#save/load/reset

[kyuspectrum]

How much Determination did Alphys give Flowey

So I was thinking, Flowey can save/load/reset because he has the most determination in the underground (before Frisk) right?

But he's not the only being with additional Determination, I talking about the amalgamates, which, also have added Determination, but they do not have control over the timeline.

There is two posable reasons for this.

A, you need to have full awareness to be in control. I think this one is less likely to be the case because saving/loading/resetting seem more like an ability you have over a skill you learn

Or B, Flowey was give way more Determination then any of the fallen monsters, enough that even with multilabel monsters fusing together they still don't have the Determination to surpass him (assuming that the ability is factoring an amalgamate as one entity). I think this one makes more sense especially because you'd probably give more less of an untested substance to actual people than you would to a flower

Also side note do you think the amalgamates can remember saving/loading/resetting because of the extra Determination?

If not it would be evidence of having to have had to save/load/reset to remember saving/loading/resetting, because they are closer to Flowey's level of Determination, and they remember nothing Despite there extra Determination than it's probably not Determination which allows timeline recall (this is assuming amalgamates have some for of long term memory)

[grumpyghostdoodles]

Who in the main group can cast magic, and what kind of magic can they cast in your Dadyrus AU

This was a very intresting ask, actually, so thank you!

And fun fact: From a very long tradition, the Royal Trident is a summonable weapon that is passed down to the heir of the throne once they start unlocking their magic! (Yes, Chara freaked out when they accidentally summoned it for the first time, and yes one day ill make a doodle about it.)

[sole-production-ut]

FINALLYYYYYYYY!!! NEW REFERENCE!!!

OH YEAH, LET ME INTRODUCE A NEW REFERENCE OF LOAD GLITCH 🧡💚🧡

Now every information in this reference is canon and not old or irrelevant🤩

So, enjoy it🔥🔥🔥

The artist: @horizonnatsu

The author: me)

[flamingredanon]

Strong arms.

[haemosexuality]

some things (theories) ppl dont mention often about kris that i think make their storyline infinitely more interesting

1- something almost definitely was controlling kris before we did. when we meet kris, theyve got this whole process figured OUT- most notably they know exactly what they need to do to momentarily stop it (rip their soul out, imprison it somehow), and have done it enough times to keep a cage ready in their room, enough times that there's a stain in their carpet. while they don't enjoy being puppeted, they dont seem freaked out about it, its normal and usual to them. they know exactly how much agency theyre able to have and how to use that to their advantage (ie, controlling their tone whem the player makes them say something insane).

2- in undertale, frisk and chara definitely remember reloads and resets, and chara can remember a true reset if youve sold you soul. is it safe to assume kris also can? can they remember every time they've died, gone back, if you do snowgrave will kris know about it forever? that is so much more horrifying than just being controlled

[heliomanteia]

"Remake your Inquisitor as Rook" they said, "it will be fun!" they said. Well how am I supposed to just watch him stand next to Varric huh. How.

[its-a-mimc]

Colored versatile! They will take the place of Frisk in my au Underchage!

[imhereonthekitchenfloor]

By the way, I am about to dedicate my life to redesigning someone's custom world they made for the sims 3 just so I can recreate a town around the entire premise of Barbie Horse Adventures. As in the horse island summer camp of the Riding Camp game combined with the enemy horse camps and rare secret breed of horse of Barbie and her Sisters in a Pony Tale

[itzphynix]

You know, there are these old archetypes of scary stories that would get retold & bent & morphed, mostly passed by word of mouth through internet boards, during early internet days. My brother, somebody who used such boards, would then tell them to me, somebody very young that didn't know what a computer was.

One such story was one about hotels/motels. It's a story of staying a night or two in such a place, & when you lay your head down, you notice a smell. Maybe you switch out your pillow, or try to wash up, or hunt down some waste that was maybe missed by housekeeping -- nothing fixes it, & the smell persists. Eventually, you figure out where it's coming from -- it's strongest when you're at the bed.

Different versions of the story will wither place the source underneath the bed, or from under the mattress. Either way, the smell is caused by a human corpse hidden in your bed, & you speant the night with it, entirely unaware. Maybe even laid directly over top of it.

Anyways. I just picked Voices of the Void back up, after not seeing it for many updates.

[witchkingofanmar]

huehuehe 70h playtime gone because there is a corrupted save file and for the love of god I don't know how to fix it

[kyuspectrum]

Who else could save and load?

I was thinking, the most determined being in the underground get the ability to Save/Load/Reset, Right? Then there logically would of been someone besides the humans and Flowey who could Save/Load/Reset.

This would take place before Chara fell and between Chara and Asriels death and Flowey's birth.

Now this is assuming monsters have Determination which I believe they do considering it's latterly the will to live. even assuming most monsters don't, Boss Monsters at least have some determination as there souls can (briefly) survive after death, which is a trait associated with Determination.

Now there is a problem which could pop up with this theory. as there may be some minimum requirement of Determination before Saving/Loading, looking over over the wiki it doesn't look like this is the case but I didn't look very far.

But anyways, the most important question is who could could it be/have been, sense Flowey was created by Alphys there's a high chance at least one (if there are multilabel) of our time travelers are still alive. this begs the question if there someone we know, which depends on what causes Flowey to remember between Saves/Loads/Resets.

If it's some critical mass of Determination then it could be anyone (Well, probably not, thinking about it), If however relies on Flowey having Saved/Loaded/Reset before then it couldn't be a character we know unless their really good at acting.

As for who it might be (assuming it's a character we know/have heard of), I don't know, although make another post if I have an Idea.

[hopesndreams-au]

Part 11

He helps to bring the plates to the table and then makes tea while chatting and... flirting with Toriel.

During breakfast, Toriel and Asgore discuss things beyond my comprehension. I try to ask Chara about it, but he says that it's better that I remain in the dark. Asriel, who overheard this, nods in agreement.

After breakfast, Chara takes me to his room to discuss something.

"Frisk, what did you do? I'm getting crazy deja vu, and the only explanation is one of us did a Reset. Since I don't remember ever pushing the button, that means you must've done it."

"Yeah, I did do a Reset."

"WHY!? Y’know what? No. Don’t answer that."

Chara pulls up the Load button and pushes it. He looks for the last Save from before the Reset and selects it. He then grabs my wrist and forces me to push the Accept button with him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chara shortcuts us home and takes me from Asriel.

"You go make some mac n cheese, and I'll sit on the couch with Frisk, aight?"

Asriel nods and goes to the kitchen. Chara carries me to the couch and sits down.

"I just realized that we didn't need the straitjacket this time," Asriel says as he begins making the mac n cheese.

Chara is about to respond when Papyrus calls him. Upon answering the phone, Chara drops it because of how startled he is at how loud Papyrus is.

"I'M QUICKLY APPROACHING YOUR LOCATION AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!"

Chara picks up his phone and asks Papyrus to keep it down because I'm asleep.

Literally three minutes later, Papyrus bursts through the door.

"Nyeh Heh Heh! Sans Told Me That You Were Going Through Some Rough Times, Chara. I'm Here To Provide Comfort In Any Way You Require!"

Chara grins really big and pats the spot next to him on the couch, silently signaling to Papyrus that he wants to sit next to him.

Papyrus smiles and plops himself down on the couch next to Chara. He’s wearing his battle body again.

Chara notices and laughs despite trying not to.

“What’s the occasion, hon?”

“I Just Got Here From Warrior Training With Undyne! I Always Wear This During Warrior Training.”

“Ah. Okay. That makes sense,” Chara says as he leans his head back. After a moment, he leans forward again and says, “Wait, no you don’t. You wear a t-shirt with the words ‘Warrior Dude’ on the front, a padded jacket, and a pair of yoga pants.”

From the kitchen, Asriel says, “No, Papyrus is right.”

I wake up slowly and say, “Loading a Save from a previous Reset must’ve messed with some code.”

Asriel and Papyrus look at me in confusion, but Chara nods in realization.

When Asriel comes out with four bowls of mac n cheese, I get off the couch and help him pass the bowls to Chara and Papyrus.

Papyrus thanks Asriel for making food, Chara nods, and I stuff my face.

"Haha, glad to see you're enjoying it," he says as he sits down with his bowl.

[puppy-the-mask]

Person A has thrown Person B into a situation they were too scared/embarrassed to do on their own and B is not handling it well.

A: Do the thing =w=

B: Fuck You

A: You already did

B is now even more embarrassed, flustered, and panicked.

A-unbothered: Now do the thing

[ms-demeanor]

Tech how-to article written like a recipe. Is that anything? Fuck it.

Old-Fashioned Setting Up a Password Manager

For this project you will need:

One computer

One full-featured browser

One pre-made email account, not shared and logged-in

2-5 possible passwords

5-10 accounts to get started with storing passwords.

Before you begin pre-load your computer, logging in to your email account. You can save later prep time by having your primary social media accounts, banking information, email account, and online bills ready to hand.

Go to bitwarden.com and select "create account"; be sure to select "free account" - you can jazz it up later but we're learning the basics now.

Create the account using your primary email address as the login name and one long (but not complicated!) password that you are certain you can remember but is not widely shared online. This is a great way to use information about your favorite movies or songs, not a great place for your kid's or pet's names.

Set up your password hint with a good reminder; be sure to note any punctuation you added, for instance a comma to separate lines of a song or an exclamation point between words of a movie title.

Verify your email account with the password manager, then set up a new password for your email. You may need a phone or access to your extant 2FA tools for this step. Create a login in the password manager, add your email address, and generate a new password, then save the entry. Go to your email account, select "security" and "change password" - enter your old password to confirm then paste your new password manager generated password into the provided text boxes, and save. Log out of your email account, then log back in with your new password. You will need to do this on all of your devices, so make sure you're using a password manager that is accessible across platforms - Bitwarden is recommended for a reason, this is a place where you don't want to skimp when making substitutions!

Repeat the process of resetting passwords to taste; you don't need to do everything all at once, but it's best to start with a serving of 5-8 to get used to the process.

Time: 30min to 2hr DOE Expense: Literally Free Value: Priceless i never have to remember a fucking password again and now neither do you.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: Fuck domestic bliss…because you couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t want to bite Harry’s head off or if sex still existed between you both—weeks of cold indifference have turned into all the little angers adding up until you both finally hit your boiling point, and shit hits the fan, a breaking point neither one of you saw coming, and that's it! Now cue the aftermath as you watch the dust settle. How will Harry help you mend all the broken pieces that are past the point of fixing? A/N: This story is based on this request<- bear with me. I did veer off course slightly! But only like the slightest bit. I only added some little gems that made that juicy request even better. Long story short, my brain turned the request into a “worship kink,” and here we are! Warning: Fighting, Filth, Fucking, and Fluff. xFem!reader, this one gets a happy ending!😉 Word Count: 7.6k

Fuck domestic bliss.

What was it anyway? A phrase you had heard so many times and understood, had been lucky enough to have felt and lived it, but lately, you felt it slipping through your grasp little by little.

The contradiction of closeness lies in this truth.

Sometimes, the very comforts of domestic life that once drew you together can slowly pull you apart, familiarity breeding not contempt but a dangerous indifference. Maybe this wasn’t everyone’s truth, but there is truth in the tiny details—In the words left unsaid, in the gestures you keep to yourself, the small angers that were never addressed.

Somewhere between the shared routines and the predictable rhythms of togetherness, you lost sight of what truly mattered—the connection you had that once felt like magic was being buried beneath the mundane details of everyday existence.

And this was you and Harry.

Stuck in the rut of everyday life.

A rut it was because when was the last time you guys had sex? Felt the warmth of his body, not the chill that came with the silent shuffle of starting each new day, the curt good mornings said in passing, or perfunctory kisses goodbye. You knew you both desperately needed this reset.

Dinner had been perfect so far—a homemade lasagna in your favorite vintage casserole dish, the one with the delicate blue flowers around the rim that had been your grandmother’s. It was the only thing you wanted from her estate; you saved it for truly special occasions, and tonight—a chance to finally reconnect with Harry—felt worthy.

When Harry complimented your cooking, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he reached for seconds, you felt the first real thaw in the frost that had settled between you. Maybe tonight could be the beginning of finding your way back to each other. It was the kind of evening you both needed after a long week. The kind where the outside world ceased to exist, where deadlines and meetings and stress melted away with each sip of the rich red wine Harry had brought home.

A perfect, cozy bubble of domestic bliss.

Until it wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not how you load a dishwasher,” you almost snapped, watching him haphazardly stack plates on top of each other, silverware pointing in every direction, the sight of it already getting under your skin.

He glanced up at you, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. “Does it matter? It all gets clean anyway.”

You sighed, setting down the wine glass you’d been drying. “Yes, it matters. The water can’t reach everything if you stack them like that. And the silverware needs to be sorted.”

“I’ve been loading dishwashers since before I met you,” Harry replied, continuing to place a bowl where it clearly didn’t belong. “Never had a problem.”

“Well, you’re having one now,” you said, moving to his side and beginning to rearrange the dishes for what felt like the 100th time since you moved in together, “Look, the plates go here, vertically. And cups on the top rack.”

Harry took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You’re actually reorganizing it?” And he huffs out a breath like a child being reprimanded, and it sets you off even further.

“Someone has to do it properly.”

The tension in the room shifted.

Thickened.

What had started as a simple correction was quickly becoming something else entirely, but you knew you couldn’t go on like this without saying another word.

For weeks now, you’d been swallowing your tiny irritations—the dishes left in the sink, the damp towels on the bathroom floor, the half-empty coffee mugs abandoned throughout the apartment. Each small oversight had been a pebble added to the growing pile of resentment, and suddenly, this dishwasher incident was the final stone that sent the whole thing tumbling down.

The pressure of all the unspoken frustrations had been building inside you like a kettle about to whistle, and now the steam needed somewhere to go.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s tone held an edge to it now, the one you recognized as his defenses going up.

“It means,” you forced, ripping a mug he had wedged between two plates, “that you never load it right, and I always end up fixing every damn dish.”

Harry scoffed. “For fucks sake, here we go. ‘Harry never does anything right.’ Is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant. I can hear it with every word you’re saying”

“If it’s not complicated, then why does it matter how I do it?” His voice was rising now, hands gesturing emphatically. “Why do you always have to micromanage every damn thing I do in this apartment?”

“Micromanage? I’m not your fucking mom, Harry!” You felt the heat of anger rising to your cheeks, fury burning through you. “Asking you to load the fucking dishwasher correctly is micromanaging?”

“It’s never just about the dishwasher, is it?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign he was getting truly agitated. “It’s the way I fold the damn laundry, or how I organize the fucking refrigerator, or the fact that I put my shoes in the wrong spot. The shit I do is never good enough for you.”

The accusation landed hard, stinging more than you expected, piercing through your irritation, hitting something deeper. “That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair? Am I wrong?” Harry’s eyes were dark now, his jaw set. “You say you’re not my Mum, but you’re always correcting me, always finding something wrong with how I do things.”

“I’m not—That’s not fucking true and you know it!”

“Yes, you are!” His voice echoed in the kitchen, making you flinch, and you stilled your movements, “You think your way is the only right way, and God forbid anyone do things differently!”

That’s when you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, your pride refusing to let him see how much his words were hurting you. “I’m just trying to help,” you whisper.

“No, you’re trying to control,” Harry shot back, his voice still loud. Harry was so caught up in his anger that he couldn’t read the room--see the pain lacing your features, “There’s a difference.”

The silence that followed hung heavy, painfully deafening, filled with all the things you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. You stared at each other across the kitchen, the distance between you feeling like miles rather than feet. It was terrifying how quickly love could transform into this—how the face you had memorized in all its expressions could suddenly seem like it belonged to a stranger.

The green eyes that usually held such warmth for you now flashed with something cold and foreign. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the thousands of tender touches that had come before, the whispered affections you shared in the dark. Anger had redrawn the map of his features, making him unrecognizable, and you wondered if he saw the same frightening transformation in you—if your face had become a mask that concealed the person he had fallen in love with.

“You know what?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I don’t need this right now.” He turned away from you, moving toward the counter where his keys lay.

As he passed the sink, his arm swung out with what seemed like unnecessary force, the dramatic fashion of a child not getting their way, his tantrum knocking against your precious casserole dish that was perched on the edge where you’d left it to soak, and then you caught his eye for just a fraction of a second.

And what was it that you saw?

Was it a flash of vindictive satisfaction hovering at the surface, or was it your imagination coloring the moment with your own anger?

Had he done it on purpose?

Because it all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

Time seemed to slow as you watched it teeter, then fall.

You felt the crash as it hit the tile floor, the loud crackle like an explosion, booming through your entire body as a lash of anger tore down your spine; the sound of the scattering pieces filled the quiet apartment as shards of ceramic exploded outward in a constellation of blue and white.

You stood there holding your breath in the aftermath, a split second of recognition as your knees went weak with despair.

“Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you!” The words tore from your throat as you dropped to your knees, shaky hands hovering over the broken pieces of your beloved dish. Maybe it was dramatic, but he knew how much you loved that dish, and here you were staring down at each fragment, each piece feeling like it represented a memory you would lose forever—all the stories it held through time, years of meals shared, now the life you were building with Harry—the meals it would never see.

Harry stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and regret. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Just go…” you whispered, carefully picking up a piece of the rim, the delicate blue flower now split in two. The longer he stood there, the angrier you got until you were yelling, “Just go, Harry! Since that’s what you want to do anyway—Just fucking go!”

“Babe, I’m sorry about the dish, I really am—”

“It’s not about the dish!” And this time, your voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. “It’s about you wanting to walk away instead of talking to me. It’s about you thinking I’m trying to control every detail of your fucking life when I’m just asking you to do something simple.”

Harry’s expression hardened again. “And there it is. It’s simple to you, so I should just do it your way. My feelings don’t matter.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.” He shouted, stealing the air from your lungs, your ears ringing with the silence that fell over the room.

And this was the final blow.

The last accusing blow that sliced between you, a perfect circle of hurt and misunderstanding, and you watched, gutted, as he grabbed his jacket, his movements stiff with anger, fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quicker.

“I need some air,” he spits, not meeting your eyes. “Be back later.”

The door closed behind him with a finality that made your heart sink, and there you were, abandoned, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the broken pieces of your casserole dish as tears streamed down your face. His departure felt like a betrayal—choosing escape over resolution when things got too difficult.

It was always like this, wasn’t it? When emotions ran too high, he fled, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces while he walked free of the responsibility of working through the hard parts together.

Slowly, carefully, you began to gather the fragments, each one a sharp reminder of the words he left you with. The dish was beyond repair; you knew that. Some things, once broken, couldn’t be fixed, and now you hoped your relationship wasn’t one of them.

As you dropped the last piece into the trash can, a sob escaped your throat. You knew It was just a dish, you tried to tell yourself—Just a thing—A material thing that could be replaced, but it was your thing, the one thing that held the most meaning. And now it was gone, reduced to shards in a garbage bag, just like your perfect evening had been reduced to angry words and a slammed door.

And there you were, cleaning up the mess, cursing to yourself as you properly loaded the dishwasher. Of course, the irony of it all was not lost on you as you slammed the dishwasher door shut like Harry had slammed the apartment door, and you poured yourself another glass of wine—a large one this time—and crawled onto the couch, ready to sulk in the misery of you and Harry’s aftermath.

Alone.

And if he could be petty and walk out the door.

So could you.

One episode turned into two, and you lost track of when your wine glass emptied the first time because then you were opening another bottle, your eyes drifting to your phone periodically, checking for any messages, any sign of life, but there were none. Each passing minute twisted the knot in your stomach tighter. Where had he gone? Was he drinking at some bar, venting to strangers about you?

Or worse.

Had he found comfort in someone else’s arms? You knew that would never happen, but would he have been angry enough this time? Your heart pounded as the intrusive thoughts multiplied, each more gut-wrenching than the last. The questions circled in your mind like vultures, swooping lower with each passing hour, feeding on the fears—leaving too many questions unanswered as the hours ticked by one second at a time.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the key in the lock.

But you didn’t turn around, keeping your eyes fixed on the television screen where a contestant was having a meltdown over a collapsed soufflé. The door opened and closed softly, followed by the sound of Harry removing his shoes—placing them in exactly the right spot, you noted with amusement, listening to his quiet footfalls, each step reminding you of the lingering irritation still caught at the surface.

His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the couch, stopping just behind you. You could feel his presence, the familiar warmth of him, but you didn’t speak. Let him make the first move, you thought. Let him show you where his head is at.

“You’re watching our show,” he said finally, his voice quiet and a little rough.

You nodded, still not looking at him. “Seemed fitting.”

“Without me?” He almost whined.

And the pained tremor in his voice had you turning around, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had left. Your heart sank when you saw they were red-rimmed and tired, his curls a mess like he had been running his hands through them repeatedly—a nervous habit you’d always found endearing.

“You weren’t here,” you replied simply.

Harry winced, acknowledging the hit. “I know. I’m sorry.” Your body stiffened as he moved around the couch, cautiously sitting down beside you, leaving space, maybe too much distance, as he tried to respect the invisible boundary your tough stance was emanating.

You knew it, but you couldn’t help it.

You were still mad.

Still hurt.

Part of you wanted to maintain the cold front, your pride still stinging from the fight, but deep down, you ached for him to ignore the warning signs completely��to pull you against his warm chest, wrap you in those strong arms that have held you so many times.

You wanted him to make a move, be the one to make the first real motion toward fixing things.

But fuck, it was never easy to let go of a grudge.

And so you remained rigid.

Your cold exterior stubbornly at odds with the longing building inside you.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he continued, that sadness still in his eyes when you didn’t respond. “It was childish, and it didn’t solve anything.”

Coldly, you took a sip of your wine, considering him over the rim of the glass. “No, it didn’t.” And your tone was dry, already wanting him to work harder for the apology.

Harry sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “I was angry, and I felt... I don’t know, attacked? But that’s not an excuse. I should have stayed…talked it out.”

“Yes, you should have.” Your voice was steady now, the tears long dried. “And you shouldn’t have broken my dish.”

“That was an accident,” Harry said quickly, giving you the most sorrowful eyes that made you want to melt. “I swear to you, I would never deliberately break something you love. I was careless, and I’m so, so sorry.”

You believed him.

You really did.

Harry wasn’t cruel, just hotheaded sometimes.

“It was special to me,” you whispered.

“I know, baby.” He reached out tentatively, not quite touching you. “I know it was. And I know it’s not just about the dish.”

You perked up at this, his answer surprising you, warming your insides up, “You do?”

Harry nodded, his expression solemn. “I had a lot of time to think while I was walking around. About why you were really upset and why I got so defensive.”

This is what you had been waiting for, you thought as you set your wine glass down on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “And what did you come up with?”

“That you weren’t trying to control me,” he confessed. “You were trying to help...in your way. And I took it personally because...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Because sometimes I feel like I don’t measure up. Like I’m not good enough for you.”

The confession stunned you.

So bare and honest that it made your heart splinter.

How long had he been carrying this weight?

The thought that he’d been feeling inadequate while you were oblivious sent a wave of guilt crashing through you. All this time, your attempts to help had been reinforcing his deepest insecurities—a reality so far from what you had intended that it left you without words. You never wanted to be the source of his self-doubt, the reason he questioned his worth, and your throat tightened with the shame of it as you reached for him.

Because he had always been enough.

This had never been a doubt in your mind.

“Harry, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He gave a sad smile. “You’re so put together, so organized. You know exactly how everything should be done. And I’m... not like that. I’m messy and forgetful and I load dishwashers wrong.”

A small laugh escaped you, then. “You do load dishwashers wrong.”

His smile grew a little, encouraged by your softening, and dammit, that sweet little dimple in his left cheek appeared, the one that always made your fucking stomach flutter. “I know. But when you point it out, sometimes it feels like you’re pointing out all the ways I’m not perfect. All the ways, I’m not what you deserve.”

“Oh, Harry, my love...” And you moved closer to him, that icy barrier between you beginning to dissolve. Your thigh pressed against his, warm and solid, sending a subtle electric hum through your body. “That’s never what I mean. Never.”

“I know that, rationally,” he said, finally reaching out to take your hand, and his thumb traced slow, gentle circles on the delicate skin of your wrist, the innocent touch awakening nerve endings you had forgotten existed after weeks of distance. “But emotions aren’t always logical, are they?”

As you squeezed his fingers, you felt the familiar calluses on his palm, slightly rugged, but these were the same hands that could fix a leaky faucet, soft in the way they could cradle your face with a heartbreaking tenderness that never left you guessing, and you couldn’t look away from his lips as you replied, your voice slightly lower than before. “No, they’re not. And I’m sorry too. I can be... particular about things. I should be more patient, more understanding that we have different ways of doing things.”

Harry brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles that lingered just a beat too long to be innocent. “I worship you,” he said gently, his eyes never leaving yours, the green darkening as his pupils bloomed. “Every part of you. And I should be more open to learning your way, especially when it comes to things that matter to you. Like vintage casserole dishes.”

The mere mention of the dish brought a fresh pang of loss to the pit of your stomach, but it was duller now, overshadowed by the heat suddenly building between you. You knew it was happening the second he said ‘Worship,’ the word sending a rush of thrill up your spine, a wave of excitement swelling through you the closer your bodies got.

And you wanted it.

Welcomed it even as that familiar ache awakened between your thighs. “It was just a thing,” you said, echoing your earlier thoughts, your voice huskier than intended. “Things can be replaced.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry said, reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand, his movement causing his thigh to press harder against yours. “I have something to show you.”

He pulled out his phone, and you, without hesitation, shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side as he unlocked it. You had missed him, missed this, and you let your head lower to his shoulder, breathing in his scent— his cologne and something uniquely him that had always felt like home.

As he navigated through his search history, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder through his shirt, feeling him shiver in response, momentarily distracted his thumb hesitated over the screen for just a moment before he found what he was looking for and tilted the phone toward you.

Your heart stopped.

On the screen was an eBay listing for a casserole dish—not just any dish, but one identical to the one that now lay in pieces in your trash can and as your eyes roamed the listing, Harry pushed a kiss to the top of your head.

The listing showed it had been purchased just an hour ago.

“You bought this?” you asked, looking up at him in surprise, ready to jump his bones right here, right now, because you wanted him so fucking bad.

Harry nodded, a hopeful expression on his face that quickly shifted to something heated, more primal as your bodies connected. “It’s being shipped express. Should be here in a few days. I know it won’t have the same memories attached, but we can make new ones.”

And there it was again.

That ping.

That pulse.

That pull deep in your gut, and your body flushed at the thought of it as the heat spread across your skin like wildfire. “You spent your evening searching for a replacement?”

“Part of it,” Harry admitted, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach tighten with want. “The rest I spent realizing how much I never want to miss moments with you again. Not even watching people cry over pastry.” And he nodded toward the television, where the show was still playing, forgotten in the background.

The sincerity in his voice.

His genuine regret.

And that fucking lovesick look in his eyes melted the last of your resistance.

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity—every breath, every slight movement charged with unspoken desire. You set the phone down and moved closer to him, consciously letting your breast brush against his arm again as you pressed against his side, and his sharp intake of breath told you he felt it too.

That magnetic pull.

That desperate need to reconnect not just emotionally but physically.

“Prove it,” you said softly.

Harry blinked, his breathing growing shallow as he caught the unmistakable invitation in your tone. “Prove what?”

“Prove that you never want to miss a moment with me again.” Your hand found his thigh, fingers tracing an intentional slow path upward. “Prove that you’re sorry.”

“Tell me what you want?” His voice gravel, a tone that sent liquid heat collecting between your thighs, a shiver down your spine with want.

You leaned in, letting your chest press against him as your lips brushed his ear, teeth grazing his lobe before you whispered, “I want you to worship me.”

A low groan vibrated from deep in his chest, his entire body tensing, his hunger barely restrained as he moved without hesitation. Harry slid from the couch to his knees before you, his strong hands pushing your thighs apart, gentle but insistent, the pressure wanting, and holy fuck, the look he gave you from that position made your clit fucking throb with anticipation.

And this is what you missed; this is what you both needed.

“I do worship you,” he said, his fingers skimming up your inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they approached your warm center before diverting to the hem of your shirt. “Every. Fucking. Part of you.”

His words made your heart jump.

Your heart picking up when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, moving with tantalizing ease as he lifted it, exposing your stomach as his knuckles deliberately grazed your heated skin. Your nipples were already pressed hard, almost painfully, against the fabric of your bra as cool air met your exposed flesh, waking your entire body with its presence.

“I worship your strength…your strength to have to put up with my shit.” when he laughed, his hot breath fanned over your skin, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your quivering stomach, his tongue dipping past your navel in a way that made you gasp. “Your kindness…god baby, your fucking kindness.” he breathed, his tone weak as he pressed another kiss higher, working his mouth up your body.

Every time Harry’s mouth met your flesh, you drew your legs together, trying to dull the pulsing ache taunting you between your thighs, but Harry wouldn’t budge, and as they closed around his body this time, you felt a light pinch at your inner thigh making you buck your lower half.

And then you sucked in a sharp breath when Harry’s teeth scraped a gentle path against the underside of your rib cage. “Your passion,” he added as his hands slid around to your back, fingers splaying across your heated skin before they found your bra clasp, flicking it open with a practiced ease that reminded you of all the countless nights of pleasure because without a doubt there had been so much pleasure.

Harry’s eyes never left yours, green depths swimming with a craving, a hunger, something deeper, more profound as he removed your shirt and bra in one fluid motion, “I worship your heart,” he continued, cupping your breasts, a tender grasp as he said, “So full of love, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Greedy, you arched into his touch, your body more than ready, responding to each word that tumbled from his mouth with every caress. “Harry...” you breathed.

“Shh,” he soothed, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm tongue circling the sensitive peak. “Let me show you. Let me prove it to you.” Then Harry’s wandering hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down with your underwear as you lifted your hips to assist him.

As the last barrier between you fell away, you found yourself naked before him in the soft glow of the living room light, and there was something sacred in this vulnerability—a heartfelt intimacy that transcended the physical. His worshipful gaze felt like kneeling at the altar to pray as you lay there naked.

With Harry, you never needed to hide—his eyes had always been your safest place, a sanctuary where every part of you was cherished without judgment. This moment of being completely bare before someone who held your heart with such care felt like the truest form of yourself that you could ever give him.

Then his hands were skimming up your calves, over your knees, along your thighs, your entire body humming with his touch. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you for permission as if he needed it, and you felt that tight flutter deep in your belly.

All you could do was nod, unable to form words as the anticipation built within you. Harry smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that promised pleasure beyond measure, and you felt all the lingering tension leaving your body.

Then he lowered his head, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, working his way inward with deliberate care, each kiss slow, but you felt the silent plea with every touch of his lips to your skin, a quiet apology, each brush of his fingers a promise of devotion.

He started gently, teasing at first, licking a slow, delicate line up your slit, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your pussy lips, and you gazed down at him, holding your breath as you watched his calm composure falter, his need for you making him weak, his brows drawing together in pure agony.

Pain and pleasure stole his features as he stilled his movements, sucking in a harsh breath against your thigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into your skin. You watched him force a shaky breath from his lungs, and he pushed a hand into the crotch of his jeans, his whole demeanor shifting, physically aching from the presence of your pleasure.

“This...I worship this.” he rasped, pulling back to drive his point home, and you tried to draw your legs together as a breathy laugh slipped past his lips, and he nips your inner thigh with his teeth, making you gasp out, and you comply spreading them wide.

And like a flip of a switch, he dove in with a renewed hunger, his tongue already working, circling your clit as the other hand left your thigh, and then you felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, gathering your wetness, his finger sliding against you before slowly pressing inside.

One finger at first, curling upward with expert precision to find that spot that made your fucking toes curl.

“Oh, god—Harry!” you cried out, your hips jerking involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he bellowed against you as he added a second finger, ready to stretch you as he pumped them in and out in rhythm with his tongue. “So tight, baby—say my name. Let me hear how good I make you feel. Let me hear how much you fucking need this.”

And it’s true you fucking needed this.

You both did.

And now you wanted the release.

All at once, the dual sensation of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, and you found yourself writhing beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped the couch cushion desperately, holding your breath as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, the sensation curling tighter and tighter in your lower belly.

“You’re dripping for me,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. “So fucking wet. Could drown in you and die happy.” Then his fingers twisted inside you, pressing harder against that perfect spot, his tongue flattening against your clit, firm this time, steady pressure you knew would have you coming in seconds.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking as you felt yourself approaching the edge. “Please, Harry, right there—baby—please!”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he groaned, briefly lifting his mouth before immediately returning to your slick heat. “Want to feel you come on my tongue. Want to taste every drop you give me. Need it like I need air, baby, this is mine...”

Then you felt his fingers curl, curving inside you, hitting that exact spot with each thrust while his tongue worked your clit with unwavering focus. The combination was too much—the physical sensation coupled with his filthy words and, dammit, the sight of him between your thighs was so fucking beautiful, Harry completely devoted to your pleasure.

“I’m going to—” you moaned, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as you fisted his hair, your grip tightening, pushing his face into your pussy like you could fit him inside you.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice vibrating across your sensitive flesh. “Come for me, baby. Flood my fucking mouth.”

And then it was happening: your orgasm hitting with such staggering force that it knocked the air from your lungs, crashing through you in waves that seemed to go on forever, and you screamed out his name as your back arched off the couch, your walls convulsing around his fingers just like he wanted, and Harry moaned deeply against you, drinking in your release, his tongue gentling but never stopping as he guided you through every aftershock, every tremor of pleasure.

Harry didn’t stop until a soft whimper left your mouth, and you gently pulled away; only then did he reluctantly withdraw his mouth and he pressed his forehead against your trembling thigh, catching his breath in hot puffs against your skin as you gazed down at him, catching sight of your essence glistening on his lips and chin, a testament to your undoing.

When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burned with more than just desire—they held a fierce, almost predatory pride in having unraveled you so completely, Harry knowing he had earned every shudder and cry his mouth had coaxed from your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your shaky thigh. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“Come here,” you said, letting out a lazy laugh, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm as you tugged at his shoulders. “Let me kiss those shiny lips.”

Harry smiled as he rose from his knees, his movements a little stiff from the prolonged position. Of course, as he stood, you couldn’t help but stare hungrily at the prominent bulge straining against his jeans, and he moved to sit beside you on the couch, his lips a dark blush, wet with the evidence of your pleasure, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw, untamed hunger.

“I meant what I said,” he told you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with shaky fingers. “I worship you. Every part of you. And I’m so sorry for hurting you earlier.”

And even though you hear his words, you don’t respond. Instead, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep, aggressive kiss, gradually licking across his lips first, tasting your own arousal with a moan that made his entire body go slack.

And the groan that left his mouth spoke volumes as you climbed onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as you straddled him, barely breaking the kiss as you continued, pressing harder, your tongue exploring every corner of his mouth, finding every hint of your essence that was left, a whole new greed filling your chest.

“You like that?” you asked, grinding slowly against his erection as you pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his. “You like when I’m filthy for you? When I lick my cum off your face?”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you, his pupils completely blown with lust. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

You smiled wickedly, dragging your tongue along his jaw to his ear. “You taste so good mixed with me,” you breathed, feeling him shudder beneath you. “And I believe you,” you added, your voice softening slightly as you pulled back to meet his eyes, stroking his flushed cheek. “And I forgive you. Now let me show you exactly how much.

Relief washed over his features, followed quickly by a need that seemed to rise up as you knowingly licked your lips, tasting the last glimmers of yourself. “Now,” you continued, your hand moving to the bulge in his jeans, “let me show you how much I love you too.”

Harry’s breath hitched as you palmed him through his denim jeans. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you assured him, working at his belt buckle. “I want to taste what I do to you. I want to taste us together.”

Your words pulled a deep moan from somewhere inside him, his hips lifting of their own accord to help as you tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him, his dick bounced up between you, hard and straining, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

You leaned down, maintaining eye contact as you licked it away, savoring the salty-sweet flavor that mingled with your own taste, still lingering on your tongue, and you watched Harry’s eyes roll back, his hands already fisting in the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “If you keep that up, this is going to be embarrassingly quick.”

You smiled against him, pressing a kiss to his sensitive head. “That’s okay. We have all night for round two.”

Before he could respond, you took him into your mouth, sliding down as far as you comfortably could. The sound he made—half groan, half your name—felt like one of the most erotic things you had ever heard as your head began to move.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, saliva dripped from your lips to his shaft as you pumped him with your hand. “You like watching me choke on this big dick?” you asked, voice rugged before you took him deep again, this time letting your throat constrict around his tip.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his thighs tensing beneath you. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.”

You loved this part.

This was your favorite part, watching how easy it was to make him come undone.

And you continued to work him with your mouth and hand, establishing a rhythm that had him panting and cursing above you. When his hands found your hair, it wasn’t guiding, just connecting, Harry needing to touch you as you pleasured him.

“I’m close,” he warned after only a few minutes, his voice strained. “So close, babe.”

You pulled off with a pop, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “Not yet,” you said, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. “I want to feel you.”

Harry’s hands immediately went to your hips, steadying you as you positioned yourself above him. “Are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, deep and passionate, as you slowly sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he was fully seated within you. The stretch now arousing the desperation even more, your body still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this. I want you.”

You began to move, setting a slow, grinding pace that had both of you moaning, and Harry’s hands roamed your body, touching everywhere he could reach, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, really his.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, the words like a prayer being answered. “I love you so much. Never want to fight with you. Never want to be apart from you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, increasing your pace as the pleasure built again. “Always, Harry. Even when we fight.”

“Fuck—you’re so big,” you moaned against his lips, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. “Can feel you so deep inside me.”

“So—tight,” Harry pushed, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as you began to pick up your pace. “So fucking wet and tight around me. Like this pussy was made for me.”

And you both laughed when your eyes met his. Both of you realizing it had been way too long since you had spoken these filthy words into existence, but you needed it, both of you spurring one another on as the pleasure took hold of each of you.

You established a rhythm, rising until just the tip remained inside before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt each time. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps, each sound breathing life back into the space.

“That’s it,” Harry urged, his voice strained as he thrust up to meet your downward movements. “Ride that dick. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

And dammit, what had Harry said? you needed it like you needed the air in your lungs, the blood flowing through your veins, the fucking heart pumping in your chest that could only beat for him.

In this moment.

Always.

You needed him.

Forever.

The tension between you had transformed completely, the anger of earlier replaced by a desperate, all-consuming love. Each movement, each touch, each whispered endearment was a reaffirmation of your bond, stronger now for having been tested.

You felt hunger drive from within as you increased your pace, grinding your clit against his pelvis with each downstroke. “So deep,” you gasped, throwing your head back as he hit that spot inside you. “God—Harry—you’re so fucking deep.”

His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as you bounced on his lap. “Look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark with need, with purpose as they raked over your body. “Taking me like this. Fucking goddess.”

The pleasure was building, charged with a thrilling energy that had you both sloppy for more as your second orgasm loomed even faster than the first. Harry could tell—he always could—and he slipped one hand between your bodies to circle your clit.

“Want you to come on this dick?” he forced, his voice a rough growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Going to squeeze me so tight I can’t hold back?”

“Harry—” you moaned, each movement becoming erratic as you chased your release. “Make me come, Harry. Need to come with you inside me.”

“The way you take me so deep... fucking incredible.” he praised, thumb stroking your clit in circles, moving in sync with your movements.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice tight with the effort of holding back. “Want to feel you come around me.”

The added stimulation was all you needed, and you felt your second orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, less intense but somehow deeper than the first, and you moaned out Harry’s name as your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

Fuck.

It was so good.

This was so good.

And then he was burying his face in your neck as he came, his arms wrapping around you so tight that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began as a swell of longing flooded your body, and you held him just as fiercely, riding out the waves of pleasure together until you both collapsed, spent and satisfied.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, connected in the most intimate way, hearts beating against each other as your breathing slowly returned to normal, and Harry pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, before finally finding your lips in a tender, loving kiss.

“I really am sorry,” he murmured against your mouth. “About the fight, about the dish, about leaving.”

You stroked his hair, smiling softly. “I know. And I’m sorry, too, for being so rigid sometimes. Maybe we can work on it together?”

Harry nodded; his eyes were serious despite the blissful aftermath you guys found yourselves in. “We will. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the seller is including the matching serving platter too.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, pure joy replacing the last vestiges of hurt. “You found the matching platter? Those are even rarer than the casserole dish!”

“Only the best for you,” Harry said, his smile mirroring yours. “I told you, I worship you. Every part of you, including your love for vintage dishware.”

You kissed him again, pouring all your love into it. “And I worship you, Harry. Even when you load the dishwasher wrong.”

When his laughter joined yours, filling the apartment with the sound of happiness restored. The broken dish was forgotten, replaced by the promise of new memories to be made, new moments to be shared, and a love that was stronger for having weathered its first real storm.

As you curled against him, content and complete, you knew that this—this imperfect, sometimes messy, always passionate love—was the most precious thing you would ever possess. And unlike a casserole dish, it couldn’t be broken by a careless moment or a heated argument. It could only grow stronger, more beautiful, with each challenge overcome together.

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73

@haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden

Taglist Open<-

My Tiny Materlist<-

Talk to me<-

[cowplant-snacks]

BEWARE of Residential Rentals!

I went to place a lot yesterday and my entire savefile suddenly corrupted. I realized it was corrupted because after I placed any lot, all of the other lots in my game reset to the original version of them. They all looked fine from world mode, but once loaded into any lot the issue persisted. Read more about these issue here.

I rolled back the save and it was fine so I decided to try and remove the entire pack and see what would happen. After removing the pack, I could place new lots and the game was fine. Which meant for me the issue is FOR RENT.

I was nowhere near the limit of residential rental lots nor did I use any cheats to have more than six units per lot. I was not placing a residential lot when it corrupted. So far it seems fine to add the pack back and just avoid the lot type.

TLDR: Removing FOR RENT prevented my savefile from corrupting when placing new lots. The steps I used to stabilize my savefile are below.

Hope this helps!

Steps to remove For Rent:

1. Remove savefiles and mods. Repair the Game. 2. Rollback to a stable version of your savefile. And repair the game again. 3. Evict families and convert Residential Rentals to Residentals. *Tag all units as one BEFORE changing the lot type. Simmers report that lots can corrupt otherwise.* 4. Use this to load the game without For Rent. 5. Follow this if you end up with two different Tomarang Worlds when you load the pack back into the game. I did. 6. Replace all of your household outfits that got messed up. otherwise some sims will be nakie.

Tips:

Backups: Helps if you have backups of your households and lots in your trayfiles. Fixing outfits: If you don't care about relationships you can delete and replace or use MCCC to copy and paste the outfits back on the sim. Or if you have a dresser file, run that for new outfits.

This has happened to me a few times, but this was the first time I decided to see if I could role back the game, avoid the corruption, and restore my savefile.

UPDATE: 3/18/2025 | 2:00pm

I noticed today that I can no longer load into units that used to be residential rentals. I’m going to roll back again and evict households, and then convert the units to residential BEFORE removing For Rent.

Additionally, I am seeing that people recommend converting all the units back to one, before switching a lot from a residential rental to a rental.

I’ll report back. Stay tuned!

UPDATE: 3/18/2025 | 3:05 pm

See updated steps above. Changing how and when I remove the residential rentals seems to have prevented the individual lots from corrupting. While testing I placed new builds, and loaded into various lots, opened and closed the game. So far things seem fine.

Things I will be doing moving forward.

Only play and place households in a few worlds.

Having less townies.

And following other guidelines that @rebouks shared here regarding lag because they help keep the savefile smaller.

Will update this post if I notice any other issues or anyone reports things to me.

UPDATE: 3/19/2025 - The new method above worked for most lots BUT there were a few former residentials that begun to have issues with infinite loading screens. I’m starting a new savefile file.

Good luck to anyone dealing with this!