#queue learn to live without

[eirenical]

OP, I hope you don't mind me adding these, but your tags are as much a thing of beauty as these gifs 😭😭😭

for @wangquan-fugui

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, sickfic, SFW, requested.

Mara is surprised to see him. "Hey Captain Riley."

He nods. “She in the back?” The knit between her eyebrows is quizzical, and she shakes her head.

“What? No… she went home. Hours ago. Said she didn’t feel well.” He doesn’t bother to school his expression into neutrality, and she turns sheepish, like somehow she’s the one in trouble now. “I told her to call you. She was nearly falling asleep back there. Almost face planted in the batter of these cookies.” She points to an artfully arranged tower of chocolate chip cookies, their little placard labeling them as ‘brown butter’. What that means, he’s not sure. 

“How long ago did she leave?” He had no idea you were sick. Worse, you didn’t say anything. You lied by omission, sending your usual morning text messages, your before lunch check in with zero mention of feeling unwell. 

He’s not angry with you, because he understands you. This is uneven footing, new territory, a lot to learn for his little fawn. You’re finding your way in this new life, and he has plenty of time.

 A learning experience, that’s all this is. 

“Like… an hour ago? Maybe two?” A frown tugs his lips towards his chin. 

“Her car is still in the lot.” 

“Oh yeah… she walked.” Walked? You walked? 

Your ass is going to be sore for a week. 

There’s a queue forming behind him, so he steps back, gives her a parting glance before turning to leave. “Thanks Mara.” 

“Tell her I hope she feels better!” 

You live on the fourth floor. The elevator in your building is busted, along with the front door’s lock, and there are no cameras, no security, nothing stopping anyone from walking inside. 

Just his baby in a fourth floor apartment with a measly deadbolt and chain. 

You’ll be so much happier at home with him.

It takes three tries for you to come to the door, and when you find him on the other side, your expression splits in two, one side saturated with relief, the other, buzzing with nerves, but somehow still half asleep. 

“H-hi.” You croak, sweating and shivering, standing there in only a t-shirt. 

Miserable. You look miserable. 

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, stepping inside, immediately placing the back of his hand to your forehead, trailing down your chin to find your pulse fluttering beneath your jaw. It’s elevated, and you’re burning up, tears gathering on your waterline, threatening to fall.

"D-daddy," you hiccup, trembling, reaching for him just as he pulls you into his chest with a palm against your neck, rubbing circles at your nape as he takes a quick look around. He’s never been inside your apartment before, though he’s been tempted multiple times, made the trip to your building often, ensuring you’re home safe, watching the comings and goings of others who live here, looking for any red flags or reasons for immediate concern. He’s inspected empty units, tested the standard locks, checked for mold and mildew. It’s adequate, but your own flat is too cramped, and he knows you feel boxed in. 

"I'm here baby, I'm here. Let me look at you." He tips your chin up and moves into your line of sight, glassy, glazed eyes tracking him the whole way. "Have you seen a doctor?”

“No,” you sniffle, immediately planting your face back into his sternum, “’s just a cold.” 

“You don’t get a fever with a cold sweetheart. Have you taken anything?” He doesn't panic. It's not in his programming, not a part of his reality but seeing you like this, in distress, suffering, is starting to rewire long dormant standards.

“Don’t have a fever.” There’s a short hallway across the living room, two doors on either end, one he assumes is your bedroom, and he starts moving that way, keeping you tucked against him. “I took some naproxen.” You’re floating along with his direction without a single peep, barely recognizing where you are when he sits you down on the edge of your bed. 

First things first. He has to get you out of these clothes and into something dry. “This has to come off baby girl, it’s wet.” 

“Wet?” You’re barely holding yourself up, and he probably only has a few minutes before you’re out. 

“Your body is trying to regulate it's temperature, so you've been sweating.” He finds pajamas in the top drawer of your dresser, lips rolling into a smile as he unfurls the t-shirt. “Gremlins?” You throw him a squinty glare. 

“It’s a good movie.” He brushes his lips across your forehead, tasting the slick of salt before pulling away and tapping your shoulders. 

“Arms up.” You oblige without question, the trust that sometimes gets lost in this newfound dance shining through brilliantly. His hands brush against your ribs, your belly as he slides them beneath the hem of your shirt and tries not to wince at the scorching temperature of your skin. “Good girl. Don’t want you going back to sleep all sweaty do we?” He quickly pats the sheets, relieved to find them dry. 

“No daddy.” Such a sweet girl. You roll instinctively, burrowing in the mound of things in your bed, knees curling up towards your belly. There are at least three different colored fuzzy blankets in your bed, six pillows, and a stuffed cat of some kind, something about it vaguely familiar but difficult to place. A crumpled notebook with loopy handwriting and small drawings adorning the pages is wedged beneath your hip, and there’s a kindle sitting on the other side along with an empty water bottle. The frame itself has a shelf at the head of the bed, and it’s lined with stuff… a small lamp, a ceramic cupcake, a collection of seashells, chapstick, lotion, an empty mug, a glowing mushroom, along with two pairs of glasses and a few candles. It’s clear this is your space, where you’re safe and comfortable, a nest of your own making, a place just for you, and it’s fitting, all of it. Each little piece is perfect just like you. 

He lets you sleep while he cleans and refills your water bottle, finds the naproxen and your towels, pulling a washcloth out so he can run it under cold water for your head. You definitely have a fever, but if you can break it on your own there’s no reason to take you to a doctor. Time will tell, but if it gets worse, you’ll have to go immediately. 

Tally marks for today’s transgressions sit quietly on a slate in the back of his mind for far later, satisfying realization settling in against his soul. You’ve earned a spanking, and stricter rules. 

It’s a fine line. He doesn’t punish for the sake of punishing, there’s nothing good in it for him, or you, but he will punish you for things like this, things that put you in harms way, things like not telling him you’re sick and in need of help. Things like fucking walking ten blocks home. He’ll punish you for stepping outside a boundary, or failing to follow a rule, all of it a double edged sword, one he wields delicately, because often, punishments come with their own rewards, whether they be emotional or physical.

You rouse a bit when he comes back, making little sounds as he props you up to take more medicine, dabs the cold washcloth around your face, cooling you down and wiping some of the stale sweat away. He smooths a palm over your forehead. “We’re going to have a long talk about rules when you’re feeling better.” 

“Mmkay.” You press your nose into his neck. “Are you going to lay with me?” He kisses your temple. 

“In a little bit, I have some work to take care of. Close your eyes for now.” You nuzzle down into the mattress against his thigh and he can’t resist placing his hand atop your head, holding you there, your cheek bleeding heat through his pants, warm, wet breath building a damp spot. 

“But you’ll be here?” You mumble it, and like you’re afraid the answer will be no, you wrap an arm around the width of his thigh. He chuckles. 

“I’ll be right here.” 

[neverendingford]

.

[deadpresidents]

"Vocabor Franciscus. "I will be called Francis." It was a breathtaking choice. Because no pope had ever taken the name, it needed no Roman numerals but stood stark and simple...No one ever thought a pope could be called Francis; it would be like taking the name Peter, or Jesus. They were one of a kind.

"I was astonished at the boldness of it, because the name Francis is a whole program of governance in miniature," the Vatican commentator John Allen told Boston Radio. "He is this iconic figure in the Catholic imagination that awakens images of the antithesis of the institutional church...That's an awful lot of weight to put on your shoulders right out of the gate. If you're not prepared to walk that talk, then you're going to be in real trouble."

Bergoglio had walked that talk over a lifetime. Right now it mostly meant saying no, like keeping his old black shoes, his silver pectoral cross (a pope's is normally gold), and his faithful black plastic watch, or refusing the limousine waiting to take him back to the guesthouse for dinner ("May God forgive you for what you have done," he joked with the cardinals [who had just elected him]). After Mass with the cardinals the next day, he left the Vatican in a Ford Focus -- the security guards had better cars than the pope -- to pray at the shrine of Saint Mary Major, returning via the priests' hostel where he had stayed before the conclave. There he collected his bag, paid his bill to a shocked clerk ("I checked in under another name" was the caption on a widely tweeted photo), and chatted and joked with staff. There wasn't much to collect. He had been washing his clothes at night, letting them dry on the radiator...

...It was lots of those little things. They weren't mere gestures, nor were they calculated messages. They flowed from his identification with the Christ of the Gospels..."We must learn to be normal!" he told his Jesuit interviewer, Father Antonio Spadaro, in August that year, and he put it into practice, collecting his tray of food in the Santa Marta dining room like anyone else, making his own phone calls and many of his appointments, keeping his own diary, and making visits -- always in the blue Ford Focus, without any kind of entourage -- to parishes and charities around Rome, to spend time with the old and the homeless and the foreign-born.

Stories of Francis's personal kindness, impossible to verify, began to make their rounds, like the time he left his room to find a Swiss Guard standing outside his door and brought him a chair. "But Holy Father, I cannot sit down. My boss does not allow it," the guard told him. "Well, I'm the boss of your boss, and I say it's fine," Francis told him, before going back inside to fetch him the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie...

...Francis has become the most accessible of modern popes, almost always to be found at lunchtime in the Santa Marta restaurant, where he has his own table set aside, but stands in the queue with his tray like everyone else. Visitors report that he comes out of the Santa Marta to greet them personally, while hostel guests are often shocked to find that when elevator doors open the pope steps in ("I don't bite," he reassures them)."

-- Austen Ivereigh, on how different Pope Francis was from his monarchical predecessors and how shocking it was at the Vatican immediately following his election at the 2013 Conclave when Francis decided to live in a simple room at the Vatican's guesthouse instead of the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, in the 2014 book, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[deusfoundry]

sylus making sure his kpop fan girlfriend doesn't have to drop a dime nor stress over attending her fav's concert.

ticketing day is spent with a ton of devices sprawled on the living room floor of his mansion all waiting to get into the queue. he's even got luke and kieran in on it. and if for some reason his outrageously fast internet speed fails and you don't manage to secure a ticket, he's already pulling the strings and using his connections to get you that front row seat. he puts himself in charge of everything—booking accomodations, planning your itinerary, making sure his private jet is ready so that all you have to worry about is what you'll wear, and even that is taken care of by his black card.

he's with you throughout the entire day of the concert. he holds onto two bags—one filled with your essentials and the other with freebies and trinkets you've collected from fellow fans—as he follows you around the venue with that lovesick smile of his. he only ever leaves your side when he goes to buy you some snacks and water.

and best believe he learned most of the songs your favs are performing so he can sing along with you during the concert itself, which he records the entirety of on his tablet so you're free to enjoy the show without having to worry about not having photos and videos to remember it by.

the night ends with you on his back, your platform boots on one of his hands as he carries you to the parking lot. he listens as you recount the entire night to him in excitement, chuckles as you squeal and squirm in the passenger seat over every time you swear your bias made eye contact with you as though he wasn't there to see it all.

you fall asleep eventually, to the low hum of traffic and his hand drawing circles over your thigh. and as sylus eyes your sleeping figure, he swears he'll do it all over again just to see that small smile that blooms on your face.

[glowettee]

🦢 you don't need more tips, you need to trust yourself

hey lovelies!! mindy here, back with another "no aesthetics post". so i've been thinking about this a lot lately (like, literally in the middle of the night when i should be sleeping but my brain won't shut up??) and i realized something that honestly changed everything for me. we're all obsessed with consuming advice, tips, strategies… but at some point we need to ask: is all this "help" actually helping?

i used to be that girl with 27 self-help books on her nightstand, 14 productivity podcasts in my queue, and approximately 10000 saved posts about "how to live your best life." i was drowning in good advice. and yet? i wasn't actually doing anything with it all.

here's the uncomfortable truth that i personally learned: collecting self-help is often just another form of procrastination. we trick ourselves into thinking we're making progress because we're "learning," but we're actually just avoiding the scary part, taking action when we don't feel ready.

✧ when you know it's become a problem:

you feel like you need to read "just one more" article before starting

you have notebooks filled with advice you've never implemented

you follow dozens of gurus but haven't committed to any single approach

you constantly switch systems hoping to find the "perfect" one

you know what to do but still feel paralyzed

you use phrases like "once i learn enough about x, then i'll start"

you feel overwhelmed by conflicting advice but keep seeking more

the most painful realization? all this consumption is actually making you less confident. every new piece of advice makes you question your instincts more. every contradicting tip makes you doubt your judgment. every perfect "before and after" makes you wonder what's wrong with you.

✧ why we get stuck in the advice loop:

consuming feels safe. implementing feels risky. reading about someone else's success story gives us the emotional satisfaction of achievement without any of the messy work or potential failure. it's like emotional junk food, momentarily satisfying but ultimately empty.

plus, there's something so alluring about the promise that the next book, the next course, the next system will finally be THE ONE that changes everything. we become collectors of solutions rather than solvers of problems.

✧ how to break free (ironic, i know… more advice):

declare an information fast. seriously. no new self-help for at least 30 days. it will feel uncomfortable, like an itch you can't scratch. that's how you know you need it.

pick ONE system or approach you've already learned and commit to it fully. not perfectly, just consistently. the magic isn't in finding the perfect system, it's in the consistent application of any decent one.

start before you feel ready. that knot in your stomach when you think about taking action? that's your growth edge. the discomfort isn't a sign to seek more knowledge, it's the signal that you're about to grow.

recognize that implementation creates wisdom that consumption never will. you'll learn more from a week of messy action than a year of perfect theory.

identify your "consumption triggers" do you reach for advice when you're afraid? uncertain? compare yourself to others? notice the emotional patterns.

create an "already know" document. write down everything you already know about your goal. you'll be shocked at how much wisdom you already possess.

trust that you are the expert on your own life. external advice can inform you, but it can never know the nuances of your specific situation like you do.

the truth is, you already know enough. you've probably known enough for a while now. the answers you're seeking outside yourself are usually already within you, buried under layers of doubt and other people's opinions.

what if the most radical act of self-improvement isn't finding new advice, but trusting the wisdom you already have? what if you already have everything you need?

so this is my gentle nudge to put down the self-help, close the tabs, unfollow the gurus (yes, even me if you need to), and start the messy, imperfect process of actually living instead of just learning about living.

because honestly, the world doesn't need more people who know all the right theories. it needs people brave enough to take imperfect action on what they already know.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. if you're wondering "but how will i know what to do without guidance?", that's exactly the point. you won't know for certain. and that uncertainty is where the real growth happens. trust yourself anyway.

[kaiyunsim]

safety zone —

pairing : bf!wonbin x m!reader

summary : after a year of dating, you and wonbin agree to move in together. only thing is, he didn’t know you had a habit for being shirtless.

warnings : fluff, shirtless reader, kinda cringy

a/n : sorry for such a short fic :( it also seems so half-assed but i can’t keep working on it just i lowkey have writerd block for this.

queueing : safety zone - leehi, supernatural - ariana grande

[requested]

— wc : 0.5k — not proof read —

it’s moving day.

there are boxes everywhere, bubble wrap all over the floor, and somehow wonbin is still trying to alphabetize the spice rack while you’re shoving ramen packets into a random drawer.

“that’s not where those go,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“they go in a drawer, don’t they?”

“not with the can openers.”

you just shrug. “it’s efficient.”

wonbin sighs like he’s already regretting this decision. he probably isn’t. probably.

still, it’s cute the way he furrows his brow and mutters about ‘systems’ and ‘organization’ while placing your cereal boxes in height order.

he keeps getting distracted every time he unpacks something sentimental.

like the framed photo from your second date, the one where you’re both making stupid faces. he stares at it a little too long, then quietly places it on the shelf beside the bed.

“you kept this?”

“duh,” you grin. “you fell asleep halfway through the movie. it was adorable.”

he blushes and mutters something about having ‘dry eyes,’ but you catch the small smile he’s hiding.

then, disaster.

you start changing your shirt, completely unaware.

wonbin turns around mid-sentence, sees skin, and immediately short-circuits.

“y-you’re just walking around like that?!”

you blink. “uh… yeah?”

he tries to act normal. he fails. he spends the rest of the evening avoiding eye contact and knocking over a glass because he’s so flustered.

you don’t comment. but you do store that reaction in your brain for later.

wonbin learns that you sleep like a starfish and somehow manage to slap him in your sleep.

you learn that wonbin has an elaborate coffee ritual involving freshly ground beans, water temperature control, and judgmental looks when you mention instant coffee.

“that’s not coffee,” he says.

“then what is it?”

“a war crime.”

—

it’s a lazy saturday morning.

wonbin is peacefully sipping his coffee, his weird ritual when you walk into the living room, shirtless, yawning, and stretching like you didn’t just casually murder his soul.

wonbin chokes.

like full-on coughs into his mug, eyes wide, red ears.

“you—y-you’re just walking around like that?!”

you blink. “uh… yeah?”

wonbin refuses to make eye contact for the next ten minutes. he starts talking to the fridge.

you smirk. this is going to be fun.

from then on, it becomes a game.

lounging shirtless on the couch. walking past him like it’s no big deal.

he tries to stay strong. he fails.

wonbin starts covering his face with pillows. he dramatically sighs every time you enter a room. he mutters “this is fine” like a man barely holding it together.

you’ve never had so much fun. but wonbin has had enough.

the next morning, as soon as you step out shirtless, a shirt hits you in the face.

“what the—”

“put that on.”

“did you seriously just throw a shirt at me?”

“yes. i refuse to be weak anymore.”

you glance at the couch. there’s a pile of spare shirts folded next to him.

“you’re carrying extras now?”

“yes.”

“even inside?”

“especially inside.”

he is prepared. he is smug.

but you are the master of counter-chaos.

so you wait. patiently.

that evening, you sit next to him on the couch. close. he notices. you stretch out, then, without warning, lay your head in his lap and close your eyes.

wonbin malfunctions.

his hands hover awkwardly above your shoulders. he freezes. he tries to focus on his book. he can’t even see the words.

you breathe evenly. you’re napping. actually napping.

wonbin does not know what to do.

does he touch your hair? does he gently move you? does he explode?

you shift a little, mumble, “comfy,” and snuggle in.

wonbin dies again.

he sits there, completely frozen, for the entire nap. twenty minutes of pure, unfiltered suffering.

when you wake up and stretch, he’s staring into the void.

“you good?”

“fine,” he mumbles.

“you sure?”

“…yes.”

“you look like you saw god.”

that night, cuddled up in bed, you kiss his temple and whisper,

“you’re cute when you’re shy.”

wonbin groans and shoves his face into your chest.

“stop.”

“never.”

he grumbles, but pulls you closer.

and yeah this is home.

tysm for reading :>

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

[bohnerrific69]

── .✧ naked (drabble/headcanon)

pairing: peter maximoff x fem!reader

words count: 1.0k | warnings and tags: suggestive themes (there's no smut btw), voyeurism, genitalia/body (peter) descriptions. english is not my first language (im still learning by self-thaught!)

⟣ masterlist | author's note: unbeliavable that the first thing of that i write AND post here it's just some quick silly headcannon/thoughts off peter horny behavior. 🫠 right now i have too many wips on the queue to finish, so maybe in the future i rewrite this as a oneshot properly! (enter my taglist here)

Peter is the kind of guy who, when reaching the peak of his independence having his own house, and when the summer arrives with its dreadful heat waves, would simply take off his clothes and walk around the house naked. Well, at first he got a little apprehensive of doing that, staying on his nice boxers for a few days - only two - till finally letting his body free as mother nature blessed.

Until a while later, a moving truck showed up at the neighbor's empty house and he saw a beautiful and hot girl, you, moving there. He even greeted and welcomed you to the neighborhood. At first he was unsure to talk to you all of sudden, but then it's not like he hadn’t started bumping into you on the street almost every week chatting with you and discovering how easy was to made you laugh at even the silliest things making every encounter more enchanting than the last one. I’m sure these quick encounters were pure coincidence... Unknowingly, getting Peter attracted into you even more than he thought.

But on another hot summer day, walking around the house naked, he came across something unexpected, he saw you through his open window… Well, that wasn't the surprise, you were his neighbor, it was quite common to sometimes see you by the window. The unexpected factor was... that you were looking exactly like him, perfectly naked just like mama gave you life. You was stand up distracted with some magazine in one hand and a lollipop in your mouth while listening to a song and moving your hips sensually following the beat.

And on rare occasions, this being obviously one of them, Peter stopped moving, stooding freezed there without moving a muscle with wide eyes and mouth dropped open, his face turning pink as fast as it could, stunned by the vision of that gentle girl with such an innocent smile and shy attitude when was nears him, to be honest seeing you like that baffled his brain, a thought of you being in that situation not even pass near horny Peter's mind, but certainly turned everything on him on fire.

Okay, it was her house and she lived alone, but with the window open?... Y-yeah, Peter wasn't the best person to talk about this topic now.

Everything in his mind and body was acting so fast, his heartbeat? Oh gosh if someone could hear, it would probably sound ticking so fast like a bomb ready to explode... But nothing made him move until you stopped looking at the magazine in your hands and saw him by the window too, the windows being at the same height and directed front to one another.

Your reaction was almost the same as him, freezing still while your brain tried to collect the informations of his pretty toned body that his lucky mutant genes (and too much X-Men training) blessed him. The jacked abs with pretty biceps too, the divine slutty waist highlighting his v line, the happy trail with silver pubes and-

Oh. Oh good lord... He was fucking turned on.

His dick was awaken and glued on his abdomen just by seeing you. Aforehand you could get on with your analysis, you notice his cock twitch slightly making you return to reality and your conscious remembering your situation right now. But before this could make you react, Peter got free of his trance milliseconds earlier than you, in the blink of an eye he was no longer there, his powers made him simply evaporate from there.

In the panic you just screamed and runned out of camp of vision from the window, dropping your magazine in hands and stumbling on some other ones scattered on the floor, making you fallen ridiculously on your bed, quickly getting into a fetal position and covering your face with the hands like that would help you protect yourself from the embarrassment, of course that not works and you just feels all your body be engulfed by a heavy shame and feeling your cheeks burns, you get one of your pillows and just screams and curses into into it.

After freaking out, you wanted to check out if he was still there, so still feeling the rush of adrenaline now with your legs trembling by the scare that you just got, you get out off the bed and crawled on the floor till were below the window and sitting on your own heels and pulled the curtains close. You sighed nervously, getting on your knees and hiding behind the curtains, you opened a crack into it so you could spy with one of your eyes if he was still there, and… Nothing.

His window still was open but there was no one on the room, you got away from the curtains and sit on the floor with the back against the wall looking at any point of your room, feeling a million thoughts running in your mind nonstop like “What the fuck just happened?”

While focusing on your breath, feeling your heart pounding on your chest, reasoning that despite the embarrassment that… You kinda of like it?... Liked that your cute neighbor that you find smokin’ hot attractive, but never had the courage to say anything, saw you like this and was being so affected by it, being fucking turned on, with his big brown eyes and pink flustered face looking at you so shocked but... admired? Quite hard to know, it was everything so quickly, but you hoped that it was, his dick was sending an obvious message.

Now focusing on what matters… Good god what was that perfect body?! If you could pull him, you sure that would be the luckiest woman alive.

Being weirdly satisfied you laid on the floor, covering your mouth with one of your hands and coming down from your high, starting giggling like an idiot and kicking your feets on the air so embarrassed by the situation but thinking how funny the life is and experiences are not individuals, like as walking naked in your own house because the weather was hot and run into with your hot neighbor by the window doing the same thing.

Well, let's not think for now off by the fact that he lived at the house by your side. And probably tomorrow you would have to say good morning to him.

— as it is my first "fanfic" thing that i write and post here, just tagging some mutuals to boost the post. sorry if i'm bothering! 🤎🦋

@lemoniiiiiii @fear-is-truth @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @silverzoomies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @acrosstheunivcrse @tiffysdeath @wcnderlnds @evvyyypeters-fics @evanpeterswifeyyy @evanpetersbf @frankenkyle19 @taintandviolent @enchanting-evan

[aro-culture-is]

aroallo culture is being incredibly fucking tired of aroallophobia constantly perpetuated by both aspec and non aspec people. not every single conversation needs to be about you. we're very forcibly erased in conversations by literally everyone, let us speak without talking over us for once in your damn lives. we have just as much of a spot in this community as aroace and alloace people do. do some reflection on why you feel other queer people talking about their experiences is a personal attack on your identity. learn to sit down, and actually listen to us when we talk about the rampant demonization we face, both in society, in queer spaces, and in aspec spaces where we should feel safe and accepted but rarely are. inspired by people being horrifically aroallophobic in the notes of a recent post on this blog

i'm pushing this ahead of the queue, because honestly, I have deleted several extremely immature responses by aroaces, and I'm tired. our whole system is somewhere in the realm of aroallo, just aro, aroqueer, something in there, and we didn't have the ability to respond as effectively as we wanted to.

we posted that specific one as, in all honesty, the tame ask of that type to be like, really bro? you think it's erasure to ask you to not erase us?

anyone claiming it's erasure to be asked to not force themselves into a community they do not identify as is gonna be deleted from here on out. blocked it it's nasty.

[cwwv9]

«According to the schedule of the heart»

— without gender!strict!reader x Isagi Yoichi, Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness, Sae Itoshi

Warning: Contains images of emotionally mature relationships where one of the partners is a strict, collected person with business, limited time and principled nature. The text mentions topics of fatigue, difficulties in mutual understanding, emotional vulnerability and attempts to keep in touch under conditions of a tight schedule

Note: After a busy day it was hard to write or do anything, but I tried to write in the best way.

You can write requests to the mail, I will definitely review them and write them!

Isagi Yoichi

You come with a precision of one minute. Black coat, perfect fit, folder in hands and the same heavy look in which everything reads: «I have no time for you to doubt».

Yoichi gets up nervously, almost touching a cup of coffee. He arrived in half an hour, although they agreed on eight. During this time I had time to check the hair in reflection three times and read your last messages twice. You met a week ago - a short dinner, interrupted by your urgent call, after which you just dropped:

«Sorry. I’ll make it up to you next time».

He thought you were joking. But you really made up for it: you just nodded briefly, took off your coat, put the laptop in front of you - and turned it on without losing eye contact.

— I have forty minutes, you said confidently as if you were dictating the terms of the deal. – I want to hear how your match went. And if you don’t embarrass yourself, you might get a kiss.

Yoichi laughs awkwardly, slightly bending over to you. In your world he feels like a player of another sport, but to be with you - he is willing to learn again. You listen carefully, type something quickly on your phone, but every couple of minutes you look at it so closely that Yoichi forgets to breathe. For him you are like a chronoscope: precise, unemotional, but with such a pull that he wants to break your rules. Or learn to live by them.

Michael Kaiser

You don’t answer your phone during practice. And you don’t reschedule meetings twice. You have your own schedule, your own team, your own people - and the Kaiser, however confident he may be, clearly understands that you don’t belong to him.

— Are you tired again? – he grinned, but his voice was dry. He hates it when you queue him after meetings and business flights. – Amazing. Can anyone ignore Michael Kaiser? You know who I am?

You turn to him slowly, with that cold-bloodedness he fears and craves.

– I know, you answer briefly. – But I know who I am. And my schedule is more important than your ego.

Kaiser is boiling. He throws the ball into the wall, rips the gate, gnaws at the lip. But when you burst into his hotel room in the evening, smelling of negotiations, in a perfectly ironed shirt, and say: I am free. The night remains. Don’t waste it on pride», - he forgets everything.

You sit on the edge of the bed, pull out your documents, and he sits down next to you, biting his lip.

– You know, you look like you’re running the world.

– And you look like my break. No more than half an hour.

He tears this limit with you with greed, proving every second that you were wrong

Alexis Ness

You are like a book for him, which he reads over and over again, each time finding new facets. Alexis fell in love at first sight with your way of speaking - precise language, calm intonation, perfectly accurate pauses. He says that you sound like a conductor, and every time you’re cool enough to point out someone’s mistake in business negotiations.

He never resents your occupation. He just waits. Even if you call him from the conference room at one o'clock in the morning, you say: Five minutes. I just wanted to hear your voice." He smiles, curled up in his pillow and says, "I missed you. But I knew you’d come back."

Sometimes he comes quietly to you when you read the reports, and lays his head on your knees. You don’t let go of the papers, but your fingers gently stroke his hair. He stops as if in a temple. Because even your silent closeness is more love than any words.

You are his safety. His anchor. And he will never be in your way. He will just be there. And wait for you to exhale, and look at him again as if no one else in the world is needed.

Sae Itoshi

He knows the price of things. And when he first saw you - cold, collected, confident - he immediately knew: you don’t give in for nothing. You don’t open doors. You choose who is worthy to come in.

You come together slowly, through silence and gaze, through rare encounters and rare touches. He is accustomed to people circling around him. But you do not wrinkle. You just exist - like an unshakable axis.

You cancel because the meeting is too long. You don’t call back right away. You prioritize. You don’t talk. But one day, when you say,

– Sorry. I know that again...

He comes up, touches your face and says:

– No. Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t fall in love with you if you were different.

He admires your control, but more so your breakdown. Rare, silent. When you allow yourself to just be - not a leader, not a voice, not a force. But a person.

And then the Saee becomes quieter. Softer. He makes you tea, sits on the floor at your feet, and says:

– When you’re tired, let me not be a genius. Let me just be there.

You never ask. But tonight - you let me.

[ane-doodles]

Okay so, let's start with the goat, shall we? (Sorry, this is a long post!)

�� In this dimension there is no prophecy to fulfill, there is no chosen one or a mission. On the other hand, there is an overpopulation of goats, which has led them to kill or hunt them without much remorse, considering them undesirable (for this reason, families usually separate in order to have a better chance of survival). While there is nothing illegal/wrong about interacting with goats, it is usually avoided most of the time.

• The goat's original name is Jonah, he used to be a kind of thief to earn a living since he was a child, since he was separated from his family at a young age. He ends up joining a ship as part of the crew for some time, but when he is caught stealing from the captain he ends up being thrown into the sea tied with weights to die.

• In this dimension it is assumed that after dying you are guided to the other world, to be added to the queue to reincarnate with a new life at least a century later. But Jonah is instead taken out of this line by Yuridia (the equivalent of Narinder in this world).

• Jonah is offered the opportunity to return to a new life, on the condition of "freeing the goddess who was unjustly imprisoned by her siblings", but he refuses, simply not interested. Yuridia ends up convincing him by striking a chord with him, acting affectionately and manipulating him with the idea that after she is freed he is going to marry the goddess (I want to highlight the fact that she did not say that they would both be married , but only him with her). And this is how the poor goat, already hungry for affection, ends up involved in the mess of the bishops and the goddess.

• Yuridia usually acts all loving and kind, presenting herself as someone sweet but with a strong character who constantly makes empty promises and flirts. She treats the goat - which she has renamed Kairos - as her knight who will come to save her. This ends up generating a kind of obsession/dependency in him to do what she tells him, in exchange for the goddess treating him well.

• Kairos' mission ends up being fulfilled in ten years in which several things happen:

+ The cultists hate the idea that the beloved ancient goddess Yuridia has chosen a goat as a vessel (which we already know was a not very beloved species), so they are not very respectful or kind to it. Furthermore, the fact that Yuridia possesses the goat during sermons and usually spouts aggressive doctrines has generated a rumor that probably part of the sermons are inventions of the leader.

+ During this period Kairos also learns that Yuridia's confinement was orchestrated by herself, and that in reality she only wanted to destroy the bishops so that she would be the only one with power over the lands of the old faith. Despite this he decides to continue.

+ Even though the order is to kill the Kairos bishops, he ends up just stealing their crowns and giving them to Yuridia, who disables them so that no one else can use them. The bishops are thrown out and returned to their lands as mortals.

+ Kairos also meets Yuridia's sons/guardians, who warn him that he should abandon the mission of helping the goddess for his own good and that of the world in which they live.

+ The goat also begins to know Yuridia's true intentions and behaviors as she witnesses the mistreatment of her children and various discussions about doctrines that usually end in discipline, but ends up downplaying it, blinded by the goddess's pampering and manipulations.

• After completing his mission, Kairos voluntarily gives his life, his heart being torn out by the goddess as a sacrifice. Yuridia takes back the crown as the sole goddess of the lands of the old faith and the goat is revived.

• The wedding takes place as a kind of private ceremony between the two, but ends up being somewhat one-sided since only Kairos marries Yuridia and not vice versa. This leads to him constantly asking her (maybe begging hehe) for the two to actually get married, but she just ends up postponing it or saying she'll think about it.

• Little by little Yuridia's affections turn into simple dominance, and the manipulation becomes more evident for Kairos who also little by little begins to distrust her. The goddess treats him as a kind of pretty trophy that she takes care of, although she doesn't really give him any more attention than necessary. [I think we could summarize their relationship as those people who have little purse dogs, all cute but who really take little care of them]

• After Yuridia's rise the former bishops try to steal their old crowns with the intention of making them work again, but the goat's job is to keep them away.

• As such Kairos is displaced, since he is no longer the leader of the cult and Yuridia does not need him by her side, so he dedicates himself to exploring. It is thanks to this that he stumbles upon a way to travel to the dimension of the lamb.

• Thanks to the latter, he runs into Yuridia's third son, who has ended up reincarnating in the wrong dimension. He decides to help him reunite with his brothers by bringing them to the dimension of the lamb where they will no longer suffer the mistreatment of their mother.

• Years go by and more things happen:

+ Kairos ends up falling out of love and begins to fear Yuridia's temperament, so being by her side at this point feels like being imprisoned.

+ He spends more time in the dimension of the lamb, things that the goddess does not like.

+ Kairos accidentally revives the lamb's sister (story for another post) and somehow ends up liking her, considering leaving his dimension.

+ The Lamb ends up giving him the final motivation to leave his dimension and finally get away from Yuridia.

• The day arrives and Kairos intends to leave Yuridia's cult, but she decides to prevent him by almost torturing him in order to stay since he belongs to her. However, by trying to kill her, the weight of the promises she made during her false imprisonment ends up killing her from within, allowing the goat to escape, thus condemning her old dimension to a world without gods (or so we believe).

• After recovering Kairos settles into the cult of the lamb where he can finally be at peace.

Aughhh here is the first loredump! It's a bit long, sorry!! I would have liked to add some doodles to make the reading easier, but I really have no ideas at the moment QwQ

[wolven91]

Drought vs Flood

Cat calls.

Being called 'cute' or showered with compliments.

Paul had never really considered these an annoyance before. Hell, if he though back to his time on Earth, he couldn't remember the last time when he'd ever received a compliment from a stranger before.

No, that was a lie he realised.

Many years before, an older lady once stopped him to compliment him on a jovial Christmas jumper he'd worn. She said she liked it and that he was handsome in it too. He vividly remembered having a great day that day, despite having to deal with a queue of irate customers throughout the afternoon.

That compliment had kept the man sated for years!

As a man, Paul had never really understood the frustrations of women when they bemoaned the fact that they received compliments and manners from random strangers every day. The man would always hasten to add that he understood them from a logical point of view, but there was always a part of him that had wanted a taste of that life for a while.

Sure, maybe getting them every day might have gotten old, but after over a decade of surviving off one compliment? The man didn't *understand* the frustration. The isolation had to be worse right?

That was until the Earth was destroyed and Paul ended up like a few of his fellow humans, lost amongst the stars as a human, alone in the void.

At first, Paul thrived. He'd lived alone for seven years and with his friends moving away, getting families, or just losing touch; there had been times in his life where he'd gone whole weeks without saying a single word out loud.

After that initial period of learning the ropes, figuring out where he could get a job, food, even the stuff that wasn't quite 'legal' like a drink, Paul settled into what he expected would be a quiet life.

Only, every time he spent time out in public, like when he went to sit in the tiny bar that would serve him under the counter, it wasn't that quiet.

"I just love your fur; can I touch it?" Asked the bull-like alien as they had already begun reaching out and touching thick leather pads to the crop of hair atop Paul's head. The man shoved the alien's wrist away from him.

"No, thank you." He grunted, still hunched at the bar, uncomfortable about the two aliens that stood either side of him. Both were, alien, they had the heads of bulls but bodies that he would have given his left arm for back home. But regardless of their physical attraction, this was week three of not being able to have a single moment's peace outside of his own quarters.

"Oh come on, I read you love it when someone pets you?" Smarmed the second, quoting some bullshit, pardon the pun, text that Paul himself had read. Apparently, a few of the survivors had let slip that they were touch starved, so now every alien and their mother was quoting this as if gospel.

If Paul ever got his hands on the moron that uttered those...

"Not all humans are the same." He growled back, gripping his drink.

"Well, what if I showed you a gun? You like guns, right?" Offered the first taurian, briefly turning their hip and displaying a holster.

"I repeat, not all humans are the same." Paul was British, he thought guns were a tool and nothing more. No more exciting than a pen or a pair of expensive scissors. More than a handful of Americans made it out and had made a huge scene when they found out guns were illegal to humans. Yet more misinformation chumming the water.

"Aww come on, we're just being friendly. It's okay! I also read that your society said you had to be prudes; it's not true, you can relax." The alien explained as if she wasn't taking a big dump on the entire human civilisation and its history.

Paul sneered at the fact that he mildly agreed. The odd concepts that were considered fact back home were outright frowned on up here. With all the fur and lack of breasts on those without; clothes were almost optional by those not actively working. Granted Paul wasn't a nudist and didn't have the body to want to flaunt it, but it was a breath of fresh air to not be so gummed down with social rules.

"I was relaxed," Paul sniped, but the jab went well over the two female taurian's horns. "I just want a quiet drink." He reiterated, breathing deep and remaining calm. The sluggat barkeep watched him carefully, his eye stalks watching the taurians and the human independently. He was hanging around by the bar's emergency distress button.

"We can drink with you." Offered one of them, Paul didn't even bother looking now, instead attempting to drill a hole in the opposite wall with his eyes.

"I don't want company." He explained clearly.

"Why not?" They prodded.

"Because I said so."

"That ain't a real answer, just let us-"

"Can you actually fuck off?!" Paul snapped, turning his body to the last one to speak. "I don't want company, I don't want a drink from you, I want to be left alone!"

"Alright, fuck us, right? We were being nice and now you're acting like we're attacking you. We're the nice ones, but I guess you'll only learn that when you meet the other kind."

Paul just rolled his eyes as the pair stepped away from the bar and, as one walked past, clipped the leg of the stool Paul was sat on, jangling his already on edge nerves.

They grunted something as they passed that the translators flagged as an insult.

Paul rubbed a hand over his face as he sighed and tried to relax. The sluggat slithered over and asked if he was all right.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine." The man replied absently, using a thumb to wick the moisture off the side of his glass.

A drought, versus a flood.

That was how Paul now considered the perspective from before. How he would explain the difference of perspectives to a younger self.

How could the drowning woman understand the dying man in the desert?

It was great to be the centre of attention for a week or two, but the way they got handsy? If he didn't actively stop them, and make it clear he wasn't 'playing hard to get' that they'd start groping him?  The way they didn't give him space or even listen when he said 'no'?

Even when they were weird... and smelt bad... Not all the creatures up here were attractive.

"Fuck." The man drew the word out with a breath he only realised was shaking as his voice shuddered. With a guilty grimace, the man reached into his pocket and retrieved the data slate. He scrolled through the minimal contacts and selected his guardian.

It rang once before being answered by a near frantic voice that was obviously being kept neutral.

"Paul?"

"Hey Shu'ba. I fucked up... Can you... Can you come get me please?" The man asked humbly.

"Is everything alright?!"

"It's fine, nothing's happened, but I'd feel safer if you were near."

"I got your location, I'm two minutes away."

"Thanks, Shu'ba."

"Don't think anything of it."

"I'm sorry."

The voice of the ssypno sighed through the speaker.

"I get it's hard to have a babysitter, but we're here for a reason. It's okay, I'm almost there."

Paul stayed on the line, even though he and the sluggat were the only patrons of the bar, but when the neon green scales of his guardian slithered into the room, a wave of relief washed over him.

Perhaps it was time to stop giving the serpent the slip?

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[lurkingshan]

Hi Shan!

Help! I am looking for another Japanese drama to watch. However, my queue is only filled with BLs right now and I wanted to venture outside of the genre a bit. So my question is - do you have any favourite non-BL doramas to recommend? (Preferably not romance-oriented, but any genre will do)

Ooh, fun one. I do have a few I've seen that might be interesting to you, though honestly I do find that Japanese queer media is more to my taste than their more mainstream het stuff. Here are a few to try:

Koisenu Futari

Honestly on my hands and knees begging everyone to watch this fantastic drama about two people on the aroace spectrum who form a platonic bond and create their own kind of family.

Silent

This one has romance, but the narrative is not about romance. It's really about the process of coping with becoming disabled, the harm caused by abandoning your loved ones in a fit of noble idiocy, and the slow repairing of relationships. So good.

One Room Angel

An utterly beautiful show. Though it aired as part of Drama Shower, it's not actually a bl. This story is about healing from trauma and finding a reason to live. It’s also one of the most visually stunning shows of the last year.

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat

Only just barely a romance, this is the female WDYEY and it's so precious. Two women develop a close bond and learn about themselves as they form a relationship around one cooking meals for the other.

Monster

This is a movie but I simply had to include it. I am not telling you anything about the plot, but it's excellent and a must watch for Japanese cinema fans, IMO.

Chugakusei Nikki

It wouldn't be a proper jdrama list without some taboo content! This is a serious, deep, thoughtful exploration of what happens when feelings develop between a teacher and student, and the fallout that comes with it. Probably the best treatment of this trope I have ever seen.

Rinko-san Wants to Try

This one is a romance with some classic tropes, but one I think does some really interesting things with gender dynamics and sex positivity. It's a fun watch!

If you end up liking any of these, let me know! A few of them might be tricky to track down, as well, so hmu if you’re having trouble finding anything and I’ll point you. I have a few more on my upcoming watchlist that may end up being future recs, as well.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Speaking of public health. What was the soul society reaction to the eradication of small pox like?

"You notice there's a lot less dead babies these days?" Iba asked in the middle of one morning's office work.

"Fewer dead babies." Komamura corrected without thinking. "Less is for things you measure by volume, fewer for things you count. We do not measure dead babies by volume."

"Oh. right." Iba nodded. "Yeah, that wouldn't be right."

After a moment, what his lieutenant actually said caught up with him. "Sorry- force of habit from living with a Librarian." Komamura shook his head and looked up from the monthly intake statistics analysis report, peering at Tetsuzaemon Iba through the narrow gap of his helmet. "What do you mean, fewer dead babies?"

"I dunno, it just occurred to me. When I started the academy in the 40's- right after the catastrophe- we did a student tour of the 7th division's recently deceased souls intake queue, remember?" Iba waved his hand leaning back in his chair, apparently uncertain of where he was going with this either, but articulating his thoughts.

"I believe so. I had just taken over from Captain Kotsubaki." Komamura nodded, patient. Chikane Iba was an excellent shinigami and had done a magnificent job running the third division, but she had a tendency to talk over and bulldoze her son, so Komamura had learned to be patient when the young man when he felt like he should share a thought.

"Yeah, yeah- Not gonna lie Boss, you scared the crap out of me back then." Tetsuzaemon laughed. "-But the thing that stuck out to me that day was just. The sheer number of Infants and little kids in the line. the guy giving us the tour- I think it was Old Ito, actually- He said that one in five babies in the living world didn't live to see their fifth birthday."

"An improvement even back then- it was one in three children when back when I started in the 1840s." Komamura nodded. "It's funny that I frightened you- Captain Aikawa apparently headhunted me for the 7th because Kaname told him about how the children at the library used to use me as playground equipment."

"Good grief." Iba blanched. "So, what, he threw you in the deep end with all the dead kids?"

"In Captain Aikawa's defense, I did volunteer to handle children's cases. As sad as a frightened infant is, it's infinitely preferable than dealing with the deceased who are angry."

Iba frowned, opened his mouth like he was about to object, reconsidered, closed it, considered further, rocking his head from side to side, and then nodded. "I- yeah, Yeah, that tracks."

"You were saying though?" Komamura laced his fingers in front of him, leaning forward to listen.

"Oh! Well- not as much these days but back then, every family had like seven and eight kids, you know? And I realized that, well- almost everyone I know has a dead sibling or two? Almost every mother lost a child- Gods know my mother's a basket case but even getting a cold could send her into fits. If something had happened to me when I was a tyke- I don't think she would have pulled through."

Komamura nodded enough for Iba to see his helmet tilt to indicate he as still listening.

"I- I don't actually know where I was going with this, but I was reading that report earlier and there's a note from Shita-san at the end that this is the first month we haven't had a kid under the age of five in the intake queue. Ever."

Komamura flipped though the pages of the report to read the hand-written note at the end. "That is excellent news!"

"Oh! Yeah! It's great!" Iba nodded enthusiastically. "It just- I don't know, I guess it just snuck up on me and I'm so used to hearing something went wrong I guess I don't quite know what to do with good news?" he shrugged.

Komamura pondered this for a moment. "Hm. Well. Take heart, to start. But I see what you mean- it's a tremendous achievement, but not one we contributed to, and a "No Dead Babies This Month" office party feels in poor taste at best."

"Oof, yeah- especially if next month there's an accident or something and there's a whole bunch in the queue." Iba nodded. He considered things for a moment.

"-What happened that there are le- fewer dead babies, actually?" Iba frowned. "-Whoever it is, it would be appropriate to toast them and make an offering in their name to the Gods of Good Fortune, I think. Also do more of whatever they did."

"That IS a good idea!" Komamura smiled under his helmet. Perhaps it was his training as a priest, but he did enjoy an offering of goodwill ceremony. Also, nobody would ask him to drink- just pour any alcohol he was offered on the statue of the relevant deity. "I think- It's probably in our statistics, if the tenth division doesn't have an idea already. Can you collect the cause of death data for young children for the last-"

He was interrupted by the thunderous footsteps of someone sprinting towards the office, immediately followed by a tall young woman with short white hair throwing the door open, red-faced and winded.

"THEY DID IT! THE MAD BASTARDS THEY DID IT!" She shouted with wild excitement.

"Isane-? Uh, Miss Kotetsu?" Iba flustered.

"Please keep your voice down-" Komamura said through gritted teeth, trying not to growl at being suddenly shouted at. "Who has-?"

He was interrupted by Miss Kotetsu bolting right up to his desk and shoving a newspaper into his face hard enough to actually wrap around his helmet in excitement.

"SMALLPOX! IT'S GONE!!" She shrieked with joy.

"-gone?" Iba asked, bewildered as Komamura gently took the newspaper from her and pulled it back to actually read it. It was a newspaper from the living world, dated that morning- someone had gone through some pains to get it back to the Seireitei at speed, but the news was worth it:

SMALLPOX IS DEAD!

"TOTALLY ERADICATED! EXTINCT! KAPUT! IT HAS CEASED TO BE!" She bounced excitedly. "IT IS AN EX-PANDEMIC!"

"So like. Nobody has it this year?" Iba tried.

"Nobody has it this year, or will ever have it again, if I'm reading this right." Komamura muttered in awe. "Thanks to an aggressive worldwide vaccination and disease protocol program, there have been no human cases of the disease for several years. Since there are no people infected, there is no way for the disease to come back..."

Both men stared into space, the news almost unbelievable.

"Well. That does explain the Less Dead Babies thing." Iba nodded.

"Fewer Dead Babies." Komamura and Isane corrected in unison.

"I mean yeah that sure is part of it because Smallpox was the number one killer of infants in the living world for a long time there, but there's a whole bunch of stuff that's really cut down on infant mortality in the last few decades in particular." Isane nodded.

"We were JUST Talking about that!" Iba said, excitedly. "-Good to know you guys in the fourth are keeping track of that, It was gonna take forever to pull out that data..."

"Oh, could you pull it out anyway Tetsu-kun?" She asked. "-That's most of why I came over- I mean, to share the good news first, but Unohana-Taicho is planning on using this to really push a widespread vaccination program in the Rukongai and having the numbers to back us up would be really helpful!"

"Oh! Uh, sure!" Iba blushed.

"...You know this young lady, Tetsu-Kun?" Komamura lightly teased.

Both of the young people twitched and bowed to him, pointing at each other and speaking at once.

"Oh! I'm sorry Sir, I'm fourth division third seat Isane Kotetsu, i just know Iba because we were in the same class at the academy-" She babbled.

"-this is Isane Kotetsu, she's the smartest person I know and she saved my life from a lizard one time!" He waved excitedly.

"...That lizard was not going to kill you." She sighed, covering her face in embarrassment. "-I mean, if you developed a sepsis infection from the contaminated wound it might have made you very ill but that would take weeks and we have antibiotics for that, the lizard itself wasn't all that dangerous."

"It was INSIDE my LEG!" Iba gestured to his right thigh.

Komamura slowly tilted his whole torso sideways at Iba, hoping that sentence might make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. "...How?"

"I. Uh." Iba stopped, realizing his story was maybe not one he should be telling his boss. "I was. um. Out camping with the lads back when I was in the 11th, and a lizard climbed into my cot and I was. not totally awake and thought someone was trying to cop a feel and well you know, that's behavior you respond to with force so I rolled over and tried to stab the intruder's hand and. Uh. Missed."

Komamura continued to stare at him blankly.

"There was. screaming. lotta flailing, blood, general mayhem sort of thing. And in the confusion the Lizard.... climbed. inside the hole. In my leg. Sir." Iba explained, slowly crumpling behind his desk.

Komamura sighed deeply.

"-but Miss Isane was right there and actually kicked Ikkaku halfway across the camp because he was trying to lure it out with a Banana and generally being useless and she just grabbed that sucker and ripped him right outta there and had the wound packed and sealed in less than a minute and I even got to finish doing boot camp!" He rallied, cheerfully waving at Isane in hopes of distracting his captain with how cool she was.

"...What happened to the lizard?" Komamura asked, warily eyeing her through the gap in his helmet.

"Oh! He was really, really human acclimated and sneaked into my medkit rather than go back into the wild, so Harry lives a very spoiled lizard life in a terrarium in my room at home! Though it's actually my sister's room now but he still gets all the mango and smashed beetles he can eat!" Isane nodded cheerfully.

"You named a lizard. Harry?" Komamura asked slowly.

"...Iba-san named him, actually." She blushed.

"Ironically!" Iba protested. "I'm only mostly stupid, sir."

Komamura sighed deeply and once again regretted that his disguise would not let him rub his face as needed. "Alright. Thank you for the announcement, Miss Kotetsu. We will get that data to you in a timely manner- was there anything else you needed"

"Oh gosh, there was something else, what was it-?" She tapped her chin, trying to remember.

There was the distant sound of explosives, and all three of them turned to see what looked like midday fireworks going off at the 4th.

"Oh Right! Unohana-taicho requests your presence at the 4th as. Um. 'Designated Non-Drinker and Unarmed Combat Specialist' because the party was getting kind of wild when I left actually-"

Komamura sighed, and picked up Tenken from his stand and started tying the zanpaktou to his belt anyway.

---

The following morning, a small party arrived at the local shrines to The Gods Of Good Fortune, bearing offerings on behalf of the living world's World Health Organization and the handful of names they'd been able to glean from the living world newspapers, and nursing varying degrees of of hangover.

Komamura lead the party, having gotten them up at a slightly malicious 5AM to be there first thing in the morning. Tetsuzaemon and his friends from the 11th he insisted come along and 'suffer with me, as my sworn brothers' were quite pained but doing their best to hold it together.

Shunsui was a veteran of this nonsense and was hiding the pain very well behind his longtime party companions, Ukitake and Unohana, who seemed so extraordinarily cheerful that Komamura had to conclude that they were both still significantly chemically altered. He couldn't fault Unohana- they were faint and only visible on the rare occasions she let her hair down, but just below her left ear there was still the faint divot scars from surviving her own infection.

Isane had celebrated just as hard as the 11th Division lads, but had also had the good sense to alternate beer and water and take both aspirin and some sort of horrible pink goop that apparently relieved nausea before passing out under a table and had woken up only slightly groggy.

Komamura's new friend Harry the Lizard- a remarkably loquacious and quick-witted reptile -had taken up residence inside his helmet, lightly intoxicated on the cocktail fruits people had kept feeding him, and was politely nestled in the thick fur of his neck to ward off the morning cold.

The rituals of gratitude for this miracle, and asking the Gods to bless those who had worked so hard went smoothly, and Komamura couldn't help but notice when he turned around that Miss Kotetsu had opted to lean on the shoulder of 'Tetsu-kun'.

It was not often Komamura started the day with the feeling that everything would turn out alright, but as he watched Tetsuzaemon cautiously but gracelessly take Isane's hand and her squeeze it back on the way back down from the shrine, he felt like the feeling might stay this time.

[rainyramblesscramble]

WAIT. WAIT Y’ALL. OKAY. I WAS GONNA QUEUE THIS ONE FROM NOTES APP BUT I NEED TO POST IT NOW

for those who don’t know (nobody knows lmao) I have a hobby in cryptozoology. Have for years. I WANT A CRYPTOZOOLOGIST READER X CRYPTID!141 AU

if there exists such a thing, I will sell my soul for anybody to point me in the right direction.

if not, I offer this:

Cryptozoologist with a heart Reader x cryptid monster 141. Who, after hearing horror stories of four beasts living in the wild, decides to go out several times to try and get a glimpse. Not to hunt or harm the creatures, but to study. To learn. Observe. Though reader never strikes luck and finds them, they are all keenly aware of reader. Curious about reader, even, who doesn’t trek their wilds seeming to get into a fight. There’s a sort of gentleness to this little human.

Then because I’m awful, other beasts known to inhabit the area cross reader, without the same grace of a wide berth that the 141 gives reader. Of course, leading the 141’s sudden appearance to intercept the danger posed by these rivals (wink wink Graves cryptid anybody?) and saves their little human researcher.

I have so many thoughts on this yall so I’m sorry, you’ll have to suffer with me.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Monsters Protecting Themselves

Hello @fromreddit, I'm sorry but you must have tried to ask me a question while the inbox was closed! However, I'm finishing up on the most recent queue of questions, so I now have time to answer your request. Here we go!

Who’s the Monster Now?, by Solo RPG Voyager.

Who’s The Monster Now? is an RPG where players take control of the enemies in the fictional game of Scatterash. One of these players, however, will take control of someone known as the Streamer, a character who will play the main character of Scatterash, whose goal is to defeat all the bosses and win the game. Everyone else plays as those very boss monsters. However, they’ve become aware of the character’s existence and have prepared themselves to stop them at all costs.

The setting of this game is a video game, but the details of that video game are up to you, the table. This means that if you want to play fantasy monsters, urban monsters, or aliens, all should fit! The game uses pools of d4s that shrink depending on the numbers your monsters have in their stats. The game uses a roll-under mechanic with a threshold of 8, so the lower you roll, the better! If you roll too high, you have a BAD TIME, which can have dire consequences for your character.

The Skeletons, by Jason Morningstar.

Years fly by like dead leaves.  Everything is darkness.  Everything is silence. You stand vigilant before the sarcophagus without thought or breath-such is your compulsion. 

You do not remember your name and still you watch.  The flesh has fallen off your bones and still you watch. And then one day there is light and motion and you weigh your bearded axe and raise your shield, lusting for the fray, eager to measure your skill against these tomb-robbing children so full of blood. 

You’ll never be alive again, but in this moment-in the chaos between violation and destruction-you truly live, and you remember what you once were, and you taste the sun. 

The Skeletons flips the script on the classic dungeon crawl— here you play not the intruders, but the guardians, cursed to spend all of eternity defending a tomb. As time passes, both the tomb and its guardians will change. Ferocious battles are fought and won, and the skeletons slowly remember who and what they once were. Melancholy, introspective and spanning epochs, The Skeletons is unlike anything you’ve ever played.

The Skeletons comes with eight complete characters that the players will pick from when they sit down to play. Part of your game will involve learning more about who you are as you play, your memories being the only part of you that you can control. You check off different items during each encounter until you reach The Desecration, where your skeletons will finally be defeated - and laid to rest.

Bridge Trolls, by Melfy.

What fantastical problems befall you and your siblings as you struggle to run a bridge business? Deal with meddling adventurers, petty witches, dreadful bards trying to pay their toll with song, arsonist wizards and more!

One page with easy to understand rules and character creation & another page with tables for encounters and troublesome travellers.  

Bridge Trolls is a two-page game about protecting your bridge from unwanted travellers, either through brawn or wit. All of the players are siblings, and at the beginning of the game, you collaboratively create your home and the bridge that crosses it. The rules are reminiscent of Lasers & Feelings, with a higher Brawn meaning a lower Bluff and vice versa. It’s a simple game with an interesting premise - and it’s free!

Minions & Mayhem, by ignotus17.

Minions & Mayhem allows players to portray the servants of an ambitious Boss.  Define the boss with objectives, powers, and flaws.  Describe the lair, its location & strengths.  Assemble a Crew, a Party, a Horde, a Kabal, or a Cult.  Play to find out if the dark master can shape the world to their will.

Each session of Minions & Mayhem begins with the player characters receiving a mission from their boss. Over 12 or so sessions, you hope to complete your Boss’s wishes, whatever they may be. The Boss you design will grant you special boons and abilities that will help your monsters in specific areas. The rules are inspired by Blades in the Dark, so I know it’s probably not what you’re looking for, but I wanted to include it in the list because it matches pretty much everything else - and some folks might still want to check it out.

TROLLS, by Secret Hearth.

Trolls is a six page analog game of trampling, terrorizing, and evil-doing created for the 2019 Mega RPG jam.

Be Trolls. Pillage. Defend your den.  Take back the Black Wastes.

This is a 4-player game about the last clan of Trolls, defending their homeland from human invaders. The game cycles through three phases: pillaging, fortifying, and defending.

In the Pillaging phase, you try to earn as much contempt from terrorizing the villagers. In the Fortify phase, your trolls will first draw up a map of their den, and then spend their contempt to create measures and precautions that will help them in the final phase. In the Defending phase, a trio of heroes alive and attempt to move through your den in order to slay you. The Defending phase culminates in a battle, during which you will either perish, or succeed. Complete this cycle three times, and you have won the Black Wastes for the Trolls!

You might also want to look at…

No Sacrifice Without Blood, by hyphen artist.

B.B.E.G., by Maps N’ Quests.

Here, there, Be Monsters!, by wendi yu.

Worm Spring, by rpgnatalie.