turns up in Q-branch and wants to know what's going on with the white board that says 'Evil Overlord' and 'Evil Consort', with tally marks underneath it.

One of the bolder interns explains the matter to him. (Half the techs are now feeling very awkward and avoiding his eyes. How frivolous they must seem to a man who puts his life on the line for England every day!)

But Bond listens very solemnly and then tells them to put a tally mark under 'Evil Consort' on his behalf, because he is UNDOUBTEDLY that type. He is confident that he would look SPLENDID in a skintight black leather outfit, lounging across his overlord's lap while a traitorous minion is brought in for punishment. He would be EXCEPTIONALLY good at climbing out of the water, gleaming and dripping, in a tiny swimsuit, while his Evil Overlord makes evil phone calls on the deck of an evil yacht. He knows EXACTLY what the duties of Evil Consort would entail, and he could perform them with APLOMB. He would bring tremendous style and panache to the role!

...This is probably the point when Q pops out from his office to see what all the ruckus is about, and why Bond is loitering in Q-branch with a bunch of rapt technicians hanging on his every word.

When Bond explains, very seriously, that he is contributing his personal data for use on this important project (he is 100% an Evil Consort, and yes, Carstairs, he WILL fill out your form and offer supplemental data for additional analysis! glad to help!) Q sputters. He tells Bond to stop being ridiculous.

Bond, very seriously, informs Q that he cannot help being so good at smirking, smoldering, and sashaying around in risque outfits. Don't hate the player, Q. Hate the game.

Q is silent for a long, exasperated moment. Then he heaves a sigh and returns to his paperwork.

Meanwhile, the minions nod at each other solemnly, and silently agree that Bond would be an excellent Consort for their beloved Overlord.

...Just another normal day in Q-branch!

[cripplecharacters]

do you happen to know of any tumblrs that do what you do, but for other... types(?) of people? i'm struggling to find an active LGBT writing guide blog specifically at the moment but it'd be nice to have a masterlist of any blog of this variety, since tumblr's search is remissfully unhelpful..! tysm

Hi lovely asker!

So there used to be a whole lot of blogs that were labeled "Scriptx" blogs and of course others too. Good thing is a lot of them were archived! So while they're not open for new questions you can still use the search and use the information provided to other asks they answered. So I'm gonna tag the other active blogs or the ones that are just on hiatus and then I'm gonna link all the archived ones!

Active:

@yourbookcouldbegayer

@scriptlgbt

@fuckyeahasexual

@writingquestionsanswered

@scriptmedic

@blindbeta

@askablindperson

@writingwithcolor

@creatingblackcharacters

@howtofightwrite

@script-a-world

@scriptstructure

Not active/Archived:

scriptservicedogs-blog

actuallyservicedogs

scriptshrink

scripttorture

scriptveterinarian

scriptautistic

asexualadvice

scripttraumasurvivors

scriptpharmacist-blog

scriptpolitics

scriptpublishingindustry

scriptfirefighter

writenavy

scriptwitchcraft

scripthacker

scriptcriminaljustice

scriptgenetics

scriptflorist

scriptlawyer-blog

scriptastronomer

scriptchemist

scriptmyth

scriptspoonie

scriptkink

scriptequestrian-blog

scriptsocialwork

scriptbrainscientist

fantasticallyfactualforensics

scriptaccountant

scriptballerina

scripthistory

scriptlibrarian

scripteconomist

scripteducator

scriptlinguist-blog

I briefly scrolled through a few of these that I personally wasn't aware of but I can't vet and scroll through each and every individual blog in its entirety because well it would take a very very long time. Also of the active blogs some don't have their ask box open and/or some are on small hiatus'. Please be respectful of that, pretty please, everyone puts in a lot of time and effort and yeah.

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[thebus1boys]

🌿 Take Me Higher Than I've Ever Been by crimsontheory @ireallysawanangel [51k]

Harry is pretty simple. He goes to work everyday, comes home, then watches Netflix with his cat. And if he happens to have a tiny little crush on his coworker, then that’s just his own business.

🌿 Crave** by dimpled_halo @comebackassholes [90k]

All eyes are on Louis Tomlinson to bring new talent to save Hanover Records from the mess the previous executive left behind. His newest artist, Harry Styles, is charismatic and everything Louis needs to revive the label. It’s up to Louis and his team to make Harry the star he was born to be. When Harry and Louis come face to face, it isn’t the first time they’ve met, and their worlds are about to be turned upside down.

🌿 Young Gods by sincewewereeighteen [77k]

“Why don’t you stay?” Harry looked down at him and snorted. “What?”

“You’re not my type, Louis”, the boy rolled his eyes sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“Says the man you just had sex with”, Louis pointed feeling smart, but Harry was one step ahead of him, with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“You see, if you were my type, I wouldn’t have”, Harry winked, cheeky as hell. “I would’ve gotten to know you first.”

“Bullshit”, he accused the boy not letting it show how intrigued he was. “How can you know I’m not your type if you don’t know me?”

“How about I list five things about you to prove I’m right and if any of them are false I’ll lie down again.”

“Ok. Go.”

the one in which Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't

🌿 School Of Extraordinary Lovers by @stylinsoncity [191k]

harry is a third-year witch and violinist at Laitswold, the only magical academy in the UK, with dreams of taking on the world, and hopefully breaking the centuries-old curse on his family while he's at it. he does not dream of facing off against his childhood rival and duet partner, but louis is back in town after six years abroad, so that's exactly what happens.

🌿 One Last Time by @smittenwithlouis [24k]

“I mean it, Harry, this is the last time,” Louis breathes out as Harry kisses down his neck.

“Sure,” Harry mumbles into his heated skin.

The action makes Louis shudder. He hates how good it feels. He knows he should be revolted. Disgusted. But god does it feel so damn good.

Or: Louis is a werewolf, and Harry is a vampire. They’re supposed to hate each other, but they’re too busy fucking to care.

🌿 Where I Burn To Be by pleasinglouis @pleasing-louis [143k]

“That’s right. I do own the skies. And you wanna know why?” he sneered. Without his boots on, Louis was a fair bit shorter than Harry, his eyes pretty much level with Harry’s chin and his socked toes bumping into the boots of the other man, close enough that Louis could make out the tiny scar on Harry’s brow and the individual shades of emerald in his irises. He was handsome, but that only made Louis hate him more. Heart thumping heavily against his sternum and his hands balled into fists, Louis lifted his chin defiantly and plastered a coldhearted smirk across his lips. “Because I’m the best goddamn pilot here.”

aka the Top Gun AU

🌿 Like A Melody In My Head by sarcasticinfluentry [60k]

A college marching band AU in which Harry is just trying to get through his first semester of college while pining over the hot drum major, Louis is trying to ignore his feelings for a certain curly-haired freshman, Zayn is trying to become less guarded, Liam is trying to be patient, and Niall is trying to make his dad proud.

🌿 Now You Know Me (For Your Eyes Only) by nadinecestmoi [77k]

au where harry and louis are solo artists and they’re not exactly friends per se but they’re friendly, know each other from industry parties and things like that and there’s always been this weird unspoken sexual tension between them and louis’ always kinda confused bc isn’t harry the biggest ladies’ man in the industry?? and one day harry asks louis to collab with him and of course louis says yes even tho he’s kinda surprised and harry plays the song for him and louis is completely blown away by how beautiful it is and it’s a love song and he’s like damn whoever this is about is lucky as fuck bc it’s clearly written from personal experience so they spend all this time together recording and it’s super bittersweet bc they click right away and it takes louis about three seconds to realize he has a huge fucking crush on harry but on the other hand harry clearly had someone in mind when he wrote the song so the last day of recording comes and louis’ like “thanks for having me on the song” and harry just shrugs and is like “well it just seemed fitting bc the song is about you”

🌿 Cold As Ice by larryspillows [76k]

Two famous boys, one passion. Two hearts, one home: the ice.

Or, an ice skating ff where the two most famous skaters in the world are forced to skate at the same rink. The only problem: They hate each other. What could go wrong?

🌿 take my hand (and my heart and soul)** by bananasandboots @anylessreal [45k]

The one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

Total Fics Read: 10

** rereads

[melina-mellow]

"Timebomb spinoff" I scream from the rooftops. The people below not knowing what I really mean is:

Ekko and Jinx were both done dirty in Arcane season 2, cause Ekko despite being labeled as a "main character" hardly got any screentime and the writers deciding that a suicidal character that doesn't believe she can be loved is that she fakes her death to fucks off to god knows where.

By "Timebomb spinoff" I mean: we should get a show focusing on Ekko and Jinx as the center characters individually and not just their relationship together.

Ekko gets his well deserved screentime, showing us how Ekko leads the Firelights, how they function and how they are in a Zaun post Silco and post robot twink attack.

I wanna see Jinx—wherever she may be—getting her well deserved peace and getting out of the mindset that she's a curse to everyone, to come back to Zaun by her own choice.

What I want is : Ekko and Jinx having their own separate arcs that converge together which is how they reunite.

Even after they reunite I don't want them to go straight to swapping spit with each other. I want there to be tension—not only the romantic type— cause yeah, despite how justifiable the thing that Jinx did was, it's still a shitty thing to make your loved ones mourn you cause they think you're dead.

I know there is the subtext that they got together pre battle after he saved her, with how they show up the battle and the artbook. But I don't want the goddamned subtext, I want the on screen text. The entire fucking novel on my screen!

By "Timebomb spinoff" I don't mean I want a show dedicated solely to their romance. I mean I want a show that expands on Ekko and Jinx's characters individually, and explores every facet of their relationship with each other, not just the romantic parts, that are tied together with a greater narrative that expands the world we fell in love with.

Not a romance show. A character driven show that has romance elements between the two focused characters in it.

If that's not the type of "Timebomb spinoff" I'm going to get... Then I don't want it at all.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[pigdemonart]

Battle Subway Depot Agents (by pig-demon)

When I made designs for these guys last year I didn’t really think they needed colored references/master post, but since then I’ve drawn them a lot! Also people have added them to their fanfics and drawn fanart! So I figured it was time I made a post for easy ref. :]

These designs are obviously free to use, just give credit (and link me your work if you're comfortable, because it makes me happy to see!) All I request is to stay respectful to their pronouns and skin colors, ya knooow… 👍 note: The pokemon on their cards are all companions, not the ones they use on the Battle Subway. Except Jackie...the litwicks are just there to fill space/give them company.

More info under cut:

Edit: Important disclaimer:

These are again my designs/interpretations for the agents. Please don’t treat them as canon or as the only, quintessential designs for these literal background npcs. Many people have done takes on them before and after me, even back in 2010. It feels silly to ask, but due to past experience, I ask that you please DONT hunt down anyone that does a different take on the depot agents!! 👍

Tags:

I'm gonna start tagging them individually, but for now all Depot Agent comics and art on this blog are tagged under Depot Agents.

Height chart:

I’m not too strict about heights, so I don’t really care about actual measurements. Here’s an approximation of what I tend to visualize though:

Sexualities/Gender Identities: I don't have official labels for each and every agent because I like keeping things fluid for characters to develop these traits on their own. However, as a queer person, I enjoy designing characters who are also queer, therefore I can safely say none of these characters are straight. The ones who are set in stone are Ramses (gay man), Cloud (lesbian woman,) Jackie (non-binary.) Furze uses he/they pronouns but their gender is undetermined. I also welcome anyone giving the agents a different gender identity to suit them (as long as it's done respectfully.)

Notes about each agent...

Cameron:

- Cameron dyes parts of his hair blonde and keeps other parts in black. This is because he is a big fan of Elesa and her fashion choices.  - Though there have been a few occasions to meet his idol, he is always way too nervous to approach her, feeling deep down that he'll mess up somehow. - He practices modeling poses in secret. He loves flourishes and flare, but is simply too insecure to put it on display. - Of his coworkers, he gets along the best with Furze. He's the easiest to talk to because Furze will do most of the talking. - Cameron is easily intimidated — even mean Pokémon can make him nervous. Though, his two worst fears are being left in a room alone with Jackie, and being left alone in a room with Isadore. - He takes advantage of his height to sometimes hide behind some of his coworkers. - Cameron is much better at Pokémon battles than he gives himself credit for. Emmet and Ingo were pleasantly surprised by this, since Cameron was promoted to fit a temporary role on the Battle Subway. They happily made him a permanent member when he proved himself capable. - His Dwebble (Pebby) is secretly very strong, and rushes to protect Cameron when it can. Cam sometimes thinks Pebby helps him feel more confident in himself too.  - If he stumbled into any of his coworkers outside of work, he would simply explode of embarrassment. - He is the youngest child and only son of his family. He lives in his own apartment in Nimbasa.

Cloud:

- Cloud (like Ramses) knew the twins when they were very young. - She used to be an ace trainer in her youth, even going so far to compete in the Pokémon league. Winning and becoming the champ was the most important part of her journey, but something happened along the way that changed that outlook. - It seems with age, her competitiveness has mellowed out. However, she maintains an intense energy when battling.  - Her favorite types are Psychic and Flying types. Swoobat (Sweetie) is her ace.  - Her favorite hobby is baking, and she often bakes sweets for the crew. She knows all their favorite flavors by now! - She prioritizes keeping a friendly relationship with all her coworkers and thinks of them fondly. She considers Ramses family after all the years of working together!  - She is a big fan of Brycen's movies and can recite the lines. - She lives with her wife in Anville. - Cloud loves doing maintenance work both at home and in Gear Station. She enjoys bringing her own tools and industrial flashlight.

Furze:

- Furze only has one volume setting (mid loud,) but he finds himself feeling right at home when talking to either one of the twins. - Furze has ADHD, and this is reflected in some of his habits, most visibly is his fidgeting when sitting still for too long. - He rides a bike to work every day. When he is late, Cloud clocks in for him so he doesn't get in trouble. - This is a kind of a guy that sits crouched gargoyle style on chairs. Only outside of work, of course. Bad posture could get him in trouble. - While working on the Battle Subway, there will be times Furze feels sorry for his opponents and offers to quietly let them pass anyways. This...has also gotten him in trouble. :[ - He went to the same elementary school as Isadore in Castelia. Though Isadore seems to have forgotten their short-lived acquaintance, Furze has not. This is part of the reason Furze claims they are in fact good friends!!! - Furze is the middle child of a big family. He lives with his mom and takes care of her, along with his many Darumakas and Darmanitan. All of his Pokemon have famous trains names. - He collects model trains. Naturally.

Isadore

- Isadore had plans to become the station master the moment he was hired as a depot agent, but alas... (sad trumpet sound.) - As a youth, he was more interested in science and engineering over Pokemon battles. He enjoys the strategizing aspect, at most. Not so much the competitiveness. - In addition, his Pokemon are all rescues and not used for battling. He's had his Watchog (Winston) since he was in his late teens. - His Electrode (Gregor) and Voltorb (Leonard) were rescued from the likes of Team Plasma. - Isadore admits he understands Pokemon better than humans. This has been apparent his whole life. - In spite of acting like a sitcom villain, Isadore cares about the management of Gear Station and the safety of the passengers to an incredible degree. He sees it as a personal life goal to assist in the management of Gear Station, as well as the success of the Battle Subway. - Though it pained him to become a subordinate to the twins, he begrudgingly accepts it for the greater good. - His almost militant efficiency certainly made up for his years of antagonizing the twins before they became the bosses. Ingo and Emmet understand this better than anyone. - Isadore keeps tabs on all of the staff members. So he very well knows all their birthdays and makes it a point to celebrate it. This is by no means a -happy- or -festive- event. It's just customary. - Like Furze, he was originally from Castelia, but now resides in Nimbasa. Isadore's only family is his mom and she lives in his childhood home with their Stoutland. - Isadore would have probably been voiced by every glasses guy ever J. Michael Tatum had he not already been cast as dear Emmet lmao

Jackie

- Jackie is a mystery and they like keeping it that way. When they talk, it's practically impossible to determine what is a lie or truth, especially if the subject is themselves or their background. - They love scaring Cameron the most and will ask to be paired with him whenever possible. They claim Cameron is their "favorite coworker," while Isadore is the least favorite. - It's plain to see why -- Jackie is the only one that doesn't passively tolerate Isadore's tirades. - Though my comics sometimes may allude to Jackie being a ghost/supernatural, this is not confirmed nor canon. I just personally enjoy toying with the concept. : ) That being said...

- Item #: SCP 7453

- Object Class: Euclid

- Special Containment Procedures: The ████ ██████ is ██████ within ████-██████. - Ingo and Emmet choose to not question anything about Jackie, since it's clear they're one of the more efficient workers. However it can be a safety concern... - Cloud and Ramses have worked with Jackie for a long time, though they've forgotten somehow. They believe Jackie is a new hire since they appear to be young. - Anyone trying to make sense of Jackie's employee records simply can't bring themselves to any conclusions. It's better to ignore the inconsistencies. - Jackie has never been seen to leave Gear Station. Jackie has never been seen in anything but their uniform. Jackie has never been confirmed to eat, drink or blink. Jackie knows your secrets. Jackie thinks it's... amusing.

Ramses

- Ramses sometimes misses having a full head of hair, but he thinks his signs of age make him look distinguished. (he is correct.) - Ramses is sort of the "mom friend," making sure everyone's concerns are heard, as well as trying to keep the peace whenever a conflict might arise. - If another coworker is feeling low, Ramses will try to cheer them up with a lighthearted joke or offer advice if they'd like it. - When the twins were promoted to bosses of the Battle Subway, Ramses cried because he felt so proud. - In most circumstances, he is a very simple and logical man. He is quick to find solutions and tries not to fret over the little stuff. It's not good for his heart after all. - His ace is his Pikachu (Musa,) though the mouse is more of a lap pet now. At home, he also has an Audino (Sara) and a Manectric (Nubi) who keep Ramses' husband company. His Klinklang (Moli) is the only one of his personal pokemon that accompany him to work nowadays. - Ramses considers Cloud family. They are best friends and love having family gatherings outside of work. They also gossip a lot, and don't mind when Jackie decides to join. - Ramses jokes about looking forward to retirement, but really doesn't want to leave until he is physically incapable of working anymore. Gear Station is like a second home to him.

In-Game Quotes

The most important reference of all are their in-game quotes, of course, so I'm adding it to the post. A lot of their personality traits can be extracted and interpreted from these few lines. And I personally love that about Pokemon NPCs -- there's a lot of room to explore and play with. Some appear very obvious. Cameron practically announces that he isn't ready for the battle that's about to ensue and seems genuinely surprised to win. Furze comes out the gate talking about the subject they actually care about, which is their job and their love for trains. The two of them are very easy to understand. Now, Ramses lines allude to a gentle and simple personality. He views himself with humility, and maybe even with a bit of humor comparing himself to a train and to his opponent to a station. If he loses he shows no signs of disappointment, he just accepts defeat with one last honest quip. It s also amusing to see the Depot Agents all use train metaphors to describe themselves since it falls in line with how Ingo and Emmet talk.

In comparison, Cloud does the same thing calling herself the terminal instead. Immediately, she is way more daring, though still keeping a sense of professionalism. To me, it's obvious she is competitive as she even admits she was expecting to win ("Ah...I didn't see it coming.") Jackie's lines are fun since it's up to interpretation if they are being literal or lying. It's almost like they are more interested in confusing/creeping out their opponent than actually beating them. To me, it gives off a mischievous vibe. Isadore's opener "There are only two roads in life." is a curious one because it almost feels like he is trying to be philosophical. Definitely a guy who views himself as an intellectual, regardless if that’s true or not. I like to think it's a saying he really believes in, and it applies to his life. The road he likes (long route) vs the road he hates (shortcut) -- fighting tooth and nail to become boss vs biting his tongue and accepting Ingo and Emmet as the Subway Masters.

Those are just my thoughts on how I write these characters. Please have fun playing with these lines too!

[reignpage]

Modern au!FAQ

What is the EdenU au?

It is a modern alternative universe set in my fictional university called Eden University established in my fictional city, Eden City. The JJK men all play a part and are connected one way or another. They each have individual love stories playing out with girls who are part 'reader' part original characters. The stories are told both through smaus, fics and questions

If I'm starting out, where should I begin?

I recommend reading based on parts, starting with Toji's, but after that whoever you read next is up to you e.g. Toji pt1 -> Nanami pt1 -> Geto pt1 etc etc Ultimately, it actually doesn't matter so please feel free to read as you please, and there's not even any obligation to read all the other characters' stories Nanami's story might be a little confusing because his was the most developed before I decided to change my structure for story telling There's a guide attached to his parts, so please have a read of that, and if you have any more questions, I'm happy to explain

Who are the sisters?

Nanami's reader and Geto's reader One year apart They live together

How are you going to end the series?

There won't be a final ending, not in the traditional sense The official ending will come from all the jjk men becoming officially in a relationship with their readers But I have plans to sporadically update each story with snapshot smaus and fics of their established relationship stories Happy endings don't come from a label

Who is your favourite reader?

I don't have one I like them all for different reasons

Who is your favourite jjk man to write in this universe?

No one in particular Sukuna's, Nanami's, and Toji's maybe Mostly because they're my three favourite jjk men in general

Which reader do you relate to most?

Maybe Toji's reader We're both writers and not particularly outspoken or popular But we're not shy and we love gossip Though, I see a part of myself in every reader

What's your creative process like?

Creating the series, I picked a trope I wanted to explore using my understanding of the characters, and created the world/plot around that I have a rough idea of how I want things to go, but generally speaking, I go with the flow, allowing myself to change my mind and adjust the story so that it feels as natural and realistic as possible

Would you create a mood board for your visualisation of the readers?

Not likely I like that the appearances of the readers is left vague because then irl readers are not restricted in their imagination, and also their involvement I want irl readers to be able to picture who every they wish, whether that is someone else or themselves

What's your posting schedule?

I don't have one I post when I feel like it but I usually post at least once a day And as for who I post, I like to make sure every character gets a turn, so who I post next depends on who I haven't posted for in a while

Why do the readers never stand up for themselves?

The readers aren't complete pushovers They're supposed to be somewhat realistic; not all women are badass, don't take shit, punch them if they so much as look at you type of people Sometimes women have to bear with men's mistreatment because they have a larger goal in mind, but that isn't me promoting that behaviour, it's just storytelling

I hate _______'s reader

That's not a question but it's something I get often I understand people disagree with the personalities or behaviours of certain readers, and that's perfectly fine, sometimes it's intentional Perfect characters are boring and character development is precious People can feel and express those feelings however they please...to a certain extent For example, if you slutshame a certain reader, I'm inclined to block you because I think it's important to remember that, whilst this is fiction, some people actually relate to these characters and events, and name calling is harmful

How am I supposed to know these extra information if you delete your responses after a certain amount of time?

You could always ask You could turn on alerts for my blog You could visit my blog once or twice a day because I tend to delete around the 15 hours mark, in my head that's enough time for someone who's been sleeping to just take a peek at my blog Ultimately, this is something I'm quite fixed on because I post often so I don't want to clog up my page And if this is a problem, then I am not the right blog for you

Can I make a request for the next update?

I'd rather you didn't I'm not taking requests at all right now And I'd like to maintain complete creative freedom with my stories and people giving their two cents can bias my process

How are the series going to end?

The series are currently in the 'pre-relationship' stage. They'll end when the couples get coupled up i.e. get into a relationship BUT there will be sporadic posts for their 'during the relationship' stories These could be like special episodes of key moments in their life, as we have already seen with Nanami's part 0.5s where they take a break

Could I use your ideas?

No.

[tranquilskies2]

Rozfink general headcanons

At first glance, this is understandably a bizarre pairing. Two completely different species and lifeforms. The uncertain legality of this ship certainly doesn't help. A robot who's a fish out of water and a fox with some underlying trauma. They're the type of couple where you don't know they're dating unless they tell you. Their rare moments of pda are truly a blink or you'll miss it events.

Boy, the romance between these two is one hell of a slow burn. How slow is this slowburn? They raised a child till adulthood for almost a year together and yet neither still had the courage to confess to each other. Seriously, they have a complicated situationship where they're between the thin line of friends and lovers. Roz is just getting the hang of emotions and Fink has started opening up to others. Fink would be the first to realize his feelings. There is no overly dramatic confession scene with hearts & sparkles in the air. Instead, they both just quietly acknowledged each other's feelings.

Roz and Fink never really consider each other as "boyfriend & girlfriend" or "husband and wife". They don't believe labels are necessary for their relationship. They just find their love for each other enough to be valid as a connection. Even after their love confession, they still at best usually refer to each other as "partners". However, they occasionally use petnames (such as "dear" & "darling") and don't mind others calling them "mates".

Roz's love language to give are acts of service. As a robot, she generally has trouble processing and expressing emotions. Serving others is in her programming-so she'll want to show Fink how much she cares for him by helping him in any way she could. This can range from housekeeping, baths and even the smallest things like finding comfy new straw for him to sleep on. Whenever Fink gets sick, she'll go into nursing mode. The love language Roz loves receiving are words of affirmation. She'll be highly pleased whenever she gets praise & expressed gratitude for her services. Fink makes sure to never run short on expressing appreciation for everything Roz does.

Fink's love language are physical touch. Before meeting Roz, he's hated by mostly everyone on the island and he hates most of them back. He's an isolated individual who could only best express though actions instead of words. Typically, foxes express physical affection by cuddles, grooming, biting, playing and nose rubbings. Fink would only express the following with individuals close and dear to him. Fink loves receiving physical touch just as much as he expresses it. The bulletin point after the next following one will go into this point further.

Due to their completely differing physical forms (along with their drastic size difference), these two have to be creative about expressing physical affection. Roz either would have to crutch down or Fink has to take a ride on her shoulders. Roz obviously doesn't have a mouth-so she unfortunately, can't kiss. Fink ofc can't express affection the same way humanoids could. So, as an alternative to kissing, the two would nuzzle their heads together. The first time they hugged, Roz almost crushed Fink's bones by accident (she nearly forgot to control her strength at that moment). Like I said earlier, their pdas are usually quick & discreet whenever no one's looking.

Fink believes that Roz gives the best belly rubs. Ever. And massages too. He also loves receiving nose boops, pats on the head and cuddles/hugs. In particular, he loves to nuzzle his head close to Roz's neck. On the flipside, Roz loves it when Fink gently presses his snout in the center of her face. She finds it cute whenever Fink rubs his head on her body. She'll briefly stop functioning whenever Fink licks any part of her face (and her neck).

As adoptive parents without a strong support system, Roz & Fink rarely have time to themselves, let alone dates. As much as they love raising & caring for Brightbill together, they occasionally wished to have time without worrying about parenting. However, they know that almost no one on the island would be willing to babysit or be safe as a babysitter. It can be easy to lose individuality since everyone on the island knows them as parents than individuals.

One of their favorite spots on the island is for sure the cliff side. In the daytime, they can witness the entire island from that view and watch the sunset together. At night, they'll be closer to the stars to stargaze. Sometimes, they'll peacefully rest there together under the stars and wake up to watch the sunrise. This spot is where Fink & Roz confessed each other's feelings.

With such contrasting personalities, Roz & Fink are bound to have some bumps on the road, especially in regards to parenting. Whenever they have a disagreement, they'll usually try to be civil as much as possible mainly for Brightbill's sake. If they feel a disagreement could escalate, they'll have the discussion when Brightbill as asleep for the night. They'll even take it outside so that Birghtbill couldn't hear them. This was especially prevalent when Birghtbill was a chick since neither have experience in parenting, let alone parenting together. As Brightbill got older, these disagreements became less frequent.

Brightbill is obviously the first supporter of the relationship (with Paddler & Pinktail being secondary). Him bringing Roz & Fink together as a couple is purely unintentional. Brightbill never questioned his parent's relationship until he migrated for the first time. One of the reasons he initially resented the animals on the island is because of the uncalled for remarks about his parent's relationship. During migration, Brightbill almost had a physical altercation with another goose who said that it's a "blessing" that his parents can't procreate together.

Due to being completely different species with a not-so positive reputation (Roz being ostracized more than Fink), many animals on the island initially disapprove of their relationship. Although Roz & Fink never outright tell others about their relationship, it doesn't take long for others to put the pieces together and for nasty rumors to spread. From time to time, Roz & Fink would hear others whisper in hush tones vile gossip about them. Some of the animals even went as far as to vocalize their disdain for their relationship right in front of their face (often resulting in Roz having to hold back Fink from attacking the naysayers). Notably, some of Fink's own kind feigned pity for him, saying that he's "desperate" to have a "monster" as his mate since no vixen wants him. It's a slow process for other animals to be at least tolerant about their relationship.

Fink and Brightbill are the last animals Roz ever talked to ever before leaving the island. Fink & Roz didn't officially break up per say. They more so put their relationship on hold for now. The night Roz left, Fink was quite heartbroken. He didn't think it's ever possible to have someone who loves him in this way. He & Brightbill consoled each other. However, sharing their favorite memories with each other about Roz is what inspired Fink to share the story about Roz throughout the island.

[cherrielatte]

genuine question do you even understand what a proshipper is ? like youre okay with people romanticizing pedophilia and shipping minors and adults ? you think thats okay?? GENUINE question.

Hello! Judging from the way you worded this - I'm gonna be honest: I don't think you know what proshipping is. I was very close to not answering this because it was sounding a bit in bad faith ( and this isn't the first time I've gotten belligerent asks on the same topic) But well, I decided to give it a shot and give benefit of the doubt.

 I know it's common ground to jump onto proshipping with the idea that it means you romanticize pedophilia, abuse, toxicity, etc. It's the typical high ground taken when people hear that dark fiction enjoyers exist. But that's not actually what it means. It just means that YOU, as an individual, understand that a drawing is not the same thing as human being. Written characters are not the same as human beings. Harassing REAL people over a non existent character because they put them into situations that make you uncomfortable says more about the harasser than the writer/artist. Proshipping is about taking personal responsibility for your experience online. Not long ago, the idea of a proshipper was just considered having fandom etiquette (ie: Don't like; Don't read type of tag lines. ) I'm a proshipper and there are plenty of things I don't like & make me uncomfortable. But I also understand that I can easily not engage. I can filter tags so I don't see it. I can block people that make that kind of content. I can refuse to click on something clearly labeled as the content I don't like. I can control what I see. And I can also understand that that if someone draws something I don't like it doesn't mean anything about them in real life nor what they enjoy in real life. Besides, a lot of people that consider themselves proshippers are victims of abuse or have had to endure traumatic events in their lives. Engaging in what you might consider dark fiction allows people to cope and navigate through complex emotion/trauma and express themselves in ways they are not allowed to or haven't allowed themselves to. I've seen some people say "I've been through trauma and I don't engage in proshipping." And okay, I'm happy for you. But not everyone copes the same way you do. And no one should be held to the same standard. If we were all carbon copies of each other, maybe I would understand that argument. But that's not the case. I should also mention, that it's become a bit standard for people to only excuse those that have been through trauma to make dark fiction. But only if they publicly acknowledge what kind of trauma they have endured. I am 100% against this way of thinking. I do not think it is anyone's right to demand an account of my or anyone's personal traumas just to validate the existence of certain piece of art. No one is entitled to anyone's abuse story. If a person is willing to share, because they want to, that's the personal decision of the individual. But look, much of the horror genre (movies, books, tv, etc) wouldn't exist if we put these high censorship rules onto art as a whole and unfortunately, I see this happening more and more these days like discussed in this post about someone's experience in publishing gothic horror.

Going back to an earlier point, you have to really understand that the characters are fake. 100% fake. If I ship Sora ( KH) and Ash (Pokemon) neither of them are going to be upset about it because they don't exist. If I draw them kissing, it is a drawing of anime looking characters kissing. That's all. They don't look anything like real human people. Wasting energy fighting over fictional characters is just that. Wasting time and energy. Who are you saving? Ash? Sora? They don't need help, because they aren't real. Fight for real people that actually exist. I have seen people outside of the Soriku fandom genuinely upset about people shipping Riku x Sora because they are underage! Mostly because they are both male but without fail, they always slap on the argument: "they are kids, you sicko!" But you know why they go to that? Because assuming the moral high ground wins over arguments quickly. People are eager to be superficially perceived as morally good. I have seen people ship Riku x Ansem SOD, which could fall into that age gap - problematic shipping you referred to in your ask. But you know what? I get it. I see people interpret their relationship as one of abuse, metaphorical SA, manipulation, etc. I completely understand and see that interpretation and where it stems from. And unfortunately, there are many people in fandom that have had this exact experience. Honestly, without me needing to ask anyone specifically, I KNOW there are people in fandom projecting their experiences onto Riku and Ansem as a means to replay it with a bit of actual control. And even if there are people who don't. I'm not going to ask, because it's none of my business. So again, as a proshipper I am completely in control of my online experience. I can block, mute, filter, and not engage with the things I don't like or things that trigger me. But as long as it is fiction, it remains as just that : Something I don't like between characters that dont exist. I don't have to harass, bully, nor threaten people over fiction. Of course, there are bad apples in every circle. But to me, whether someone is a bad person or not is expressed through action toward real people and the intentional harm done onto them, whether it be through inappropriate interactions, abuse of any kind, exposing personal information, harassing family/at work, or encouraging harm. Those are real actions on real people and engaging in these actions is what counts to me as markers of a bad person. Not someone drawing two fictional characters that haven't aged in the last 20 years kissing or having sex. 

[angieblogging]

a beginners guide to… aromanticism.

so topic covered in this post will include:

what does it mean to be aromantic?

qpr vs romantic relationship

what is the aromantic-spectrum?

aro ≠ ace

a/n + other recourses

1. what does it mean to be aromantic?

an individual that is aromantic experiences no romantic attraction. that means they feel no romantic attraction, but can feel other types of attraction such as — platonic, familial, sexual, queerplatonic, alterous, aesthetic, emotional, sensual, intellectual. (these are the types of attraction i know, for the full list and descriptions check out this wiki page!)

each aromantic person can have a certain stance on romance such as romance repulsed or favourable. if you want to learn more about this topic check out this wiki page.

some aromantic people may be in a committed romantic and/or sexual relationship or a so called qpr aka a queerplatonic relationship.

2. qpr vs romantic relationship.

so to start this off i will say that the only people defining their relationship can be the ones in said relationship.

a romantic relationship is usually considered a relationship where two individuals are romantically attracted to each other and engage with each other romantically, such as kissing, cuddling, being committed exclusively to one another.

however the actions mentioned are not exclusive to romantic relationships.

a queerplatonic relationship is a relationship out of the binary. not a romantic or a platonic one. a qpr is not a stepping stone in between a platonic relationship and a romantic one. it is not necessary in between the two, it’s simply existent on it’s own.

what exactly is a qpr is hard to define as it means different things to different people and the only ones that can define it are the people in their qpr. some people are in a qpr where they engage in romantic and/or sexual activities, but feel no romantic attraction to each other, a qpr can be a fully platonic relationship with a sexual aspect or it can be just platonic, but their relationship exceeds the “norm” such as living together temporarily or permanently, raising a child together aka co-parenting. those are just a few examples.

3. what is the aromantic-spectrum?

it’s basically a spectrum of all the aromantic identities. someone who is on the aro-spec can feel little to no romantic attraction, some people feel it under certain circumstances or their attraction fades under certain circumstances. some, but not all labels on the aro spec include: demiromantic, aegoromantic, greyromantic, apothiromantic.

if you wish to read about more labels under the aro-spec check out this page.

all the labels on the aromantic spectrum have their sexual counterparts (ex. demiromantic — demisexual).

4. aro ≠ ace

so while aro and ace (short for asexual) communities are basically one big community (a-spec), it is important to note that aromantic individuals do not have to be asexual, some aros are asexual, some are just aro, some are aplatonic, so keep that in mind. one doesn’t equal the other. just cause someone is aro doesn’t make the asexual, however they can still be on the ace-spec. one can be aromantic and demisexual, many aro/aces use the split attraction model otherwise known as SAM.

SAM is there to basically help out to distinguish between romantic and/or sexual relationship, one is not tied to the other. some may be biromantic and asexual or homosexual and aromantic.

some aros choose not to use the SAM model and in this case they identify as a non-SAM aromantic. why they choose to use it can have many reasons, however they should also be respected as they can identify themselves however they want and truly own no one an explanation.

6. a/n + other recourses

i think this post catches the basics of aromanticism to the best of my ability. this is the basics and being aromantic is so much more complex than a couple definitions.

here’s a website you may find helpful! website

however i encourage you to do further research than just my post and that website. tumblr is a great place as well, there are plenty of aromantic blogs out there, like @our-arospec-experience @arospec-culture-is !